Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(19)
“Your loyalty, for one.” He held the other man’s stare, watching his reaction carefully. “There have been rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“The kind that could get a man killed.” The punishment for harboring the proscribed MacGregors was death, and that’s what the Lamont would be facing for hiding the fugitives—the obligation of Highland hospitality or not. Jamie wasn’t without sympathy for the Lamont’s plight, choosing between his honor and the law, but he wanted to make sure the old man knew exactly what he risked.
The old chief’s expression betrayed nothing, but he nodded. “I hope you don’t always believe what you hear.”
“Not always.”
Jamie started to walk toward the stairs, knowing that he might have just given himself away. But something had compelled him to give the Lamont a warning.
Hell, was he growing soft? Jamie realized that he liked the Lamont . . . and his daughter.
“Campbell.”
He stopped and turned.
“I’ll not force her to wed. If you want the lass, you’ll have to convince her.”
Aye, Jamie thought, there was the rub.
Caitrina waited in the stables long after he’d left, unable to breathe, her hands fisted tightly at her side. It was all she could do to hold back the tears. No one had ever talked to her like that.
His accusations rang in her ears. Jamie Campbell had a way of making her feel foolish and frivolous. There was nothing wrong with her gown. She gazed down at the pink silk. It was one of her favorites, and she’d wanted to look her best. For him? She was a fool. She looked around; the rusty tools and chipped lime taunted her. She felt sick to her stomach.
No. He was wrong. He didn’t even know her, yet he accused her of—
She stopped, realizing that she’d accused him of the same. Of not knowing him before passing judgment.
But this was different. Jamie Campbell knew nothing of her family.
Still, after leaving the stables, Caitrina found herself searching desperately for her father—not a simple prospect in the crowds that had descended upon Ascog for the games. She passed through the gate and started down the path to the loch. There must have been a hundred people milling about the thin strip of muddy shoreline and slightly wider patch of moorland.
She put her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the bright light of the sun. The swimming races were set to begin. The competitors had lined up for the start, including her brothers Malcolm and Niall, but her father was nowhere to be seen.
He should be here. Brian tried to run past her in a pack of young boys, but she caught him by the arm. “Brian, have you seen Father?”
He shook his head. “Not since this morning, why?”
“I need to see him.”
“Have you checked the keep?”
She shook her head. “No. He should have been here for the races.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Brian said impatiently. “Can I go now?”
She could see his friends disappearing into the woods. She let go of his arm. “Go. I’ll look for him inside.”
It wasn’t like her father to disappear like this. What was going on around here?
Caitrina rushed up the path and passed through the gate, stopping midstep when she caught sight of her father speaking with Jamie Campbell across the barmkin. From the tense expressions on both men’s faces, she could tell it was not a friendly conversation.
When Jamie disappeared into the keep, her father seemed to sag a little, his face visibly distressed.
She ran toward him and hurled herself into his strong embrace, feeling like a child again. How many times had she done the same after a scrape or bruise or some particularly cruel brotherly teasing? Her father had always been there to wipe her tears and soothe the hurt.
Unbidden, another of Jamie’s accusations came back to her. He was wrong. She had never prevented her father from remarrying. He had loved her mother so desperately. . . . But her father was still a handsome man, and she knew there were many women who would be eager to take her mother’s place. My place.
Her chest tightened, and she rested her cheek against the warm, scratchy wool of his plaid, feeling precariously close to tears.
She hated Jamie Campbell for making her feel like this. For making her fear that she was the most selfish daughter in the whole world. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“What’s this, lass? What has upset you?”
“I saw you talking with that horrible man.”
Her father pushed her back so he could look at her, his face as fierce as she’d ever seen it. “Has Campbell done anything to offend you?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing like that,” she said, putting the kiss out of her mind. “Everything about him offends me. He’s a Campbell. And Argyll’s bloodthirsty cousin to boot.”
Her father sighed and shook his head. “You’ve been listening to gossip, Caiti Rose.”
She pushed up her chin, hearing the censure in his voice. “It’s the only way to find out anything around here since you and Malcolm and Niall never tell me anything.”
“There’s no reason for you to worry.” He patted her on the head as he always did, but this time it bothered her.
Jamie Campbell had made her feel foolish, made her feel as if she didn’t know what she was talking about. “I know all I need to know about Jamie Campbell. He’s Argyll’s Henchman, no better than a hired killer.” But even as she made the accusation, she knew it rang false.