Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(38)
After sliding from his mount, he approached her cautiously. “I mean you no harm, lass.”
She shrank back, and it felt as if he’d been socked in the stomach.
“God, how can you say that?” she cried. “After what you’ve done?” She put her hand up as if to stop him and took another step back. “Stay away from me. D-Don’t come any closer.”
He halted, but he was close enough to see her tearstained face and the other transformations wrought by tragedy. She looked wan and tired and much thinner than he remembered. Her luminous eyes seemed to dominate her face, but there was a hard edge to her gaze that hadn’t been there before—of wariness and distrust. The spirited, brazen girl who’d challenged him without thought was gone, and in her place was a forlorn young woman of heart-wrenching fragility.
He ached to hold her in his arms and wipe away the hurt, feeling an overwhelming urge to protect her and ensure that nothing ever harmed her again.
“I only wish to speak with you,” he said gently. “Nothing more.”
“How can you think I’d ever want to lay eyes upon you, let alone speak with you again?”
He looked into her eyes. “I had nothing to do with what happened to your clan, Caitrina. That is why I am here: to explain.”
“You were there.” She emphasized the last word with damning finality. “I saw you. Do you deny it?”
He shook his head. “Nay. I came as soon as I could, hoping to prevent a battle. But I was too late.”
“You expect me to believe that?” she said, scorn dripping from her voice.
Her anger was a relief. She was undeniably fragile, but not broken. He hoped like hell that he would never have to see fear in her eyes again.
“After what you said when you left?” she continued.
“Should I believe it wasn’t a threat when you told me I would regret refusing you? You told me I knew nothing of the real world and that one day it would find me.”
The tears that rolled down her cheeks ate like acid in his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and he caught a glimpse of the strength that still burned inside her.
“Well, you were right, I know now that the world is a cruel place. You’ve made your point brutally clear, now leave me be.”
Her accusations rang with more truth than he wanted to acknowledge. He had wanted her disillusioned, to see his side—but not like this. “I spoke out of anger,” he said, taking a tentative step closer. God, he could smell her. The sweet flowery scent made him yearn to bury his head in her neck and hair. The urge to touch her was overwhelming. He took a deep, controlling breath. Right now he needed to make her understand. “I’m sorry for your loss, lass. You must believe that I had nothing to do with the attack on your clan.”
Slowly, he reached down and put his hand on her cheek, bracing for her rejection, more relieved than he could imagine when she didn’t flinch away from his touch. He wiped the tears from her face with his thumb, savoring the touch of her baby soft skin. Her mouth trembled and he ached to taste her, to wipe away her confusion with his kiss. He tilted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I would never hurt you.”
For a moment, it looked as though she wanted to believe him, but her eyes hardened and she turned her face from his hand. “So the timing was just a coincidence? You had nothing to do with the attack? You knew nothing of the charge leveled against my father that he was harboring the MacGregors?”
He hesitated. “I did not order the attack on your clan.”
“And as to the other? That Argyll believed my father was giving aid to the MacGregors? You had nothing to do with that as well?”
He held her stare, not shying from the truth.
She gasped. “You did know.” He watched her work it out in her mind. “You didn’t come to Ascog for the gathering or to woo me, you came to spy on my father.” She gazed at him accusingly, eyes wide with hurt. “God, you used me.”
“No,” he said roughly, his arms flexed rigidly at his side. Every instinct clamored to take her into his embrace and force her to understand, force her to deny what crackled like wildfire between them. Even with the waves crashing and the wind snapping all around them, he was aware of nothing but her. “My mission was to find proof that the MacGregors were at Ascog, but what happened between us had nothing to do with Alasdair MacGregor.”
Her eyes scanned his face. “Why should I believe you? Why would I believe anything you say?”
He held her gaze. “Because it’s the truth.” He studied her face, wondering how much she remembered of what had happened. He tensed, thinking of the soldier. He’d never forget the feeling when he’d seen her unconscious, her face bruised, blood running down her pale temple, and one of his brother’s men trying to force himself between her legs. If he’d been a few minutes later . . . The primal explosion of rage had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He’d wrapped his arm around the bastard’s neck and broken it with one satisfying snap. Jamie didn’t regret the loss of life, only how quickly the scourge had found it. If she did not remember, he would not be the one to remind her. “You were in and out of consciousness. Do you remember nothing of what happened?”
Confusion clouded her gaze. “A little.”
He probed carefully, not wanting to cause more pain by dredging up memories of the soldier. “I carried you from the tower. It was burning. There was smoke everywhere.” She started—as if she’d suddenly remembered.