The Scot's Bride Read online

  He didn’t expect her to laugh. It was a wee bit insulting. But the dulcet sound of it compelled him to remain by her side.

  “You were brave and clever with the Dunbars, Mr. Campbell, but don’t assume I need a protector.” Her eyes gleamed with humor as she set them over his discolored jaw. “And if you stay to fight,” she continued letting her gaze dip to his shoulders and beefy arms, “you are not doing it for me.” She swept her waves off her shoulder and moved to leave him.

  Patrick’s smile faded, but only for a moment before he threw back his head and laughed and then for the second time that day, took off after her.

  Chapter Six

  Charlie stood before the wardrobe on her side of the room she shared with Elsie and held a gown up to her body. She looked down at the coral-colored folds falling softly to her toes, concealing them from judgmental eyes. Oh, but she loved this gown. It reminded her of the early morning dew, delicate and cool to touch. She’d sewn it herself, using several whisper-thin skirts from her mother’s nightdresses to create voluminous layers that captured the sunlight, and then she dyed them to match. Of course, like most of her dresses, the bodice fit a bit snuggly. It helped keep things in their place when she ran.

  But it wasn’t the right dress for this evening.

  She chose petticoats of heavier linen, dark blue in color, a matching stay, and a jacket that belted at her slim waist. She went to sit at the edge of her bed and pulled hose over her feet before reaching for her boots.

  “You’re like two different beings.”

  Beings. Charlie smiled hearing her sister’s voice at the door. Elsie often accused her of being otherworldly.

  “I’m just me,” Charlie assured her, looking up from tying her laces. “Sometimes I like to feel more delicate and sometimes I don’t.”

  Elsie gave her a bright smile and moved toward her bed. “Are you wearing your ugly boots to ward off any of Mr. Campbell’s advances?”

  Mr. Campbell. Charlie had tried not to think of him while she dressed. She’d tried to keep the memory of his size and all that warmth so close while he walked beside her, his easy laughter and full, sensual mouth, from making her insides go warm.

  A rascal in its truest form. She knew what he was after and he wasn’t going to get it. Why would she want a miserable life with a man who had a heart for nothing? But hell, he was all male and quite tempting in his arrogance—and he had rushed to her rescue from the Dunbars.

  “What advances do you mean?” She finished and looked up at her sister when Elsie threw herself on her bed. “And my boots are not ugly.”

  Elsie gave the mud-baked hide-skins one last glance before forgetting them. “Only a fool wouldn’t have noticed”—she paused to take a breath and then continued—“the way his gaze barely ever leaves you when you’re in his presence.”

  Charlie laughed. Elsie was only a year younger than her, but she was so much more innocent. “And only someone wiser would see the vanity in his gaze and know what it means. He’s too enamored by himself to truly notice anyone else.”

  “Do you blame him?”

  No, Charlie had to admit, but not out loud. She also didn’t tell her sister how appealing she’d found him shirtless and bound and pushed up against her with Dunbar on the other side. “What I think has nothing to do with it. We know plenty of women who think the same about our brothers. And we both know that there is no one more important to Hendry than himself.”

  Elsie took her eyes off the ceiling and glanced at her. “You certainly cannot compare the two.”

  “Why not?” Charlotte asked while she began plaiting her long locks over her shoulder. “Mr. Campbell uses his good looks and magnetic charm to win favor with women. He admitted it to me himself. He would have been gone already if…” Her voice trailed off realizing what she was about to say. He’d claimed to want to stay to protect her from the Dunbars, but she suspected he fought often and had become quite good at it, enjoyed it even.

  Elsie would think it was chivalrous when it was anything but.

  “If you do marry him, can I live with you?”

  Charlie sighed and shook her head. “I’m not going to marry him.”

  “Is it Kendrick?” her sister prodded on. “Truly, Charlie, you must let him go. I know you loved him, and I understand why. His heart was stout and loyal and his face was the finest of them all. No one will ever be as good as he, but—”

  Charlie held up her hand to stop her. “I have let him go, El,” she promised. “But I cannot help but look for what Kendrick had in others, and they always fall short. He knew they would. He knew what lay hidden in the hearts of men.

  “But that’s enough talk of Kendrick and Mr. Campbell.” She smiled and reached for her sister’s hand, dragging her from the bed. “If we’re late for supper, Father will go on for an hour.”

  “Are you going out again tonight?” Elsie pulled her back before they reached the door, her corn-silk eyes wide with her plea.

  Elsie knew she sometimes left the house alone at night, but she only knew half of the story.

  “Can’t I please come with you?”

  “No,” Charlie told her sternly. “Never follow me, El. You must never leave this house alone and at night.”

  “But you do?”

  “I can fight. You cannot.”

  “You cannot either,” her sister argued as Charlie left the room. “Not against a man.”

  “Aye, my darling,” Charlie stopped and turned to look at her straight on. “I can.”

  Charlie stepped into the great hall and found their guest seated at the long dining table with her father and brothers.

  She paused when he lifted his cup to his lips and his eyes to her. Was Elsie correct? Did his gaze linger on her? And so what if it did? It meant nothing. She didn’t want any more men in her life. She was tired of her father promising her to barons and other nobles, tired of having to plan ways of making them refuse her as a suitable wife. Kendrick had little to do with it. Love and marriage were two separate things sometimes. A husband would surely think to stop her from her dangerous tasks. And damn it, she wouldn’t be stopped.

  She wouldn’t be forced into marriage either. Her father’s suggestion this afternoon still mortified her. She was chattel, offered away for protection of the Cunningham holding. He needn’t have admitted it in front of the man he was offering her up to, but Allan Cunningham lacked sympathy.

  She spread her gaze over her brothers, who hadn’t looked up, before it settled on the Highlander, his long, broad fingers cradling the bowl of his goblet. Hell, but he was nice to look at with the glow of flames in his hair and the warmth of summer sunshine in his eyes. Her gaze dipped to his lips, full and fashioned for most decadent endeavors. She found herself thinking of some of them when his eyes slid to her. One corner of his mouth quirked upward as he caught her admiring him. Her face burned and she looked away and took her place at the table beside Elsie.

  “You’re late,” her father said looking up from his plate.

  “’Tis my fault, Father,” Elsie was quick to admit. “I—”

  “I couldn’t find my boot,” Charlie spoke over her. “And I know how you frown on my bare feet. I shall consider your rules before your sentiments next time. Forgive me.”

  She saw the shadow of Duff’s smile from the corner of her eye. If there was one thing her oldest brother had taught her well, it was how to feign submission to get out of trouble. He’d begun teaching her soon after their mother died. Dragging her to her room and locking her inside any time she lost her temper with him. After a month or two, Hendry had begun to do the same. She’d hated their treatment of her, but she’d learned to control herself, and she learned patience.

  “Charlotte.” Duff set down his cup and looked at her from behind a tumble of black curls. “We were just discussing you.”

  No! Not again! “Oh? What were you discussing?” If they were discussing her marriage she wouldn’t be silent about it this time.

  �
�Mr. Campbell was asking about our mother.”

  Their mother? Charlie flicked her gaze to their guest. Why would he ask about her mother, and what did it have to do with her? Why did he look so relaxed in his chair? Like he had nothing to fear from her family? She remembered how well he’d fought the Dunbars and Hamish, and decided he likely didn’t have all that much to be afraid of. “What about her?”

  Now that he had a reason to regard her without incurring Duff’s ire, he set his warm gaze on her fully and smiled.

  He made her want to smile back. She didn’t.

  “I inquired which of her daughters most resembled her. But when yer father informed me of her great beauty, I knew both her daughters had much to thank her fer.”

  Beside her, Elsie drew in a tight breath, coughed, and then thanked him.

  He was indeed clever, she thought watching him. If he sought to win any kind of favor with her, Elsie was the path to take. Charlie offered him her slightest smile.

  “My Margaret was a dark beauty,” her father corrected. His insinuation didn’t go unnoticed by Elsie, who shifted in her seat, though she said nothing.

  “With beautiful blue eyes just like Elsie’s,” Charlie added then grinded her jaw when she turned her smile to her father.

  “Aye,” her father conceded, “Hendry and Elsie have her eyes, but of my three offspring, only you share her dark mystique.”

  “Three?” Patrick Campbell asked, thankfully, and mayhap purposefully veering the topic off the sisters and who was more beautiful. “Is Duff not yer bairn?”

  “Nay, he is not,” her father answered frankly, surprising their guest enough to make him set down his drink and move forward in his chair, his interest piqued.

  “My mother died when I was six,” Duff told him, “leaving me an orphan.”

  “Yer faither?” the Highlander inquired.

  Charlie’s oldest brother shrugged his brawny shoulders. “I never knew him. Margaret Cunningham found me peddling coin on the road and took me in.”

  “My wife had a terribly bleeding heart,” her father said, reminiscing. “If left on her own, she would have taken in every waif she came across. But in the case of Duff, she made the correct choice in bringing him home. He is like my own.”

  Save that he didn’t include him when he spoke of his bairns, Charlie thought and looked across the table at her brother. Her heart stirred, remembering him as a boy, grimy and skinny and orphaned at the tender age of six. He was well-behaved and thoughtful and fun to play with. Her father was unkind to him when his wife was out of their presence, as was Hendry, who was a year younger than his new “brother.” Duff had never cried though and he’d quickly grown to love Charlie, three summers old at the time. He spent time with her every morning before his chores began and kissed her goodnight before she closed her eyes to dream. He loved her. He loved her still. Even when he’d locked her in her room, it was to help her curb her temper with her father, or Hendry, who had taken a hand to her on a few occasions because of her sharp tongue. Duff possessed a kinder heart beneath his cold, rough exterior. What kind of man would he have become if her mother had left him on the road?

  It didn’t matter. He’d grown into a monster.

  “Yer wife sounds like an extraordinary woman, Cunningham,” Patrick complimented. Charlie fought the urge to turn and smile at him again. “Did a fever take her from ye?”

  Charlie’s gaze darted to her father. Would he tell the Duke of Argyll’s nephew the truth? That under his order, his sons had killed a Fergusson child and the boy’s father had retaliated by taking his wife? What would the Earl of Argyll’s nephew do if he found out? Such a crime wouldn’t go unpunished. Would she and Elsie be punished for what her father and brothers had done?

  “Aye, a fever,” her father said. “A terrible one. Took her within a sennight five years ago.”

  “M’ condolences,” Patrick said softly, setting his gaze on her first, and then on Elsie.

  Just when the mood went sour and Charlie prepared herself for another quick, quiet supper, the Highlander turned in his chair and grinned at Duff.

  “Ye fought well today. D’ye practice with the sword often?”

  Duff nodded. “Every day.”

  “I’d like to join ye tomorrow, if ye dinna mind.”

  So then, Charlie thought, he was staying. For how long? How would it affect her and her duties? Did she want him around to continue to beguile her? He was distracting and arrogant—and he made her smile when she was blistering mad. His ruthlessly charming grin flashed through her thoughts. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She lifted her cup and downed what was left inside. If he stayed, he’d surely try to spend more time with her. How would she refuse his company without insult?

  Really, it was no concern of hers. She had other matters to see to. As soon as everyone was asleep in their beds she could be about her task.

  She listened while her father told the Highlander about the Fergussons keeping able-bodied men from working for him. Of course, he failed to mention that there were very few able-bodied men in Pinwherry thanks to his greed and punishments for their not having enough coin or crops to pay him.

  When their guest took up the conversation and told them tales about folks he’d met on his journey to Pinmore for a tournament, she found herself stealing glimpses of him.

  “Are you a knight then?” Elsie asked in breathless anticipation of his reply.

  Charlie glanced at her and decided she’d have to protect Elsie from the captivating scoundrel.

  He tossed back his head and laughed at Elsie’s query. “Och, nae, lass. I just know how to fight and win.”

  Watching him, Charlie didn’t doubt his declaration. Every movement, even lifting his goblet, was interspersed with fluid power, a current of pure energy impossible to ignore.

  “We’ll see about that,” Duff said, bringing his cup to his lips. “I won’t go easy on you.”

  “Good.” The Highlander’s eyes danced across the table and paused on Charlie. “Victory is empty withoot a challenge.”

  Charlie caught his eye, and though his declaration made her belly flip, she held his gaze a moment longer. The poor devil had no idea what a real challenge was like. If he thought to make her his next conquest, he would find out soon enough.

  “Come, Elsie, let us retire.” Without waiting for her sister’s agreement, she pulled her to her feet. “Father, may we go?”

  He shooed her and Elsie away with a wave of his hand and then returned his attention to Patrick Campbell. Charlie knew she shouldn’t, but her eyes moved of their own volition and found the Highlander watching her.

  He offered her a polite smile and a nod. When Elsie bid him good eve, he flashed his dimple at her and offered her the same.

  Elsie liked him. It seemed Duff and their father liked him as well. Hendry didn’t have use for anyone other than himself so it was no surprise to find him scowling.

  Ah, now there was another challenge the Highlander wouldn’t likely win.

  Hell, she thought as she left the hall, she hated having anything in common with her brother.

  Chapter Seven

  Patrick stopped at the door and watched Charlie enter the moonlit field with fistfuls of her skirts hiked up over her weathered boots.

  He wondered where she was heading tonight and set off to follow her. It was the second time in one day that he found himself chasing her. But this time it was for her safety—and he would admit, curiosity. What was she up to? Was there danger ahead? She must be mad to venture out alone at night. Again. Was she on her way to another pub? What the hell had she been doing in Pinmore? Any number of catastrophes could have befallen her. Where were her brothers? How was she able to sneak out for the second night in a row without their knowledge? She’d seemed submissive to the Cunningham men at the supper table. Was it all a ruse to appear subservient? He was certain her kin wouldn’t approve of her traipsing across the land in the moonlight, else her father would have guessed h
ow her beauty had been spoken of in Galloway.

  Was it a man this time, someone in the small village she was heading toward? What other reason could there be for her to defy her family and her safety yet again?

  Her loyalty to a clandestine lover pricked him in the guts for some reason. He wasn’t jealous. He didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. At least, he never had one before. Hell, he thought, raking his hand through his hair, he couldn’t be jealous. How could he be envious of a man who could hold the heart of a woman so completely that she would risk all just to be with him, when that wasn’t what he wanted? Was it?

  He chuckled quietly to himself. Nae, he didn’t need or want such devotion. Did he? Then again, he knew men from Camlochlin who hadn’t thought they needed it either, until love struck them like a fevered plague and rendered them helpless.

  Nae. Not him. Helplessness scared the hell out of him. Admitting it didn’t help. He paused to turn back. He’d already spent too much of his day thinking about her. She was a curious wisp of veils across the cheek, darkly sensuous and elusive—with a razor-sharp tongue. She possessed a rare streak of confidence when facing down enemies, whether it was him, her father, or the Dunbars, that he found absolutely irresistible. Best if he left and never looked back. But he wanted to get to know her, discover her secrets—and she seemed to have many.

  He continued, following her onward. What would he do when she reached her lover? He was a cad, he freely admitted it, but he wouldn’t try to deliberately steal another man’s woman. If she found herself in any trouble, he’d protect her if she wanted him to or not.

  She stopped suddenly, and so did he. He looked around for a place to hide. There was none. What the hell would she think of him following her? She turned as if sensing him behind her.

  Hell.

  She moved toward him, stepping into view, illuminated by moonlight. She looked so damned appealing bathed in pearly light with one hand lifting the hem of her skirt and disappearing beneath it, that for a moment he forgot what she kept hidden under her hem.