Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(74)

Without proof, Jamie had been reluctant to further stir up the Lamont clansmen’s resentment by punishing Seamus, but he’d warned the older man that if there were any more “accidents,” he would find himself with a rope around his neck—“proof” or not.

“Aye, that was a terrible mistake,” Seamus said with unabashed sincerity. Caitrina couldn’t tell if it was an admission and he was attempting to offer some sort of apology.

She held his gaze. “Seamus, promise me nothing like that will happen again. I know it is difficult, but we must try to adjust—”

“No!” The vehemence in his voice took her aback. “We’ll never accept a Campbell as laird. It pains me that you would say so, lass.”

How could she explain that she’d done what she’d thought best under the circumstances?

“If you had anything to do with what happened—”

“Not now, lass. It will all make sense soon enough. But hurry, we don’t have much time. Follow me.”

He tried to take her hand and drag her into the trees toward the mountains, but she dug in her heels, refusing to budge. “Where are you taking me? What is all the secrecy about?”

Seamus looked around again and lowered his voice. “I can’t explain now, it’s too dangerous—one of his Campbell guardsmen could come along at any moment—you’ll have to come see for yourself. But trust me, lass, this is something you don’t want to miss.”

Caitrina hesitated, not feeling right about traipsing after Seamus into the wilderness. After what had happened . . . something in her urged caution. And then there was Jamie’s order for her to stay at the castle. She bit her lip. She hadn’t given much thought to its purpose but merely reacted against the presumption. What if he had a reason beyond his general protectiveness? A prickle of guilt needled at her. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Perhaps tomorrow—”

A disembodied voice, coming from behind one of the trees deeper in the forest ahead of them, cut her off. “God’s wounds, Caitrina, must you always be contrary? Haven’t I told you repeatedly that men prefer biddable women?”

The hair on her arms electrified as shock froze every bone, every muscle, every nerve ending of her body.

Her hand went to her throat as she stared wildly in the direction of the achingly familiar voice. She shook her head. Dear God, it can’t be. “No. . .”

A man stepped out from behind a tree, his tall, wide-shouldered body silhouetted by the low light and trees. “I’m afraid so, little sister.”

The blood drained from her body. Niall.

She was seeing a ghost. It was too much to believe. The rush of emotion to her chest was too much to take.

“Catch her,” he said, taking a step forward. “I think she’s going to . . .”

But Caitrina didn’t hear the rest as darkness rose up to

swallow her.

Ouch. Someone was slapping her cheek. Caitrina twisted her head and batted the hand away. “Stop that!”

A man laughed. “I’d say she’s fine. Looks like the blow to the head didn’t soften her temper any.”

Caitrina opened her eyes and gazed into familiar blue depths. She drank in every inch of his handsome face. It was lean and weather-beaten and bore a few new scars, but there was no mistake. Tears welled in her eyes as she placed her hand on his rough-whiskered cheek. “You’re real.”

A smile curved his mouth into the roguish grin he’d perfected many years ago—well before it had proved so devastating on the village lasses. “Aye, love. As real as they come.”

She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into the dusty leather of his heavy quilted cotun. Niall. Dear God, it was really him. The happiness she felt at having her brother returned to her from the dead was unfathomable. She felt as if a light had just shone on the dark corner of her heart she’d thought closed off forever.

And now he was here. Her irritating, teasing, cocksure brother was alive and by all appearances well. But she could see that, like her, he’d changed. He was harder, sadder, angrier.

The hot ball of emotion lodged in her chest exploded into a torrent of choking tears. Niall held her, smoothing her hair as he murmured soothing words. “Shush, Caiti, it’s all right, I’m here.”

She pulled back, blinking the tears from her eyes, feeling as if she’d just woken from a terrible dream. “But how?” Her eyes narrowed with sudden realization. “Why did you not tell me?” She swatted him on the arm. “How could you let me think you were dead for so long?”

He chuckled. “Now there’s my sister. I’d begun to fear the sweet sobbing creature in my arms was someone else.” His eyes swept over her meaningfully. “You look different, Caiti. I almost didn’t recognize you.” He took in her dirty gown and worn arisaidh. “What’s happened to you, lass?”

A wry smile played upon her mouth. “I’ve changed.”

“So I see. The damn Campbells have made beggars of us all.”

Niall’s anger made her wish she’d purchased the new cloth Jamie had insisted upon, but now was probably not the time to point out that Niall and Jamie were in agreement on the subject of her clothing. Instead she asked, “Where have you been, Niall?”

“I’ll explain everything, but first come with me.” He stood up and held out his hand to help her up.