Chapter 20
For the next two nights Jeannie did her utmost to persuade him, but Duncan was proving to be an exceedingly stubborn man.
Though she was beginning to suspect it was simply that he enjoyed her efforts too much to ever give in.
He wasn’t the only one. As she lay in bed, contemplating getting up, her body was still limp and sore from their lovemaking.
She couldn’t seem to get enough of him. Passion had been absent in her life for so long, it was as if she was trying to make up for lost time.
And always at the back of her mind was the knowledge that time was the one thing they did not have.
If he was captured before they found proof …
Her stomach turned as she fought back the suffocating crush of fear. He’d only just come back to her; she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again.
Jeannie knew that they probably wouldn’t find anything on Islay, but right now his father’s deathbed deliria were all they had. She couldn’t explain it, but all her instincts told her that finding his mother was important. And she was far too desperate not to heed them.
They were safe at Castleswene, but Jeannie knew Duncan would not stay here long, when to do so would further jeopardize his brother’s place with their cousin.
Coming here had already placed Jamie in an awkward position—he wasn’t just harboring a fugitive, but his cousin’s most wanted outlaw.
Duncan and Jamie had argued about it last night.
Duncan was adamant that he would not foist his troubles on his family, and Jamie was just as determined to not turn his back on his brother again.
Apparently the brothers had reached some sort of impasse. By the time Duncan had slipped in beside her, he said that it had all been sorted out.
After dragging herself from bed, Jeannie called for a bath.
She did not linger. The gentle heat from the peat fire was no match for the chilly morning air.
Dressing quickly with the help of one of the young maidservants, she went in search of Elizabeth Campbell.
If she could not persuade Duncan herself, she would have to call on reinforcements.
She found his sister in one of the mural chambers, a small room carved out in the thick castle walls, looking out the window with a book in her lap. She had a strange pensive look on her face.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Elizabeth jumped at the sound of her voice and looked at Jeannie as if she were an apparition.
She shook her head, a wistful smile on her face.
“Nay. I wasn’t feeling well this morning and Patrick insisted I rest if I want to go to Inveraray.
Normally I would not succumb to blackmail, but in truth I was tired. ”
“It’s been an emotional few days.”
A wry smile curved Elizabeth’s mouth. “That it has.”
“You are going to Inveraray to speak with Argyll on Duncan’s behalf?”
Elizabeth nodded. “With Jamie and my husband. I hope it will help.”
But Jeannie could hear in her voice that she didn’t think it likely.
Elizabeth looked back out the window and Jeannie drew closer to see what captured her attention.
Through the frosty pane of glass she caught sight of the warriors in the courtyard.
A few of the men were practicing their swords, others their archery, and a few lads were standing in a circle around—
Her stomach sank. Oh, God. She schooled her features, trying to hide her reaction, but she knew what had so captured Lizzie’s attention.
Duncan had kept his promise to show Dougall his maneuvers.
He and her son were locked in a playful demonstration of hand-to-hand combat.
Dougall tried to dart by him, but Duncan captured him, enfolded him in a big bear hug, and lifted the squirming boy off the ground.
Dougall must have said something funny because Duncan tossed his head back and laughed.
She felt a sharp pang in her chest. Watching them together was torture, but she could not turn away.
Her conscience tugged. More than once over the past two days she’d fought the urge to tell him, but she still couldn’t be completely sure how he would react.
Would he see it the same way she did or would he insist on claiming his son?
She would trust him with her future, but could she trust him with her son’s?
She wanted to, but something was stopping her.
It wasn’t just the fact that he was an outlaw—a man fighting for his life—though that certainly played a part.
They’d just started to rebuild what had been almost destroyed.
This connection between them, growing stronger with each passion-filled night, was as yet too fragile.
There had been no talk of the future—how could there be with Duncan’s being so uncertain.
She could feel the weight of Lizzie’s gaze on her. “I believe that is your son,” she said.
Jeannie stepped back from the window, her heart pounding. “Yes.” She met Lizzie’s gaze. “His name is Dougall.”
“He looks to be about ten years old.”
Jeannie’s heart stuttered to a terror-struck halt. “He was just nine last Michaelmas.”
Lizzie didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at her with those crystal clear blue eyes. Jeannie met her gaze unflinchingly though every nerve ending in her body stood on edge.
“I was thinking about the day you came to Castleswene.”
Jeannie tensed.
Elizabeth continued. “I thought it bold of you to come looking for Duncan after what you’d done to him—or what he’d accused you of,” she amended.
“You seemed so upset to discover he’d left.
I was surprised to hear you’d wed so quickly afterward.
It seemed to confirm Duncan’s accusation, but I wonder if there was perhaps another reason. ”
Jeannie’s fists curled into tight balls at her side. “If you have something to say, just say it,” she said through clenched teeth.
“One day he will see what I see. Once he does, the difference of four or five months will not deter him. Somewhere there is a person who will remember something and be able to tell him the truth. That person should be you.”
Elizabeth Campbell had no right to tell her what to do. “What you are suggesting is wrong. You know nothing of what you speak.”
Lizzie put her hand over her stomach, an instinctive gesture of protection. “Actually I think I do. This babe is not yet born and already I know there is very little I would not do to protect my child. I’m sure you felt the same.” Her voice grew quiet. “But Duncan has a right to know.”
He’d given up that right when he left her.
Or had he?
Deep in her heart Jeannie knew that if they were to have a chance, eventually she must tell him.
Elizabeth shifted her gaze, seeming to realize she’d said enough. “Did you wish to see me for something?”
It took Jeannie a moment for her emotions to subside before she could compose herself to respond. She forced Dougall from her mind and said, “I was hoping I might get your help in persuading Duncan to make a quick journey to Islay. He’d remembered something your father said—”
“But he’s going tomorrow. It was decided last night. I’d assumed he’d told you.” Lizzie looked embarrassed. “Though it was late, perhaps you haven’t seen him.”
Apparently Elizabeth had correctly assumed their sleeping arrangements and was now wondering if she’d made a mistake.
She hadn’t.
Jeannie’s mouth drew in a tight line. The wretch.
“I’m sure he was intending to tell you,” Lizzie offered.
Aye, probably after another night of her trying to “persuade” him when it was too late for her to accompany him.
Her eyes narrowed on the imposing man below in the courtyard.
“I’ll just bet he was,” she said. She excused herself and marched purposefully down the stairs.
If he thought he could exclude her, he was quite mistaken.
The practice had just broken up for the morning when she exited the keep and made her way down the forestairs.
Duncan was speaking with Leif and Conall with his back toward her and didn’t see her approach.
His men took one look at her and made their quick excuses right before she tapped Duncan on the shoulder.
He turned, his face instinctively breaking into a smile when he saw her.
For a moment she forgot her anger under the powerful onslaught of the devastatingly handsome man standing before her.
His black hair glistened in the sun, his blue eyes sparkled like the sea, his teeth flashed white behind a wide grin that made him appear younger than his years.
She could smell the heat of his practice on his skin.
The crisp, harshly masculine scent called to her on a dark primal level.
There was just something irresistible about a heavily muscled, well-worked warrior.
Furious that she could be so easily distracted, she gritted her teeth and glared up at him. At times like this she really wished he wasn’t so tall. It was difficult to be intimidating with your neck cranked back. “I hear you’ve decided to take a wee journey.”
He had the good grace to wince. “Ach, you heard about that did you?”
“Didn’t you think to tell me?”
His grin grew wider, wickedly wider. His eyes slid down the length of her, lingering in all the warm spots, then returned to her mouth.
She could almost see what he was thinking, what he was remembering, and her cheeks flushed.
“Now why would I want to do that? I was having too much fun with your methods of persuasion.”
Her eyes narrowed on the grinning lout. “You are a wicked man.”
“I’ll show you just how wicked later tonight.”
Her skin tingled with anticipation—in spite of her intention to not allow him to affect her. It was a foolish intention, he always affected her. She drew up her spine. “I’m afraid I will be busy this evening.”
His smile fell. “Busy?”
“Yes.” She smiled sweetly. “Packing for our journey.”
His jaw hardened. “You’re not going.”