by Amy Jarecki
“As do I.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Duncan could resist no longer. He crushed his mouth over hers and forced his tongue into her mouth. Every fiber of his body needed to possess her. Seeing Meg dance with another man, even his brother, blinded him with rage. Squirming, Meg fought him. He must show how much he desired her. He slipped his arms around her shoulders and clutched her body to his. Soft breasts plied his chest.
Meg twisted her head away with a gasp. “You’re suffocating me, you daft Highlander.”
Duncan immediately released her. “Forgive me.” For the love of God, in his fury to show his affection, he’d acted like an overbearing boar. “I only meant—”
“You only meant to ravish me and then return me to Tantallon. Your father said it—collect your tainted prize.”
“That’s not . . .” But that was exactly what he was doing. Duncan paced, pushing the heels of his hands against his temples. “’Tis not as simple as you make it out to be.”
Her petite foot stomped the floor. At least she hadn’t fled. “No?”
“Aye, I must return you to the Earl of Angus, but I no longer care to take his coin. I . . .” Could he say it? He’d only known her for a short time. How could he know if his feelings were genuine? Besides, he would be completely irresponsible if he said anything to Meg before speaking to her brother. He stood straight. “You’ve come to mean a great deal to me.”
She blinked. “I . . .”
The door opened with a loud knock. “Lady Meg? Are you well?” Gyllis slipped inside. “Mother sent me in to see if I could be of assistance.” Her bloody voice sounded like a chirping harpy.
Thank God Duncan hadn’t been stupid enough to raise Meg’s skirts again. Duncan groaned and shot his sister his sternest, most sober look. “I needed to speak to her ladyship in private. We shall be along directly.”
Gyllis wrung her hands. “Uh . . . very well.” She craned her neck to peek around Duncan. “Does that meet with your approval, m’lady?”
Meg stepped to Duncan’s side. “I believe Sir Duncan and I are finished. Let’s away to your chamber.” She reached for Gyllis’s hand and shot Duncan a sidewise glare before the door slammed after them.
He blinked in disbelief.
Bloody Christmas, he needed to rein in his meddling family. If he didn’t run into a sibling at every turn, he and Meg would never have argued. How would he ever earn her love and regain her respect with people interfering upon his every effort?
Isaac had grown weary of the chase. He yearned for the comfort of his bed and his woman’s arms. However, he’d made the right decision to wait out the sennight until the galley returned to Glasgow. It didn’t take much coin to gain the captain’s confidence. He’d not learned as much as he would have liked, but every tidbit of information brought him closer to understanding who was behind Meg Douglas’s rescue.
The captain had advised the knight’s name was Campbell, a powerful and feared clan in the Highlands. In addition, he had first asked to be transported to Inverary, where his uncle resided. That also happened to be the seat of the Earl of Argyll. However, this Campbell had been reasonably content to sail to Dunstaffnage, where the captain witnessed him collapse on the pier—said that as they sailed away, the lady ordered the guards about and they snapped to with urgency.
Isaac later boarded a transport with his horse and alighted on the pier at Dunstaffnage Castle. So these are the Highlands? He shivered. The few people he passed leered at him with sideways glances. He brushed his hand over his doublet. Perhaps he appeared a tad too English. A small village nestled outside the castle walls, and he chose to ride his horse at a walk through the muddy lane.
Finding a man loading barrels onto a cart, Isaac stopped. “Hail, friend.”
The man hesitated and eyed him. “Why, you’re bloody English.”
“A poor minstrel looking for work,” Isaac hedged. “A friend of mine was found injured on the pier. He had planned to meet me here so that I could play my . . . ah . . . flute for his family.” A wooden flute was the only instrument Isaac could think of that would be easily concealed under his cloak.
“Ye mean Sir Duncan Campbell?”
“Yes, Sir Campbell. Would perchance you be able to tell me how to find his . . . keep?” Wouldn’t a knight in the Highlands have a keep? Isaac crossed his fingers.
The laborer pointed toward the trees. “Ye take the path there twenty miles all the way to Kilchurn.”
“I thank you.”
The man stepped into Isaac’s horse and grasped the bridle. “Ye best mind yer mouth around these parts. There aren’t many who are as accommodating as me, and a damned mite more who would see an Englishman hanged for seeking out the Lord of Glenorchy’s son.” Isaac tried to back his horse, but the man held tight. “If I hear yer up to no good, I’ll come after ye meself.”
“Your point is well taken and understood.” Isaac offered a brisk nod and dug his spurs into the horse’s barrel.
Twenty bleating miles? It will be well past dark before I arrive.
Meg sat beside Gyllis in the great hall and swirled her spoon around in her porridge. Scarcely able to keep her eyes open, she yawned. For days Meg couldn’t sleep. She’d lain awake most every night listening to Gyllis’s soft snores while she replayed scenes with Duncan over in her mind. The one that bothered her most was the last time they’d been alone together.
When they’d danced, she’d been so inexplicably angry with him. And when he pulled her into the solar and crushed his mouth over hers, she thought he might ravish her right there—just as he almost had in his chamber. And her ridiculous mind couldn’t decide if she wanted him to or not. Fortunately, propriety took hold and she’d forced her fists between them.
Yet when he’d stepped back, the shadows danced across his stricken face. Though the light was dim, she could not mistake the look of remorse in his eyes. After Gyllis had interrupted them, he’d kissed her hand with more tenderness than she’d ever experienced in her life. He’d held her palm and caressed it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. At that very moment, her knees had melted like snow on a spring day.
That he was a rake, Meg harbored no doubt. In his chamber, she’d wanted to make love to him and had made the decision to do it. After all, she was two and twenty, with no marriage prospects. Once she entered the nunnery and took her vows, she would have no chance of ever enjoying the caress of a lover. No, Meg would never regret giving her maidenhead to Duncan Campbell.
If only she could love such a man as he, she would be content for the rest of her days. If only he could love her as much as she did Duncan . . . but he was notorious among the lassies.
“You’ve been stirring that bowl of oats since we sat down. Are you not hungry?” Gyllis asked.
Meg blinked and shook her head. “Nay.” She lifted the spoon to her lips. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“A man named Sir Duncan Campbell, I’d wager.”
Nearly choking on her bite, Meg coughed. “My heavens, why would you say something like that?”
“Two reasons.” Gyllis grinned, looking awfully proud of herself. “First, you insisted on tending him until he came to. You like him. ’Tis clear as the nose upon your face.”
Heat ignited beneath Meg’s skin.
Gyllis shook her finger. “And I’ve never seen him look at any lass the way he gazes upon you . . . and he looks at lassies all the time.”
“That’s the problem.” Meg started stirring her porridge again. “If he’s watching other lassies all the time, how could he possibly want to gaze upon the likes of me?”
“Are you jesting? If only I could be half as pretty. You have natural ringlets of fire, and your face is as lovely as a cherub’s statue.”
Meg clapped her good hand to her boiling cheek. “I look like a bairn?”
“I didn’t say that, but you are a beauty, Lady Meg, whether you choose to believe it or nay.”
“But . . .” She shou
ldn’t have this conversation with Duncan’s sister. She scooped another spoon of oats. “I’ll be back at Tantallon soon. Duncan will return to Kilchurn and my adventure will be but a memory.”
“I hope it doesn’t end that way. I’d like it if we could remain friends always.”
Helen skipped up to their table with Alice and Marion in tow. “Time for music lessons, Gyllis.”
She rolled her eyes toward Meg and moaned. “Mother insists we all learn to sing and play the lute.”
“A worthy pastime,” Meg said.
Gyllis scooted back her chair. “Will you excuse us?”
“Of course.” Meg shooed them away with a flick of her wrist. Honestly, she was glad for a bit of time to herself, especially since she’d gone two nights with little sleep. She was good company for no one.
Wandering out to the sunny courtyard, Meg stopped short. Heaven’s stars. Before Duncan could see her, she dashed into the shadows of an alcove. He and his men were sparring, the clangs from their swords echoing off the curtain walls.
Meg’s hand flew to her chest to steady her erratic heartbeat. Yes, when he’d rescued her, he’d fought and shown no mercy. He’d done what he must to save her life, but his form had been hidden beneath the robes of a priest.
However, today Duncan sparred naked from the waist up. Wielding his mammoth sword with crushing blows, every sinew in his back flexed and bulged. Even with a chill in the air, his skin glistened with sweat.
Mesmerized, Meg stood motionless in the shadows. Duncan’s sword clashed with Eoin’s, their blades scraping until their cross guards locked. “You’re going easy on me,” Duncan hissed through gritted teeth.
“Aye?” Eoin growled. “You’ve returned from the dead and expect to snap back in a day?”
Duncan shoved him away and crouched, both feet firmly planted apart, spreading the plaid belted low on his hips. “I’ll not be treated like a milksop.”
“You?” Eoin lunged. Their swords collided with a resounding racket. “I ought to run my blade across your other buttock so you have a matching pair.”
Duncan pushed him away and advanced with bone-jarring force. Eoin proved a worthy opponent, deflecting the onslaught of blows as he spun away. Again their swords collided and scraped until the two knights were nose to nose.
Eoin kicked around Duncan’s backside. The heir to Glenorchy howled. “That was a dirty trick.”
The MacGregor heir sauntered around him. “What? Have you not had enough of Lady Meg tending your ugly arse?”
Meg slid her hand over her mouth and tried not to laugh. Duncan’s chiseled arse was anything but ugly.
“You’re a bloody fat-kidneyed maggot.” Duncan spun, swinging his blade in an arc. Eoin met the blow with an upward thrust. Duncan’s sword flew from his hand and clattered to the cobblestones. “Ballocks, I hate miserable weakness.” He trudged over and picked it up. Then, assuming his wide stance, he beckoned with his fingers and nodded to Eoin. “Come again.”
Meg wanted to rush out into the courtyard and demand he stop. For heaven’s sake, Eoin was right. Duncan had been half dead a few days ago. But she knew enough to stay away from sparring men. Not only could she be killed, the warriors could injure each other if their attention was drawn away.
Lord Glenorchy marched through the doors and straight past Meg. “Duncan.”
Heaving, the men lowered their swords.
The lord’s countenance was undeniably grave. “Come with me. I need a word.”
Chapter Seventeen
Duncan grabbed his shirt and followed Da into the keep. Something in the corner of his eye moved in the alcove. Meg. He would have stopped, but from his father’s grim expression, this wasn’t the time. Something was afoot. Duncan’s gut twisted.
He’d seek Lady Meg out later. Besides, he needed to time to think about how best to approach her and what he’d say.
Da led him into the second-floor solar and closed the door. “’Tis good to see your strength returning.”
“Aye, but it is bloody annoying. I feel like my claymore weighs seven stone.”
Da took a seat at the head of the table—in Duncan’s chair. “Well, I reckon you’ve had long enough to convalesce.”
“True.” Duncan pulled out a seat and gingerly slid onto the hardwood. “I must escort Lady Meg back to Tantallon.”
“Indeed, she needs to be reunited with her brother, but you cannot take her.”
Duncan sat forward. “I beg your pardon?”
Da didn’t smile. “I’ve received a missive from the king. We have a new assignment.” He pulled out a folded piece of vellum and held it within an inch of his nose, reading the inscription. Good God, Da’s eyesight grows worse by the day.
“Bloody fantastic timing.” Duncan sat back, wincing at the jabbing pain. “This better not be royal bravado, doing some superfluous task akin to accompanying the queen to St. Andrews.”
“Nay.” Da frowned. “’Tis grave.”
Duncan spread his palms, waiting expectantly.
Da tossed the vellum on the table. “We’re to intercept the Earl of Mar and deliver him to Laird Preston at Craigmillar Castle.”
“Christ—the king’s own brother? What the bloody hell for?”
Da pointed at the missive. “What we need to know is in there. He’s been accused of practicing witchcraft against the king.”
“You’re serious?” Duncan picked up the vellum and smirked. “Seize him from Kildrummy Castle?”
Da said nothing while Duncan read. Sure enough, the missive was vague, and John Stewart, Earl of Mar, stood accused by the scrolling penmanship inscribed in the document. Duncan folded the missive and tossed it on the table. “Ye ken the fortress is near impenetrable.”
“Why else would the king request our services?”
Duncan’s gut muscles clenched. “God on the cross, this is bad timing.” His plans to win Meg’s favor would take sennights, not days.
“I recall you said the same thing when we received the order to go after Lady Douglas.” Da scratched his beard. “Seems it was a MacGregor lass, was it?”
Indiscretions always had a way of coming back to him. Duncan had behaved like a rake for so long, everyone seemed to expect it of him. He crossed his arms. “Lady Meg is different.”
“I’ll say. She’s nobility, for one.” Da eyed him. “Are you telling me you’re serious about the redheaded lassie?”
“I care for her.”
“Aye? And you’ll care for the next bonny lass who applies ointment to your arse.”
Duncan swallowed his rebuttal and looked to the window. He didn’t want his father meddling when it came to Lady Meg. Da could end any hope he might harbor of winning her favor. Besides, he wasn’t ready to marry or do anything rash like that. He was the leader of the Highland Enforcers, a responsibility that had him away from home more often than not. What? He’d been at Kilchurn for all of a sennight? And now he’d be off again for a month, possibly more.
However, Duncan still preferred to see Meg safely home. “Have you considered what is to be done with her?”
Da retrieved the missive from the table and slid it back into his doublet. “John will take her to Tantallon.”
Duncan’s gut clamped harder and twisted. “John? He’s one of my best men.”
“Aye, but he’s kin, and aside from you, he’s best suited to negotiate the final payment with the Earl of Angus.”
Duncan let out a heavy sigh. Leave it to his brother to be given the pleasurable detail of the journey to North Berwick with Lady Meg. He wanted to hit something. “I’d prefer to deliver Meg to her brother and then travel north to Kildrummy.”
“I ken you’re not daft, son.” Da stood and moved to the sideboard. “The longer we postpone, the more likely the Earl will hear of this accusation and flee Scotland.” Squatting so his nose was inches away from the tray, he studiously poured two drams of whisky and handed one to Duncan. “Nay, we shall leave on the morrow. You’d best tell your men.�
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Duncan accepted the tot and sipped. “We? Are you coming with us?”
“And not witness the look on the earl’s face when you tell him his brother’s accused him of witchcraft?” Da chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss that for a chest filled with silver.”
“Aye? Have you and the earl been at odds?”
“Let’s just say I doubt Lord Stewart could recite a witch’s incantation. When he was granted the title of earl, he petitioned for grant of our lands right here on Loch Awe.”
“God’s teeth, he tried to take Kilchurn?”
Da raised his cup. “Aye, bloody senseless bastard.”
Duncan stood. “I’ll say.” He adjusted his sword belt. “Well then, capturing the Earl of Mar shouldn’t be as distasteful as I initially thought.”
“Good on you, lad. We’ll make quick work of it and be back at Kilchurn for the Easter feasts.”
Duncan strode out of the solar wishing he could be half as content as his father. Ballocks, allowing John to accompany Meg back to Tantallon? Why the hell was I the firstborn?
Isaac slipped into the inn at Glen Orchy. He stood for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the haze. A few stragglers slouched against the bar. Though it was early afternoon, they all appeared to be in their cups. He sidled up to the pot-belled innkeeper. “A brandy, if you please.”
“What?” The man leered at him beneath thick beetle brows. “Ye’re English, are ye? We’ve whisky and ale. Which will it be?”
“Whisky.” Isaac cleared his throat. “Please.”
The innkeeper pulled the stopper out of a bottle and poured. “You’ll taste none finer than that from the Glen Orchy still.”
Isaac picked up the cup and held it to his lips. “Truly.” He sipped and swirled the oaken-flavored spirit over his tongue. “I say, that is good.”
Wearing a moth-eaten plaid and a linen shirt laced with a leather cord, the innkeeper looked as if the times had taken a toll. Perhaps the man was disgruntled with the lord of the land? Isaac took another sip, appraising the odd-looking fellow. “I saw a rather large herd of cattle just west of here. Do they all belong to the Lord of Glenorchy?”