Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(91)

She feared she knew the answer.

Duncan left the armory, cursing stubborn women. Jeannie was his, damn it. Couldn't she feel it?

He refrained from slamming the door and venting some of his considerable frustration, and clenched his fists at his side instead.

The disappointment that had knifed through his chest at her refusal to acknowledge what was between them had done nothing to take the edge off the unspent lust that still coiled through his veins. He felt like an angry tiger in a cage and heaven help anyone who got in his way right now.

She sure as hell better make up her mind soon, because time was the one thing he did not have.

There were a few people milling about the courtyard, but they took one look at his face and turned the other way. He glanced in the direction of the practice area, near the place where he'd first seen Jeannie. He'd hoped a good sword fight would help ease his tension, but had been disappointed to discover that the guardsmen had yet to return from their morning ride. Jamie had thought it better that Duncan stay within the walls of the castle until they determined how to proceed. Having already come across more than one party of soldiers looking for him on his way south, Duncan was inclined to agree and not press his luck.

He crossed the yard, heading toward the keep, half expecting the lad to come bounding down the stairs and intercept him.

It was the boy she was protecting—not her husband. Why hadn't he realized it before? It put an entirely new perspective on her refusal to help him—one not burdened by jealousy. But it infuriated him to think that she didn't trust him to protect her son.

Duncan almost regretted his offer to show the lad some of the hand-to-hand combat moves he'd learned as a lad … almost. But he'd heard the shame in the boy's voice and it had struck a chord. He remembered only too well what it was like to be picked on. His bastardy had made him a target, and when he was Dougall's age, his size had made him an easy one. Fortunately for him, he'd grown quickly and significantly in adolescence.

But even if the lad stayed on the small side, it didn't mean he couldn't distinguish himself as a warrior. Duncan felt a strange urge to help him, but knew it wasn't his place. Jamie would see to his training.

Still, like Ella, something about the lad unsettled him—even more so. He'd felt that same heart-squeezing pain upon seeing him, and a fleeting moment of wistful-ness, knowing that had circumstances been different they could have been his. With a certain amount of wishful thinking, he'd studied the boy's face, searching for a connection and seeing only the stamp of Jeannie's features. From what he remembered of John Grant, Jeannie's brother, the boy looked quite a bit like him.

Duncan frowned. Except for the hair color. Like Francis Gordon, John Grant had blond hair. But then she'd kissed him and he'd forgotten everything but the passionate woman in his arms. Had that been her intention? Had she been trying to distract him?

He was halfway up the stairs when a woman cried out his name, “Duncan!”

His heart stopped. For a moment he thought it was Jeannie. But even before he turned and set eyes on the tiny, wisp of a woman who'd just come storming through the gate he knew it wasn't her. Disappointment cut through him.

The woman didn't bother waiting for anyone to help her down, much to the outrage of the man beside her—if the black expression on his face was any indication—but jumped off her horse and started running toward him.

The hood covering her hair flew back, revealing a crown of white-blond hair.

“Duncan,” she cried again, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Blue eyes met blue and recognition hit. A hot wave of emotion rose up to grab him by the throat. There was only one person who could be this happy to see him. “Lizzie,” he choked out and opened his arms.

Chapter 18

Jeannie knew she should leave. She should take Dougall and return to Aboyne Castle for the Christmas and Hogmany celebration while Duncan was occupied clearing his name, before his curiosity could take hold about her son.

If she were smart, she would do just that. But she'd never been smart when it came to Duncan Campbell. Torn between wanting to run after him and wanting to run away, Jeannie had just turned the corner around the practice yard on her way back to the keep when she heard the woman's cry.

She froze midstep, seeing a tiny woman catapult herself into Duncan's arms.

Her heart tumbled to her feet. The spur of jealousy was as strong as it was unreasonable. For a moment she couldn't breathe, transfixed by the sight of another woman in his arms. In her stupor, it took Jeannie longer to realize who it was. It wasn't until the woman released her hands from around Duncan's neck and pulled back to hold his face that Jeannie recognized Elizabeth Campbell—his sister.

The sigh of relief that poured through her was telling. Slowly, the tension eased from her neck and shoulders. After taking a moment to compose herself, Jeannie walked toward the keep, staying back so as to not interrupt the poignant reunion taking place between the siblings.

Rarely did Duncan display emotions, but his love for his sister was plain on his face.

Once he looked at me like that.

Guilt pricked at her. This is the welcome he'd deserved, she realized. The difference between Jeannie's greeting (with a pistol!) and that of his sister's couldn't be more glaring. In spite of his betrayal of her, it did not change the fact that Duncan had been forced from his family, his home, his country, for a crime he didn't commit. Likely because of her father and possibly her husband. And the only person who'd been glad to see him—who'd welcomed him back—was his sister. By contrast, Jeannie had tried to stop him every step of the way.