Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(55)

She expected him to be impressed and he didn't want to disappoint. “Ah,” he said, nodding.

She sat down on the trunk at the foot of the bed, apparently having decided he wasn't much of a threat. “But Dougall is just jealous. I swam across the river Dee when I was only six and three quarters and he didn't do it until he was seven and a quarter.”

“That's quite an accomplishment. How old is your brother?”

He was being ridiculous, but everything inside him tensed until she answered. “He just turned nine on Michaelmas.” September 29. Duncan ticked the months back in his mind. She must have conceived in January. He'd left Scotland in mid-August—almost five months earlier.

The vise around his chest loosened. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He'd never thought … He'd been so caught up in his own anger he'd never thought about the possibility of Jeannie being with child. But both children were too young to be his.

Ella hadn't noticed his distraction. Rather, sensing an appreciative audience, she beamed, her adorable face growing even more animated as she chattered on about the many things girls could do that were not appreciated by older brothers. Apparently, there were a lot of them.

Having been in similar circumstances with her mother and realizing this might take a while, Duncan did what any wise man would do. He decided to get comfortable, laying back down on the bed and settling in for the long haul.

Jeannie forced herself not to check on Duncan first thing in the morning. Instead, she went about her duties, going over the accounts with the seneschal and planning the day's meals with the cook as if the man who'd walked out on her and left her heart in shreds ten years ago hadn't suddenly returned and threatened to destroy everything.

Mairghread had checked on Duncan earlier and had been pleased to find him still asleep. Rest was the best thing for him now, the healer assured her, which Jeannie in turn told the two brutes who cornered her in the hall when she was breaking her fast. The Irishman and Norseman had been none too happy about her refusal to let them see him, but Jeannie had not let those broad chests and arms the size of tree trunks intimidate her. If their leader was much improved by the afternoon, then they might be permitted to see him. She would let them know. Apparently being told “no” was new to them and she took advantage of their surprise, leaving them staring after her.

It was near noontime before Jeannie climbed the stairs from the kitchen vaults with a tray of food. She crossed the hall to the tower staircase. It was just her luck that the Marchioness happened to be descending from her chamber at the same time.

“Where are you going with that tray?” the older woman demanded.

“I was hoping the guardsman had wakened and would feel well enough to eat.”

The Marchioness's eyes narrowed. “Surely there are servants capable of carrying trays. Unless there is another reason for your attentiveness?”

Jeannie's face flushed with anger, she was tired of her mother-in-law's domineering ways. She was only bringing him a tray for heaven's sake. “There are, but I shall see to this myself. It is my fault he is injured and my responsibility to see to his care.”

“Do you think it is a good idea? What do you really know of this man?”

Jeannie felt a prickle of alarm. Though the Marchioness couldn't possibly have guessed who Duncan was, curiosity on her part could be dangerous. “He is a guardsman sent by my brother, what more should I know?”

“He doesn't look like a guardsman,” the Marchioness said flatly.

Jeannie cursed inwardly, for once in agreement with her mother by marriage. Duncan did not look like a typical man-at-arms—not just because of his wealth, but because of his bearing. She should have made him a king, it would have been more believable. She thought quickly. “He's a mercenary.”

The Marchioness's mouth pursed in distaste. “I see.” She gave Jeannie a shrewd smile. “I'm only trying to think of you, daughter. A woman in your position can never be too careful to avoid talk.”

Jeannie bristled at the innuendo. “What position is that exactly? I'm the lady of the keep, why should anyone talk about whether I bring an injured man a tray of food.”

“You're right, of course. No doubt, I'm just being overly cautious. I worry about you and Helen out here alone when I leave.”

Jeannie hadn't seen Ella—a nickname that had stuck when Dougall couldn't say Helen—all morning. She shuddered to think about what kind of mischief her daughter had gotten in today. Jeannie was trying to be patient, but the little minx had become even more obstinate since her father's death, refusing to heed her at all. She had a mind of her own and unfortunately shared her mother and grandmother's tendency toward impulsiveness. Stubborn and impetuous was not a good combination.

Jeannie turned back to her mother-in-law. “Are you returning to Castle Gordon, then?” she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager.

The Marchioness eyed her shrewdly as if she knew exactly what Jeannie was thinking. “I've received word from the Marquis that he has agreed to the king's demands and will sign the confessions of faith.”

Again, Jeannie thought. And probably with just as much sincerity as the other few times he'd renounced his Catholicism. “Then he will be released from Stirling Castle?”

“Soon, I hope.” Her mouth fell in a hard line. “Though Argyll is looking for reasons to prevent it.” One more reason why Duncan's sudden reemergence could prove troublesome. “Have you given any more thought to the Earl of Erroll's son?”