Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(87)

“And they weren’t missed until the midday meal?”

“They did not usually return before then. I’m sorry, my laird, we should have kept a closer eye on them. But the old man had stopped his grumbling. Clearly he was loyal to the lady and seemed to have accepted the changed circumstances.”

Jamie shook his head. “ ’Tis not your fault.” If anyone was to blame, it was himself. He’d suspected Seamus’s acquiescence was too good to be true. “I took the man at his word.” And had assumed, like Will, that he’d be loyal to Caitrina.

“Where would they go?” Will asked.

He could think of a few places, none of them good. “With the risings after the MacGregor’s death, my first guess would be to the Lomond Hills.” But what could have provoked the Lamont guardsmen to risk their lives? Would they risk so much for the MacGregors? Possibly, but there could be another explanation. He tensed. They would risk much for a Lamont.

Will frowned. “But why now?”

Jamie clenched his jaw. “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” He spun on his heel and headed into the keep, his body hard with purpose.

He prayed that his suspicions were wrong. He didn’t want to think that Caitrina had anything to do with this, but she was hiding something from him, of that he was sure. He tamped down his anger, not wanting to rush to judgment.

As there was still some time before the evening meal, he began his search for her in their chamber. She’d returned earlier than normal today from Ascog with her serving woman. He recalled thinking that the old woman had looked distressed about something, but as Caitrina appeared in good spirits, he hadn’t given it much thought. Until now.

He’d survived this long partly because he didn’t believe in coincidences.

He opened the door without knocking and froze, finding his wife had just finished her bath.

At the sound, she started. Her head snapped around, and he could swear he detected a flash of apprehension in her fathomless blue eyes—almost as if she suspected the reason for his visit. Did she suspect the reason for his visit?

The air was humid and sultry, heavy with the scent of lavender. She sat on a stool before the fire in her wrap, a serving girl combing out the long wet tresses of luxurious ebony hair—as thick and satiny soft as sable. The old woman stood protectively beside her, staunch as a guardsman.

His instincts flared.

He waved the two servants from the room. “Leave us. I wish to speak to your mistress.”

Mor took a step toward him, shielding Caitrina from his view. “As you can see, we are not quite finished—”

“Now,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument, meeting the old woman’s gaze.

Mor stood firm, but the young serving girl dropped the horn comb. It clattered on the wood floor, unnaturally loud.

Caitrina stood and moved around in front of Mor, the full ripeness of her sensual curves displayed to lush perfection beneath the thin, damp silk of her dressing gown. His body heated, the power of her sweet feminine charms over him potent and undeniable.

His eyes slid over her, stopping at her br**sts where the fabric of her wrap crossed to reveal the deep crevice between the gently rounded edge of her soft flesh. Her ni**les were hard and tight, and clearly visible through the thin silk.

He stirred, his groin heavy with a lust that was even more powerful now that he’d tasted her passion. Passion that was open and honest—or at least it seemed that way. He wanted to believe it wasn’t just lust between them, but something deeper. That he was not alone in these powerful feelings.

From the first moment he’d seen her, he’d known she was special and wanted her. He wished it were still that simple. But she’d changed, as had the complexity of his desire. At one time her body would have been enough for him, but not anymore.

He’d done everything he could to earn her trust, to show her that he was more than a name. But maybe he was a fool to believe that a Lamont could ever trust a Campbell.

But she was his wife, damn it.

Her welcoming smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Disappointment hardened in his chest.

“You’re cold,” Caitrina said, moving toward him. “Come sit before the fire.” She looked to Mor and the terrified serving girl, who couldn’t seem to lift her eyes from the floor. “I can manage from here,” she assured them calmly.

The girl shuffled out as fast as she could, but Mor gave her a long look as if she meant to argue. At the pleading in Caitrina’s gaze, she made a sharp sound of displeasure and left them alone, closing the door with an impertinent slam behind her.

“That old woman needs to learn her place,” Jamie grumbled. He hadn’t been taken to task so many times since he was a lad.

“Her place is by my side,” she said. “You have to understand . . . when my mother died, Mor was there. She means no harm, it’s just that she thinks she has to protect me.”

“From who?”

Her gaze held steady as she met his. “From you.”

Jamie’s mouth drew into a tight line. Unrequited love burned in his chest. “I would never hurt you.”

“I know, but when you are angry—”

“Have I cause to be angry?”

“You tell me. You are the one who came storming in here, ordering everyone out.”