Chapter 11 #3
She wanted to kiss him, could almost feel the warmth of his lips on hers. The impulse came on with the force of a lightning bolt, but she fought it. She was no longer a girl to allow lust to cloud her judgment. But she couldn’t completely erase the desire from her eyes.
“What’s wrong, Jeannie? Remembering?” His hand slid down her throat. “Was some of it real after all?”
She heard the edge of mockery in his voice and tried to pull away. “Let go of me.” But his hand gripped her wrist like a steel manacle. Their eyes met and for the first time she saw an ember flickering in his gaze. He was not completely unaffected.
Jeannie fought to catch her breath. From somewhere buried deep inside her, she felt an old spark of recklessness, an impulsive urge to provoke him right back.
Heedless of the danger, she shifted her body closer, nestling her hips to his and pressing her breasts to his chest. Their bodies slid together, locking together from memory.
She felt the hard column of his erection against her stomach.
Heat drenched her with the force of a tidal wave.
She looked up at him, letting her eyes settle on his mouth.
“I think ’tis you who are remembering. Is what you came back for?
Is that it, Duncan? Do you still want me? ”
Every muscle in his body tensed and Jeannie wondered if she’d made a mistake.
She’d wanted to prove that he was not as indifferent as he pretended, but Duncan was not a man to toy with—he was the most feared warrior on the continent for heaven’s sake.
The flare of heat in his eyes frightened her.
He frightened her. She wasn’t a na?ve girl anymore; she knew how dangerous it was to play with fire.
He released her as if she’d suddenly scalded him. He didn’t answer her question, but they both knew the answer. Instead, he returned to the original subject. “I would never harm a child, Jeannie,” he said quietly. “Then or now.”
A horrible thought crept into the back of her mind. She knew nothing about him. Nothing about what his life had been like the past ten years. What if she was not the only woman to fall prey to his undeniable masculine allure? “And you have plenty of experience with children?”
He gave her a hard look. “I’ve never married.”
The twinge of relief disappeared when she recalled her own circumstances. “You better than anyone should know that is not a prerequisite.”
His eyes darkened dangerously. “Just exactly what are you accusing me of?”
She shrugged. “I wonder how many black-haired, blue-eyed bairns are strewn across the continent?”
She’d pushed too far. He grabbed her by the arm and brought her toward him. She gasped, the barely restrained fury in his eyes made her heart race.
“Do you really think I’d consign a child to my burden?”
He had. She bit the words back and said instead, “Unmarried parents don’t make you a bastard. Your actions do.”
She saw the muscle in his neck tic and knew her barb had struck.
His mouth tightened. “I would never allow a child of mine to go unclaimed.”
Her blood chilled, his words giving voice to her fears. He could never find out about Dougal. Duncan’s birth had always been his Achilles tendon and he would not be rational about it. He would see her lie for what it was and his blasted nobility would never allow him to stand aside.
All she wanted was an explanation and then his swift departure.
Gathering up the tattered remnants of her emotions, she pulled herself together.
How did he manage to get to her like this?
Couldn’t they simply have a rational conversation?
Must there always be this strong undercurrent crackling between them, this fierce awareness that made her feel like that foolish, impetuous girl again ready to believe in white knights and faerie tales.
She was an adult now, a mother. She should know better.
She returned to the original subject. “Ella has been a trifle headstrong of late, I will make sure she doesn’t bother you again.”
He seemed about to object, but then appeared to reach the same conclusion as she had—better not to encourage an acquaintance.
But he wasn’t quite done yet. “You have a son as well?”
She tensed, but quickly masked the visceral reaction to the danger posed by his question.
She spoke carefully, feeling as if each word somehow held the potential to explode.
“Yes, he is being fostered.” She didn’t want to tell him anything, but knew it would be better to be as honest as possible.
He would sense any caginess on her part.
His reaction moments ago only solidified what she already knew.
He would insist on claiming his son, even if it meant labeling him a bastard and destroying everything she’d done to protect her son from the scandal Duncan had left in his wake.
She couldn’t risk it—not when it was her son who would suffer.
Duncan had lost any claim on Dougall when he’d left her.
She felt his eyes on her, watching intently.
“How old is he,” he asked, “your son?”
She met his gaze, her expression betraying none of the raging panic inside her. She had gone to a great deal of trouble to protect her secret, she could not allow him to suspect anything.
The Battle of Glenlivet had turned out to be her salvation.
The Gordons had been forced into exile. Francis hadn’t gone with his father to the continent, but they’d removed to a remote castle up north with only a few trusted servants.
They hadn’t returned for almost two years and by then Dougall’s true age was easy to hide.
Moreover, there was no reason anyone should question his age. Only one person could do that.
“He just turned nine.” She phrased her next words for maximum impact. “He was born over a year after Francis and I were wed.”
She thought something in his gaze might have flickered at the mention of her marriage.
“Where is he being fostered?”
Even though every instinct in her body urged her to say nothing more, she forced herself to appear as if she had nothing to hide. “Dougall is at Castleswene with your brother.”
“With Jamie?” He didn’t hide his surprise.
It was one more reason she had to be grateful to her husband. Dougall would never know that he was being fostered by his uncle, but Francis had found a way for him to be tied to his kin. “The battle of Glenlivet was a long time ago, Duncan. Old feuds have mended.”
“My cousin hasn’t forgotten,” Duncan pointed out.
“Perhaps not, but there is no reason for Argyll to renew old hostilities.”
His gaze hardened. “You mean unless I make him remember.”
“Yes.”
“Why does this matter so much to you? Your father and husband are both dead, not even my cousin can reach them where they are.”
Jeannie’s breath caught, her eyes widening in sudden understanding.
Francis. That was why he’d come to her. “Am I to understand that it is not just my father and me you have envisioned in this conspiracy against you, but my husband as well?” The hard look on his face was all the answer she needed.
“Francis had nothing to do with what happened to you.”
She thought he flinched, but his even voice gave no hint to his thoughts. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because he would never do something so dishonorable as to frame another man for treason.”
“And your father would?”
Her mouth tightened, anger stained her cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”
“Grant had to be in contact with someone in the Gordon camp and your quick marriage certainly suggests that it was your husband.”
Her gaze shot to his, hearing the sharp bite in his tone.
The speed of her marriage had bothered him.
She felt the strange urge to laugh. If he only knew the reason why.
The man who Duncan sought to drag through the mud had given his bastard not just a name, but an inheritance.
Francis had known she was pregnant when he married her.
Not many men would do what he’d done—claiming, raising, loving her child as his own.
Her husband had done so much for her and yet she’d never been able to give him the one thing he wanted.
Because of Duncan.
Guilt rose inside her. She might not have been able to give Francis her love, but she could damn well give him her loyalty. She wouldn’t let Duncan embroil him in this mess.
“You can’t deny that your father was working with your husband?”
“No.” It had been Francis who’d met her father that day in the solar. “But encouraging my father to change sides in battle is an entirely different proposition from framing a man for treason. What reason could he have?”
His eyes burned into her. “The same reason as your father. You. He would not be the first man to act ignobly for a woman.”
She shook her head. “You are wrong. Francis left Freuchie Castle before I told my father about us. My husband had nothing to do with what happened to you.”
Remembering the conversation she’d overheard a few days later about the map and gold, she ignored the twinge of uncertainty.
His eyes bored into her with a strange intensity. “Prove it. Let me look through his things.”
“I don’t need to prove it. I knew him, and I know he wasn’t involved.”
Her impassioned defense of her husband seemed to enrage him. His mouth drew into a sneer. “All men can be made fools for a beautiful woman.”
Including him. That’s what he meant. She flushed at the scorn in his voice. “Look somewhere else to prove your innocence, Duncan. I will not allow you to besmirch my husband’s good name.” She owed Francis that at least for all he’d done.
But she had an even greater reason. It wasn’t only the discovery of Dougall’s parentage that she had to fear or even the trouble that the reminder of Glenlivet could pose for her family.
By casting suspicion on Francis and labeling him a traitor, Duncan could put her son’s inheritance in jeopardy and risk all she’d done to protect him.