The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

Me. Jeannie might not be the gossip of the moment, but it was clear that her mother’s transgressions had not been forgotten. Nor had Jeannie forgotten what it felt like to be the brunt of forked tongues.

  Excusing herself, Jeannie squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked over to the girl who was doing her best to pretend she didn’t know that everyone was whispering about her.

  Though his cousin was talking to him, Duncan was vaguely aware of a heightened buzz whirling around the room, the whispered voices rustling like leaves caught up in a gust of wind. And Grant’s daughter appeared to be right in the eye of the storm.

  After he’d caught her staring at him with such refreshingly innocent candor, he’d wanted to approach her—despite the fact that she no longer stood with her father. But then something had clearly upset her and she’d very determinedly marched over to another young woman.

  The strange thing was that no one else had joined them.

  “Have you heard anything I’ve just said?” Argyll said, the annoyance in his voice managing to get Duncan’s attention.

  “What’s going on over there,” he said, motioning to the two girls.

  Argyll lifted a brow. “I thought you didn’t like gossip.”

  Duncan gave his cousin a hard stare; he knew very well he despised it.

  Archie shook his head, realizing Duncan wouldn’t bite. He shrugged. “Just the latest court scandal. Apparently, one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting went to bed with her candle too close to the bed hangings. The fire was put out quickly, but caused a commotion. When the servants rushed in to put it out, the lady was stark naked.” The young earl paused for dramatic effect. “Unfortunately for her, the man in her bed was not her husband.”

  “What does that have to do with them?”

  “The dark-haired one is her sister, Lady Catherine Murray.” Archie was watching him carefully—too carefully. “The other is Grant’s daughter. But I suspect you know that.”

  Duncan shot him a quelling glance. His eyes narrowed. So the sister was being shunned and Grant’s daughter had decided to stand up for her. Good for her.

  “Odd company,” Archie noted. “You’d think Grant’s daughter would want to avoid a connection.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you not remember Grant’s wife? She caused quite the uproar when she ran off with the Englishman.”

  Duncan’s eyes hardened. He bit back the rush of anger. He understood too well. “Introduce me,” he said.

  His cousin’s gaze leveled on him. “Why?”

  Duncan turned to him. “Because you are going to ask Lady Catherine to dance.”

  Archie didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “And why would I want to do anything so noble?”

  One corner of Duncan’s mouth curled up. “Because that’s just the kind of man you are.” He paused. “You just need me to remind you.”

  It was horrible. No one was talking to them. Jeannie could see the toll it was taking on the other girl’s fragile demeanor. She knew from experience that pride was the only thing keeping Lady Catherine from dissolving into a pool of tears.

  All the memories of those years following her mother’s scandal rushed back to her in a hot, painful wave. The shame. The embarrassment. The lonliness.

  But then she looked up and he was there—Duncan Campbell—with his cousin, one of the most powerful men in Scotland.

  She barely heard Argyll’s voice carrying out the necessary introductions. She couldn’t turn her eyes from the man standing before her, nor did she hide the wave of gratitude that flooded out toward him.

  This was his doing. She knew it.

  Dear Lord, he was even more impressive up close. His coloring—the blue eyes set against black hair—was a breathtaking combination. The clean lines of his handsome face were cut in sharp angles and hard planes. He was younger than she first thought—the air of command and authority was misleading—perhaps only a few years older than herself.

  And he was tall, much taller than she realized. She stood six inches over five feet and he was nearly a foot taller, towering over her in a way that was not threatening, but oddly calming. And his shoulders … a strange shiver shuddered through her. Broad and muscular, the black fabric of his doublet stretched over the hard shield of his chest.

  He had the build and presence of a warrior—a man who would protect and defend to his last breath.

  He took Lady Catherine’s hand and bowed over it, then did the same to hers.

  Her breath caught in a startled gasp at the first touch. Heat poured through her and it felt as if every nerve ending in her body had come alive. She didn’t want the moment of connection to end. Their eyes met and she knew he’d sensed her reaction. Perhaps felt it, too. He held her hand an instant too long. For a moment she wondered if he meant to let it go, then reluctantly he released her.

  Her heart was beating too fast. Her skin felt flushed and sensitive. Her breath was coming in short gasps. Everything inside her seemed to be tossing about wildly like a boat in a storm.

  What was wrong with her?

  The two men took turns asking a few polite questions, but even the sound of his voice affected her. The dark, rich timber and the sultry halting lilt of the Gael sank deep into her bones.

  He exchanged a look with his cousin, right before Argyll asked, “I hear them starting a reel. I’d be honored if you would dance with me, Lady Catherine.”

  The look of relief that swept over the girl’s face made Jeannie’s heart squeeze with happiness. In standing up with her, Argyll—second only in power to the king in this room—had made a powerful statement of support.

  Lady Catherine accepted eagerly and Jeannie gazed up at the man left standing before her. “Thank you,” she whispered. He nodded his head in acknowledgment, not pretending ignorance. “You can’t imagine what this must mean to her.”

  One corner of his mouth curled up. “I think perhaps I can.”

  Their eyes held and something passed between them. Something strong and significant. She had the strangest sense that he understood exactly what she meant.

  “And what of you, my lady, do you wish to dance?”

  Right now, if it meant she could be with him longer, she would follow him anywhere. A wide smile broke across her face. “I would love to.”

  He took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

  Jeannie hoped he would never let it go. The future suddenly seemed exciting and full of promise.

  Chapter 3

  After two weeks of surreptitious courting, Jeannie was even more certain that Duncan was the man for her.

  She better be with what she was risking.

  Her heart fluttered as fast as the wings of a hummingbird. Anticipation and danger were a potent combination. Her senses were on full alert, honed to every inch of her surroundings. In the torchlight, the long, narrow hallways seemed a forbidding labyrinth of cold stone and dark shadows.

  Adjusting the hood of her cloak, she was careful to keep her face concealed as she crept silently down the winding passageways of the palace, slowly making her way to the adjoining great hall.

  The sound of voices coming toward her put her heart in her throat. Quickly she ducked into an alcove, heart pounding in her ears as she waited for the men to pass. From the clatter of metal that followed in their wake she assumed they were guards. Only when the footsteps had faded did she dare to breathe.

  That was close. It gave her a moment’s pause. Maybe she should turn back? Discovery would be disastrous. She’d be hard-pressed to find a plausible excuse for her current circumstances. A late night trip to the guarderobe? A midnight snack? A spot of fresh air? She winced, hearing the snickers already. There was only one reason for a young lady to be traipsing around the castle by herself in the middle of the night and everyone would know exactly what she was up to.

  A secret assignation was about the last thing Jeannie ever imagined that she would be doing. If her brother and sisters could see her now they wouldn’t
believe it.

  She sighed, shaking her head. How the righteous had fallen. She’d always tried to set a good example for her younger siblings, which made her current situation all the more astonishing.

  This is different, Jeannie told herself. She’d never been in love before … well not like this at least. The boy from the village who’d used her for target practice with water-filled pig’s bladders when she was ten and the stable lad who’d cornered her for a slobbery kiss four years later didn’t count.

  Duncan was different.

  Any initial qualms she might have had about his birth had been quickly erased. The past two weeks of stolen conversations and observing him had solidified what she’d felt that first night: Bastard or no, Duncan Campbell was a man to admire.

  He was a natural-born leader with all the presence and authority of a chieftain. He seemed destined for greatness, something his family had obviously recognized. Not only had his father made him captain of his guardsmen and keeper of Castleswene, he was much closer to his cousin than she’d realized. Duncan was said to be Argyll’s right-hand man.

  And he’d chosen her, singling her out amongst the other women eager for his attention. He danced infrequently, but when he did it was with her or the wife of one of his companions. He seemed to be looking for reasons to seek her out—even recently joining the morning hunt. It was even more exciting because she sensed that courting women was the last thing on his mind—clearly he was at court on important business. But courting her he was.

  Her father would undoubtedly be disappointed; he’d hinted at future plans for her, but he loved her, and Jeannie was confident she could bring him around.

  Eventually.

  But she couldn’t wait for eventually.

  She felt a prickle of conscience, which she quickly brushed aside. It was only a bit of harmless fun that was all.

  Then why were her hands damp, her skin flush and sensitive, and her heart fluttering wildly with excitement?

  “Meet me,” he’d said earlier, his deep, lilting voice seeping into her pores and warming her skin.

  That voice … a girl could get lost in the dark promises hidden in its silky depths. It really wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to resist?

  From any other man she would have quickly dismissed the suggestion. But with Duncan, what you saw was what you got. If he intended to seduce her he would tell her—not lure her with the promise of a midnight swim. He exuded nobility and integrity. She trusted him.

  “I couldn’t,” she protested weakly, but they both knew how badly she yearned to say yes. She chewed her lip for a moment, what he was suggesting was outrageous, impossible … wasn’t it? “If anyone discovered us—”

  “No one will discover us, I’ll see to that. You won’t regret it.” His eyes darkening with a promise that sent shivers sweeping over her body. Everywhere. The shivers seemed to be getting stronger and more demanding with each day. “It’s going to be hot tonight—uncomfortably so. Just think of how refreshing the water will feel. You said you loved to swim? Well, I promise you there’s nothing like a refreshing dip under the light of a full moon.” He paused and looked into her eyes. “We can be alone.” He reached out to sweep a stray lock of hair from her face, and she sucked in her breath. The rough pad of his thumb brushed the curve of her cheek. The sensation of his touch was as overwhelming as it was dangerous.

  She looked furtively around, worried that someone might have noticed the intimate gesture. But the crowd gathered in the hall was too caught up in the dancing and fine claret to notice the burgeoning love between the young daughter of Grant of Freuchie and Campbell of Auchinbreck’s bastard son. She suspected Duncan’s brother Colin had guessed, but he’d left a week ago.

  And then he leveled the death knell. “I must leave soon. Perhaps as early as tomorrow.”

  Her heart twisted. Just the thought of him leaving made her panic. When would she see him again? Was he asking her to meet him so they could discuss their future?

  He hadn’t let her answer, withdrawing before she could say no. But the look in his eyes … it was as if he knew the temptation he offered would be too sweet to resist.

  Still, she’d had every intention of not going. The lessons of her mother were well learned. But once the seed was planted it could not be dislodged. In her heart she wanted to meet him and her head soon grew weary trying to convince herself otherwise. For years she’d heeded caution, but not this time.

  I’m not my mother.

  The chance to be alone with him after two weeks of stolen moments under the watchful eye of her father and aunt was simply too tempting to ignore. Having cared to avoid drawing suspicion, the subtle flirting provided by the occasional dance wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to look up into those piercing blue eyes, and hear the words that had been hanging between them from the first. To feel his lips on hers for the first time.

  There was an urgency—a restlessness—wrestling inside her that she couldn’t fully comprehend. But she feared that if she didn’t take a chance, Duncan Campbell would be lost to her forever.

  So here she was, throwing caution to the wind, traipsing through the palace in her nightclothes, ducking through doorways, waiting in alcoves for guards to pass, following the call of her heart.

  She heaved a sigh of relief when she left the great hall and stepped outside into the barmkin. Moonlight spilled across the courtyard, bathing the outer close in a sultry, celestial light. It was brighter outside than in, which also presented a problem: where to hide.

  The great hall at Stirling Castle was the largest ever built in Scotland and its massive walls should have provided ample shadows, had they not been washed white with lime. It might make the building a beacon of royal supremacy from miles around, but it also made a poor backdrop against which to hide from the numerous guardsmen milling about.

  “By the North Gate,” he’d said. She wished he’d been more specific. But then again, she hadn’t really thought to be here.

  Taking a deep breath, she darted across the courtyard to the edge of the kitchen buildings—and waited.

  Where was he?

  She bit her lip. Perhaps this was a bad idea?

  All of the sudden, she felt an arm snake around her waist, and she was yanked against a chest that was as hard as a stone wall. She would have cried out, but he covered her mouth with his hand and whispered in her ear, “Shhh, it’s me.”

  Once her heart started beating again, she became very aware of the press of his body against hers. She’d never been this close to a man. It felt strange … and exciting. His body was hard and unyielding, yet she felt safe and protected. Heat and the faint scent of a woodsy soap teased her nose. She had to resist the urge to inhale deeply, he smelled incredible.

  But he’d nearly scared her half to death.

  She turned on him, with every intention of giving him a piece of her mind for startling her like that, but he gestured for her to be quiet with a finger to his lips. The amusement dancing in his eyes, however, told her that he was very much aware of her intentions.

  The hint of roguish mischief charmed her like nothing else. It was so different from the way he normally was. Over the past two weeks she’d watched him—closer than was proper, no doubt. Duncan’s serious, no-nonsense reputation was well earned. What he’d been denied by birth, he made up for with ambition and industry. But with her he was different. When he smiled, it felt as if he was giving her a special gift—a secret gift—meant only for her.

  As if it were the most natural thing to do, he took her hand and led her through the tunnel of the North Gate into the Nether Bailey below, avoiding the Guard House. The warmth and strength in the connection was both comforting and intimate. She’d become far too used to it.

  He’d exchanged his court attire for a leine and breacan feile. It was the first time she’d seen him in the traditional Highland garb and she was surprised how much it suited him, though she suspected that even dressed in rags he would
look like a king. The inherent nobility in his bearing and proud visage could not be denied. But the simple shirt and belted plaid emphasized his raw masculinity, giving her a glimpse of the fierce warrior he was reputed to be.

  When they reached the postern gate in the curtain wall, he whispered for her to keep her head down and tucked her under the crook of his arm. When he made a ribald jest to the guard at the gate about going on a “wee ride” with his “lady friend” she knew why. Heat blasted her cheeks.

  “It’s Argyll’s cousin, let him pass,” the guard said. “Where’s your companion tonight, Campbell?”

  Duncan laughed and mumbled something about his new countess.

  When they were clear of the gate and he released her, she turned to him accusingly, “You let him think I was one of your doxies!” Her eyes narrowed. “Just how often do you do this, Duncan Campbell?”

  “ ’Tis the first,” he said with an apologetic twist of his mouth. “My cousin and I often partake of the ale in the village, that’s all.” She was still trying to decide whether to believe him. “I’m sorry to embarrass you, but I thought it would prevent questions. It did.” There was an awkward silence as they navigated the path down the rock upon which Stirling Castle sat. Finally he said, “You came,” as if he didn’t quite believe it.

  She gave him a sidelong glance from under her lashes, unable to read his expression. The implacability that she found so frustrating was no doubt what made him such a prized negotiator by his cousin—he gave nothing away. He would make a fortune gaming, she thought wryly. “Did you think I would not?”

  Duncan Campbell gazed down at the lass all but hidden by the hooded cloak beside him, not quite believing that she was real. In truth, he’d wondered that every minute he spent with her over the past two weeks.

  Jeannie Grant had enchanted him. It wasn’t just the fiery hair, emerald eyes, and ivory skin so smooth and luminous as to invoke allusions to goddesses and other heavenly creatures—even to a man utterly unfamiliar with such romantic notions. Nor was it the tall, lithe figure and soft round swell of what appeared to be a very generous bosom beneath the stiff fabric of her stomacher. (Although, as any man of one and twenty, he did occasionally find his gaze dropping.)