Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(9)

Elizabeth followed the direction of her gaze and let out a dreamy sigh. “His cousin, Duncan Campbell. Isn't he gorgeous?”

“Argyll's cousin?” Jeannie replied, apparently not hiding her interest as well as she should have.

Elizabeth Ramsay's eyes sparkled with mischief. “Don't get any ideas. Well not any permanent ones at least.” She giggled. “I wouldn't mind a wee ride on that stallion myself.” Jeannie's eyes widened at such ribald talk, but Elizabeth didn't notice. She was still gazing hungrily at the man she'd called Duncan. “He's Campbell of Auchinbreck's natural son.”

Jeannie experienced a flicker of disappointment. Despite Elizabeth's crudeness, she was right. A bastard son—even one of a powerful man like Campbell of Auchinbreck—was not a proper suitor for the daughter of Grant of Freuchie.

Discovering that he was a bastard should have discouraged her, but there was something about him. Something that rose above the circumstances of his birth. The stamp of authority and the unmistakable aura of a man who knew his own worth.

“There she is,” the woman whispered, unable to hide her glee.

“Who?” Jeannie asked distractedly, still focused on Duncan Campbell.

“The one I told you about,” Elizabeth said with a much put-upon roll of her eyes. “Lady Catherine Murray. Lady Anne's sister.” Lady Anne was the lady-in-waiting sent from the castle in disgrace. “I can't believe she didn't leave with her sister.”

Jeannie's brows gathered above her nose. “Why, the girl did nothing wrong.”

Elizabeth looked at her as if she couldn't believe she could be so obtuse. “But her sister did, and she's tainted by association. Bad blood, you know.”

Jeannie's mouth fell into a hard line and Elizabeth blushed, realizing her mistake.

“Of course I didn't mean …”

Me. Jeannie might not be the gossip of the moment, but it was clear that her mother's transgressions had not been forgotten. Nor had Jeannie forgotten what it felt like to be the brunt of forked tongues.

Excusing herself, Jeannie squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked over to the girl who was doing her best to pretend she didn't know that everyone was whispering about her.

Though his cousin was talking to him, Duncan was vaguely aware of a heightened buzz whirling around the room, the whispered voices rustling like leaves caught up in a gust of wind. And Grant's daughter appeared to be right in the eye of the storm.

After he'd caught her staring at him with such refreshingly innocent candor, he'd wanted to approach her—despite the fact that she no longer stood with her father. But then something had clearly upset her and she'd very determinedly marched over to another young woman.

The strange thing was that no one else had joined them.

“Have you heard anything I've just said?” Argyll said, the annoyance in his voice managing to get Duncan's attention.

“What's going on over there,” he said, motioning to the two girls.

Argyll lifted a brow. “I thought you didn't like gossip.”

Duncan gave his cousin a hard stare; he knew very well he despised it.

Archie shook his head, realizing Duncan wouldn't bite. He shrugged. “Just the latest court scandal. Apparently, one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting went to bed with her candle too close to the bed hangings. The fire was put out quickly, but caused a commotion. When the servants rushed in to put it out, the lady was stark naked.” The young earl paused for dramatic effect. “Unfortunately for her, the man in her bed was not her husband.”

“What does that have to do with them?”

“The dark-haired one is her sister, Lady Catherine Murray.” Archie was watching him carefully—too carefully. “The other is Grant's daughter. But I suspect you know that.”

Duncan shot him a quelling glance. His eyes narrowed. So the sister was being shunned and Grant's daughter had decided to stand up for her. Good for her.

“Odd company,” Archie noted. “You'd think Grant's daughter would want to avoid a connection.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you not remember Grant's wife? She caused quite the uproar when she ran off with the Englishman.”

Duncan's eyes hardened. He bit back the rush of anger. He understood too well. “Introduce me,” he said.

His cousin's gaze leveled on him. “Why?”

Duncan turned to him. “Because you are going to ask Lady Catherine to dance.”

Archie didn't bother hiding his amusement. “And why would I want to do anything so noble?”

One corner of Duncan's mouth curled up. “Because that's just the kind of man you are.” He paused. “You just need me to remind you.”

It was horrible. No one was talking to them. Jeannie could see the toll it was taking on the other girl's fragile demeanor. She knew from experience that pride was the only thing keeping Lady Catherine from dissolving into a pool of tears.

All the memories of those years following her mother's scandal rushed back to her in a hot, painful wave. The shame. The embarrassment. The lonliness.

But then she looked up and he was there—Duncan Campbell—with his cousin, one of the most powerful men in Scotland.