The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  He knew she referred to her mother’s scandalous past. They’d never spoken of it directly. Such conversations were not easy on the dance floor.

  She spoke matter-of-factly, yet somehow Duncan sensed that it was only a façade. “It must have been very difficult for you. You are the eldest, are you not?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “How old were you when she left?”

  “Nine.”

  Only a bairn. Duncan felt a sharp spur of rage directed at the woman who could thoughtlessly abandon her children like that. “And you stepped into your mother’s shoes.”

  Jeannie shrugged. “As much as I could, but I was young.” It was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. “It was a long time ago, I hardly ever think about it anymore.”

  He doubted that was true. He suspected she thought about it every day. “You never really get over a parent leaving you.”

  The unintentional revelation took him aback. He never talked about the circumstances of his birth. But with Jeannie … it was different. He found himself wanting to share things with her. He sensed she would understand.

  Her gaze sharpened. “Speaking from experience?”

  It was his turn for the wry grin. “Perhaps.”

  She was quiet for a moment almost as if out of respect for his memories. “You are close to your father as well?”

  He nodded. “Aye. I’m fortunate.”

  “From what I hear, I think it is your father who is fortunate. You’ve made quite a name for yourself already. He must be proud.”

  The praise warmed him, probably more than it should. “Inquiring after me, have you?”

  Her cheeks flushed adorably. “Of course not!” Seeing that he was teasing, she smiled and mumbled under her breath, “Arrogant jackanapes.” She tossed a loose piece of stone into the water. “If you are leaving, does that mean your mission has been a success?”

  He lifted a brow.

  “I assume it is you who was given the task of convincing my father.”

  This time the insight surprised him. She had a sharp mind, more so than he’d realized. “I’m cautiously optimistic.”

  “In other words ‘no,’ but you haven’t given up.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “You would make a horrible politician with such a blunt assessment.”

  She returned his grin. “I fear you are right. My father is always telling me that I think with my mouth and that I don’t necessarily need to say aloud whatever pops in my head.”

  He grinned. “It’s enchanting. But you are right about your father. He is not convinced, but I might have a new proposition for him. Perhaps a way to sweeten the bargain.”

  Jeannie turned her face to his and his breath caught in his throat. The moon bathed her delicate features in an ethereal light. She was so young. Unspoiled. With her damp hair strewn around her shoulders, she could be a sea nymph or a mermaid.

  He ached to touch her. To mold his hand against the soft curve of her cheek. To lower his face to hers and feel her lips move under his. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  “What kind of bargain?” she asked.

  He looked into her eyes. “Perhaps an alliance by marriage?”

  Her gaze scanned his face anxiously as if looking for a crack. “What are you suggesting?”

  The excitement in her voice gave him courage.

  He wanted to tell her what was in his heart. That from the first moment he’d seen her he knew that she was his. That he’d never felt like this before. That she’d brought laughter and levity to a life that had been consumed by duty and ambition. But words were the province of the poet and the bard; Duncan was a man of action. He would show her how he felt, show her for the rest of his life if she would have him.

  He took her hand. It felt so tiny and soft in his. It was too soon, but he found himself asking, “Marry me.”

  His heart, his breath, everything stopped as he waited for an answer, a sign …

  The balance of his life seemed poised on an edge, waiting to tumble or soar at her decision.

  Chapter 4

  Marry me. Who would have thought two simple words could bring such happiness? Joy burst inside Jeannie in a cacophony of effervescent bliss. Slowly, her mouth curved into a wide smile and tears filled her eyes.

  Gazing up into the darkly handsome face, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  The look he gave her would be etched in her memory for all time. For one unguarded moment, he opened his heart, showing her the full force of his love.

  Duncan Campbell was not a man to sing her ballads of love, or compose odes to her beauty, but the depth of his feelings was perfect in its simple purity. This strong young warrior loved her, and in him, Jeannie had found a solid future—he would never let her down.

  He returned her smile, his teeth flashing white in the semidarkness. Gazing into the unworldly blue of his eyes, she had never felt happier.

  And then, because nothing could seem more natural, he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers.

  She sucked in her breath. The soft silk of his lips, the subtle taste of him, the warmth of his breath a shock of sensation. But by time she’d started to process what was happening, he was already lifting his head.

  She blinked her eyes, dazed, feeling the swift disappointment of a bairn who’d been offered a sweet confection, given one taste, and had it quickly snatched away.

  Reading her thoughts, he chuckled softly and cupped her face in his hand, sweeping his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you.”

  A thrill raced through her. “Do it again,” she blurted, before discretion could intervene.

  His face darkened; heat simmered in his eyes. He lowered his mouth and kissed her again, this time harder, firmer, coaxing her lips with his.

  Her senses awakened like the petals of a flower in the sun. Instantly, she became aware of everything about him: his rich, spicy taste, the heat that seemed to radiate from his powerful male form, the rough scratch of his jaw on hers.

  The chaste kiss felt like a brand, so wholly did it consume her.

  She’d never experienced anything like this before. The connection was more powerful than she could have ever imagined. Nothing had ever felt so right.

  Passion unfurled inside her, spreading over her in a warm flush of excitement and eager anticipation.

  He started to pull away, but she made a sound of protest and leaned into him. One kiss wasn’t enough; she wanted more.

  He groaned and the kiss intensified. His mouth was both tender and demanding as his lips moved over hers. She sank against him, her body dissolving in a pool of liquid heat. She brought her hands up to rest on the solid frame of his shoulders to steady herself. God, he was strong. She recalled her fascination with the power of his body when he’d emerged from the water. With the wet shirt molding his chest and arms, she could see every ridge, every bulge, every chiseled block of steely muscle in his arms.

  Now she could feel him and the thrill was even more powerful. The lean muscles flexed under her hands—as if he was straining. Holding back. Fighting for control. She sensed the danger, but she was too caught up in the whirlwind of sensation drowning her senses to worry about it.

  Following his lead, she kissed him back, sinking into his mouth, into his chest, into him. She couldn’t get close enough.

  He made a pained sound deep in his chest and circled his arm around her waist, nestling her more firmly against him. Her skin seemed to sizzle at the contact. Her breasts pressed against his chest, the taut bead of her nipples straining even closer. She could feel the pounding of his heart. It was a heady sensation, knowing that she could affect him so.

  His hand caressed her jaw, gently urging her mouth open. A thrill shuddered through her when his tongue slipped between her lips and into her mouth, filling her with heat and spice.

  His hand threaded through her damp hair, cradling the back of her
head as he brought her mouth more fully against his with a deep, guttural groan.

  God it was incredible. His taste. The closeness. The erotic feel of his tongue sliding against hers.

  He demanded a response—and she gave it. Meeting his thrusts with her own, twining and circling, desire coiling hot inside her with every stroke. Her entire body felt alive, sensitive and flush with excitement. A strange tickle of awareness gathered between her legs.

  This was where she was meant to be. In his arms, snuggling against his warm, protective chest, kissing him … touching him.

  She felt as if she’d been caught in a powerful current, carrying her into a sea of unknown delights. She couldn’t think about anything other than how amazing he made her feel. Her body throbbed with heat, every nerve ending on edge, anticipating, poised for something she didn’t understand, but knew with every fiber of her being that she wanted.

  He’d only meant to kiss her. Just one kiss to seal their bond. But Duncan hadn’t expected the fierce kick of desire and passion that flared between them like a raging inferno.

  The eagerness of her response nearly unmanned him. She had no idea what those little sounds of pleasure and the insistent wriggles of her body did to him. He struggled to find the reins of control as he found himself quickly descending in a dark tunnel of desire more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced.

  Never had a kiss aroused him to such a state. Hell, never had making love aroused him to such a state.

  He couldn’t get enough of her. The honey sweetness of her mouth, the delicate floral scent that lingered on her hair and skin, the lush softness of her body pressed against his. He wanted to eat her up. To taste every exquisite inch of her.

  Sinking his fingers through her damp, silky hair, he brought her mouth more fully against his, devouring. His tongue thrust against hers, mimicking the primal rhythm of what he wanted to do to her. Of what was quickly becoming the only possible outcome.

  They were moving quickly to the point of no return. If he didn’t stop soon, he wouldn’t be able to.

  Playing with fire …

  He would have wrenched away, but her hands slid over his shoulders, bringing him closer to her, exploring the muscles of his arms and back. Instinctively he flexed under her fingertips and her murmur of appreciation set off a flare of masculine pride he didn’t know he had. The knowledge that she was just as aroused by him as he was her roused primitive instinct in his body. The urge to possess—to make her his—surged hot and hard inside him.

  Continuing her innocent exploration, her fingers trailed down the front of his shirt, between his ribs, over the ridge of muscles at his stomach, stopping perilously close to the sensitive head of his manhood. He hissed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away before she could go any farther.

  He was hard as a damned rock, his cock throbbing painfully—insistently—against his stomach. One sweet pump of her hand and he would go off like a keg of gunpowder.

  He kissed her harder—deeper—just thinking about her tiny soft fingers wrapped around him. Lust pounded through him; his pulse racing out of control.

  Needing her under him, he carefully leaned her back, cradling her in his arms to prevent her from lying on the cold rock. His mouth slid over her jaw, below her ear, down the long smooth column of her throat. The wild pounding of her heart urged him on like the frantic beat of a drum.

  Touch her. Take her. Make her yours. The voice of temptation drowned out everything else.

  He cupped her breast with his hands, groaning as the round lush flesh poured through his fingers. With only a wet nightraile between them, there was little to impede his exploration. Her breasts were every bit as incredible as he’d anticipated. High and firm yet soft and round. And generous—mouthwateringly generous—the nipples as tight and hard as two pink pearls. She moaned, arching her back instinctively into his palm.

  Her responsiveness, her unfettered passion, just might be the death of him. What she lacked in experience was more than compensated by instinct and enthusiasm, her movements pure and unconscious. With Jeannie in his bed, he would never need—never want—another.

  My wife. God, he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

  His mouth found the hollow at her throat as his fingers closed around her breast. Scooping the soft flesh in his hand, he weighed its ripe fullness, squeezing gently and sliding the pad of his thumb over her very tight, very small—and, he suspected, very pink—nipple.

  She gasped, her body stilled, waiting … nay, begging for his touch.

  If he wasn’t just as eager as she was, he might be amused. But with Jeannie he felt none of the detached confidence that had characterized his previous sexual encounters. He was just as caught up in the sensory frenzy as she was.

  But he was still in control.

  He smoothed his thumb over her again and the shudder of surrender that wracked her body nearly undid him. He swelled even harder and had to grit his teeth against the urge to bring her hips to his, position himself between the sweet cleft of her legs, and sink into the warm, wet heat of oblivion.

  He rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching it lightly as his mouth and tongue devoured the baby soft skin of her neck. She was so damned sweet, practically melting in his mouth. Her scent, her taste, enveloped him. It was Jeannie. Only Jeannie. She was all that mattered. All that he could think about.

  The tie at the neck of her nightraile had come loose, and he kissed a path to the deep cleft between her breasts, burying his face and inhaling her warm feminine scent.

  Her breath hitched in innocent anticipation. He slid his tongue beneath the fabric along the round curve of her breast, slowly licking up to the very tip.

  She stilled, the soft rasp of her breath the only sound to break the silence of the night. He almost wished she would stop him. The thread of his control was quickly dissolving into nothing. But she’d given over to him completely, any maidenly shock overpowered by curiosity and an innate sensuality. He would stop, but first he would give her pleasure.

  He flicked his tongue over the puckered skin of one delectable nipple before drawing it between his teeth with one tender suck.

  The force of her moan hit him deep in his groin.

  He sucked harder, swirling his tongue around the rigid peak until she arched, pressing herself deeper into his eager mouth.

  Her hips moved insistently against his erection. A throbbing ache crashed over him. Restraint making every inch of his body clench.

  He knew what she wanted. His hand slid under the hem of her nightraile, lifting it high upon her thigh.

  Her skin was like velvet under his rough fingertips as he slid his hand between her legs. He was going too fast, but he’d outpaced his experience. It wasn’t the physical act—he knew well enough what to do—but nothing had prepared him for this kind of urgency, the indescribable need to join not only bodies, but souls.

  Like Jeannie, he was acting on instinct, and right now all he could think about was giving her more pleasure than she’d ever imagined.

  His finger swept over her.

  His cock jerked, the soft heat, the creamy dampness under his fingertip forced him over the edge. She was so wet.

  He’d just reached the limits of his restraint.

  She gasped at his intimate touch, her entire body arched, suspended in a moment of shock and anticipation.

  He didn’t give her any time to think, but sucked her nipple deep into his mouth and slid his finger inside her. Heat and dampness surrounded him.

  She cried out when he entered her, unable to hide her pleasure.

  God, she was wet and tight and so damned responsive. Did she have any idea how beautiful and irresistible she was with her flushed cheeks, sweetly parted lips swollen from his kiss, and her luminous gaze soft with desire.

  He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted before, enough so that for the first time in his life he didn’t trust himself to stop.

  Jeannie knew she should
be shocked. And she was, but just not enough to stop him. Not when it felt so incredible.

  She had knowledge of what happened between a man and a woman—living in a castle with little privacy provided a basic lesson in the fundamentals—but never had she imagined that a man’s touch could rouse such intense sensation, such incomparable pleasure. The grunts and groans she’d heard so often in the middle of the night suddenly made perfect sense.

  Nor could she have imagined the connection—the intimacy—forged by a kiss and a caress. She felt bound to him. A part of him. Possessed and possessing at the same time.

  When he held her in his arms, kissed her, touched her, she felt as if nothing could ever come between them. She felt safe … secure … loved. He belonged to her and she to him.

  She knew what was happening, knew where this was headed. But she didn’t care. The lessons of a lifetime of preserving her virtue suddenly felt silly. He would be her husband. Every instinct, every fiber of her being told her that this was right—that nothing that brought such pleasure could be wrong. Any qualms disappeared in the heated excitement of the moment.

  His mouth on her breast, sucking her nipple had sent off wave after wave of white hot pleasure, but it was nothing to the sensations aroused by his hand between her legs.

  The strange tickle of pleasure she’d felt before had concentrated to a strong, needy pulse.

  The strangeness, the shock, quickly faded as heat pooled around his finger. She felt soft and wet and desperate for his touch. Her thighs parted, opening a little wider. Trusting him to give her pleasure.

  Her body felt possessed by a higher power. It was as if he’d taken her to a magical place where all that mattered was letting go and giving way to the incredible feelings building in her body. Except that it wasn’t her body to control anymore, but his.

  God, what was he doing to her? It was incredible. The heel of his hand rested on her mound as his finger circled inside her, caressing, plunging in and out until her hips started to lift to meet his wicked stroke.