He remembered how Jeannie’s cheeks would flush when she was angry; her emotions displayed for all to see. Now the only signs of emotion were the balled fists at her side and lips pressed so firmly together that tiny white lines appeared around her mouth. Ten years had given her a measure of control over her reactions, but still he realized the Marchioness must be bullying her into finding a husband.
He sprang to her defense. “She’s not alone,” he corrected, watching the Marchioness’s smile wither liked a dried vine. If she was looking for an ally against Jeannie it would not be with him. He spoke boldly, without the deference a man of his station should afford her, but it wasn’t in his nature to condescend—not knowing his place had always been his problem. “It’s not a husband she needs, but better trained guards, which is why the lady’s brother sent me.” His eyes slid to Jeannie, daring her to argue. But she was watching him with a puzzled look on her face, as if surprised by his defense of her. “When I’m done, Lady Gordon will be able to swim at the loch as often as she likes.”
The Marchioness’s beady gaze sharpened. He could empathize with the mouse that had just crossed the hawk’s line of vision. He held his expression impassive as her eyes studied his face with unmistakable intensity. “Who are you? You look familiar. Have we met?”
His pulse spiked, but he met her inquiry with a relaxed smile. “How kind of you to remember, my lady. I’m Duncan MacAllan, we met many years ago at court. I was but a lad, attending to the Laird of Freuchie.” MacAllan was a well-known sept of Clan Grant.
Her mouth pursed distastefully at the mention of Jeannie’s father. The Marquis of Huntly may have forgiven Grant for his former transgressions preceding his return to the Gordon fold at Glenlivet, but forgiveness was not in the Marchioness’s vernacular. What would she do if she ever discovered he was a Campbell?
He resisted the urge to rub his neck.
His relaxed response did not persuade her. “Your face reminds me…Who is your father?”
He did not need to feign the shadows that crossed his face. “I am a bastard, my lady.” That much at least was true.
“I see,” she said, eyeing him down her long nose. His bastard blood having succeeded in convincing the Marchioness, temporarily at least, that he was beneath her interest. But Duncan knew his resemblance to his father was marked. How long would it take her to connect him with her husband’s enemy, the former Campbell of Auchinbreck?
She looked to Jeannie. “Come along, daughter. I’ve something I wish to discuss with you.”
More likely she wanted to keep Jeannie away from him. But she needn’t worry on that accord—Jeannie didn’t need her help. The Marchioness turned on her heel and strode away as regally as a queen. Jeannie made to follow her, but glanced back over her shoulder, a worried look on her face. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said in a low voice.
Duncan gave her a wry smile. “I know.” In defending Jeannie he’d placed himself under the Marchioness’s scrutiny. She was suspicious. But despite the danger he could not regret it. “I’ll be careful.”
She nodded and walked away.
Duncan knew he didn’t have much time. The most prudent thing would be to leave now and continue his search for information that would clear his name. But he couldn’t leave—not yet. He told himself it wasn’t just because the idea of Jeannie in danger made his insides twist and curl in a confused mass. The next few days would also give him an opportunity to search the keep and solar and see what he could find of Jeannie’s secrets.
But more and more, he hoped he didn’t find anything.
True to his word, over the next week Duncan transformed the castle and its occupants. Jeannie couldn’t believe the changes he’d accomplished in so little time. In addition to personally attending to the training of the guardsmen, he’d organized regular scouting parties, reinforced the sentries, fortified the gates, and ordered the repair of thebarmkinwall, which had been allowed to fall into disrepair over the past few years.
After a party of cattle reivers had been met by Duncan and his men at the beginning of the week, the air around the castle had changed. Word had spread that attacks against Aboyne—against Jeannie—would be met with resistance. Lethal resistance.
Even Adam, the captain of the Gordon guardsmen, who’d been initially reluctant to cede his authority in any way to Duncan, had been won over. Mostly because Duncan gave the credit for the changes to him, though everyone knew who was responsible.
Jeannie smiled as she exited the keep into the yard, despite the bone-chilling blast of wind and the dark clouds hanging overhead. For the first time since Francis had died she felt safe. Safe. She hadn’t realized how oppressive it was being locked behind the walls of the castle like a princess in a tower until the weight was gone.
And she had Duncan to thank. It was hard not to admire the man he had become, just as it was hard not to imagine what might have been.
She wrapped her plaid around her shoulders and trudged across the courtyard, misty wind pelting her face with needles of ice.
Another week or two and she might even be able to resume her morning rides. Duncan would take her now, but he’d been so busy she hadn’t wanted to ask him.
After the meeting with the Marchioness he’d removed himself from the keep and joined the other guardsmen in the barracks. She knew it was the right thing to do, but…
But what? She missed him?No.
Then why did she find herself waiting for opportunities to catch a glimpse of him? Like now, timing her trip to the garden to select the vegetables for the evening meal, right around the time he was expected back from the morning hunt.
If the dark skies were any indication, this might be one of the last hunting excursions. She inhaled deeply. The promise of an early snowstorm hung in the air.
She treaded carefully along the damp path, frowning as she passed the group of women gathered round the well. Apparently she wasn’t the only one with thoughtful timing. Turning the corner, she entered the small vegetable and herb garden located on the west side of the old chapel.
Not surprisingly, it was crowded with young, unmarried women, and a few married ones as well. Shewassurprised, however, to see Beth. Jeannie glanced around, but didn’t see her daughter.
“Where’s Ella?” she asked the nursemaid.
Beth gave her an odd look. “I thought she was with you. She left about an hour ago to join the other children for their lessons.”
