The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  God, he is beautiful. The hard, masculine lines of his face lightened by playfulness. His eyes even crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The effect was utterly devastating.

  He took her breath away.

  She stood up and moved to the door, sliding down the metal bar so they would not be disturbed. She could feel his eyes on her every step of the way.

  “There are a few problems,” he said.

  It was her turn to look at him questioningly. “Such as?”

  “Our clothes.” He sat back against the pillow with a wide grin on his handsome face. “I’m afraid my arm hurts too much to be of much help in removing them.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

  He nodded solemnly. “I guess you’ll have to do it on your own.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “Why, watch, of course.”

  “Of course,” she said dryly. With her back to him, she removed her arisaidh and folded it carefully on the chair. She looked over her shoulder, catching him staring at her bottom. “I don’t suppose I could bother you to help me untie my laces.”

  “I might be able to manage.”

  She returned to the bed and stood with her back to him as he unlaced her kirtle and then her stays. His fingers seemed to caress her skin as he worked the ties, lingering at the sensitive small of her back, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine.

  When he’d finished she shrugged the gown off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. The stays were loose enough for her to shimmy them over her head.

  Though she wore only her sark, the room seemed to be getting warmer, and she could feel a flush spread over her skin.

  She could hear the hitch in his breath as each piece of clothing hit the ground and knew that watching her—even from the back—had aroused him. She started to work the ties at her neck, but he reached out to clasp her wrist.

  “Let me see you, lass,” he said, all playfulness gone from his voice.

  She turned around to face him, cheeks burning. She might be embarrassed, but she couldn’t claim to be unaffected. There was something deeply sensual about undressing before a man knowing his eyes were on your every move.

  Slowly, she untied the sark at her neck, then bent down to slide off her slippers, giving him a view of her breasts swaying from behind the open neck of her sark.

  He swore, and she hid a smile, savoring the moment of feminine power.

  He sucked in his breath as she slid her sark up to her thigh and rested her foot on the edge of the bed, taking her time sliding her stockings off her legs.

  Her body dampened, knowing what he was thinking, knowing how badly he wanted to see her there.

  Her eyes met his. His gaze was hot, burning with intensity. “Take it off,” he hissed.

  She slid the edge of the sark higher, still giving him a view only of her thigh, then higher to expose the curve of her bottom, moving the fabric up her sides and over her breasts as she lifted it over her head and let it drop in a puddle beside her bare feet.

  She peeked from under her lashes and saw his gaze slide over her breasts, her stomach, her bottom, and then down her legs.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “Except for me crooked nose,” she teased.

  He laughed. “Especially because of that crooked nose.”

  And under his appreciative stare, she felt so. She lifted her eyes to his and moved her foot to the ground. He lowered his gaze to between her legs, and she swore she tingled as if he’d touched her.

  Her need for him was primal. She reached for him, sliding her hand along his stomach as she untied the waist of his breeches, releasing his straining erection from behind the tight confines of fabric. She moved over him on the bed, straddling him as she slid her hands behind his taut buttocks and worked the pants down his legs, desperate to have him inside her.

  His hands were on her breasts, kneading and squeezing, pinching the taut tips as she worked. She rubbed her aching mound over his thickness, needing to feel him between her legs.

  She was so wet and hot, throbbing for him, but she wanted to prolong the sensations pulsing through her body.

  “Oh God, you’re killing me. I need to be inside you.”

  He covered her breast with his mouth, pulling her nipple between his teeth and sucking hard. Demanding. Her head fell back as she arched against him, and she rubbed a little harder, sliding over him until the area grew slick with need.

  He touched her with his thumb, caressing the most sensitive part of her, and she exploded, contracting against him as she cried out her pleasure.

  While the spasms still rocked through her, he took her hips and thrust inside her, taking her so deep that she cried out again. There was nothing like this feeling of utter connection, a feeling that she now recognized was based on something far deeper.

  She could feel it rising again, filling her, the desperate craving … he pulled her down hard against him so that their bodies touched and rocked, and the friction, the exquisite pressure, sent her flying over the edge again as the sweet contractions rippled through her body.

  She was so beautiful like this, her naked body flushed and trembling with the force of her release, her face transformed with ecstasy. He could watch her come forever. It stirred something deep and savage inside him. An emotion so base and primal, he didn’t have a name for it. Except that she belonged to him. Heart, body, and soul.

  The last tremors ebbed, and he felt her go slack, weak as a newborn lamb from the force of her release.

  Mindful of his injury, he rolled her under him, careful not to crush her by propping himself up on his good arm.

  He was still inside her and aching to move. To unleash the storm of passion he’d fought to control. But ever mindful of her fears, he studied her face. “You’re all right?”

  A lazy smile played upon her sensuous mouth. Unable to resist, he caught the plump lower lip between his teeth and nibbled gently.

  Her gaze was unfocused as she looked at him. “Better than all right.”

  “My weight doesn’t bother you?”

  Her eyes sharpened with sudden realization. “You promised to stay still.”

  He tugged her lip again, murmuring against her mouth, “I lied.”

  “But your shoulder.”

  “It’s fine.” Actually, holding himself off her with one arm was harder than he’d thought, but he had an idea.

  He kissed her again, sliding his tongue in her mouth and circling until she strained against him. Reluctantly, he pulled out of her slick heat, feeling the unwelcome blast of cold air.

  “But—”

  He pressed his fingers against her lips. “Trust me.”

  He stood beside the bed and slid her toward him so that her buttocks rested just at the edge of the mattress—at the perfect height.

  He throbbed in anticipation, anxious to get back inside that wet heat.

  Holding her gaze, he scooped her legs up under her knees and held them on either side of his hips, running his hands along the warm, velvety skin of her thighs. Her legs were beautiful—long, slim, and creamy white. He couldn’t wait to have them wrapped around his waist.

  Slowly, he positioned the head of his cock at her opening. She was so moist and soft and pink … and waiting for him. He nuzzled the sensitive round head against her, and she moaned.

  Her hips lifted just the sweetest amount. But he wanted her dripping. He dampened his finger in his mouth, then dragged it along her cleft. She jumped from the heat. He smiled devilishly. His pleasure could wait.

  He bent over her, kissing the tiny pink nipples that strained to the ceiling, and then dragged his tongue down the soft ivory plane of her belly.

  He heard her breath hitch and resisted a chuckle.

  His mouth dipped lower, to the tender skin of her thighs. She tasted like honey, and he wanted to taste every delicious inch of her.

  “What are you …?”

  “Trust me,” he whispered, his voice hu
sky with lust. He blew against her, and she trembled. He inhaled her delicate feminine scent, the most powerful aphrodisiac, and blood rushed to the head of his cock. He pulsed hard, feeling as if he could come right there. He nuzzled his mouth at the top innermost portion of her thigh and felt her stiffen with anticipation.

  Dripping, he vowed.

  He moved his mouth above her and caught her half-lidded gaze, holding it as he placed a tender kiss at her very core.

  Her hips bucked and she cried out. He slid his hands under the soft curves of her buttocks, lifted her to his mouth, and tasted her fully. A long, drawn-out kiss of pure pleasure. He circled her with his tongue and probed inside, licking and sucking, until she was deliciously wet and hot. Until she pulsed.

  She writhed on the bed, circling her hips against his mouth, and he pushed her harder, driving her closer and closer to the edge as his tongue flicked at her most sensitive spot. He knew she was close. He broke the intimate kiss, stood up, lifted her legs again, and sank into her. Watching his cock sink inch by glorious inch into her body.

  When he was all the way inside and their bodies joined, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, savoring the sharp intensity of sensations ripping through his body.

  He felt electrified, more complete than he’d ever felt in his life. This was heaven. This was what it felt like when a man met his mate, the woman he was meant to be with.

  She lifted her hips, demanding more, and he let go. Plunging in and out, driving deeper with every stroke, his entire body tight and fraught with need. He loved the feeling of being inside her, of filling her, of making her his.

  She clutched him with her feminine muscles, milking him with her body, and he lost all hold. Never had he felt like this. Consumed. Out of control. Wild with passion. Completely free.

  His hips pounded with the primal rhythm, and she met him stroke for stroke, her beautiful lush breasts bouncing with each drive. He wanted to take them in his hands and squeeze, to flick his tongue over the pink tips and watch her skin prickle with passion.

  But he couldn’t think. He was on fire. Every inch of his body focused on holding on until … He heard her moan. Heard the soft cries of pleasure as she reached her peak, and finally he let go, exploding deep inside her with a guttural cry that tore from his very core.

  He held her against him until the last shudder, the last drop of pleasure, left his body. When it was over, all he could do was drop down on the bed beside her, pull her under his arm, and wait for his breath to steady enough to say something.

  But what was there to say? What else was there to be said between them? Words seemed insufficient and trite after such a cataclysmic experience. He loved her with every bone in his body and every fiber of his being. Till his dying day.

  He couldn’t give her back her family, but he would do whatever it took to make her happy. And maybe one day he would be enough. He vowed nothing would ever tear them apart again.

  Perhaps it was the injury or perhaps the result of their lovemaking, but even though it was only the afternoon, when Jamie closed his eyes, he slept.

  Chapter 16

  “But surely it is too soon?” Caitrina tugged the coverlet up over her breasts and stared at her husband, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice.

  He deflected her question with an easy grin. Her heart tugged as it always did; his smiles seemed to come so freely now.

  “I hardly think that is necessary,” he said, indicating her attempt to cover herself. “There is no part of you that I have not explored in intimate detail and consigned to memory forever.”

  She blushed. Despite their very thorough lovemaking over the past few days, old habits—like modesty—died hard.

  The same could not be said for Jamie. There was not a modest bone in his body—his incredibly gorgeous body. He was always so sure of himself; it was one of the things she most admired about him. There was an ease and confidence that came from position, wealth, and power. She’d noticed it from the first. His command and authority had always set him apart.

  He’d just bathed, and the damp drying cloth clung to the tight muscles of his buttocks and hung loose around his hips. The linen dropped to the floor, and she sucked in her breath. He reached for his shirt and lifted it over his head, the muscles of his chest and back rippling in the soft morning light.

  Wretch. He’d tried to distract her, and it had worked. Well, two could play that game. Allowing the coverlet to drop, she slid out of bed and began her own morning preparations. She’d barely slipped her sark over her head before she gasped, feeling his hard body behind her. He wrapped his arm around her waist from behind, and she sank against him, the warmth of his breath teasing her neck as his mouth pressed kisses on the pulse below her ear.

  She supposed this was one way to keep him in bed.

  “It won’t work, you know,” he murmured in her ear.

  She wiggled her hips against his burgeoning erection. “It won’t?”

  “No.” He slid his hands over her breasts and hips. It was the possessive, comfortable touch of a lover. Liquid heat washed over her body. The sensation of his big, strong hands covering her body never ceased to thrill. And when he released her, the disappointment was acute.

  She sighed and turned to face him. “But it’s too soon for you to resume your duties. Your shoulder—”

  “My shoulder is fine,” he clipped in that authoritative, brook-no-argument voice that he used with his men but rarely with her.

  “But—”

  “No more, Caitrina.” He gave her a sharp glance. “I took your blasted draught, didn’t I?”

  Her mouth twitched, recalling their wee battle. Getting him to drink Mor’s medicine had indeed taken some persuasion. It was amazing what she could accomplish with her hands.

  Still, it had been only a few days since his injury. “Yes, but—”

  He stopped her protestations with a shake of his head. “I promise to have care, but I will return to my duties today.” He reached out to caress the curve of her cheek. “We can’t stay in here forever, Caitrina.”

  Hiding. She lifted her eyes to his, hearing the unspoken admonition. “I know.” He was right. It wasn’t simply his wound that worried her, it was the intrusion of reality into the oasis they’d carved out together in this room. What they had here was not complicated by clan loyalties and duty. Here, nothing could come between them. She was a coward, but she wanted to keep him to herself for a little bit longer.

  She sat back on the bed and watched him finish dressing, securing the breacan feile at the shoulder with his chieftain’s badge. His Campbell chieftain’s badge, she realized, recognizing the boar’s head symbolizing their fierceness in battle.

  When he was finished, he pulled her to her feet and tipped her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

  “You trust me, don’t you, Caitrina?”

  “You know I do.” Many times over the past few days, she’d wanted to try to give voice to her feelings. She was tempted to do so again now, but the words tangled in her mouth. Her emotions were still too encumbered by fear. The scars of the past had yet to heal. And though it was obvious he cared for her deeply, she was not yet sure about the strength of his feelings. She was unwilling to complicate the delicate balance they’d achieved in the past few days.

  It was too soon.

  “Then we will get through this together.”

  She wanted desperately to believe him, but she did not delude herself that it would be easy. She prayed their new bond was strong enough to weather whatever storm life had in store for them, for she feared it would be a big one.

  The rain began to fall not an hour later.

  Caitrina had just popped the last bit of oatcake in her mouth from breaking her fast when she heard the cry go up that a messenger had arrived. As it was not an unusual occurrence, she hardly paid it any mind.

  But as Jamie had just departed the great hall on his way to Ascog, she was surprised to see him reenter the hall a few minutes la
ter. From the grim look on his face, she knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  She stood from the table and rushed to him, heedless of the disapproving glances of Seamus and his men—their resentment palpable. Her newfound intimacy with her husband had not gone unnoticed.

  She clasped his arm, feeling the tension coiling under her fingertips. “What is it?”

  His face was hard and unyielding, a mask of fierce control. It was the fierce expression of a man going into battle. He looked every inch the leader, every inch the feared enforcer of a king.

  “I must leave,” he said without preamble. “Immediately.”

  Her heart sank. “But why? Where are you going? Who has sent for you?” All of a sudden she had a terrible thought, one that could explain his reaction. “Is it your sister? Has something happened to Elizabeth?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not Lizzie. The missive was from my cousin.”

  Argyll. Her heart sank a little deeper. “Oh.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot delay. I must go right away.”

  “But you are not fully recovered.”

  “I’m well enough. This cannot wait.” He wasn’t even looking at her. His mind was already on whatever was taking him away from her. She’d never seen him like this—distracted, impatient … remote. She hated Argyll, but never more than now. She hated that he could take Jamie away from her to do his bidding at a moment’s notice.

  “Won’t you tell me what—”

  “When I return.”

  His impatience stung. The intimacy they’d shared was seemingly forgotten. She took a step back from him. “Then I will not delay you any longer.”

  Perhaps sensing her hurt at his curt dismissal, he bent and kissed her forehead—just as her father used to do. Never had she so resented it. “I will return soon and explain everything.”

  But Caitrina was not so easily pacified, no longer content to be kept in the dark. Danger and death lurked in ignorance. He’d started to turn away, but she clutched his arm. “You won’t be in any danger?”

  One side of his mouth lifted in an enigmatic grin. “I ride to Dunoon, Caitrina. That is all.”