Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(42)

She crossed the small corridor outside her chamber in a few steps, pulled open the door and quickly slammed it closed behind her, as if he might be following her. But a tiny voice at the back of her head warned her that if Jamie Campbell wanted her, a simple wood plank door wouldn’t stand in his way. She shivered. Nothing would stand in his way.

Resting her back against the door, she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath, waiting for the hard rise and fall of her chest to slow.

Caitrina had thought that she’d put what had happened between them and her irrational attraction to Jamie behind her. His involvement—or that of his clan—in the attack on her family had erected an insurmountable wall between them. Or at least it should have, but he’d toppled it with words that made her question what she thought she knew.

She still wanted him. As much as she wanted to deny it, her passionate response to his kiss told otherwise. The weakness put her to shame. He should be the last man she was attracted to. If only it were as simple as physical attraction, but she feared something more complicated. She couldn’t seem to think straight when he was near.

Her emotions were in turmoil with all he’d told her, but two things rang true: He had carried her from the burning building—she remembered the feeling of safety and security when he’d held her in his arms—and her father had harbored the MacGregors.

She’d known her father was sympathetic to their plight—as many in the Highlands were—but Caitrina still couldn’t believe that he’d taken such a risk in sheltering the outlaws. Though she supposed, given the honorable and proud Highland chief that her father was, he would have felt compelled to shelter the MacGregors no matter what the risk. What really stung was that she’d known nothing about it. She had been kept in the dark. Ignorance had left her unprepared for heartbreak; she vowed never to be like that again.

In hindsight, she realized there had been warning signs, particularly with respect to Jamie Campbell. It was clear that her father had urged her to accept Jamie’s suit knowing that they might be in need of his protection.

Guilt twisted inside her. Would things have been different had she heeded his request? Would Jamie have protected them?

Caitrina didn’t know what to think, but one thing was certain: She needed to shore up her defenses against Jamie to withstand further attack. She might have gotten rid of him this time, but she knew he’d be back.

She needed to put herself out of his reach forever—which meant speeding up her search for a husband. Today, after the midday meal, she would speak with her uncle.

Her eyes flew open in alarm.

Midday meal. She glanced out the window at the sun on the horizon and muttered a curse.

She was late.

It took her only a few minutes to change her kirtle, splash some water on her face, and tug a comb through her hair before she was on her way back down the stairs. She exited the keep and hurried across the courtyard to the separate building that housed the new hall and kitchens. The great hall with its specially constructed fireplace had been hastily built over forty years ago, when Queen Mary had visited Toward Castle. To this day, the arched gateway between the chapel and guardhouse was called “Queen Mary’s Gate.”

She could hear the boisterous sounds of revelry as she drew near and felt a pang of guilt. With all that her uncle and aunt had done for her, Caitrina knew she should make a better effort to repay their kindness. Forcing a smile to her lips, she took a deep breath and walked into the great hall.

For a moment, the sounds of merrymaking and the pipes, the warm smell of peat, and the vivid panoply of color from the colorfully dressed clansmen filled her with a painful longing. It was so reminiscent of Ascog, she had to pause to collect herself.

Her eyes scanned the room, sliding over the sea of unfamiliar faces. Except for the dais, where her uncle sat with her aunt, cousins, and . . .

She stiffened with shock.

Only Jamie Campbell would be bold enough to enter the enemy’s lair after what had happened at Ascog. She should have expected something like this. He’d certainly wasted no time.

But what she didn’t understand was why her uncle would receive him. The Lamonts of Toward hated Campbells as much as their Ascog kin—if not more so. The fact that her uncle would sit at the same table with Argyll’s Henchman after all that had happened made her prickle with alarm.

Something did not bode well.

Jamie read her shock when she entered the hall and noticed him sitting at the dais beside her aunt.

He stilled, seeing her hesitate at the entry as she decided whether to come in or turn around. Had she changed more than he’d realized?

Only a few seconds elapsed before she straightened her spine and started purposefully across the hall—not sparing him another glance. Jamie relaxed his hand, not realizing he’d been gripping his goblet so hard. No, she was still the passionate girl who would not back down from a challenge. But as she drew closer, he could see the wariness in her eyes—wariness that pricked.

He took a long drink of cuirm, knowing that she was right to be worried.

There was an empty space on the bench beside him; he wasn’t surprised, however, when she took a seat at the opposite end of the long wooden table—as far from him as was possible.

He was left to converse with her aunt Margaret on his right and her cousin John, Lamont’s tanaiste, on his right. Both were aware of his purpose in coming to Toward. Though Margaret Lamont did her duty as hostess without fault, he detected disapproval in her manner. Her son was less subtle. John, a hulking, battle-scarred warrior of perhaps thirty years, didn’t bother to hide his hostility, speaking in grunts and monosyllables and looking as if he’d like nothing more than to slip a dirk between Jamie’s ribs.