Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(59)
But when she woke this morning, finally ready to face the ruins of her home, he had already gone. Though she knew he slept beside her, he’d seemed to make it a practice to leave before she woke, further driving a wedge between the closeness they had in the night and their distance during the day. Instead of sending for him, she’d decided to go on her own, wanting to be alone when she viewed the ruins for the first time.
Her heart pounded as she crested the hill that served as the majestic northern backdrop to Ascog Castle. She drew in a sharp breath and tears burned her eyes as the charred shell of Ascog came into view. Streaks of ash had turned portions of the gray stone black. All that remained in the inner barmkin gate was the stone tower—bereft of its wooden roof. Indeed, everything made of wood—all the small outer buildings that circled the courtyard—was gone. Despair mingled with relief. It was a ghostly shell of the place that she’d loved—but like her, it was still standing.
Her gaze swept over the barmkin, seeing the swarm of laboring men removing the ashes and debris. Her eyes blurred as memories of a happier time spun by. She could almost see Brian running after one of his dogs or Niall and Malcolm trying to clobber each other as they practiced with their claidheamhmórs. A single tear slid off her cheek and dropped on her arisaidh. God, how she missed them.
The weight of all she’d lost dropped over her shoulders. Loneliness and sorrow swept over her.
The work that it would take to restore the castle to its former glory was nearly overwhelming. Responsibility, duty—things that in her old life had always belonged to someone else—hit her full force. It belonged to her now, and she could not turn back. Wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, she drew a deep breath and started down the hill.
Though some of the debris had been cleared, there was still much to be done, and she intended to be there for every step of the rebuilding. As she’d assumed Jamie would be. But when she passed through the gate into the courtyard, she was surprised to find no sign of him.
The men, most of them former servants or tacksmen of her father’s, stopped their work and eyed her warily. Their reticence stung, but she plastered a wide smile on her face and spoke to one of the men she recognized.
“It’s good to see you, Callum.”
“And you, mistress,” he replied, returning her smile. But then he sobered. “We’re sorry for your loss, lass. Your father was a great chief.”
She nodded, a ball of emotion lodged at the back of her throat. “Thank you,” she managed. “I miss them very much.”
She made her way through the crowd, greeting others by name and asking about their families. Sensing the lightening of spirit, she broached the subject of repairs. Callum stated that they had a few more days of clearing the debris, but by the end of the week, they expected to start cutting the trees that would be used in the rebuilding. With wood scarce in the Isles, they were fortunate indeed to have the forest nearby with a ready supply of timber.
Another man stepped forward, this one not much older than her, and asked the question that was apparently on everyone’s minds. “Is it true, my lady? Were you forced to marry the man who killed your father?”
“No,” she answered, startled. “I mean, I did marry, but my husband had nothing to do with the attack.”
“But he’s a Campbell,” Callum said angrily. “And Argyll’s Henchman.”
“Yes,” she hedged. “But . . .” Her voice dropped off. But what? What could she say? This was worse than she’d imagined. Lamonts would never welcome a Campbell as their leader. All she’d thought of was reclaiming her home for her clan. But she knew that was only the partial truth. Jamie had forced her hand in this marriage, but she’d not put up much of a fight. On a base level that she could not explain, she wanted to believe in him. She met Callum’s gaze fully. “Now he’s also my husband.” She looked around, still surprised that she’d yet to see him. “The laird,” she ventured. “Has he gone to the forest to see to the timber?”
One of the men spat in the dirt. “ ’Tis not timber the Henchman seeks, but men.”
Caitrina frowned, instinctively rebelling at the use of the nickname, though realizing that she’d called him worse. She felt a strange urge to defend her husband but knew that to do so would only alienate her clan further. “I don’t understand.”
Another man spoke. “He’s clearing the forests of your father’s men, rounding them up for Argyll.”
No. The breath was knocked out of her. “There must be some mistake.”
But there was no mistake, because at that moment she turned, hearing the sound of horses. And riding through the gate, leading a handful of bound men, was her husband. She recognized the bound men only too well as some of her father’s former guardsmen.
Jamie wiped the dust and sweat from his forehead and dismounted. Despite the cool morning, he was hot and tired from chasing Lamonts since dawn. About the last person he wanted to see was his beautiful wife.
His beautiful wife, who was staring at him with silent accusation in her eyes.
The past few days had worn on him. He was doing his damnedest not to press matters between them, but his patience had been stretched to its limits. Passion wasn’t enough, damn it. He wanted all of her.
After their wedding night, he’d hoped it might be a new beginning for them. But whatever her blasted cousin had said to her that morning had cured him of that notion. He’d sensed her withdrawal, her subtle pulling away.