Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(67)



But it was dangerous without having anger as a shield between them—as that kiss had demonstrated. She'd felt the undeniable tug, drawing them together. It would have been so easy to fall into his arms again. Terrifyingly easy. It was getting harder and harder for her to resist, but she steeled her heart against him, avoiding being alone with him.

She wasn't the only one to feel his magnetism. Over the next few days while Duncan recovered his strength with alarming alacrity, she'd done her best to keep Ella away from him—with little success. Every time Jeannie turned around, Ella was sneaking into his room or following him to the stables, the hall, or the barracks on some pretense or another. To his credit, Duncan did nothing to encourage her, but his indifference had the opposite effect than the one intended. Ella never could resist a challenge. And if her formidable grandmother could succumb, it was only a matter of time before Duncan did likewise.

Ella couldn't hide her fascination with their uninvited guest. Nor for that matter could most of the women under or over the age of sixty. Yesterday, when Duncan joined his men for the first time to practice his sword skills in the yard, the entire female population in the castle seemed to stand still when he removed his shirt. She'd never seen so many women gathering water from the well, which happened to be located near the practice yard, and the keep's windows had never been so clean.

Ridiculous. But Jeannie found her gaze straying more than once to the tanned chest gleaming in the sunlight. When he held his sword above his head and his muscles flexed … her body tingled in places she'd long forgotten. His raw masculine appeal was undeniable.

But not for me.

The truth, however, did not quiet the dull ache in her chest.

Beth's mooning grated more than the others, not because of what Jeannie had seen or because Duncan gave any indication that he noticed, but because the girl was young and pretty, and as innocent as Jeannie had been once—a long time ago.

But as trying as the past few days had been, Jeannie knew that it would soon be at an end. As his sword practice yesterday proved, Duncan's recovery had progressed to the point where he would soon be well enough to travel.

She intended to remind him of that fact. Entering the hall, she found him breaking his fast, Ella perched on the table beside him, chattering animatedly, and Beth opposite, elbows on the table, chin cupped in her hands, utterly enthralled. Both girls seemed to be suffering from the same malady—an acute case of hero worship.

He'd done nothing but shoot a few arrows and swing his enormous two-handed great sword around, but even hampered by his injury, there was something special about him. He stood out like a king upon beggars. His physical strength, confidence, and authority could not be masked, despite his best attempts not to draw undo attention to himself. She supposed his handsome face didn't hurt either. She could only imagine what would happen if it became known that he and the legendary Black Highlander were one and the same.

Gritting her teeth, Jeannie marched toward them, feeling the strange urge to smash her fist through the nearest window—or his perfect, gleaming white grin. His constant presence was like an itch she couldn't scratch and her hard-won, even-keeled temperament was starting to suffer.

“I could go with you,” Ella said hopefully. “My father promised to take me hunting next spring if I practiced with my bow.”

Jeannie's heart caught, hearing the eagerness in her daughter's voice. Ella missed Francis horribly and in Duncan she'd found not a replacement, but a man to soothe an ache.

“I can hit the target from twenty paces,” she added, chest puffed out and chin tilted high.

Duncan's lips quirked and Jeannie knew he was fighting a smile. “Twenty paces? A wee thing like yourself? I know laddies twice your size that can only shoot from ten.”

Ella beamed. “Can I go then? Please …?”

She batted her long, dark lashes at him, a clichéd feminine gesture that surely Duncan would see through. Jeannie glanced in his direction.

Oh God. He's falling for it.

Duncan looked up and saw her, no doubt reading the horror on her face. He sobered and turned back to Ella. “Perhaps another time, lass.”

“No!” Jeannie exclaimed, panic causing her pulse to race frantically. Delay would only encourage her. “You can't go hunting, Ella. It's too dangerous. You could get hurt.”

Ella's dainty features turned mutinous. “You always say that. Dougall went hunting when he was nine.”

Jeannie bit back the response that Dougall was a boy and that hunting was part of his training, knowing it would only make it all the more tantalizing to her daughter. Besides, Jeannie had always detested that explanation when she was a girl and she'd vowed not to use it upon her daughter. Perhaps that was part of the problem. Ella wanted to do everything her brother did.

“Well, you are only seven. When you are nine we will discuss it.” Seeing the argumentative expression on her daughter's face, Jeannie took a different tact. “Besides, Duncan will not be able to take you hunting as he will be leaving soon.” She turned to Duncan. “Isn't that right?”

Duncan held her gaze for a moment then turned back to Ella. “Aye, it's true, lass.”

“But why?” Ella asked. “Why can't you stay here? I thought my uncle sent you to protect us from the bad men—”

“Beth,” Jeannie interrupted, startling the young nursemaid out of her besotted stupor. Hearing the edge in her voice, Jeannie tempered her tone and forced a smile on her face. The girl had done nothing wrong. “Why don't you take Ella down to the kitchens? I believe the cook is going to make some biscuits.” She turned to Ella. “Didn't you say you wanted to help …”

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