Jeannie’s breath caught, her eyes widening in sudden understanding.Francis.That was why he’d come to her. “Am I to understand that it is not just my father and me you have envisioned in this conspiracy against you, but my husband as well?” The hard look on his face was all the answer she needed. “Francis had nothing to do with what happened to you.”
She thought he flinched, but his even voice gave no hint to his thoughts. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because he would never do something so dishonorable as to frame another man for treason.”
“And your father would?”
Her mouth tightened, anger stained her cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”
“Grant had to be in contact with someone in the Gordon camp and your quick marriage certainly suggests that it was your husband.”
Her gaze shot to his, hearing the sharp bite in his tone. The speed of her marriage had bothered him. She felt the strange urge to laugh. If he only knew the reason why. The man who Duncan sought to drag through the mud had given his bastard not just a name, but an inheritance. Francis had known she was pregnant when he married her. Not many men would do what he’d done—claiming, raising, loving her child as his own.
Her husband had done so much for her and yet she’d never been able to give him the one thing he wanted.
Because of Duncan.
Guilt rose inside her. She might not have been able to give Francis her love, but she could damn well give him her loyalty. She wouldn’t let Duncan embroil him in this mess.
“You can’t deny that your father was working with your husband?”
“No.” It had been Francis who’d met her father that day in the solar. “But encouraging my father to change sides in battle is an entirely different proposition from framing a man for treason. What reason could he have?”
His eyes burned into her. “The same reason as your father. You. He would not be the first man to act ignobly for a woman.”
She shook her head. “You are wrong. Francis left Freuchie CastlebeforeI told my father about us. My husband had nothing to do with what happened to you.”
Remembering the conversation she’d overheard a few days later about the map and gold, she ignored the twinge of uncertainty.
His eyes bored into her with a strange intensity. “Prove it. Let me look through his things.”
“I don’t need to prove it. I knew him, and I know he wasn’t involved.”
Her impassioned defense of her husband seemed to enrage him. His mouth drew into a sneer. “All men can be made fools for a beautiful woman.”
Including him. That’s what he meant. She flushed at the scorn in his voice. “Look somewhere else to prove your innocence, Duncan. I will not allow you to besmirch my husband’s good name.” She owed Francis that at least for all he’d done.
But she had an even greater reason. It wasn’t only the discovery of Dougall’s parentage that she had to fear or even the trouble that the reminder of Glenlivet could pose for her family. By casting suspicion on Francis and labeling him a traitor, Duncan could put her son’s inheritance in jeopardy and risk all she’d done to protect him.
Her eyes turned as hard as glass. Whatever sympathy she had for his plight dissolved in the face of the danger he posed to her son.
I should have turned him in when I had the chance.
Duncan could barely think from the anger pounding through his blood. How did she get to him like this?
It had been a mistake to touch her. His skin still burned from where she’d pressed up against him. For one treacherous instant his body had surged with lust, with visceral memories of pleasure almost too powerful to resist. Almost.
He hated weakness of any kind, but he had to admit she did something to him. She got to him the way no other woman ever had.
She was so damned beautiful. Standing there with her eyes flashing, cheeks flushed, her hair shining like copper in the sunlight.
All that passion, all that emotion…for another man.
He wanted it for himself. The primitive urge to drive away all thoughts of another man surged inside him. His fists clenched at his sides as he fought for control. His gaze met hers, hot with challenge. “How do you intend to stop me?”
Her absolute refusal to help him, to consider that her husband might have had a part in what happened to him ate through the walls of his indifference like acid. The sanctity of her husband’s name mattered more than his freedom. Mattered more than right or wrong.
What had he expected? Nothing had changed. Misplaced or not, her loyalty to her family still hung between them.
