Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(37)

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. A group of fishermen were returning a skiff to the docks, sheep were grazing on the hills, a group of young lads were playing shinty on the moors, villagers passed back and forth through the castle gates unheeded. A solitary serving woman wandered along the beach, collecting shells.

His gaze snapped back to the woman, catching a glimpse of long strands of black curls tossed around her face by the wind. His heart hammered in his chest. Squinting into the bright sunlight, he was unable to make out her features from this distance, but deep in his gut he knew who it was.

The lass was no serving woman.

Jamie’s long wait was over. He’d found Caitrina Lamont.

Caitrina lifted two corners of her wool arisaidh together, forming a makeshift basket out of the wool, and placed another shell in the fold. Perhaps she’d make a necklace for Una? The little girl loved to pretend that she was one of the Maighdean na Tuinne. Caitrina had long stopped believing in mermaids, but watching Una lightened her heart. She admired the child’s ability to laugh and play, even though it was clear that Una—like the rest of her clan who’d come with her to Toward—desperately missed her home.

Caitrina sighed, knowing Mor was right. She couldn’t hide forever. As much as Toward had become her refuge, it had also become a place to hide. She needed to find a way to return Ascog to her clan, and she couldn’t do that by remaining at Toward Castle with her kin.

For a young woman without resources, there was only one thing she could do: She must find a powerful husband to help her win back her home.

A wistful smile played upon her lips. Strange that she could think of marriage without a flicker of emotion, when only a few months ago the very mention of finding a husband had roused such fervent response. She’d avoided marriage because she couldn’t imagine leaving her family. She’d just never expected them to leave her. Her chest squeezed and she closed her eyes for a minute, taking a steadying breath.

Her throat thickened as she knelt in the sand, cradling the shells in her lap, and began to dig. When she’d made a small hole about a foot deep, she carefully unbound the swatch of plaid from around her wrist. The muted browns and oranges were faded and the edges frayed, but the plaid was unmistakably that of her father’s breacan feile. Her chest tightened as she slid her fingers over the soft wool plaid and then brought it to her cheek.

A few days after the attack, while Caitrina was still unconscious, a few of the servants had snuck back to see what remained of the castle and to see to the burying of the dead. The fire had made it unnecessary. In the ashes, they’d found a few items that had escaped the Campbells, including the badge and scrap of plaid.

No longer able to hold back the tears, she folded the fabric in a neat square and set it at the bottom of the hole, then covered it with sand. It was the burial denied her by the fire, her injuries, and the need to seek safety. For the first time since she’d recovered and realized that her family had been killed, the emotion poured out of her and she gave over to the powerful storm of grief.

When the deluge abated, she dried her eyes and, cradling the shells against her, rose to her feet, feeling oddly stronger. The life she’d had before was gone forever; it was time to look to the future—one that she would rebuild for her clan. They were her responsibility. And she’d be damned if she’d let the Campbells win. One way or another, justice would be done.

Hearing the muffled sound of hooves in the sand, she looked up to see a man approaching. At first she thought it was one of her uncle’s guardsmen and lifted her hand in greeting.

She tilted her head. There was something familiar . . .

The blood drained from her face, and the carefully gathered shells scattered at her feet, forgotten.

No.

But it was him. She recognized the broad shoulders, the dark brown hair laced with strands of red gold, the hard, fiercely handsome face, and the cool, slate blue eyes that gazed at her with such intensity. The wide mouth she’d kissed with such hunger. And there was that air of confident command that she’d never seen replicated in another man—of absolute power and authority.

Jamie Campbell had found her.

The ache in her chest was unbearable as memories of the attack and the pleasure they had shared collided. Touching him. Tasting him. The intimacy of the moment when she’d shattered in his arms.

And his retribution for refusing him.

She’d known the kind of man he was but had been foolish enough to succumb to his masculine allure. Even now, when she should feel nothing but revulsion, she felt an unmistakable pull.

It hurt to look at him. How could something so beautiful be so black? Could she really have thought he was anything but a cold, ruthless enforcer?

Their eyes met. Emotion cut through her like a jagged knife as she gazed into the piercing blue eyes of the man who’d destroyed everything she’d loved.

The memories came back to her in pieces. His face. The fire.

Unconsciously, she took a step back. Her voice shook with emotion. “Stay away from me.”

The look on Caitrina’s face cut Jamie to the quick. He’d wanted to see her so badly, and here she was, finally, but with fear in her eyes. After months of searching for her, of wanting to make sure she was safe and protected, it was a surprisingly sharp blow. He hated that she would think the worst of him, though what else should he have expected? It would be too much to hope that she’d remember his part in her rescue and in putting an end to the battle.