Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(21)
This time Jeannie won.
She spent the better part of the walk back to the castle threatening him with bodily harm if he ever let her win again—her newfound knowledge of his body and just what parts to threaten already coming in handy.
Chapter 5
Despite Jeannie's assurances, Duncan still could not convince himself that in making love to her he hadn't somehow failed them both.
He took full responsibility for what had happened. He was the one with experience.
But nothing like that had ever happened to him. Never had he so completely lost control. He'd felt lust before, but it wasn't simple lust that he'd felt with Jeannie. It had been much more complicated—bigger. He hadn't just wanted to take her body, he'd wanted her.
But love was no excuse.
Taking her innocence was a black mark against him—one that would only be lifted when they married.
He'd played with fire and burned them both. He'd made a mistake; he just hoped to hell it wasn't an irreparable one.
She'd better be right about her father.
At least Duncan could count on his father's support. That knowledge was the only thing keeping his rising apprehension in check.
After a very public and thus unsatisfactory departure from Jeannie where he was unable to say half the things he wanted to, Duncan pushed hard across the Highlands to Knapdale and Castleswene. In his eagerness to secure his father's assistance in speaking to Jeannie's father, the journey by land and sea that would normally take upward of three days took less than two.
He found his father in the laird's solar, the small antechamber off the Great Hall.
He appeared to be in deep discussion with a few of his luchd-taighe guardsmen, but as soon as Duncan entered he ushered them away.
The Chief of Campbell of Auchinbreck rose from the bench behind the great table, clasping Duncan's forearm. At the same time, Duncan clasped his with a firm shake in what amounted to a half handshake, half embrace.
Blue eyes met blue. Though Duncan had equaled his father's height of a hand over six feet, his father had at least two stone on him in solid, battle-wrought muscle. At just past forty, his hair was mostly light brown with just a few stray strands of gray at his temple.
His father's implacable countenance betrayed none of his thoughts, but Duncan had caught the sudden spark in his gaze when he'd entered the room. His father couldn't completely mask his pleasure in seeing him.
Once the perfunctory greetings were exchanged, his father settled back in his chair, and Duncan remained standing, facing him from across the enormous carved oak table. Over ten feet in length and three feet wide, it dominated the small room.
The hard, battle-scarred face, so like his own, studied him thoughtfully. “Grant was not convinced?”
Duncan stiffened. Did his father have another man at court? Colin had left nearly a week ago—so the report couldn't have come from his brother. Had his father not trusted Duncan to complete his task? The blow to his pride packed a surprising wallop. “You've already had a report?”
“Nay,” his father said. The hint of recrimination in his voice suggested he'd guessed the direction of Duncan's thoughts. “I know you too well. I could see the moment you walked into the room that you were on edge.”
His father was right, though it wasn't for the reason he suspected. Duncan was confident that Grant would join the king's forces—something had caused a change of heart in him the day of Duncan's departure—but that confidence didn't extend to Duncan's bid for his daughter's hand.
“Grant was initially reluctant, but I think he can be persuaded. The king has made it clear that he expects to have his support.”
“So it's either anger his king or anger his lord.”
“Aye, and James is not as easily ignored now that he appears the most likely choice to be named Elizabeth's heir. The king will soon have the power of England's navy behind him—Grant would be taking a risk to defy him.” Duncan furrowed his brow. “Though until a few days ago I thought he might do just that.”
The observation seemed to please his father. “Ah, he must have received my missive.”
“Missive?” Duncan questioned casually, tamping down the urge to bristle again.
“Colin had a suggestion when he returned from Stirling Castle; I thought it a sound one. Perhaps it helped.” Colin? Duncan was taken aback. What did his brother have to do with this? His father's hard gaze scrutinized his face. “But this is good news. What is it that has you amiss?”
Duncan clasped his hands behind his back, forcing himself to stand still though the urge to move was strong. He couldn't recall ever being this apprehensive about anything. He almost didn't know where to start. “I, too, have a proposition that I hope will solidify Grant's alliance with our side.” Duncan waited.
“Go on.”
He took a deep breath. “I have asked Jean Grant, the laird's eldest daughter, to be my wife, and she has agreed.” The shock on his father's face could not be more profound. Before he could respond, Duncan added, “I anticipate there might be some objection and would ask for your help in persuading her father to see the benefit of the alliance.”
His father shook his head. “It's impossible.”
The words were so unexpected it took Duncan a moment to realize what he'd said. He stiffened. “I don't understand. The lass is agreeable.”