It seemed neither one of them was willing to take such a leap of faith. Following her heart had almost destroyed her—she could not do that to her son.
But she hoped Jamie Campbell helped—
Dear God.Why hadn’t she considered the possibility before? Panic shot through her veins. She tried to keep her voice steady though every nerve ending in her body buzzed with alarm. There was no reason to think…the Campbells had many castles. But still her voice squeaked when she asked, “You are going to Ascog Castle?”Please, please, please say yes.
He gave her an odd look. “Nay. In my sister’s last missive Lizzie mentioned that Jamie and his new wife would be spending the winter at Castleswene.”
No! Dread settled over her. Dougall was at Castle swene.
Her heart pounded. Surely he could hear it? The sound seemed to trumpet in her ears. Despite the cold night air, sweat gathered on her brow and hands.Duncan would see Dougall.Her fingers crushed the velvet of her dressing gown. Every instinct clamored against the possibility. “I’ll go with you,” she blurted.
His eyes narrowed, her sudden change of heart having roused his suspicion. “Why would you want to do that?”
She didn’t know, but she had todosomething. She might not be able prevent their paths from crossing, but perhaps she could distract him? All she knew was that she couldn’t stay here and just wait for disaster to strike.
She held her expression impassive, panic turning her to ice. “Traveling as one of my guardsmen, you are less likely to be discovered, and,” she continued offhandedly, “I should like to see my son. After what you’ve done for me and Ella, it’s the least I can do.” That much at least was true.
“And you care whether I am discovered?”
Her eyes locked on his. Her chest rose up to her throat. It hurt that he could think that of her, but what else could he think? “I’ve never wanted to see you hurt, Duncan,” she said quietly. “I’m only trying to protect my family. The same family you seem hell-bent on destroying.”
He gave her a long look, his penetrating blue gaze darkening to black. “Is that the real reason you wish to come, Jeannie? To prevent me from sullying your father’s and husband’s names?”
She flinched. It hadn’t been what she was thinking at all, but perhaps it was better if he thought so. Anything to keep him from guessing the truth: that the thought of him within a mile of their son drove nails of terror down her spine.
I would never allow a child of mine to go unclaimed.His words echoed in her head.
She lifted her chin, not denying his accusation. “Believe what you will, but I am going to Castleswene, whether you choose to ride with me or not.”
Chapter 16
In the end Duncan had ridden with her, though it had meant a day’s delay in leaving in order to organize the traveling party—or funeral party, depending on whether his gamble paid off.
Jeannie’s estimation of the situation was accurate. Turning to his brother for help was a risk, but it was one he had to take. He’d run out of options. Jeannie wasn’t going to help him; he had to hope that his sister’s assessment of their brother proved more accurate than some of the rumors he’d heard. If he was wrong, he was a dead man. He might as well be handing himself over to the executioner.
Though the true danger lay at their journey’s end, the journey itself would not be without risk and Jeannie’s offer to have him travel as one of her guardsmen would certainly help. But he would not have her in any danger. He picked the men who would accompany them himself, choosing the most skilled warriors, and insisted on doubling the number of guardsmen she initially wanted to take.
Ignorant of the true situation, Ella had wanted to come, but the Highlands in the winter were no place for a child—or anyone for that matter. Fortunately, the lass was still feeling guilty for what had happened to put up much of an argument.
The Marchioness had tried to persuade Jeannie to reconsider, suggesting that it was “hardly the time to go gallivanting across the Highlands on a whim to see her son,” but Jeannie had proved surprisingly stubborn.
Duncan bit back a wave of bitterness, knowing the stubbornness was not for his benefit, but for her dead husband’s. She wouldn’t lift a hand to help him, but she would journey across the Highlands in the bowels of winter harboring the most wanted outlaw in the land to protect her husband’s memory.
Something he was reminded of countless times over the next week. Each time their eyes met, jealousy and anger twisted inside him all over again. He’d thought she’d softened. He’d thought she was feeling the same emotions he was. The way she looked at him…
As if sensing his thoughts, she turned and met his gaze. The pang of longing in her eyes hit him square in the chest with the force of a smith’s hammer. Their eyes held for an instant, before she quickly shifted her gaze, leaving him wondering whether he’d only imagined it.
Why couldn’t he just accept that he wanted something that could never be his?
But he did want her—badly—and her close proximity was testing the limits of his endurance. More than once, he wished he’d insisted she stay at Aboyne—not that he was sure she would have listened to him.
Her constant presence chaffed. Together for hours on end like this…she was the devil’s own temptation. The long days in the saddle, followed by even longer nights, knowing how close she was. Even buried beneath layers of wool, the image of her nakedness was burned on his memory.
He was at the end of his damned rope, pulled taut by jealousy and a cock that stiffened with a sharp gust of wind. He hadn’t had a woman in too damned long and his hand provided only temporary satisfaction. He’d considered releasing a bit of his pent-up frustration in the willing arms of a barmaid, but somehow he sensed it would hurt Jeannie and despite his jealousy he couldn’t do that—not yet. But to say he was looking forward to the journey’s end was putting it mildly.
It wasn’t just the close proximity to Jeannie that had him on edge. The trip had been fraught with danger and delay—plagued not only by heavy snowstorms, but also by long detours to avoid brigands and soldiers. If Duncan needed any proof that his cousin had not relented, all he had to do was count the army of soldiers scouring the countryside for him.
When they stopped at night in the drover’s inns or alehouses, the talk was either of the MacGregors or of the hunt for the elusive Black Highlander. To some he was an outlaw, to others a hero who’d taken on almost mythic proportions. It surprised him how many enemies he and his cousin had—many people were rooting for him to escape Argyll’s clutches. Though given his cousin’s recent debacle with the MacGregor chief’s surrender and subsequent execution, perhaps he shouldn’t have been.
