She wanted to, but something was stopping her. It wasn’t just the fact that he was an outlaw—a man fighting for his life—though that certainly played a part. They’d just started to rebuild what had been almost destroyed. This connection between them, growing stronger with each passion-filled night, was as yet too fragile. There had been no talk of the future—how could there be with Duncan’s being so uncertain.
She could feel the weight of Lizzie’s gaze on her. “I believe that is your son,” she said.
Jeannie stepped back from the window, her heart pounding. “Yes.” She met Lizzie’s gaze. “His name is Dougall.”
“He looks to be about ten years old.”
Jeannie’s heart stuttered to a terror-struck halt. “He was just nine last Michaelmas.”
Lizzie didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at her with those crystal clear blue eyes. Jeannie met her gaze unflinchingly though every nerve ending in her body stood on edge.
“I was thinking about the day you came to Castleswene.”
Jeannie tensed.
Elizabeth continued. “I thought it bold of you to come looking for Duncan after what you’d done to him—or what he’d accused you of,” she amended. “You seemed so upset to discover he’d left. I was surprised to hear you’d wed so quickly afterward. It seemed to confirm Duncan’s accusation, but I wonder if there was perhaps another reason.”
Jeannie’s fists curled into tight balls at her side. “If you have something to say, just say it,” she said through clenched teeth.
“One day he will see what I see. Once he does, the difference of four or five months will not deter him. Somewhere there is a person who will remember something and be able to tell him the truth. That person should be you.”
Elizabeth Campbell had no right to tell her what to do. “What you are suggesting is wrong. You know nothing of what you speak.”
Lizzie put her hand over her stomach, an instinctive gesture of protection. “Actually I think I do. This babe is not yet born and already I know there is very little I would not do to protect my child. I’m sure you felt the same.” Her voice grew quiet. “But Duncan has a right to know.”
He’d given up that right when he left her.
Or had he?
Deep in her heart Jeannie knew that if they were to have a chance, eventually she must tell him.
Elizabeth shifted her gaze, seeming to realize she’d said enough. “Did you wish to see me for something?”
It took Jeannie a moment for her emotions to subside before she could compose herself to respond. She forced Dougall from her mind and said, “I was hoping I might get your help in persuading Duncan to make a quick journey to Islay. He’d remembered something your father said—”
“But he’s going tomorrow. It was decided last night. I’d assumed he’d told you.” Lizzie looked embarrassed. “Though it was late, perhaps you haven’t seen him.”
Apparently Elizabeth had correctly assumed their sleeping arrangements and was now wondering if she’d made a mistake.
She hadn’t.
Jeannie’s mouth drew in a tight line. The wretch.
“I’m sure he was intending to tell you,” Lizzie offered.
Aye, probably after another night of her trying to “persuade” him when it was too late for her to accompany him. Her eyes narrowed on the imposing man below in the courtyard. “I’ll just bet he was,” she said. She excused herself and marched purposefully down the stairs. If he thought he could exclude her, he was quite mistaken.
The practice had just broken up for the morning when she exited the keep and made her way down the forestairs. Duncan was speaking with Leif and Conall with his back toward her and didn’t see her approach. His men took one look at her and made their quick excuses right before she tapped Duncan on the shoulder.
He turned, his face instinctively breaking into a smile when he saw her.
For a moment she forgot her anger under the powerful onslaught of the devastatingly handsome man standing before her. His black hair glistened in the sun, his blue eyes sparkled like the sea, his teeth flashed white behind a wide grin that made him appear younger than his years. She could smell the heat of his practice on his skin. The crisp, harshly masculine scent called to her on a dark primal level. There was just something irresistible about a heavily muscled, well-worked warrior.
Furious that she could be so easily distracted, she gritted her teeth and glared up at him. At times like this she really wished he wasn’t so tall. It was difficult to be intimidating with your neck cranked back. “I hear you’ve decided to take a wee journey.”
He had the good grace to wince. “Ach, you heard about that did you?”
“Didn’t you think to tell me?”
