“Niall said they would be back in a day or two. Brian is safe in the cave until then, being tended to by a lass from the village.” Mor anticipated her next question. “She can be trusted.”
Caitrina tried to think. Dear God, where would they go? Who was this man, and what had he said that would cause Niall to leave Brian—even if only for a short while?
But there was something else that caused her even more trepidation: What would Jamie do when he found out Seamus and the other guardsmen were missing?
Daylight was almost gone. Mist had descended like a heavy plaid, enveloping them in its icy dense fog. Jamie stood outside in the yard, a grim expression on his face to match the bleakness of the day. Seamus and the other Lamont guardsmen had been gone since morning, and the men he’d sent out after them had just returned—alone.
“I’m sorry, my laird,” Will said. “We found no sign of them.”
Jamie cursed. “Why weren’t they followed?”
“They were. My man saw nothing out of the ordinary. He left them chopping wood this morning.”
“And they weren’t missed until the midday meal?”
“They did not usually return before then. I’m sorry, my laird, we should have kept a closer eye on them. But the old man had stopped his grumbling. Clearly he was loyal to the lady and seemed to have accepted the changed circumstances.”
Jamie shook his head. “ ’Tis not your fault.” If anyone was to blame, it was himself. He’d suspected Seamus’s acquiescence was too good to be true. “I took the man at his word.” And had assumed, like Will, that he’d be loyal to Caitrina.
“Where would they go?” Will asked.
He could think of a few places, none of them good. “With the risings after the MacGregor’s death, my first guess would be to the Lomond Hills.” But what could have provoked the Lamont guardsmen to risk their lives? Would they risk so much for the MacGregors? Possibly, but there could be another explanation. He tensed. They would risk much for a Lamont.
Will frowned. “But why now?”
Jamie clenched his jaw. “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” He spun on his heel and headed into the keep, his body hard with purpose.
He prayed that his suspicions were wrong. He didn’t want to think that Caitrina had anything to do with this, but she was hiding something from him, of that he was sure. He tamped down his anger, not wanting to rush to judgment.
As there was still some time before the evening meal, he began his search for her in their chamber. She’d returned earlier than normal today from Ascog with her serving woman. He recalled thinking that the old woman had looked distressed about something, but as Caitrina appeared in good spirits, he hadn’t given it much thought. Until now.
He’d survived this long partly because he didn’t believe in coincidences.
He opened the door without knocking and froze, finding his wife had just finished her bath.
At the sound, she started. Her head snapped around, and he could swear he detected a flash of apprehension in her fathomless blue eyes—almost as if she suspected the reason for his visit. Did she suspect the reason for his visit?
The air was humid and sultry, heavy with the scent of lavender. She sat on a stool before the fire in her wrap, a serving girl combing out the long wet tresses of luxurious ebony hair—as thick and satiny soft as sable. The old woman stood protectively beside her, staunch as a guardsman.
His instincts flared.
He waved the two servants from the room. “Leave us. I wish to speak to your mistress.”
Mor took a step toward him, shielding Caitrina from his view. “As you can see, we are not quite finished—”
“Now,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument, meeting the old woman’s gaze.
Mor stood firm, but the young serving girl dropped the horn comb. It clattered on the wood floor, unnaturally loud.
Caitrina stood and moved around in front of Mor, the full ripeness of her sensual curves displayed to lush perfection beneath the thin, damp silk of her dressing gown. His body heated, the power of her sweet feminine charms over him potent and undeniable.
His eyes slid over her, stopping at her breasts where the fabric of her wrap crossed to reveal the deep crevice between the gently rounded edge of her soft flesh. Her nipples were hard and tight, and clearly visible through the thin silk.
He stirred, his groin heavy with a lust that was even more powerful now that he’d tasted her passion. Passion that was open and honest—or at least it seemed that way. He wanted to believe it wasn’t just lust between them, but something deeper. That he was not alone in these powerful feelings.
From the first moment he’d seen her, he’d known she was special and wanted her. He wished it were still that simple. But she’d changed, as had the complexity of his desire. At one time her body would have been enough for him, but not anymore.
He’d done everything he could to earn her trust, to show her that he was more than a name. But maybe he was a fool to believe that a Lamont could ever trust a Campbell.
But she was his wife, damn it.
Her welcoming smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Disappointment hardened in his chest.
“You’re cold,” Caitrina said, moving toward him. “Come sit before the fire.” She looked to Mor and the terrified serving girl, who couldn’t seem to lift her eyes from the floor. “I can manage from here,” she assured them calmly.
The girl shuffled out as fast as she could, but Mor gave her a long look as if she meant to argue. At the pleading in Caitrina’s gaze, she made a sharp sound of displeasure and left them alone, closing the door with an impertinent slam behind her.
“That old woman needs to learn her place,” Jamie grumbled. He hadn’t been taken to task so many times since he was a lad.
“Her place is by my side,” she said. “You have to understand … when my mother died, Mor was there. She means no harm, it’s just that she thinks she has to protect me.”
“From who?”
Her gaze held steady as she met his. “From you.”
Jamie’s mouth drew into a tight line. Unrequited love burned in his chest. “I would never hurt you.”
“I know, but when you are angry—”
“Have I cause to be angry?”
“You tell me. You are the one who came storming in here, ordering everyone out.”
“Can a man not have some time alone with his wife?”
She arched a delicate black brow. “But it’s something else, isn’t it?” She walked toward him, the seductive sway of her hips all the more enticing because it was unconscious. Her hands slipped around his neck, sliding over the taut muscles bunched at his shoulders, feeling the tension.
She was so damned warm and soft. Her delicate feminine scent laced with lavender rose up to envelop him in its sensual vise. He ached to pull her against him and take her mouth with his, driving away the thought of anything else but the two of them. Alone. Where nothing could come between them.
Unable to think when she was so near, he took a step back. She dropped her hands, and the wounded look on her face almost made him reconsider. Almost.
“Your father’s guardsmen are gone,” he said.
Something flickered in her gaze. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?” She sounded surprised. But was her voice just a touch high-pitched?
“I mean that they have not returned from the forest where they were supposed to be cutting down trees.”
Caitrina’s hands twisted in the smooth silk of her gown. “It’s cold and difficult to see. Perhaps they simply took shelter from the weather.”
Jamie shook his head. “They are gone. My men have searched the area.”
The pulse at her neck ticked a little faster. “And what did you find?”
It was said with a nonchalance that he knew she did not feel. She was so anxious, he could almost taste it. “They covered their tracks well, but my men believe they’ve crossed the Kyle to the mainland. They swore to me as their
laird, and they’ve broken their bond. I want to know why.”
“If they’ve done as you say, which I hope they did not, I couldn’t fathom.”
He studied her face. She looked like an angel with her creamy skin, wide blue eyes, and red lips. Her innocent beauty seemed to taunt him. He took her arm, his fingers gripping her tight. “You don’t know?”
“Of course not.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he held firm. “Seamus and the others did not confide in me.”
Her voice sounded so adamant, he had to believe it was true. Relieved, he dropped her arm. “I’m glad. I would not like to think that you were keeping secrets from me.” He gave her a hard look. “Are you keeping something from me, Caitrina?”
Her eyes shifted ever so slightly. Damn. It was there again, that look of unease. “What would I be hiding from you?”
It wasn’t an answer.
“Why are you questioning me?” she demanded. “I’ve told you I knew nothing of Seamus’s plans. What is it that you think I know?”
Jamie knew what he had to do. He hated the idea that he might cause her more pain, but she had a right to know. If she did not hear it from him, she might hear it from someone else. He took her hand and led her to a chair. “Sit.”
Seeming to sense his seriousness, she did as he asked. He moved around in front of her so that his back was to the fire. He hated himself for thinking it necessary to see her face. “I’ve something to tell you. Something that might cause you pain, but I think you should know.”
He could see her tense. Her eyes widened a little, and she swallowed. “What is it?”
Used to directness, Jamie was not very good at couching his words. It was probably better if he didn’t try. He cleared his throat. “There are rumors.” Her eyes lifted to his, the sooty thick sweep of her lashes as soft and feathery as a raven’s wing against her pale skin. “Rumors that one or more of your brothers may have survived.”
She froze, her face devoid of emotion. It was the look of someone who’d just experienced a shock—wasn’t it? Or was it the look of someone who was frightened?
Her fingers gripped the carved wooden arms of the chair until they turned white. He swore he could see the tiny hairs on the back of her neck set on edge. Everything about her screamed brittle—as if she were glass that was about to shatter.
She stared at him, looking to him for answers. “Do you believe them? Is there any truth to these rumors?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me exactly what you’ve heard.”
She was too calm. Too rational. He’d expected her to race out the door and down the stairs to the courtyard, demanding a horse. He’d expected tears. He’d expected wild emotion. He knew how much she’d loved her family. How their death had destroyed her.
She knew.
He repeated what his uncle had told him and told her of his journey to Lomond to look for them and of finding nothing.
Instead of questioning him further, she gazed at him, eyes narrowed accusingly. “You’ve known about this for over a week and have not thought to mention it before now?”
“I did not want to raise your hopes without something more.”
“You think of me as a child.”
“No, as someone I wish to protect from further hurt. Can you blame me for not wanting you to experience more pain? You’ve only just begun to recover.”
“Not recover,” she said stonily. “Adjust.”
“I know it has been difficult for you, but you cannot deny that you were happier the past few weeks.”
“No,” she said, turning away. “I’ll not deny that.”
“Then perhaps you can understand my reluctance.”
But it was clear she didn’t. “And you only decided to say something now because of Seamus’s disappearance.”
He nodded.
“I see.” She stood and moved to the fireplace, standing stiffly, staring into the smoldering embers of burning peat. Was she simply angry or trying to avoid his gaze?
He hated the suspicion coursing through him, but every bone in his body told him that she knew more than she was telling him.
She tensed as he moved closer to her. He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. The baby soft skin was like plush velvet sliding under his fingertips. “Did you know, Caitrina?” he said softly. “Have you had word from any of your brothers?”
The pulse at her neck fluttered like the wings of a trapped bird. He could slide his thumb over it and stop it with one soft press. His fingers tightened.
Her breath caught in her throat—hesitating. Her chin quivered under his fingertips. “No,” she finally said. “I knew nothing of these rumors.”
Her denial fell like a cold slap across his cheek. The blue pools of her eyes were like a stormy sea, tossing with emotion and turmoil. If she was lying to him, and every instinct told him that she was, it was not done without guilt—small consolation for the betrayal. He’d thought she loved him. Fool.
Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding, even as the lie slipped from her lips. The plump red lips with their sensual curve that brought him such pleasure. Her hair was drying in the warmth of the room, and tiny soft curls had sprung up around her temples, grazing the pink curve of her cheek.
God, she was beautiful. And he wanted with a gut-wrenching intensity for her to be his. But for the first time, he wasn’t even tempted to take her into his arms and offer her comfort. She’d chosen to put her loyalty with her family and not with him. Perhaps he should have expected it. But what he hadn’t expected was the hollow burning pain in his chest. If it didn’t hurt so much, he might even be able to understand her divided loyalties. But it did. He couldn’t do this anymore.
He dropped his hand. Perhaps he’d been hoping for something that was impossible.
He clenched his jaw, hardening himself against the truth, and turned to leave.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
He gave her a long, measured look. “To find your clansmen.”
“What will happen to them?”
He heard the fear in her voice but was of no mind to offer assurances he wasn’t sure he could keep. “I don’t know.” Her brother’s future was just as uncertain as theirs.
Jamie had been gone for two days, and there was still no word from Niall. Caitrina had barely slept since he’d left. She kept playing over and over in her head the scene in their bedroom and knew that she’d made a mistake. She’d wanted desperately to confide in him, but her promise to her brother had smothered her instincts.
She should have trusted her heart.
The truth had been there for some time, but she’d been too scared to see it: She loved him. Loved his strength, his calm authority, his honor, the occasional glimpse of the carefree smile that he showed only to her, the tender way he held her in his arms and made love to her … and those not so tender times when he was wild with passion for her. She loved the way he challenged her to look beyond the surface. The way he accepted her for who she was.
She’d thought her heart was gone, buried with the scrap of plaid in the sand. But it had only been hidden behind a curtain of fear. Fear that loving meant losing. It seemed that she’d been hiding her whole life. First from what was going on around her and then from her own heart. But from the first, he’d never shirked from telling her the truth—no matter how harsh or unpleasant. His steadfastness, understanding, an indelible strength, gave her the courage to open her eyes and helped her to heal the wounds of the past.
She only wished she’d realized it before now. She needed to tell him her feelings. Needed to tell him how much she loved him before he discovered the truth. Had he believed her about not knowing where Niall was, or did he know she’d lied?
Early the morning of the third day, she heard the sound she’d been waiting for. The call went out. Riders were approaching.
She gazed out the window, unable to see anything in the heavy gray mist. The weather had worsened to match her sense of doom.
Her heart pounded and her hands shook as she tried to wrap her arisaidh around her. Giving up, she simply tossed it over her shoulders and raced down the stairs to the hall. The men were entering as she came in.
At the lead was a tall, broad-shouldered man in full battle gear. He walked toward her, but she knew who it was and rushed toward him. “Jamie, I’m sor—”
The apology caught in her throat as he pulled the steel knapscall off his head.
The blood drained from her face. It wasn’t Jamie.
It was his brother.
Chapter 20
Colin Campbell of Auchinbreck, the man responsible for the attack on Ascog and the deaths of her father and brother, was standing in the hall not five feet away from her as boldly as could be.
Revulsion tugged at the back of her throat, but it was quickly smothered by the flames of hatred. She remembered so clearly the last time she’d seen him: in her chamber during the attack, hurting Brian and leaving his man to rape her. He still wore the same cold, ruthless expression on his face that he’d had that hideous day.
Seeing him again made her chest tangle with conflicting emotion: raw hatred mixed with the knowledge that he was brother to the man she loved. Now that she knew who he was, the resemblance to Jamie was even more marked—particularly around the mouth and eyes. His hair was darker, and though not quite as tall as Jamie, he was similar in stature and possessed the same air of kingly authority. But what was confidence in Jamie projected as arrogance in his brother.
Unconsciously, her hands curled at her sides, clutching the woolen fabric of her skirts instead of the dirk her fingers itched for. Never had she so felt the urge to kill someone. Colin Campbell was fortunate that she did not carry a weapon.
Though from all appearances, it looked as if he’d been locked recently in battle. His hands and face were streaked with dirt and blood. There was a dried cut on his forehead and a larger one on his wrist and right hand. But it was his eyes, wild with rage, that sent a shiver of fear whistling down her spine.
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