Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(44)
Her heart raced. She'd never seen him like this. “Let go of me.” She tried to wrench free, but he didn't give an inch, holding her firm a few inches away from him as if he didn't know whether to push her away or pull her into his arms.
She could smell the wind on his skin, see the dark stubble that lined his jaw, feel the tautness of his body, and knew how perilously close he was to the edge. She tried to pull him back, tried to make him see reason. “I would never do what you accuse me of. I would never hurt you.” She inched toward him and reached up to cup her hand to his stubbled jaw, looking deep into his eyes. “I love you, Duncan. Can't you see that?”
For a moment his gaze softened and she thought her words had penetrated, but just as quickly the steel curtain dropped once again and he jerked his face free of her caress. “It won't work this time, Jeannie. You have fooled me once, but never again. I'll be lucky to escape the net of treason you've cast around me with my life. Was it you who planted the gold or your father? Did I reach too high?” His fingers dug into her arms and his entire body coiled with rage. “God, I should kill you for what you've done.”
Jeannie felt something inside her flicker and die. She hadn't done what he accused her of, but maybe in the end it didn't matter. He couldn't love her; he didn't know her at all.
She lifted her chin, to meet his damning stare. “If you truly believe what you are accusing me of, perhaps you should.”
For a moment he didn't move, but simply stared at her as if he might believe her, as if he'd heard the truth behind the bravado. But instead of pulling her into his arms, he released her and stepped back. “Good-bye, Jeannie.”
He turned his back to her. Panic rose up inside her and held her by the throat. He was really going to leave. “Wait!” She grabbed onto his arm. “You can't go. Not like this. You have to listen to me.”
His face barely moved. He stared straight ahead and didn't look at her. “There is nothing more to say.”
She felt him pulling away, closing himself off from her. Her worst fear had come true. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Why are you acting like this?”
“I don't ever want to see you again.”
The cool finality in his voice turned panic to hysteria. She lost whatever tenuous hold she'd had on control. All pretense of pride fell to the wayside as she clung to him, her fingers digging into his arms. “No. You can't mean that.” He tried to free himself from her hold, but she wouldn't let him go. “Duncan, please …” she begged, her words choked with hot tears.
But he was immune to her pleas. Jaw clenched, he forcibly jerked away from her. She collapsed to the floor in a heap, her body racked by uncontrollable sobs. “Don't leave me,” she choked.
Without another word, without another look, he slid back into the shadows as stealthily as he'd emerged. A moment later she heard the door open and close.
“No!” But there was no one to hear. He was gone.
Duncan didn't know how desperately he'd wanted to believe her innocence until he'd realized she'd betrayed him. The man who'd walked out of that room was not the same man who'd entered. He was older. Disillusioned. A hard shell. Cold inside.
I should have known. He'd seen her with her father—had he really thought she would leave all that for him?
Perhaps he could try to understand her loyalty to her father, but he couldn't explain the map once in his possession was now by her own admission in her father's. Nor could he explain her betrothal to another man.
He felt a strange burning in his chest, a twisting emotion that could only be described as jealousy. That he knew the man—and were they not on opposite sides might have admired him—made it worse. Francis Gordon was an apt politician, a skilled warrior, wealthy, and if Duncan abided the judgment of the ladies at court, uncommonly fair of face. The perfect match for a daughter of a chief. Unlike him.
He felt like such a fool. Why would she want to marry him when she was betrothed to the son of one of the most powerful men in Scotland? The legitimate son. Duncan had been deluding himself, believing a woman like her could see past the stain of his blood.
Had her father used her to distract him? That was probably the most difficult shame to swallow, that he might have missed the signs of Grant's treachery, failing in his duty to his family, because he was panting after a lass like a lovesick pup.
This was what happened when you thought with your cock. He would never make that mistake again. His destiny lay on the battlefield, not with a woman. He should have recognized that long ago.
Yet part of him refused to believe it had all been a lie. Passion like that could not be feigned. But maybe that's all it was: passion. Maybe she'd moved on when she'd found something better. Hadn't he worried about that very thing? That she would follow her heart when the next impulse struck?
He shook off the memories. Even if she had not been entirely pretending her feelings, she'd made her choice in siding with her treacherous father.
And he'd made his. He would return to his father's side and plead his case to his cousin.
Duncan considered the evidence against him and knew that it was damning. The note. The map. The gold. His anger at his father and at not being given a command. Perhaps one could be explained, but combined they were compelling proof of guilt. He could only hope that when he laid out the facts before the earl, Archie would find him guilty of being a fool, but not a traitor.