Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(21)

It intrigued her.

He intrigued her, blast him.

But the person Jamie was most comfortable with was Margaret MacLeod, Alex’s wife. Seeing them together, watching the easy banter between the two, made something pinch hard inside Caitrina’s chest. It was a feeling unlike anything she’d ever experienced before—almost irrational in its intensity. Even the knowledge that Margaret MacLeod was so obviously in love with her husband did not lessen it any. Why their easy camaraderie should bother her, she didn’t know . . . except that it did.

Which was ridiculous, since nothing would ever persuade her to consider Jamie Campbell—her father’s halfhearted request notwithstanding.

Her hatred of clan Campbell had been fed since birth and would not be easily cast aside. It was part of who she was: Lamonts hated Campbells. Too much blood had been shed between the two clans. But her reasons were also personal. She’d seen what they’d done to her mother, how much it had hurt her to be disowned by her father and cut off from everyone in her family. She would never repeat her misery. Her father couldn’t seriously expect her to look at Jamie Campbell as anything other than the enemy. If she married a Campbell, she might as well be banished; the effect would be the same. She would be cut off from her clan by years of hatred.

But it wasn’t simply who he was—though that was cause enough—it was how he made her feel. He watched her with those steely blue eyes that seemed to bore right through her. It was a look of possession and desire that threatened her in a way no man ever had before—that just because he’d kissed her, he had some kind of claim on her. It made her feel trapped by feelings she didn’t understand and longings that made her yearn to escape.

She could not deny the strange connection between them: a heightened awareness that left her feeling warm and prickly, her skin strangely tight and sensitive. At meals when his leg or arm would accidentally brush against hers, it felt as if she were jumping out of her skin. He seemed to delight in tormenting her. As if he knew what his touch did to her and how much he unnerved her. But nothing she did or said seemed to get through to him. Her attempt to treat him with cool disdain was met with wry amusement.

The incident in the barn had not been broached, but it was there, hanging between them—as was the memory of his mouth on hers. It was a memory she yearned to forget, but it seemed the harder she attempted to push it away, the more she could think of nothing else. She tried to think of other men kissing her, but the only face she could visualize was his.

What kept her sane was the knowledge that her discomfort soon would be at an end. Tomorrow the gathering would be over. Jamie Campbell would leave with the rest of the guests, and her life would return to normal.

But for how long? Her father had laid down the law about her marriage.

She fought the spark of panic, refusing to think of that now. When everyone left, she would find a way to dissuade him.

Caitrina sat on a rock under the shade of an old birch tree along the edge of the woods. In the moors beyond, the final competition—archery—was just about to get under way.

She stiffened, sensing his presence even before the mocking words had left his mouth.

“Miss me, Princess?”

She hated that he called her that, but after the first time she had refused to let him know how much it bothered her.

“Like the plague,” she replied sweetly.

He chuckled. “Stubborn lass. But as much as I’d love to sit here and spar with you, my sweet, you’ll have to forgive me.” He gave her an amused look and nodded toward the field of play. “I have a contest to win.”

She noticed the bow slung over his muscled shoulder and felt a prickle of disquiet. “But you haven’t participated in any of the games. With such an unusual affinity for hunting, I thought you’d be off on another ride.”

“Keeping track of me, Caitrina? I’m flattered. But I couldn’t resist the prize for this event.”

Her cheeks burned. She hated how she could never tell whether he was teasing or in earnest. “You know very well that was not meant for your ears. Even if you could best Rory MacLeod, which you can’t, it wouldn’t matter. My offer did not extend to you. Besides, I’ve already told you I’m not interested.”

He gave her a long, dark look. One that made butterflies dance low in her belly.

“I know what you’ve told me, but your eyes say differently.”

She turned away from him in a huff. “You are blind and arrogant.”

“Have care, lass. You might hurt your neck tossing your hair around like that.” He twisted a long tress around his finger like a ribbon and then let it spring free. “Though it is lovely.” Laughing at the outraged look on her face, he bowed. “I’ll be back soon to collect my prize.”

He infuriated her, but her gaze followed him as he walked toward the other men, mesmerized by the flex of muscle in his long, powerful stride. She jerked her head away with a start.

He is wrong. He means nothing to me. It was simply that he’d dared what no man had before. She was inexperienced in her intimate relations with men (he’d been right about that). His had been her first kiss. But Caitrina intended for that to change. Soon.

Perhaps she’d been too hasty in rejecting Torquil MacNeil. He was young and boastful, but seemingly suitable. And certainly more appealing than some of the other men brought before her.