by Amy Jarecki
“The way you carry on, I’d think you might fancy him.”
Meg’s cheeks burned. Fortunately, the passage was dimly lit, and Gyllis was in too much of a hurry to notice the blush that most certainly was coloring Meg’s face.
Proceeding through a maze of stairwells and passages, Meg finally recognized the corridor outside Duncan’s chamber. Her palms grew moist and her breathing quickened. Gyllis rapped upon the door and they waited. She rapped again. Still nothing.
“Perhaps he’s asleep,” Meg said, clasping the latch and peeking inside. But Duncan was nowhere to be found.
15
Duncan wasted no time calling his men together. He’d been abed for nearly a day—too long for any man of three and twenty. It was always sobering to have the Lord of Glenorchy sit in his chamber and tell him how he should conduct his affairs. Yes, he loved his father dearly, but Duncan was now a man. Da had handed Duncan the reins to the Highland Enforcers, an honor and a duty he would never take lightly. And every waking moment, one fact was never far from his forethought—he must strive to prove himself worthy and make his legendary father proud.
Aye, Duncan had been on many missions before, but this was the first high-level task where he’d been completely in control. He’d had a small setback with his injury, but all in all, he’d accomplished the mission successfully, at least thus far. Meg still must be returned to her brother—and then there was his indiscretion, but he’d figure a way to handle that. Beautiful, lovely Meg. As soon as he concluded this meeting, he’d go looking for her, since she hadn’t returned to his chamber after breaking her fast earlier that morn.
Duncan’s inner circle of five men sat around the table in the solar. That his father chose to stay away from the meeting reassured him. Prior to handing the lead to Duncan, Da sat at the head of the table and directed their affairs. Now Duncan filled that leather-clad chair. It was well worn, but none too comfortable, especially with the wound in his backside.
Lord Colin Campbell had earned notoriety and respect throughout Scotland, and it was expected that Duncan step into that role seamlessly. There was no question that if Duncan made a serious misstep, his father would push him aside. That was something Duncan could never allow. He’d been given trust and respect, and had every intention of holding on to it.
Guilt needled the back of his mind. Duncan pushed it aside by placing his palms on the table. “’Tis fortunate to see you all in good health.”
“Aye,” Robert said. “You’re the one we’re all worried about.”
Duncan nodded thoughtfully. “Lady Meg saw Percy’s man-at-arms as we were sailing from the pier in Glasgow. Did any of the rest of you run into the English?”
Sean stood and collected seven tankards from the sideboard. “Not after we crossed the Tweed.”
Duncan watched him pull the stopper off the ewer and pour the ale. “Bloody hell, I was sure they wouldn’t follow us west.”
John reached for a tankard first. “I reckon the bastard followed you because they saw us at the farmer’s barn. Only one horse went west—one horse with two riders.”
Eoin leaned back in his chair. “I hope you got a good look at him.”
“Nay. By the time Meg said something, he’d been swallowed up in the crowd.” Duncan reached for the last cup and drank. “What about the Earl of Douglas? How did he take the news that we were taking a detour?”
John shrugged. “He was thankful we got her out, but not so happy about our methods. What would you expect?”
“Aye, but it could have taken us a month or more if we’d dallied in Alnwick and attempted to be hired on as Percy’s guardsmen.”
James sat forward. “So when are we setting out to take her back? I’ve a few things in need of my attention in Loch Rannoch.”
Duncan shrugged. “A sennight.”
James ran a finger along his tankard’s handle. “If you do not mind, I’ll ride home in the morning, then.”
“Does your business wear a green kirtle and work in the keep’s laundry?” Robert asked.
James turned as red as apples. “Wheesht, the lot of you.”
Everyone laughed. So did Duncan. Honestly, he loved this group of men. They’d all been fostered under Lord Glenorchy, and each one was as much a brother to him as John. He raised his tankard. “James, meet us at the inn in Callander in a sennight’s time. We’ll pass that way for certain.”
After being refused access to Gyllis’s chamber by his pernicious sister, Duncan opted to ready himself for the evening meal. At least he’d located Meg. When he couldn’t find her, he’d feared the worst. It wouldn’t be entirely impossible for an overzealous English spy to infiltrate Kilchurn’s walls—highly unlikely, but not impossible.
What the devil was Meg doing with Gyllis? He heard the pair laughing and giggling all the way down the passageway. His sister was always the schemer, and Duncan dreaded what might happen. And then he kicked himself. Gyllis was a dear, caring and thoughtful of others, aside from her immature practical jokes.
Dressed in a clean linen shirt, a black leather doublet and a belted plaid, Duncan descended the tower stairs. As always, the great hall buzzed with servants preparing for a meal, yet a tad more excitement hung in the air. His stepmother walked in from the kitchen door. Smiling, she held out her hands. “Duncan, my dear. ’Tis wonderful to see you out of your bed so soon.”
“Ma.” He clasped her hands and kissed her cheek. She was the only mother he’d ever known, and he loved her dearly. “It looks as if you’ve prepared a grand feast this eve.”
“Aye.” Lady Margaret led him to the dais. “We’ve a noble guest in our midst. I couldn’t resist a display of finery.”
He pulled out his mother’s chair and gestured for her to sit. “I’m sure Lady Meg will be grateful. She’s had a sheltered life.”
“Oh?” Ma frowned, taking her seat. “I was hoping she’d be able to give the girls a lesson or two about court. Lady Meg’s an earl’s daughter, after all, and living so close to Edinburgh, I would be surprised if she hasn’t attended the queen as one of her ladies.”
Duncan slid into his father’s seat beside her. “You do dream on a large scale, Mother.”
“I think not.”
Hadn’t Ma noticed Meg’s hand? In no way would the queen allow a cripple to serve her. Duncan cringed. Until now, he hadn’t considered Meg’s deformity anything but a mild inconvenience, but others in Scotland would disdain her for certain.
He chose to change the subject. “I understand Gyllis absconded with the lady this morn.”
“Aye, the last time I checked, all my old gowns were piled upon the bed.”
“’Tis a good thing. Lady Meg has had a harrowing experience these past sennights. A day spent on women’s affairs would be a pleasant diversion.”
“She has eyes for you.”
One corner of his mouth turned up.
Lady Margaret patted his hand. “A woman knows these things. But ’tis not uncommon for a lass to be smitten by your good looks. The question I have is: What are your feelings for her?”
Duncan froze. Exactly what were his feelings for Lady Meg? He’d die to protect her. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lovely face. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen when he returned the lady to the care of her brother. Swiping a hand over his mouth, he cleared his throat. “She’s a lovely lass, but a handful.”
Ma chuckled and sat back. “Any woman worth her while is a handful.”
Da bounded up the steps, followed by the twins. Relieved to avoid further conversation about Meg, Duncan rose from his father’s chair and craned his neck to peer across the hall. Neither Gyllis nor Meg had come down yet. Blast it all. If he didn’t see her soon, he would barrel up the stairwell and fetch her himself.
Duncan took his customary seat at his father’s left. John pulled out the chair beside him, but Duncan grasped the armrest and glanced at his parents. “I’d like Lady Meg to sit beside me this eve.”
&nb
sp; Ma exchanged a knowing nod with Da. Holy Christmas, they were meddling. It mattered not. He’d led Lady Meg’s rescue. They’d spent the greater part of a sennight together. She’d tended his wounds…they’d made love.
God on the cross, do I constantly have to remind myself of that fact?
“She can sit between us, then,” John said, taking Gyllis’s seat.
Lady Margaret clapped her hands. “I’ve arranged for the MacGregor minstrels to play after supper.”
Helen and the girls at the far end of the table squealed with delight. This would give them an opportunity to practice their dancing. Duncan had been twisted and cajoled into being a stand-in dance partner for years. Fortunately, aside from James, Duncan’s men were all in attendance. They could partner with his sisters. He’d be dancing with someone of interest this night.
Thinking of Meg, he clenched his fists and again glanced toward the stairwell. Where the devil are they? Haven’t they been at it all day? How long does it take for an earl’s daughter to dress? From what Duncan had seen of Lady Meg, he doubted she would take any longer than one of his sisters. They wore similar gowns.
Just as he was ready to bound out of his seat and fetch her, a wave of blue and red silk descended into the hall. Gyllis wore red, though Duncan hardly noticed. He forgot to blink. “Merciful…”
“Father,” John finished.
Duncan would have slammed his elbow into his brother’s ribs if John were sitting beside him. Meg was his, at least until they returned to Tantallon. His milk-livered brother could hold his tongue.
Lady Meg had looked stunning in the chapel at Alnwick, but at the time she’d been a prisoner without a chambermaid. She stood at the bottom of the steps like a regal statue. Gyllis tugged her arm. Meg’s gaze snapped to the dais and met Duncan’s.
His mouth went completely dry.
If Father had leaned over and told Duncan that Meg was really the Queen of Scotland, he wouldn’t have argued. Her royal blue kirtle was topped by an ornately embroidered matching surcoat, lined with sealskin fur. Her square neckline clung to her breasts as if Gyllis had painted it on.
They approached, and Meg appeared to float, gliding along the floorboards. Her rosy lips turned up in a lovely smile. Beneath her veil, ringlets of red framed her face. Duncan had never seen a woman more picturesque.
The corners of his mouth dumbly ticked up.
John hopped from his seat and nearly leaped down the stairs. “Lady Meg, you look enchanting this eve.”
Blinking, Duncan jolted out of his chair. He’d been sitting there staring at the lass like a daft mute. He met Meg at the top of the dais steps and snatched her hand from John’s grasp. “M’lady, indeed you are stunning to behold.”
Gyllis came up from behind and smacked Duncan’s shoulder. “Excuse me, but there are two lassies here.”
He ventured a wink at Meg. “As always, you look beautiful, sister.” He gestured to the seat at the far end of the table. Gyllis huffed and sat beside Helen.
As Duncan led Meg to her chair, she glanced over her shoulder. “Must Gyllis sit so far away?”
Duncan gestured to the padded seat. “’Tis only for the meal. Once the dancing starts, people will mill about.”
“Dancing?” Her eyes sparkled with a flicker of candlelight.
Duncan couldn’t keep himself from staring at her breasts. Defying nature, delectable flesh swelled above her bodice. “Aye, Lady Campbell wouldn’t entertain an earl’s daughter without a celebration.”
Meg covered her mouth with her good hand. “I daresay it wasn’t necessary to go the trouble.”
Ma spread her palms gracefully. “Nonsense. My lassies adore it any time we invite the minstrels in…”
Mother continued, but Duncan didn’t hear a word. Meg’s skirts brushed his calf beneath the table. He slid his hand down and fingered the silk, imagining it was her bare skin. He caught a hint of lilac soap and leaned closer for a better sampling. Ah yes, lilac mixed with Meg’s own desirous fragrance did unholy things to his manhood. If only he could spirit her up to his chamber so they could finish the meal without his meddlesome family about.
His gaze drifted from her breasts to her face. She smiled. Suddenly aware food and drink had been placed on the table, he lifted the ewer. “Would you care for some wine, m’lady?”
“Thank you.”
She kept her crippled hand hidden under the table, as Duncan had observed before. But when she slid it onto his thigh and rubbed, stars crossed his vision. Bloody hell, how would he make it through the meal without revealing the passion in his heart? In no way could anyone seated at the table realize how rapidly his heart pounded or how much the sight of Lady Meg ignited a raging flame from his chest to his groin.
Meg couldn’t help herself. She rested the claw on Duncan’s thigh. Initially she’d done it because he appeared a wee bit glassy-eyed, but as soon as her fingers connected with the warm, hard muscles beneath his woolen plaid, her insides fluttered. Everything trembled. It wasn’t like the shaking she’d experienced when cold or afraid. This trembling was filled with swarms of butterflies that flitted around her breast and made her blood pulse hot beneath her skin.
Duncan didn’t move. She kept her hand in place and stared at her meal. The new stays constricting her waist in concert with her thundering heart made it near impossible to eat. Licking her lips, Meg opted to savor her wine.
“You are a vision of beauty, Lady Meg,” Lord Glenorchy said from his large red-velvet chair at the center of the table.
She smiled politely. “I daresay Gyllis is a miracle worker.”
Lady Margaret selected a chicken leg with her eating knife. “She has excellent taste. I remember when I could wear that gown, ever so long ago.”
Meg tapped her hand to her chest. “I hope you do not mind that she let me borrow it.”
The older woman smiled. Though threads of grey streaked through the chestnut locks peeking from under her wimple, she had a stately splendor, and kind green eyes. “Not at all. I’m happy to see it be of use after so many years.”
Duncan placed his hand atop the claw and rubbed. He leaned close to Meg’s ear. “You’ve transformed into a greater beauty than I ever could have imagined.”
Meg dared glance at his smoothly shaven jaw. If only it were appropriate for her to kiss it.
Lord Glenorchy pounded the table with a solid fist. “Duncan, there will be no secrets at this table.”
“Aye, Father.” Duncan released his grasp and straightened. “I was just telling Lady Meg she cleans up well.”
John snorted. “Bloody ravisher with a gruff tongue. I’ve no idea how the women continuously fawn all over you.”
“Fawn?” Meg asked. “Ravisher?”
Duncan paled. “A wee bit of jealousy from my younger brother.” He touched his lips to her ear. “I see no one in the hall but you, m’lady.”
She cast her gaze to Lord Glenorchy. Directing his frown at Duncan, the baronet did not look happy.
Meg bit her bottom lip. The lord had made it clear he wanted no secret conversations at the table, but at her first opportunity, she’d ask Duncan why his father appeared disagreeable. Did the Highland lord not like her?
Under the table, Duncan’s hand grasped the claw and pulled it back onto his lap. His color returned.
“How are you feeling, Sir Duncan?” Of course it was only appropriate she use his title in the company of others, and it was best to keep the conversation neutral.
“Well, thank you. I plan to spar with my men on the morrow.”
After nearly succumbing to the sweat? He must be daft. “So soon? Are you jesting?”
“Nay. The quicker I can resume normal activities, the better.”
She cut a bit of chicken and slipped it into her mouth. “I would think you’d need a sennight of rest or more.”
“I’ve far too many responsibilities to spend days lazing on my backside.”
Lord Glenorchy tore a piece of bread from the loaf. “
We’ll be taking you back to the Lord of Angus soon. Duncan needs his strength. He wants to be the one to claim his prize.”
Meg yanked her hand out from under Duncan’s. The ravisher of women was planning to use her, and then take her back to Tantallon and collect his payment?
Knitting his brows, Duncan’s gaze snapped to hers.
She shook her head and stabbed a piece of lamb with her eating knife. As soon as she could get him alone, she’d tell him exactly what she thought of his misbegotten plan. He could take his miserable money-grubbing arse and apply his own salve.
Meg had never been so relieved for a meal to end when the fiddler and pipers took their positions upon the balcony.
She turned to Duncan’s brother. “Do you like to dance, Sir John?”
“Aye, m’lady.” He offered his hand but looked directly at Duncan. “Would you care to stretch your legs with a high-stepping reel?”
She placed her palm in his hand. “I would love to.”
Duncan scooted his chair back with a gruff grunt. Meg didn’t dare look at him. She’d heard enough at dinner. The eldest Campbell lad was a rogue. All too quickly she’d succumbed to his ruse.
Anyway, it was far safer to dance with John. The younger Campbell did nothing to make her stomach flutter with a swarm of tireless butterflies.
16
Duncan scooted his chair back in and grumbled behind his tankard of ale. Thanks to my bloody family, Meg thinks me an utter blackguard. Not that he wasn’t. But he didn’t want Meg to think poorly of him.
Laura, a serving maid, made a show of leaning forward to pick up a trencher. She hovered until Duncan glanced her way. Ample cleavage befuddled his mind.
The wench smiled. “Ye fancy a poke tonight, m’lord?” she whispered.
Bloody hell, he would immediately put an end to his womanizing. He flicked his wrist at the lass. “Begone with you.” He kept his voice low, but he would have liked to bellow a string of insults to ensure no one within fifty miles of Kilchurn ever again presented him with such a vulgar proposal. He raked his fingers through his hair. A fortnight ago, he would have taken the wench up on her offer and asked if she wanted to bring a friend. Presently, Lady Meg ran amuck in his mind.
