Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(24)
Duncan didn't respond to his father, but forced his gaze from Jeannie and tried to get a rein on the angry emotions surging through him. He'd do best to avoid her until he could see her alone—which, by the look of it, might not be for some time.
The Great Hall of Freuchie Castle, the stronghold of Clan Grant, had been set out for a spectacular feast. The large, cavernous room with its high-beamed ceilings and colorful tapestries adorning the plastered walls seemed ablaze in candlelight and silver.
Above the fireplace on a thick wood mantle sat the fabled Skull of the Comyn—the macabre trophy taken after an ill-fated romance between a Comyn and a Grant a few hundred years ago. Legend had it that if the skull was ever lost, so too would the Grants lose their lands in Strathspey.
Turning back to the feast, he noted the great platters of roasted game and hearty root vegetables set out upon the festively decorated tables laden with flagons of claret and the castle cuirm.
Considering the late notice of their arrival, it was an impressive display. And he knew who was responsible. He should be pleased to discover that the woman he intended to marry would make a fine chatelaine, but instead it only served to make him angrier, driving home everything he might deprive her of.
He wasn't the only one to appreciate her efforts. The battle-hardened Grant chief fairly beamed with pride as he gazed approvingly at his beautiful young daughter. Jeannie caught her father's gaze and smiled, her cheeks pink with pleasure from the unspoken praise.
The simple exchange unsettled him. The easy affection from the normally gruff warrior was a harsh reminder. Duncan knew how close they were. Would Jeannie really be able to defy her father and run away with him if necessary?
The Campbells took their seats at the high table. Duncan was seated on the end, Colin, he couldn't help but notice, had been seated next to Jeannie.
Duncan filled his tankard to the rim with ale and spent the better part of the next two hours keeping it that way. But not even the dulling haze of drink could take the edge off the foulness of his temper.
Once he glanced up to find Jeannie staring at him. Their eyes met and held for an instant before he quickly turned away, but he'd caught the look of confused hurt in her gaze.
She didn't understand why he was so angry, why he was avoiding her. But any twinge of guilt he might have felt was smothered by the tinkling sound of her laugh, floating down the long length of the table minutes later.
Anger simmered dangerously inside him. He didn't need to look to know who the recipient of that laughter was. Instead, he clenched his jaw and reached for his tankard.
He won't even look at me.
Jeannie fought the panic rising in her chest, but as the evening wore on she couldn't ignore the truth—something was wrong. Horribly wrong.
Duncan hadn't broached the subject of an alliance with her father, of that she was sure. Her father was in too good of spirits.
Had Duncan reconsidered? Did he no longer wish to marry her?
No. She couldn't believe that of him. It had to be something else.
I should go to him. Perhaps he didn't realize …
She took a few steps toward him and stopped. Heat crawled up her cheeks when she realized what she was doing—chasing him down, running after him. Making a fool out of herself.
She hadn't been able to prevent her gaze from drifting down the table to him for most of the meal, hoping for some sign, some meager show of reassurance.
Look at me. Please, look at me.
But she was to be disappointed.
The only time their eyes met, he looked away so sharply, Jeannie felt as if he'd struck her, so powerful was the blow.
It was as if he didn't know her. As if he'd never held her in his arms and joined his body with hers. As if he'd never said he loved her.
She'd heard the stories of other girls at court who'd been foolish enough to succumb to a handsome face, silken tongue, and promise of marriage. Girls who'd been disgraced. But what she and Duncan had was different … wasn't it?
She felt ill, fighting back the queasiness rising to the back of her throat.
This couldn't be happening.
Despite the blade slowly forging its way into her heart, she did her best to entertain her guests. She'd been surprised to find Colin seated beside her—rather than the Earl of Argyll as befitted his rank—but Duncan's brother proved to be an amusing dinner companion, undoubtedly much more so than his grim cousin would have been. But he was no substitute for the man she wanted beside her.
After the meal, when the tables were cleared for the dancing to begin, she waited anxiously, half-hoping that Duncan would seek her out. Instead, it was Colin who asked her to dance. With one last glance toward Duncan, who seemed to be partaking of copious amounts of the castle cuirm, she followed Colin to the dance floor.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
Jeannie looked up at Colin and managed a wobbly smile. “Yes, thank you. I'm sorry if I seem a bit distracted. I'm afraid the day has been quite hectic.”
Colin waved off her apology. “You've done a magnificent job. Your father is a fortunate man to have you.” He gave her a sly smile. “Though I expect he won't for much longer.”
Jeannie glanced at him in surprise, wondering if he knew something about Duncan. But his gaze was perfectly guileless. She exhaled slowly, realizing it had merely been a general observation. Thankfully, she was saved from having to reply by the demands of the reel.