Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(74)

But the circle of men opened, allowing Duncan to get his first full view of her.

His knees almost buckled. Jeannie lay twisted on her side, knees bent and hand near her mouth as if sleeping. His heart lurched as he stepped forward, gesturing with his hand for his men to come out and cover him.

He felt the older man's gaze on him as he approached, but Duncan only had eyes for the woman lying on the ground.

“We did nothing to the lass,” the older man offered. “She was thrown from her horse.”

Duncan bet he knew why. “You were chasing her.”

The older man shrugged. “They ran. We did not know it was the lady.”

Duncan knelt in the snow beside her and gently slid his hand under her neck to cradle her head in his palm. Her hair had come loose and was fanned out behind her head in a red halo. His heart clenched. Her angelic face looked as pale as the snow that surrounded her.

He pressed his fingers under her jaw and stilled, waiting, his heart on a precipice.

Relief crashed over him in a heavy wave, feeling the unmistakable pulse of life beneath his hand. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he didn't want to move her in case something was broken.

“Jeannie.” He nudged her gently and repeated her name.

Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked a couple of times as if trying to clear the haze from her view and stared up at him. “What happened?”

He smiled. “You fell from your horse.”

Her eyes went wide. “There were men …”

“Shhh,” he soothed, sensing her rising panic. “There is nothing to fear.”

She shot upright, her eyes flashing wildly. “Ella!”

“Safe,” Duncan assured her, wrapping her in his arms and smoothing back her hair with his hand. “She's at the castle.”

“Thank God.” She sighed. Her entire body sagged against him, her relief visceral.

Heedless of their audience, Duncan pulled back and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. Unable to stop himself, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, needing the connection.

His chest tightened at the soft, warm silkiness of her lips. He wanted to sink into her sweetness, to kiss her until the roaring in his head quieted and the tightness in his chest loosened. But he felt too raw to weather the rejection right now. He lifted his head before she could react.

Gazing into her eyes, he read her surprise and waited for the rebuff, for the curtain to drop. But it didn't.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Anytime.”

“Not for that, you wretch.” She punched him, relief spilling into a moment of lightheartedness. “For finding Ella.”

He nodded, and quickly explained what had happened. Then he asked, “How are you feeling? Do you think you can stand up?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

He helped her get to her feet. She wobbled once, but steadied under his firm grasp.

She was lucky. Instead of hard ground, she'd landed on bracken and heather, which wasn't to say she wouldn't be aching later. But at least there didn't appear to be any broken bones.

No sooner had she stood than she retreated against him, tucking herself into his side. An instinctive movement of protection. A movement that pleased him more than it should. He slid his arm around her and snuggled her even closer. It felt good. Too good.

What was between them had not died—not completely anyway. He felt a spark of something suspiciously like hope flare inside him. Maybe they could have another chance … He stopped himself. Who was he fooling? He was an outlaw. A dead man if his cousin's soldiers caught up with him before he found something to prove his innocence.

While Duncan had been attending Jeannie, his men had corralled her pursuers to one end of the path.

She gasped. He swore under his breath, realizing she'd seen the body of the dead guardsman.

Duncan's mouth fell in a grim line as he addressed the men who'd pursued Jeannie. “Who is responsible for this?”

No one answered right away. He stared at a dozen blank faces before the old man stepped forward. “We were only defending ourselves. Ours was not the first arrow shot. The lady's guardsman attacked us a short while back.”

That explained the missing second guardsman—Duncan knew she'd left the castle with two men. He would have one of his men ride back to find him.

Duncan met the old man's stare, looking him full in the face, intending to demand restitution for the men's families. Instead he felt the jolt of recognition.

Hell.

He saw the shock returned on the other man's face and realized he was not alone. The older man was one of the Mackintosh warriors Duncan had rescued from certain death during the battle of Glenlivet—Malcolm was his name.

“You've come back,” Malcolm said, his voice filled with awe.

“You know this man, Malcolm?” the captain asked.

Jeannie's head lifted from its place buried in his chest at the sound of the younger man's voice. Duncan felt her body go rigid. “It's him,” she said, her fingers gripping the leather of Duncan's cotun. “It's the man who tried to abduct me.”

Duncan went cold. Ice cold. The urge to grab the man by the throat and squeeze until his eyes bulged raged inside him.

Sensing his thoughts, Jeannie put a restraining hand on his chest. “No. It's over. I just want to get home and see my daughter.”