Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(27)
Despair drained through her as she recognized the truth: Some things would never be restored—like her innocence and illusion of indifference.
When she turned back around, she avoided his gaze but noticed that all vestiges of passion had been erased from his face. His expression was once again implacable. She hated his control. That he could be so unaffected when her world had just shattered seemed somehow all the more devastating. What would it take for this man to feel?
“Everything will be all right, Caitrina.” He tried to take her hand, but she yanked it away. There was nothing he could do to comfort her. “I will speak to your father—”
“No!” Her eyes flew to his in panic. “You will do nothing of the kind.”
His steely gaze bored into her, and he drew himself up to his full height—which was imposing indeed. “I will, of course, offer for you.”
She shook her head. “There is no need—”
“Yes”—he caught her arm, this time not letting go—“there is. I want you.”
Her chest squeezed: possession. “You don’t want me. I’m merely another battle to be won. Something you saw and decided you had to have. A pretty decoration to keep by your side. You don’t even know me.”
His jaw clenched. “I know all I need to know. You are clever, beautiful without artifice, strong, and care deeply for those you love. I’ve seen the way you look after your father and brothers.”
“Because I love them. You can’t think that I’d ever feel the same—”
“No,” he cut her off curtly. “I’d not expect that of you, but after what just happened, you can hardly claim that you are indifferent to me.”
God, it was true. How could I have succumbed so easily? Hot pressure built in her eyes and throat. He’d warned her that she was naïve. . . . Caitrina stiffened. Her eyes searched his face for signs of duplicity. Had he used her innocence against her?
She felt like such a fool. “And whatever the Highland Henchman wants he takes, is that it? You knew I didn’t want you, so you tricked me. You are every bit as cruel as they say, not stopping at anything to get what you want.”
Tiny white lines appeared around his mouth, the only sign that she’d penetrated his steely armor of control. “Have care, Princess,” he said roughly. “I’ve already warned you that I’m not one of your mealymouthed suitors you can wrap around your little finger. You are wrong about my motives. I took nothing that was not willingly offered. Deny me if you wish, but at least be honest with yourself.”
She knew he was right, but she didn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want to marry anyone.” Her voice shook, she feared with a twinge of hysteria. “And I especially don’t want to marry you. I hate you for what you did.” For what you made me feel.
There was something so intense in his gaze, she had to turn away.
“Hate me if it makes you feel better, but it doesn’t change the fact that you want me. What we have together—” He stopped. “It is not common.”
He was only saying that. She clenched her fists at her side, fighting for control. “You may have succeeded in proving that I desire you, but it does not change anything. You are still a Campbell and still Argyll’s toady—the sword arm of a despot.”
“I’m my own man,” he said flatly. “I make my own decisions. If you took the time to look beyond the golden gates of your castle, you would see the truth plain enough. My fight is with outlaws and men who stand in the way of law and order.”
“You are a thug and a brute,” she said, her voice laden with scorn. “And a fool if you think I’d willingly marry a man who is feared and reviled as the devil. Who is no more than a hired murderer.”
The silence was deafening. His face was stony, but for a moment she glimpsed the cold fury in his eyes. Caitrina realized that she’d gone too far. But it was too late to take it back, even if she wanted to.
He took a menacing step closer, but she stood her ground.
“You claim to have such a definitive understanding of my character, and yet you do not appear frightened?”
He was right. Looking at him with all she knew, by all rights she should be terrified. Standing there, his handsome features hard and forbidding and six feet plus of rippling muscles with hands that could crush her in an instant. She’d seen his cold, merciless rage against MacNeil . . . yet he’d touched her with nothing but tenderness. She lifted her chin. “Should I be?”
His gaze met hers, deep and penetrating, seeing things she didn’t want him to see. “Perhaps you should be.”
She was scared—not of him, but of herself.
Caitrina’s chest squeezed. The tears that she’d fought to control spilled down her cheeks. “Just go away and leave me alone,” she choked.
He flinched. Or maybe she’d just imagined it, because when he met her gaze, his eyes were like ice. “You shall have your wish. But your scorn is misplaced, and you will regret your refusal of my offer. One day, Caitrina, the brutal reality of our world will find you—and I guarantee it won’t be pretty dresses and fancy slippers.”
Chapter 7
It wasn’t over. Not by any measure. Jamie turned and left her in the woods, not looking back, the hot rush of anger pounding through his veins. Caitrina Lamont was his. She might not realize it yet, but she would.