Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(57)

“Already!” Caitrina exclaimed, suddenly wide awake. “We were supposed to leave for Ascog at daybreak. Why did someone not wake me?”

“The laird instructed me to let you sleep.” Mor didn’t seem to be any more happy to take his orders in the morning than she had in the eve. She gave Caitrina a pointed look. “He said you needed your rest.”

Caitrina turned so Mor would not see the telltale blush creeping up her cheeks.

“You are all right?” Mor asked hesitantly. “He was not too rough—”

“I’m fine,” Caitrina said hurriedly. Better than fine. She’d never felt so . . . fine. She could still see the frown on Mor’s face, so she reached out to clasp her hands and look into her worried eyes. “Truly, Mor, I’m well. He was . . . gentle.” Surprisingly so. Completely at odds with the fierce, implacable warrior she thought him to be. Last night, she’d seen a side of him she hadn’t expected, and she didn’t know what to do with her newfound knowledge.

She still couldn’t believe what had happened. He’d surprised her on so many levels. First by his sensitivity to her lingering fears from the soldier’s attack and then by his ceding to her complete control in their lovemaking. Never could she have imagined that he would give her such a gift when his sheer physical strength, his natural authority and command, and the sexual virility that exuded from him all spoke of dominant male. And her confidence that he would stop at any point had calmed her fears like nothing else—he’d known what she needed even before she did. Had she once thought him cold and ruthless? Perhaps to his enemies, but to her he’d been understanding, tender . . . almost loving.

Satisfied by Caitrina’s response, her old nurse nodded, and she was saved from further conversation by the arrival of the wooden tub.

While she was relaxing in the warm water, her thoughts drifted more than once or twice to her husband. Instinctively, she realized that something had changed between them, but what? Would it be uncomfortable to see him? Would he pretend nothing had happened? Had anything happened? She half expected him to open the door at any minute, but it wasn’t until after she’d broken her fast that she saw him.

He entered the great hall with her uncle, and her heart jumped. She tensed, waiting for his reaction. His eyes found hers and, perhaps sensing her uncertainty, he smiled.

He took her breath away. And with that one simple gesture, perhaps a little of her heart as well.

It should be a sin to be so handsome. With his eyes twinkling, his dark ruddy hair slumped over his brow, and his sensual mouth curved in a wide grin, there was no one who could compare. He looked more at ease than she’d ever seen him. She’d never realized how much he was always on guard.

But there was something else. . . .

She drew in her breath. His clothing. For the first time since she’d met him, he was wearing the traditional breacan feile of a Highlander—the belted plaid was worn over a fine linen shirt and secured at the shoulder with his chieftain’s badge. If anything, the garb made him look even more impressive. She recognized the plaid as similar to the one he’d lent her the first day they’d met. She was so used to seeing him in court clothing, but it reminded her that despite his worldly Lowland ways, he was, in fact, a Highlander.

She couldn’t help wondering if it meant something.

He strode toward her and took her hand, lifting it to his mouth. “I trust you slept well?”

Aware of the eyes on them, she still couldn’t prevent the heat that rose in her cheeks. “Yes, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he teased.

Mortified, she stumbled, “I didn’t mean—” She stopped, seeing the laughter in his eyes. “Wretch,” she murmured.

He laughed and drew her hand into the crook of his arm. “If you are ready, we can bid our farewells.”

It was strange. Standing beside him side to side, her hand resting against the hard muscle of his arm, she felt connected. They were connected, she realized, as man and wife. She could never have her old life back, but maybe, just maybe, she could make a new one—not better or worse, but different.

Saying good-bye to her uncle, aunt, and cousins was more difficult than she’d expected. She owed them so much and knew that she could never repay their kindness.

It wasn’t until her cousin John pulled her aside while Jamie spoke privately with her uncle in the laird’s solar that reality intruded on the dreamlike spell woven by their passionate wedding night.

“It won’t be easy for you, lass, married to a Campbell. You’ve made a great sacrifice for your clan, but if you find it more than you can bear, send for me.”

Caitrina lowered her gaze. Sacrifice. It wasn’t half the sacrifice it should be. Still, her cousin’s concern—even if misplaced—touched her. She felt a jab in her chest. It was something Malcolm or Niall would have done. “Thank you, John, but it won’t be necessary. I’ll manage well enough.”

He gave her a hard look. “Don’t be deceived by the pleasure of the marriage bed, lass.” John’s blunt—and too accurate—appraisal of the situation took her aback. “He wants you, but Jamie Campbell is every bit as dangerous and ruthless as they say. I’ve seen him in action. He’ll never allow himself to be swayed by a woman. His first loyalty will always be to his cousin. Don’t let the costume fool you,” he said, referring to Jamie’s choice of clothing. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one to notice the change in attire. “He’s a Campbell through and through—and as such, will never be a friend of ours.”