Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(98)

The door opened again and another young serving girl rushed in.

“ ’Tis about time,” Mor said angrily. “What took you so long? I sent you for those herbs hours ago.”

More like a few minutes ago, Caitrina thought wryly.

“I’m sorry, mistress. The kitchens are in an uproar at the laird’s bequest, readying everything for the morrow.”

Caitrina froze, every instinct flared. “Tomorrow? What is happening tomorrow?”

The girl cast her a furtive glance, then looked to the floor. “I thought you knew, my lady. The laird is taking the prisoners to Dunoon.”

Caitrina felt the blood drain from her face. No!

There has to be a mistake.

Not long afterward, Caitrina sat woodenly before the fire, staring into the dying embers of flaking ashy peat. The incident that had almost taken her life was far from her mind as she waited for a more painful blow to fall. She’d sent Mor and the others from the room, knowing that he would come to her soon—if only to check on her injury.

She fought the bitter swell of betrayal; she would hear his explanation first.

At last she heard the familiar heavy footfalls. Her heart pounded. The door opened and closed. She lifted her eyes to his.

He spoke first. “Your wound—”

“Tell me it’s not true,” she said, cutting him off, her injury insignificant in the face of what she’d just discovered. He seemed perplexed by her tone. “What’s not true?”

Her hand gripped the wooden arm of the chair. “Tell me that you have not arrested my brother and his men. Tell me that you are not taking them to your cousin.”

He straightened, clearly taken aback. “I thought you understood. It’s my duty—”

“Duty?” Pain seared through her. Caitrina wanted to wail like a wounded animal. The affirmation of his betrayal cut more deeply than she could imagine. She’d trusted him with what she held most dear, and he’d betrayed her. “I don’t care about your duty! I would never have told you where they were if I’d known what you intended. You swore you would help them.”

His mouth fell in a tight line—a look she recognized when he was trying to control his temper. A temper that seemed to exist only around her. “I will help them. Brian will stay here until he can recover, but Niall and the rest of the men must go to Dunoon to face the charges against them.”

This couldn’t be happening. Her chest squeezed so badly, she couldn’t breathe. “You’d help them by turning them over to the hands of an executioner? Dear God, Jamie, they’ll die for what they’ve done.”

His eyes leveled on hers. “I told you before that my cousin has promised to act fairly—and leniently—with them.”

“I’ve heard Argyll’s promises before,” she scoffed. “Will he act as fairly with them as he did with Alasdair MacGregor? Did you convince me to help turn them in so that Argyll can kill them also?”

He took her arm and lifted her out of the chair, pulling her hard against him. She could feel the tautness of his muscles and the heat radiating from his body. His face darkened with barely contained fury. “Damn you, Caitrina, you know I had nothing to do with that.”

“Do I?” She turned her head sharply away, refusing to look at him. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

He was silent, but she could see the ominous tick at his neck and knew he was furious. But she didn’t care. She wanted him to feel as hurt and betrayed as she did.

His voice was low and forbidding. “I warned you once not to interfere with my duty.”

She remembered: when he’d imprisoned her father’s guardsmen. “That was different.”

“Was it? You said you trusted me. I believe you even claimed to love me not so many hours ago.”

How dare he throw her feelings back in her face with what he intended to do! “It’s not that simple.”

“Actually, it is.” He took her chin in his hands and forced her gaze back to his. “Love can’t be by half-measure. It’s all or nothing. Either you trust me—and my judgment—or you don’t.”

He asked for too much. Heat gathered behind her eyes. “How would you know? You, who hold yourself so apart. You, who don’t need anyone. What do you know of love?”

“Plenty.” His voice snapped like the crack of a whip. “Though right now I wish I didn’t.”

Her heart faltered and then started to pound furiously. Her gaze raked his face, searching for a crack in that implacable façade. “What are you saying?”

“Damn it, Caitrina, don’t you know how much I love you? So much that there is almost nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But I can’t change who I am.”

For a moment, she savored the overwhelming burst of joy. He loves me. The words she’d longed to hear. . . .

But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. When they confessed their love, it was supposed to be perfect—a moment of unparalleled closeness and intimacy—it wasn’t supposed to make her feel more uncertain. Nor was it supposed to be spoken in anger and frustration.

Instead, it felt like a final offer. Blinking back tears, she turned her head from his hold. “I wish I could believe that.”

“You can.” He lifted her chin gently, examining the bandaged area of her neck, assuring himself that it was not bleeding. “Don’t you know how I felt seeing you with a blade at your neck? I’ve never been more terrified in my life. I could have lost you.”