“’Tis the first,” he said with an apologetic twist of his mouth. “My cousin and I often partake of the ale in the village, that’s all.” She was still trying to decide whether to believe him. “I’m sorry to embarrass you, but I thought it would prevent questions. It did.” There was an awkward silence as they navigated the path down the rock upon which Stirling Castle sat. Finally he said, “You came,” as if he didn’t quite believe it.
She gave him a sidelong glance from under her lashes, unable to read his expression. The implacability that she found so frustrating was no doubt what made him such a prized negotiator by his cousin—he gave nothing away. He would make a fortune gaming, she thought wryly. “Did you think I would not?”
Duncan Campbell gazed down at the lass all but hidden by the hooded cloak beside him, not quite believing that she was real. In truth, he’d wondered that every minute he spent with her over the past two weeks.
Jeannie Grant had enchanted him. It wasn’t just the fiery hair, emerald eyes, and ivory skin so smooth and luminous as to invoke allusions to goddesses and other heavenly creatures—even to a man utterly unfamiliar with such romantic notions. Nor was it the tall, lithe figure and soft round swell of what appeared to be a very generous bosom beneath the stiff fabric of her stomacher. (Although, as any man of one and twenty, he did occasionally find his gaze dropping.)
It was her vibrancy, the spirit that seemed to bubble inside her, despite her obvious efforts to contain it behind a staid and decorous manner. He, better than anyone, understood the reasons why she fought so hard to repress her natural exuberance. Living under a black stain was something they had in common—he for his birth and she for her mother’s scandal. Abandonment, he supposed, was also something with which he was familiar.
Yet despite what she’d been through, it had not put a damper on her spirit. And for the serious Duncan that vitality was an elixir. Like a moth to the flame, he was drawn to her in a way that he’d never been drawn to a woman before.
He knew she wasn’t for him, but he couldn’t keep away.
Of certain, no lass had ever made him lose focus like this—a war with Huntly was looming for God’s sake and here he was sneaking around for a midnight swim just to have the opportunity to be alone with her.
Before meeting Jeannie, Duncan’s sole focus had been making a name for himself and earning the future that would have otherwise been his were it not for one thing: legitimacy.
But he’d never been forced to confront the inherent limitations of his birth. Marriage had seemed something in the future. Another means to advance himself. Never would he have dreamed of reaching so high. But from the first moment he’d seen Jeannie Grant he’d wanted her, wanted her in a way that he’d never wanted anything—or anyone—before. Knowing that his birth might prevent him from having her was a bitter draught to swallow and for the first time he felt something akin to bitterness.
Making it all the more surprising when Jeannie made it clear his birth didn’t matter to her. She returned his attentions so wholeheartedly he’d actually allowed himself to believe that a future between them might be possible.
To that end, when he returned to Castleswene, he intended to broach the subject of an alliance with his father. But he hadn’t been able to resist seeing her alone before he did.
Had he thought she’d come? She shouldn’t have. But no matter how hard she tried to suppress her spontaneity and thirst for adventure, he knew her well enough to know that she would be hard-pressed to resist. “I wasn’t sure,” he hedged.
They’d reached the bottom of the rocky hill upon which Stirling Castle was perched. She tossed back her hood and turned to him, hands on her hips and emerald eyes flashing. “I think you are an arrogant rogue and knew very well I’d come.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. Did she have any idea how adorable she was? Her innocence and utter lack of pretense were as rare as they were enchanting.
A rogue. No one had ever accused him of that before. Serious, focused, determined, ambitious, ruthless, aye. But Jeannie brought out a side of him that he hadn’t known existed. The playfulness in her that was so foreign to him was contagious. Two weeks in her company and he felt more carefree than he had in his entire life.
He caught her wrist and spun her toward him. They weren’t touching but his body fired with awareness simply from having her near. Reaching down, he tilted her chin to look deep into her eyes. The incredible baby softness of her skin under his fingertips was almost unreal. “I’ll not apologize for wanting you alone, lass.”
Her eyes scanned his face, lingering on his mouth. He stilled, his entire body consumed by the sudden flare of desire and the urge to kiss her. He heard her sharp intake of breath and knew she felt it, too—the hard pull that seemed to draw them together.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, her lips parted invitingly below his. God, they looked so soft and sweet. Her subtle floral perfume had wrapped itself around him, drawing him tighter. Just one taste…
He swore silently and dropped her wrist. He hadn’t brought her out here to seduce her.
But he knew he was playing with fire. He couldn’t look at her without getting hard. He’d seemingly lost control of his body, succumbing to the ailment that plagued men of his age—his mind obsessed by thoughts of one thing.
She dropped her gaze, but he could see the heat on her cheeks as if she didn’t quite understand why he’d pulled away. Hell, he was trying to protect her. Sometimes he had to remind himself how damned young—and innocent—she was.
“Come,” he said gently, indicating the path through the trees to the north. “The loch is only a short walk from here.” It was dark, but the moon provided more than enough light to navigate through the sparse birch trees.
Not quite trusting himself to touch her with heat still surging through his body, he resisted the urge to take her hand again and they walked side by side for a few minutes in companionable silence. That was one of the things he found so special about her—they were just as comfortable talking as not. “How did you get away from your eagle-eyed warden?”
She glanced over at him, a sheepish look on her face. “My aunt has a certain fondness for a glass of claret before she goes to sleep.”
He grinned. “And let me guess, you made sure she had an extra?”
Jeannie bit her lip, an innocent, girlish habit that drew his attention to her lush sensuous mouth, to the pink fullness of her lips, arousing a decidedly non-innocent response in him. A mouth like that could drive a man wild with erotic images. Those pink full lips stretched tight around…hell, he adjusted the source of discomfort and focused his attention back on her.
“Actually, I had an entire flagon sent up,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to take any chances.”
He chuckled, appreciating the foresight and ingenuity. “Done this before, have you?”
She turned to him, aghast. “Of course not—”
