by Paula Quinn
Worse, what would become of Colin’s poor brain once he entered? He’d picked his way into dozens of rooms before to gain information for the king, but he’d never done the like for the pleasure of seeing a lady. He had to be as mad as Gates for agreeing to this.
“Are ye certain ye want to do this? What if Devon sees us?” Colin asked him again as Gates slipped his key into the door.
“He sleeps in the round tower. He will not hear or see us.”
Still, Colin hesitated. “I thought ye didn’t want me anywhere near her.”
“This is different. I’m here to protect her virtue. Do you have the drink?”
“Aye.” Hell, Colin wanted Gates to trust him, but it had nothing to do with Lady Gillian. This wasn’t wise, and ’twasn’t safe, but he did nothing to stop Gates when the lock clicked and her captain opened her door.
He waited in the hall while the captain disappeared inside. He looked toward Edmund’s door and was tempted to check on the lad, then decided against it. He had to gather the information he needed and get the hell out of Dartmouth while he still possessed some good sense. And damn it, but it didn’t look like his time here was going to end anytime soon. Gates didn’t recall the names on the invitation. He likely didn’t know when William was coming or how many men he was bringing with him. Colin suspected the only way to gain that information was to befriend Devon. Hell, that was going to be difficult, since every time he looked at the earl, he wanted to stab him in the gut.
The door creaked open and Gates popped his head out. “Come inside.”
He shouldn’t. He should run the other way. But then he saw her, standing alone in the soft candlelight, and he stepped inside for a clearer view.
Chapter Seventeen
Gillian rubbed her eyes, but when she looked again, Mr. Campbell was still standing outside her door, George was truly beckoning him to enter, and it really was the middle of the night. She wasn’t dreaming. The only logical question left to ask herself then was what in the name of all that was holy had gotten into her captain? She could scarcely believe her eyes when she had opened them a few seconds ago and found him hovering over her bed, beckoning her to leave it.
His behavior was peculiar, indeed, for she had never known him to be so exuberant… so cheerful. But when she stepped out of her sleeping quarters, pulling on her outer robe, and saw whom he’d brought with him, she doubted truly waking up.
“I apologize fer the intrusion, Lady.”
Colin’s voice was real, unmistakably masculine, wrapping itself around her like a warm wool blanket.
“Do shut the door, Campbell,” George said, passing him and snatching a pitcher from his hands. “You’re letting in a draft from the turrets.” He proceeded on to the small cupboard behind the settee and withdrew a cup for her use.
“Wait until you taste this fine nectar, Gillian. Devon has kept it—”
“Captain, are you out of your bloody mind?” she nearly screeched at him. He had to be. Why would he take such a chance with her cousin? Him, the pinnacle of responsibility and worry? “You know no one is permitted in my room after dark. Not even you. If Geoffrey found out—”
“I would be forced to kill him,” he interrupted, then glanced at Colin, shutting the door behind him. “Wouldn’t I, Campbell?”
Oh, dear Lord. She turned to the mercenary. “You got him drunk.”
He hadn’t moved from his place by the door and when she spoke to him, she wasn’t surprised to see him look away before he answered. “He brought me to the cellars and lifted his cup to his own lips.”
“Here you go, my dear.” George tapped her arm and held the cup out to her. He smiled as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Then he swayed just a bit on his feet.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, sit down.” Gillian took the cup and led him to the closest chair before he fell on his arse. When he was safely seated and a little less green around the jaw, she leaned over him and gave his cheek a short smack. Just enough to snap him out of the fog he was trapped in.
“What has come over you to bring yourself and another into my room at this hour? And what do you mean by making friends with Mr. Campbell when you warned me of him shortly after he stepped through Dartmouth’s doors?”
“He’s good company,” her longtime friend assured her, as if she didn’t already know. “I thought you might enjoy him.”
Gillian turned, setting her gaze on the Scotsman guarding the entrance, and blushed at just how much she might enjoy him. Lord, just looking at him was a pleasurable experience.
“Now please, Gillian, taste the whisky.”
Returning to George, she tossed her head back and sighed at the heavens. “Very well, if it will aid in removing the two of you sooner.” She brought her cup to her lips and tasted the liquid inside. She didn’t care much for spirits but she had to admit this stuff wasn’t half as sour going down.
“It is lovely, George. Now I must insist—”
“It is indeed lovely,” her captain agreed. “Pity we pissed in the keg before we left.” He lifted his cup and grinned at Mr. Campbell, who found sudden interest in her ceiling.
Gillian backed up and fell onto the settee, stunned and unable to believe what he’d just confessed. Indeed, he’d gone mad, and she had the sinking suspicion that Colin had helped him arrive there. She thought about what they had done, imagining them standing over the keg like grinning fools, with no loyalty or fondness for her cousin. She smiled. And then she began to laugh. It was a silly, reckless deed, but blast it all, everything was always so serious. George was always so in control, so guarded against the other men here. What had Colin Campbell done to gain such trust that her captain should bring him here to her rooms?
She turned to him as her laughter subsided and remembered, when he cleared his throat and looked away, that he was not like the other men here. She felt safe in his company.
“Mr. Campbell, are you going to guard the door all evening?”
He glanced behind him at the door as if he’d forgotten where he was, and then stepped away from it and looked around for a place to sit.
Gillian realized the only empty spot was beside her. Her chambers were small and sparsely furnished compared to Geoffrey’s rooms. She had but one chair and one settee. She needed no more than that, as she never entertained visitors.
“We won’t burden ye with our presence fer too long,” he promised, coming to stand before her.
“It is no burden at all.” She couldn’t keep herself from smiling at him. It was difficult not to when looking at him was like listening to a master lutist playing her favored song.
She politely moved over a bit to make room for him and sipped her drink, trying hard not to choke on it when he sat.
“George, I… Oh, dear.” Her captain was asleep—or passed out. Either way, he’d left her alone with the mercenary. “I should wake him.”
“Aye, ye should.”
Gillian rose from the settee, putting away her hurt feelings that he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. It was for the best. If he had a fondness for her, it would be doubly hard not to find him so damned appealing. It was good that he reminded her of the real world in which she lived.
“How is Edmund?”
Her hand hovered over George’s shoulder, ready to shake him awake, and then fell to her side. “He’s been in a sour mood of late.”
“As I would be if I hadn’t seen daylight in two days.”
“Was I wrong then,” she asked, returning to him, “to want to prove to my cousin—”
“Aye, ye were if Edmund suffered because of it.”
Her eyes stung, holding back the sudden rush of tears she would shed, she should shed, over her pride. Colin, this stranger, was correct, and it nearly brought her to her knees to hear it said.
“I didn’t mean to cause ye sorrow,” he told her as she dropped back down beside him. “ ’Tis not my place to advise ye on the raising of yer own bairn.”
“I will make certain he leav
es the castle tomorrow. I appreciate your candor, Mr. Campbell.”
Looking relieved that she hadn’t let her tears flow, he sat back and crossed his ankle over the opposite thigh. “Ye call the captain by his familiar name.”
Then he wasn’t in such a rush to leave, after all. Her heart beat so furiously in her chest that she was sure he could hear it. Lord, but she was pitiful indeed. Had she not allowed herself to walk down this path before? Hadn’t she sworn she never would again? Why was it so difficult to remember when she was with him? “Only in private.”
“There is no one here but us,” he said, lifting his gaze from her mouth. “In truth,” he told her, smiling as if he possessed no power at all to stop himself. “I don’t much care fer hearing myself being called Mr. Campbell.”
“Why not?”
“It makes me feel too proper.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye while she brought her cup to her lips. “And you’re not?”
“Not most of the time.”
But he was always proper with her. She liked him better for it. She was tired of men looking at her like she was the last succulent morsel of lamb left on the table. However, she wasn’t entirely opposed to him finding her appealing. In fact, she wished he did.
George let out a rumbling snore that brought both their gazes to him.
“How did you gain his favor?” Gillian asked softly, watching her dearest friend sleep. “He has no friends here.”
“I saved him from de Atre’s sword at his back.”
She blinked at him. De Atre! The lowly bastard! She should thank Mr. Campbell for that. She was about to do so when he continued.
“He returned the deed shortly after.”
“I’m thankful for it… for both of you… I mean that he…” She smiled nervously, setting her cup on the low table in front of them, then sweeping her heavy hair off her shoulder. The air around her was stifling. “The spirits are potent. I mostly drink water at supper and am unused to the effects of Geoffrey’s drink.”
“That’s good, since Geoffrey’s drink is nae longer suitable to consume.”
She laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He watched her for a moment, then blew out a soft gush of breath, as if resigning himself to some difficult task. “When I first saw ye, that day on the turrets”—he forged onward despite the shift in her weight—“ye looked… like ye were longing fer something. Is it home? Mayhap Edmund’s father?”
“I’ve given neither home nor Edmund’s father more than a thought in four years.”
“Freedom then?” he pressed when she said nothing more.
“Just childish fancies.” She shrugged her shoulders and stared at her cup on the table. “Nothing I would care to dull your ears with.”
“Ah, ye wish to remain mysterious, then.” His mouth curled into a playful smile when she looked at him.
Good Lord, how could a man look so dangerous and unyielding one instant and utterly guileless and inviting the next?
“I’m afraid this castle is too small for mystery, Mr. Cam… Colin.” Her boldness made her blush. His eyes drifted over her cheeks, the heated bridge of her nose. She smiled yet again and covered her face with her hand. “Forgive me, I’m not accustomed to—”
“Being dragged out of bed and questioned by someone ye hardly know?” he finished for her, pulling his gaze away.
She didn’t want him to stop looking at her. She didn’t want him to leave and she knew he would if she remained quiet and childishly awkward in his company. “Tell me something about yourself,” she said hastily, “and then we will know each other better.”
Now it was his turn to shift position, as uneasy as she was about revealing anything too personal.
“What would ye like to know?”
She lifted her brow at him, curious and surprised at his reply. The plate was bare and she could fill it with whatever she liked. Should she ask him for tidings from England or something to satisfy her longing to know everything about Colin Campbell, the man? “What is your age?”
“A score and two. Ye?”
“Nine and ten.”
“Do you reside in Glen Orchy when you are not offering your sword for battle?”
“Nae, my kin live farther north.”
“I’ve never been to the Highlands before,” she told him. “Is it as dangerous as others say?”
“Aye, but ’tis bonny there, too.” Something about the way he spoke the word “bonny,” the subtle catch of his breath, the warmth in his eyes taking in her features, made her stomach flip. Perhaps he did find her appealing.
“Is there someone in the Highlands whom you call beloved?” Blast it, she hadn’t meant to be so bold. She reached for her cup, but he leaned over her, stopping her.
“ ’Twill give ye an aching head in the morn.”
His hand covered hers, big, warm, calloused from clutching a hilt hour after hour.
“There is no one.” His whisky-sweetened breath washed over her, along with a smile so tender and so close, she wilted at the sight of it. She prayed for strength—something she hadn’t done with Reggie.
Lowering her cup back to the table, she separated his hand from hers. “Are you so dedicated to the sword that you have no time for love?”
He moved back and rested his elbows on his knees. He stared down at the hilts poking out from his boots and thought about his answer before he spoke. Finally, he looked up at her. “Aye,” he told her, “The sword is my love. I grew to manhood with a blade in my hands.”
She looked up from beneath the veil of her lashes and crooked her mouth at him. He had secrets indeed. Would he be so open if she put a different sort of question to him? “One would think a man who was born with a blade in his hands would know how to wield it with superior skill. No?”
His topaz gaze settled on her like embers ready to blaze to life. For a moment she feared she had gone too far. Whatever his motives were for feigning a lack of sword skill, she didn’t want to make an enemy of him. She liked his company. Was that so terrible? So dangerous? But he wasn’t angry. In fact, he appeared slightly amused by her bold observation. It wasn’t the first time she had challenged him without ruffling his feathers. It made her feel even more at ease with him.
“Superior skill takes years to master,” he told her, skirting her subtle accusation, but not lying to her about it. “When it comes time for battle, ’twill be my dedication to practice that makes my blade deadly and wins me the day.”
She smiled. George was correct. The Highlander was arrogant, clever… and apparently quite dedicated to William. “Prince William is fortunate to have you on his side.”
He poured himself more whisky, downed it, and then turned to her. “Captain Gates told me Devon’s plans fer ye when the prince arrives.”
Lord, why did he have to bring that up? It was the dark cloud that followed her everywhere, every day, in everything that she did. “My cousin believes I am destined to be his. He’s always wanted me. I don’t know why.”
“I can think of a few reasons.”
Their eyes met and they shared a brief, slightly awkward smile that made her toes curl in her slippers.
“If you wish to leave Dartmouth—”
She held up her hand. Lord, no. Don’t let him say it. She wouldn’t get him, and heaven forbid it, Edmund, killed when Geoffrey sent his army after them.
“My cousin will not have his way,” she said softly.
He leaned in closer. “I didn’t hear ye, lass.”
She almost didn’t repeat herself. No one knew about her letters to William. What she was doing was too dangerous. If Geoffrey found out that she was scheming against him with the prince, she had no doubts he would make good on his threats to take Edmund from her and likely wed her sooner.
She slipped her gaze across the table at George. Her dear captain would never have told a soul, but he would have tried to stop her. Perhaps even insist on delivering her letters to the messenger hims
elf.
She didn’t know why she wanted to tell Colin her secret. She truly hadn’t thought he might want to help her. She couldn’t let him, and she wouldn’t have to. Not if William stayed true to his word. She wanted Colin to know that she had hope of leaving this dreadful place. To finally whisper the truth, that she’d been doing more than sitting around cowering to her cousin.
“I said, my cousin will not have his way.”
He was silent for a moment, giving her more time to consider what she was about to confess. Then he said, “What d’ye intend to do about it?”
She peeked at him from the corner of her eye and wondered if he would laugh at her efforts to save herself and her son the way de Atre, Hammond, or even Mr. Lefevre would have laughed if she told one of them. But he was different. He’d seen her on the turrets and he hadn’t told anyone. He’d risked George’s fury by following her and saving her from Lieutenant de Atre. He hadn’t once mocked her obviously limited strength when she challenged him. He wouldn’t laugh now.
“I intend to win William’s favor.”
That unflappable guard he defended so well fell apart before her eyes.
“William?”
“Aye, the prince.”
He stared at her like she had just sprouted another head, and then reined in his composure and returned his expression to mild interest. “Ye believe he would aid ye?”
She nodded. “He vowed that he would.”
“Did he? When?”
Her eyes skipped to George, and then back to him. “Many times… in letters. He is my only hope. Geoffrey doesn’t know, nor does George. I would ask that you—”
He held up his palm to stop her before she said any more. “Let me understand this correctly. Ye’re secretly corresponding with William of Orange? How? What have ye told him?”
“I’ve given him news carried here by some of the men. I told him that it was not Geoffrey’s idea to have him formally invited to England to avoid a war, but my father’s.”
