Conquered by a Highlander

by Paula Quinn

  She thought about running when he lifted his fingers to her temple, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe, or think, or speak. His touch sent tiny sparks throughout her body. He traced the outline of her chin, her jaw with his fingertips—a soft, intimate caress that turned her insides to butter. His gaze poured over her features, taking her in as if the sight of her impassioned him beyond what he could control. He let out a long, deep breath as if he’d been holding it for weeks, perhaps years, and then swept his hands down her arms to her hands.

  His palms were as stone, rough and hardened from endless hours of wielding a blade. A titillating contrast to the gentleness of his touch as he lifted her fingers to his mouth. She watched his eyes close while he inhaled the scent of her, felt her heart quicken to the point of making her dizzy when he brushed his lips across her knuckles. When he opened his eyes, it was to bask in the sight of her for a moment or two before he slipped his hand behind her nape and dragged her into his embrace.

  Gillian had been kissed by only one other man, and it hadn’t been like this. Colin’s tongue slid across her lips, then captured her gasp with his mouth. Her body jolted as if he were made of lightning. His arms tightened around her waist, drawing her deeper against his hard muscles while his tongue stroked the softest recesses of her mouth. She went weak in his arms, consumed by a power he hadn’t forced upon her, but laid at her feet.

  Making it that much more deadly.

  For the first time in more than four years she believed she could love a man again. No! She pushed against his chest and broke free of his embrace. “He will kill you. Perhaps truly harm Edmund. You must go.” She spoke quickly, avoiding his gaze, his hand when he reached for her again. “Go, and forget that I allowed this. I never will again.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nothing in Colin’s life could have prepared him for the battle he found himself fighting over the next three days. He was a warrior, unmatched and unbeaten against any foe he’d ever faced. He didn’t give himself over to weakness of mind or body. He lived a life of danger and risk and never once had he allowed his heart to soften toward anyone.

  But his current opponent was not fashioned of flesh and blood, but of stone and of pale flowing locks. Her lips were as soft as he’d imagined. Her breath, as sweet as he’d dreamed it to be. Damn it to hell, but he shouldn’t have kissed her.

  Worse, he’d wanted to do it again the instant he’d stopped and every moment since.

  He’d hoped to have words with her about why he’d been so bold. In truth though, he had no bloody notion about what to say. How did men throughout history explain their hearts to lasses? Why the hell did they have to? ’Twasn’t enough that he had no notion of how to demonstrate his affection toward a lass. That he cared for her well-being was crippling in and of itself.

  He was likely going to get himself killed over her. Instead of blocking Lefevre’s waster this afternoon during practice, he’d almost lost an eye watching her spread a blanket in the midst of St. Petroc’s gravestones. She’d caught his gaze twice and tossed him a disinterested glance that left him floundering with weapons he’d been born to wield. Edmund waving cheerfully to him was equally dangerous.

  At least Gates hadn’t rammed his sword into his gut when Colin explained how he intended on getting her and Edmund out of Dartmouth. He’d even given Colin the benefit of listening to his plan from beginning to end—with only minor variations in Gillian and Edmund’s ultimate destination. Colin liked the captain, but he didn’t trust him with his identity or Camlochlin’s location.

  None of it mattered though, because she had made certain to stay away from him and ’twas eating away at him. At every part of him, until he found himself standing in the stairwell late at night, unable to leave while she played her lute in the turrets. Worse, knowing that the men of the garrison were passed out drunk in their beds, he’d managed to convince himself that he was there to protect her from unwanted intruders.

  He cursed himself now while he made his way to the round tower. He had to get kissing her, seeing her, out of his thoughts. Right now, the only thing on his mind should be getting her, Gates, and Devon to trust him with their lives, and the lives of others. He’d hoped to have gained Gillian’s trust before he set his plans in motion, but he could wait no longer. The sooner she and Edmund were gone from Dartmouth, the better he could concentrate on the annihilation of his enemies.

  The earl’s trust wouldn’t be difficult to win. Colin knew a few things that Devon didn’t know—like who was truly behind the plot to bring William back to England. Devon wanted power and he wanted Gillian. To gain both, he needed allies. Powerful ones. While the name Colin’s father had given him struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, his mother’s offering commanded respect among the English. Colin was not above using it to gain the advantage.

  Practicing his smile, he knocked at the door to the Earl of Devon’s solar. He adjusted his smile to a cordial one when Devon’s voice from the other side invited entry.

  “Campbell.” The earl looked up briefly from a pile of parchments scattered across the table he was sitting at. “What can I do for you? Be quick in your telling. I’ve things to see to.”

  Colin looked around the solar. They were alone. Without waiting for an invitation, he took a seat in the only other upholstered chair in the room. “I came to help ye depose a Catholic king but as each day passes with no enlightenment as to how we shall be going about the task, I grow restless, my lord.”

  Devon stared at him, looking a bit surprised by his guest’s boldness. “You are being paid to prepare for that day. Leave the details of how and when to me.”

  Colin’s smile went bland. The time was perfect to play his hand. “My cousin, the future Earl of Argyll, believes ’twas the Earl of Essex’s hand—and not yers—behind William’s soon-to-be victory. I was hoping to tell him differently.”

  Devon dropped his quill and stared at him from behind the table. “What is it you want?”

  Not much, really, Colin thought. He already had an idea of when William might be landing. If only one more signature was needed on the invitation, then it would likely be going out within the next few weeks. The prince would be arriving in the summer. But with how many ships at his back? Colin was meeting his runner later tonight and hoped to have a bit more information to give the king.

  “Many things, my lord,” Colin admitted. “One being my kin’s name restored to favor.”

  “I’m certain it will be,” Devon assured him and reached for the silver pitcher at his elbow.

  “As am I. The Campbells have always held a place of high esteem both in Parliament and at the king’s ear. I wish it to be so again.”

  Devon eyed him from across the table with a whole new interest. Colin could almost see the thoughts weaving together in the earl’s mind. “Of course, I will do all I can to help your family. Whisky? I understand you Scots enjoy it immensely.”

  “My thanks, but nae.”

  “It’s from my private store.”

  Colin’s smiled remained casual. “Yer generosity is appreciated, but my answer must remain the same. I haven’t yet finished practice fer the night.”

  Devon scrutinized him from behind his cup before he drank from it. “You say you have Argyll’s ear?”

  “I do.”

  The earl reclined in his chair, bringing his cup with him. “Perhaps we can aid each other in our endeavors then. I would be in your debt if you put an end to the rumor that this brilliant strategy to see William on the throne was not my doing.”

  The bait dangled. Now to get Devon to bite.

  “Certainly, my lord. I put no importance on gossip.”

  Grinning, Devon held up his cup and guzzled its contents. “I like you, Campbell. You’re not like the others.”

  “We are as different as night is to the day.”

  “I knew it was a fortunate day when you stepped upon Dartmouth soil.”

  “Did ye?” Colin raised a raven brow.<
br />
  Devon pushed out of his chair and stepped around the table. “Most certainly. A Campbell in my service is fortunate indeed. I would have had speech with you about this sooner but you are forever with sword in hand.” He smiled at Colin, who smiled back. “You bear witness of my aid to our new king. Presently favored or not, your family will once again rise to power and I would have them as my allies.”

  At least the earl was to the point. ’Twould save time. “As would I,” Colin told him, willing his triumphant grin to remain hidden. Hell, but men with desires such as Devon’s were easy to catch. “I would be happy to tell my cousin of yer many virtues. He admires loyalty and dedication and will hold an ally such as yerself close at his side. But…”

  “Yes?”

  “There is little I know to tell him.”

  “Perhaps this will help then.” Devon swept a rolled parchment from the table and wiggled it in front of Colin’s face—close enough for Colin to take it, and the earl’s life with it. But that wasn’t what he had come to Dartmouth to do. “Thanks to me, we have all of England behind us, including the Church.”

  “The bishop comes here to put his name to the invitation, then?” Colin asked, keeping his voice neutral.

  Devon nodded and handed it to him as easily as if he were handing him a drink. “Read it so that you may tell your—what do you call them?—kin that it is my hand that works hardest to restore a Protestant king.”

  Colin took the parchment and looked it over briefly, taking careful note of the six names inked at the end. Gillian had had them all correct. Damnation, but this was almost too easy.

  “It seems I have my proof,” he said, offering a smile and the invitation back to Devon. “When are ye expecting to send it?”

  “Within the next month. We hope the prince will land sometime in July.”

  “And with enough men at his back to take on whatever is left of James’s army.”

  “No doubt.” Devon laughed, but gave no numbers. It didn’t matter. Colin had enough information to amass his army.

  “The king will be in yer debt.”

  “True enough, if there weren’t others who would steal the glory from me.” Devon’s smile faded into a ruthless snarl. “I intend to silence that mouth as soon as I can.”

  It wasn’t what Devon said, but rather the way he said it, and accompanied by a longing gaze at the door, that chilled the blood in Colin’s veins. But he couldn’t mean Gillian. He had no reason to suspect that she could have told anyone what she knew. Besides, she wasn’t the only one who knew the truth. “Lord Essex has been known to visit Argyll—”

  “I speak of his daughter,” Devon bit out, turning to reach for his cup. “My cousin.”

  It took every ounce of self-control Colin possessed to keep his bland expression from faltering. “Lady Gillian?” He had to know. What did it mean? “What has she spoken against ye?”

  “Nothing,” Devon told him, moving toward a cabinet on the other side of Colin. “She’s penned her words in ink.” He pulled open a narrow drawer, stuck his hand inside, and returned with a folded parchment in his hand. “Here is her latest.”

  Colin looked at it, wishing it were anything but her letter to William. But that’s exactly what it was, and he felt the stab of regret at having to tell her that her champion wasn’t coming to save her. The prince likely didn’t know she existed.

  “Letters she wrote to the prince.” Devon waved it in the air. “Spreading lies to shame me, spending her nights with the men to pick up bits and pieces of news from whatever land they hailed from.” He tossed the missive into the fire and laughed, swinging back around to face Colin. “Asking him not to allow our marriage. She’s a shrewd bitch. I will give her that. Almost as clever as she is stubborn and beautiful. I’ll delight in it while she tries not to scream beneath me.”

  Colin wanted to kill him. Very slowly. “How did ye intercept them?” he asked quietly instead.

  “I didn’t,” Devon grinned. “The messenger she thought came from Holland to meet her came from Kingswear. She isn’t acquainted with most of the men there, and in the cover of night, they all look the same.”

  “Clever, my lord.”

  “Indeed. And would you like to know the best part?”

  Colin nodded.

  “I pen her in return using William’s seal. I have it, you know, to use on the invitation. She believes the prince hates me and will take her from my care.”

  “Why not just tell her that ye know?”

  Devon’s grin widened with sheer joy and satisfaction. “This gives her hope. She will be easier to break when that hope is destroyed.”

  Colin ground his teeth. ’Twas cruel. Crueler than anything he had ever devised for his enemies. “Why?”

  “Why what?” the earl asked, returning to his seat.

  “Why d’ye want to break her?”

  “You see it, don’t you, Campbell?” Devon poured himself another drink. “She thinks she’s above us all. Above me!” He laughed, swigged his wine, and then slammed the cup down. “She has always looked down her nose at me and all because her father owns more land than mine and has a few more titles. She laughed at me when we were children and I told her of my love for her. Later, she expressed disgust at the idea of sharing my bed… and then, as if to mock me, shared the bed of a peasant.” He emptied the contents of another cup down his throat and offered Colin a wretched grin. “But I will have her.”

  Och, aye, this was what he had come in here tonight to do. His task was simpler than he had expected. He should be thankful, but he wasn’t. He was angry, and he hated himself for what he was about to say. “And ye think taking away her hope of leaving will break her more than taking away her son?”

  The earl shook his head and stared into his empty cup. “I don’t think I would live long enough to enjoy her if I carried out my threats.”

  Colin didn’t think so either. “Perhaps I can help.”

  Devon looked up, hope lighting his sullen expression. “You know, Campbell, I’ve been wanting to get rid of that bratling for quite some time.”

  Colin’s smile didn’t flicker or fade. His heart did pound a wee bit faster in his chest, pumping charged blood to his veins. He steadied his breathing and watched Devon closely for any sign that he was suspicious of anything—like Colin’s heart. He’d never had difficulty veiling his true purpose before. But his heart had never become involved in the past. Did the earl see the longing in his eyes when Colin looked at her? When he spoke of her?

  “Do ye have a family in mind that would take him?”

  “No one Lord Essex would approve of if he found out.”

  “I thought Essex didn’t care fer the boy.”

  “The bastard is his grandson nevertheless.”

  “True.” Colin pondered the dilemma for a moment. “How does he feel about the Campbells? My kin would take him.”

  “To Glen Orchy?” Devon eyed him and when Colin nodded, he thought about it. “Why would they?”

  “Future leverage against Essex”—Colin shrugged—“if they should ever require it.”

  Grin restored to full resplendence, Devon turned toward the flames. “You are ruthless, just like the rest of your family. But then, they didn’t rise to their position without leaving behind a few victims.”

  “More than a few,” Colin agreed.

  “There is but one issue about our plan.” Devon set down his cup and turned to him. “Gillian will never stand before a priest with me if I take her son away from her. She will put her dagger into one of us first.”

  “Not if you had nothing to do with her losing him.” Colin leaned forward in his chair and smiled, not as wide as Devon, but with the same amount of satisfaction. “I’ll need a wee bit of time, but before I’m done, she’ll be thanking ye fer what is, I’m fairly certain, the only kindness ye’ve ever given him.”

  Devon practically drooled. “Do tell.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Gillian plucked the strings of
her lute, filling the turret stairwell with soft music. Usually her practice helped her forget the gloom of her life, but for the past three nights nothing could drive Colin Campbell from her thoughts. And, oh, how she tried to forget him. His handsome face. His strong, lithe body practicing in the courtyard… hovering over her, holding her close, safe within his arms while he made her forget everything else but the taste of his passion. His smile, and the way it fell upon her as warm as the summer sun, transforming him from a hardened mercenary to a man seemingly lost and addled by his unwanted reaction.

  Oh, how she missed him! How she wanted to give in to those silly, reckless emotions that made her palms sweat and her heart quicken. Did he care for her? He certainly touched her, kissed her, like he did. He wanted to protect Edmund, and Gillian wanted to let her heart soar over it. But she couldn’t. What if he wanted to take her away next? What if her foolish heart made her agree to go? She knew exactly what would happen. Colin thought he understood Geoffrey, but he didn’t. Her cousin would hunt them down without ceasing. And when he found them… Colin couldn’t fight Geoffrey’s entire garrison alone any better than George could. What if he tried and Edmund was slain in the meantime?

  Unable to play with such thoughts plaguing her, she fit her lute under her arm and climbed the rest of the stairs to the turret. She needed the cool night air to clear her mind.

  Leaning against the crenellated wall, she looked out over the rocky terrain illuminated by the full moon. It was well past the midnight hour and not a sound disturbed her reverie save for the rushing waves below. She knew what she had to do: stay away from Mr. Campbell and temptation and save them all.

  Perhaps after William arrived and saved her from marrying Geoffrey, she would allow Mr. Campbell to court her. Until then, though, she couldn’t risk involvement with him.

  Lord, but she hadn’t been this miserable in three years. Poor Edmund was just as unhappy being holed up indoors. But she would protect him even if it cost him his laughter for a few days. The only one who didn’t appear utterly miserable was George. Her captain smiled more, seemed more at ease, and had even taken up practicing until his uniform grew damp from exertion. When she’d asked him if Mr. Campbell’s friendship was the reason for his pleasant moods, he stunned her by calling the Highlander “a refreshing change from the half-wits he’d been surrounded by for far too long.”