What did it mean? After all these years did he still have feelings for her?
Her chest throbbed. It didn’t matter. Protecting her family was all that mattered now. They’d had their chance and failed. Girlish fantasies of “what if” had no place in her life.
She recalled her reason for seeking him out—a reason made even more pronounced after seeing him with Ella. “If you are hunting today, I assume that means you are feeling better?”
He didn’t answer right away. He knew what she was getting at. Instead, he bit a piece of bread off with his teeth, chewed slowly, and washed it down with a long swig of ale, trying to harness the bloodlust pounding through him.
Someone had tried to abduct her. She’d been in danger. She could have been hurt, and very likely would have been raped before or after being dragged to the Kirk door. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t quiet the rage storming inside him, waiting to unleash its violent fury. The urge to kill gripped him hard and would not let go.
By the time his gaze returned to hers, however, he was once again in control. “I am much improved.”
“Good, then you’ll be leaving soon?”
Duncan would have found her eagerness amusing if it wasn’t at his expense. He wouldn’t be surprised to find his bag packed by nightfall and Jeannie standing at the gate, ready to lift the steel yett herself to see him out.
He was on the verge of giving her what she wanted. God knows, it’s what he should do. If he was caught, he was a dead man, and every day he stayed here increased the risk. He needed to find proof to clear his name before word of his return leaked out. Clearly, Jeannie had no intention of helping him. There was no cause for him to stay.
But she was in danger. And every primitive male instinct in his body recoiled at leaving her alone and vulnerable.
God’s blood, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he care? She was not his responsibility, nor did she want his protection. He should go …
“Aye,” he said. “I’ll go.” His stomach twisted, his body in revolt. He couldn’t do it. His mouth fell in a grim line, furious with her and with himself. “Once I can be assured that you are well protected.”
Her face fell. “I’m quite well protected. Besides, my safety is none of your concern.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m making it my concern. If you think I’m leaving now, you are very much mistaken. And if you are so well protected, how did I manage to come upon you swimming naked in a loch alone?” His temper gave way. Naked. “What in Hades could you have been thinking, Jeannie?”
She stiffened, her green eyes sparked with defiance. “I managed well enough. Need I remind you of the hole in your stomach?”
“Your pistol was effective against one man, but what if there had been more?”
She set her tiny pointed chin stubbornly. “I had Tavish.”
“Your guardsman was too busy watching the performance in the loch and was lucky to only suffer a clop on the head for his transgression.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll not explain myself to you. You sound just like my mother-in-law.”
“Then he must be a man of exceptional good sense.”
The haughty voice tinged with a faint French accent could only belong to one person. Duncan tensed. Damn. He’d been so wrapped up in Jeannie, he’d failed to notice the Marchioness of Huntly’s approach. The one person he’d been doing his best to avoid.
Jeannie had her back to her mother-in-law, but Duncan noticed her stiffen at the sound of her voice. His gaze flickered back and forth between the two women. Apparently, Jeannie’s devotion to her husband did not extend to his mother.
The older woman’s hawk-like gaze settled on her daughter-in-law. It wasn’t with dislike, precisely, more like forbearance. As if Jeannie was a personal challenge—another cross to bear, to use a cliché for the notoriously penitent Catholic.
“From what I heard,” the Marchioness continued, “I assume this man is trying to impart upon you the seriousness of your recent lapse in judgment.” She made it sound as if this was a recurring situation. “You should listen to him.” Thinking she’d found an ally—though Duncan hadn’t decided yet—the Marchioness turned to him, bestowing what looked to be a rare smile of approval on him. “I hope you will impart to my daughter-in-law the seriousness of her situation, alone without a husband to protect her.”
He remembered how Jeannie’s cheeks would flush when she was angry; her emotions displayed for all to see. Now the only signs of emotion were the balled fists at her side and lips pressed so firmly together that tiny white lines appeared around her mouth. Ten years had given her a measure of control over her reactions, but still he realized the Marchioness must be bullying her into finding a husband.
He sprang to her defense. “She’s not alone,” he corrected, watching the Marchioness’s smile wither liked a dried vine. If she was looking for an ally against Jeannie it would not be with him. He spoke boldly, without the deference a man of his station should afford her, but it wasn’t in his nature to condescend—not knowing his place had always been his problem. “It’s not a husband she needs, but better trained guards, which is why the lady’s brother sent me.” His eyes slid to Jeannie, daring her to argue. But she was watching him with a puzzled look on her face, as if surprised by his defense of her. “When I’m done, Lady Gordon will be able to swim at the loch as often as she likes.”
The Marchioness’s beady gaze sharpened. He could empathize with the mouse that had just crossed the hawk’s line of vision. He held his expression impassive as her eyes studied his face with unmistakable intensity. “Who are you? You look familiar. Have we met?”
His pulse spiked, but he met her inquiry with a relaxed smile. “How kind of you to remember, my lady. I’m Duncan MacAllan, we met many years ago at court. I was but a lad, attending to the Laird of Freuchie.” MacAllan was a well-known sept of Clan Grant.
Her mouth pursed distastefully at the mention of Jeannie’s father. The Marquis of Huntly may have forgiven Grant for his former transgressions preceding his return to the Gordon fold at Glenlivet, but forgiveness was not in the Marchioness’s vernacular. What would she do if she ever discovered he was a Campbell?
He resisted the urge to rub his neck.
His relaxed response did not persuade her. “Your face reminds me … Who is your father?”
He did not need to feign the shadows that crossed his face. “I am a bastard, my lady.” That much at least was true.
“I see,” she said, eyeing him down her long nose. His bastard blood having succeeded in convincing the Marchioness, temporarily at least, that he was beneath her interest. But Duncan knew his resemblance to his father was marked. How long would it take her to connect him with her husband’s enemy, the former Campbell of Auchinbreck?
She looked to Jeannie. “Come along, daughter. I’ve something I wish to discuss with you.”
More likely she wanted to keep Jeannie away from him. But she needn’t worry on that accord—Jeannie didn’t need her help. The Marchioness turned on her heel and strode away as regally as a queen. Jeannie made to follow her, but glanced back over her shoulder, a worried look on her face. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said in a low voice.
Duncan gave her a wry smile. “I know.” In defending Jeannie he’d placed himself under the Marchioness’s scrutiny. She was suspicious. But despite the danger he could not regret it. “I’ll be careful.”
She nodded and walked away.
Duncan knew he didn’t have much time. The most prudent thing would be to leave now and continue his search for information that would clear his name. But he couldn’t leave—not yet. He told himself it wasn’t just because the idea of Jeannie in danger made his insides twist and curl in a confused mass. The next few days would also give him an opportunity to search the keep and solar and see what he could find of Jeannie’s secrets.
But more and more, he hoped he didn’t find anything.
True to his word, over t
he next week Duncan transformed the castle and its occupants. Jeannie couldn’t believe the changes he’d accomplished in so little time. In addition to personally attending to the training of the guardsmen, he’d organized regular scouting parties, reinforced the sentries, fortified the gates, and ordered the repair of the barmkin wall, which had been allowed to fall into disrepair over the past few years.
After a party of cattle reivers had been met by Duncan and his men at the beginning of the week, the air around the castle had changed. Word had spread that attacks against Aboyne—against Jeannie—would be met with resistance. Lethal resistance.
Even Adam, the captain of the Gordon guardsmen, who’d been initially reluctant to cede his authority in any way to Duncan, had been won over. Mostly because Duncan gave the credit for the changes to him, though everyone knew who was responsible.
Jeannie smiled as she exited the keep into the yard, despite the bone-chilling blast of wind and the dark clouds hanging overhead. For the first time since Francis had died she felt safe. Safe. She hadn’t realized how oppressive it was being locked behind the walls of the castle like a princess in a tower until the weight was gone.
And she had Duncan to thank. It was hard not to admire the man he had become, just as it was hard not to imagine what might have been.
She wrapped her plaid around her shoulders and trudged across the courtyard, misty wind pelting her face with needles of ice.
Another week or two and she might even be able to resume her morning rides. Duncan would take her now, but he’d been so busy she hadn’t wanted to ask him.
After the meeting with the Marchioness he’d removed himself from the keep and joined the other guardsmen in the barracks. She knew it was the right thing to do, but …
But what? She missed him? No.
Then why did she find herself waiting for opportunities to catch a glimpse of him? Like now, timing her trip to the garden to select the vegetables for the evening meal, right around the time he was expected back from the morning hunt.
If the dark skies were any indication, this might be one of the last hunting excursions. She inhaled deeply. The promise of an early snowstorm hung in the air.
She treaded carefully along the damp path, frowning as she passed the group of women gathered round the well. Apparently she wasn’t the only one with thoughtful timing. Turning the corner, she entered the small vegetable and herb garden located on the west side of the old chapel.
Not surprisingly, it was crowded with young, unmarried women, and a few married ones as well. She was surprised, however, to see Beth. Jeannie glanced around, but didn’t see her daughter.
“Where’s Ella?” she asked the nursemaid.
Beth gave her an odd look. “I thought she was with you. She left about an hour ago to join the other children for their lessons.”
The hair at the back of Jeannie’s neck stood on end and gooseflesh ran along her skin, but she forced herself to stay calm. “She begged off her lessons, telling me that you were taking her to see Mary’s new baby.”
Jeannie saw her own rising panic reflected in the young nursemaid’s face. Beth’s eyes widened and she shook her head.
There’s no reason to panic, Jeannie told herself. Oh God. Her heart raced in her chest but she wouldn’t allow herself to think until they searched the keep.
A quarter of an hour later, however, she knew there was no mistake. Ella was gone.
“Where could she have gone?” the distraught nursemaid asked, her face white and tears barely repressed.
The possibilities ran through Jeannie’s mind and stopped on one.
Duncan and his men had gone hunting in the forests near the Grampian Mountains and Ella must have followed him. She thought Ella had forgotten. In the security of Duncan’s taking control of the castle, Jeannie had forgotten her daughter’s stubbornness—and her resourcefulness. During the day it wouldn’t be difficult for her to slip away. People passed through the gates all day and the guardsmen were more concerned with who was coming in than going. She would be on foot, unless—
“One of the ponies is missing, my lady,” Adam informed her on cue, his face somber. “She must have taken it when they were grazing outside the gates.”
Now panic set in. Ice-cold panic that chilled her blood and penetrated her bones. Panic that made her unable to think. She felt as if she were spinning in a whirlpool trying to claw her way out.
Think …
“How could you let this happen?”
Jeannie turned at the sound of her mother-in-law’s voice. The Marchioness had been roused from her embroidery to join Jeannie in the yard when the hue and cry had been raised to search the castle for the missing child. “I warned you that something like this could happen. Helen has been allowed to run wild—”
“Not now!” Jeannie snapped, for once heedless of offending the older woman. “You may chastise me to your heart’s content when we find Ella, but right now you are only wasting precious time.”
To say the Marchioness was taken aback would be an understatement. Profound shock was more apt. But she took Jeannie’s set down with surprising grace. They might have their difficulties, but in their love for her children they were united.
“What can I do to help?”
Jeannie would remember to be shocked by her capitulation later. “We need to organize search parties.”
Adam, the captain, stepped forward. “ ’Tis done, my lady. I started the moment I heard the child was missing.”
Too terrified to feel anything other than a breath of relief, Jeannie thanked him. “She’ll have gone after them. Do you know where they’ve gone?”
“Aye. The Muir of Dinnet.”
Minutes later most of the remaining guardsmen who had not accompanied Duncan on the hunt rode out through the gate.
Duncan. Where was he? She wanted—nay, needed—him desperately and was too terrified to allow pride to stop her from admitting it.
Adam was one of the last to go. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her, my lady. She couldn’t have gone far.”
But they both knew she could. Ella was an excellent rider. Jeannie nodded mutely, trying not to think about all the horrible scenarios that could harm a seven-year-old child alone in the mountains and forests. What if she took a wrong turn and got lost? The paths were fraught with danger and if she veered off she could fall down a ravine, off a mountainside, or even into the River Dee if she wasn’t careful. Only the knowledge that Duncan had cleared the land prevented her from thinking about brigands.
As Adam and the last group of men galloped away, Jeannie ran up to the battlements to watch them go.
She wanted to go. To do something. Anything other than this horrible waiting.
But as a woman waiting was what was expected of her. Adam would never have allowed her to go—she would have only slowed them down.
And Duncan …
She shuddered. He would be furious at the mere suggestion.
This was what it meant to be a woman. Forced to sit and wait while your life played out beyond your control.
Once before she’d felt this way—this horrible helplessness. She recalled standing at the window in the tower chamber, eyes glued to the countryside, waiting for news of Glenlivet. And that’s what she did now, standing at the battlements, scouring the countryside for any sign of riders. Her mother-in-law and the other women had gone inside, but she could not. Inside she would go crazy. She needed to be outside where the walls could not close in around her.
Her skirts whipped around her ankles as a great gust of wind tore across the barmkin. Cold from fear, Jeannie barely noticed the wintry weather, until the first snow-flake landed on her cheek.
It couldn’t be snowing. It was too early …
As if to taunt her thoughts, the flakes came down harder.
Now Ella was at the mercy not only of the harsh terrain, but the elements as well. If they didn’t find her soon she would freeze to death. She closed her eyes, praying, but it did not prev
ent the tears from leaching out and running down her cheeks.
How long had it been? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? Jeannie lost all sense of time. She looked at the sky—dark with storm clouds, but it still looked as if there were a few hours of light left.
They should be back by now.
The Muir of Dinnet was not that far. Francis used to take Ella there to see the stone circle and standing stones. Ella loved the ancient stones that dotted the Deeside, convinced that they were imbued with faerie magic.
Could she have gone there instead?
Her heart started to beat a little faster. It felt right. If Ella had been unable to find Duncan, the stone circle would be the first place she would think of. Jeannie had to do something. Standing here doing nothing had become unbearable.
The guards tried to stop her, but Jeannie could not be swayed. Eventually, with two of the remaining guardsmen to accompany her—two more than could be spared—Jeannie put her head down low against her mare’s neck and kicked her heels, racing into the storm.
Chapter 14
The hunt had taken longer than Duncan planned. But then again he hadn’t counted on his wee stowaway.
He had to hand it to her, Ella had done a fine job of tracking them. About an hour after Duncan and his men had left the castle, they’d tied their horses and fanned out in the woods stalking their prey: deer, the rare boar, or anything else that might add to the winter stores. And if the cold, heavy wind was any indication, winter would be here soon enough.
One of his men had caught sight of a movement. A hint of brown in between the trees and sea of green foliage. The warrior raised his bow, taking steady aim.
Duncan’s neck tingled. The hair on his arms stood on end. Something was …
“Stop!” Duncan jerked the man’s arm down so hard he almost broke it. “It’s not a deer.” Panic had spiked inside him so hard, his voice actually shook.
The scrap of brown started to run at the sound of his voice, but it didn’t take long for Duncan to overtake her.
The Campbell Trilogy Page 90