The Campbell Trilogy Read online

  Now for the hard part. She had only one hand this time to keep her balance as she slowly made her way back along the branch. When she was safely near the trunk, she breathed a sigh of relief. Glancing down, she saw that Brian had climbed up a few branches below her.

  “Here, I’ll take him,” he offered.

  Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to climb down with one hand, she carefully lowered the kitten into her brother’s outstretched hands. He tucked the small bundle behind his leather jerkin, ambled down a few branches, and dropped easily to the ground.

  She took a moment to catch her breath and steady her heartbeat, then started to work her way down.

  “Thanks, Caiti,” he shouted, “you’re the best.”

  She turned at the sound of his fading voice, but it was already too late.

  “Wait, Brian, I need your …” Her voice dropped off. Help. She could just make out his back as he turned the corner out of earshot, running back toward the castle.

  “Brothers,” she muttered. “Some thanks. When I get hold of him …”

  She looked down, realizing she was still too far off the ground. A few more branches and she should be able to drop just like Brian. Carefully, she grasped a branch with her hands and lowered one foot and then the other—

  The sound of a loud crack signaled disaster. For a moment her stomach rose to her chin, body weightless as she dropped. She grasped the branch above her head just as the one under her feet cracked at the trunk and bent at a perilous angle to the ground. Her brother’s weight must have weakened it. If she let go now, the branch would probably give way entirely and she’d go crashing to the ground. She wasn’t quite hanging by her fingertips, but almost.

  She was also stuck. She looked down past her toes. The ground was at least fifteen feet below—still too far to attempt a drop.

  She’d have to wait until Brian remembered. She groaned, realizing she might be here all night.

  When I get hold of him …

  “I think you already said that.”

  Caitrina gasped at the sound of a deep voice—a deep male voice. She looked down and her eyes locked on the steely gaze of a stranger who stood a few feet away, watching her with an amused glint in his eyes. How long he’d been standing there she didn’t know, but it had been long enough for him to dismount from the massive destrier at his side.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or embarrassed—probably a little of both. She had need of a rescuer but would have preferred him not to be so—she frowned, searching for the right word—masculine. Blatantly so.

  From her current position hanging so far from the ground, it was difficult to gauge precisely, but she would guess he stood at least a handful of inches over six feet. A giant by any standard—even a Highland one.

  If he was a Highlander.

  He’d spoken in Scots and not in the Highland tongue, but she thought she’d detected a hint of brogue in his voice. It was difficult to tell from his clothing. He wasn’t wearing the breacan feile of the Highlands, but that wasn’t unusual for a man of wealth and position. And on that account she had no doubt. Even from a distance she could see that the black leather doublet and trews he wore were of exceptional quality.

  But the fine clothing did little to camouflage the savage beauty of his broad chest and powerfully muscled arms and legs. His impressive build coupled with the enormous claidheamhmór sword he wore slung across his back left no doubt in her mind that he was a warrior. And she’d wager an impressive one at that.

  But it was more than his size that bothered her. She would also have preferred a rescuer who wasn’t quite so dominating. It was everything about him: his wide commanding stance, the stamp of absolute authority on his face, and the bold way he looked at her. His manner unsettled her so much that it took her a moment to realize how handsome he was. Arrogantly so—as if his expertly chiseled features were a mere afterthought to the force of his overpowering masculinity.

  She wasn’t alone in her perusal.

  Her body prickled with awareness. Dear God, the way he was looking at her … at all of her. His gaze roamed her body from head to toe, lingering at her breasts long enough for a blush to rise in her cheeks. Suddenly she became very conscious of her nearly undressed state. The sark that had seemed a suitable covering a short while ago now felt as insubstantial as gossamer silk under his penetrating stare. It felt as though he could see right through the linen to her bare skin.

  She’d always been protected by her father and brothers; no man had ever dared to look at her like this—as if she were a juicy plum ripe for the picking.

  And Caitrina didn’t like it one bit. She might not be dressed as one right now, but any man of sense could see that she was a lady—even if he didn’t notice the fancy gown that was plain as day right under his nose.

  Who was this bold warrior who held himself like a king?

  She would swear she’d never seen him before. From his clothing and weaponry, he was obviously not an outlaw. He was probably a chief from distant lands come for the games—which meant he was owed the sacred obligation of Highland hospitality. But if he was a chief, where were his guardsmen?

  Well, chief or not, he shouldn’t be looking at her that way. “Your name, my lord?” she demanded. “You are on Lamont lands.”

  “Ah, then I have reached my destination.”

  “You are here for the gathering?”

  He gave her a long look, one that made her feel he knew something she did not. “Among other things.”

  He hadn’t told her his name, but at the moment she didn’t care who he was. She would welcome the devil himself—or, God forbid, one of his Campbell minions—if he would help her down. Her arms were starting to ache from trying to hold most of her weight as to not put too much weight on the fragile branch. Her rescuer certainly was taking his time. “Well, are you just going to stand there watching me all day?” she asked impatiently.

  His mouth lifted at one corner. “I might just do that. It’s not very often that a man happens upon a half-naked wood nymph climbing a tree.”

  Caitrina’s cheeks flamed. “I’m not half-naked, and if you could spare a glance upward”—away from my chest—“you would see that I’m not climbing, but stuck and in need of some assistance.”

  Her blustery response seemed only to increase his amusement. Though he wasn’t precisely smiling, his steely blue eyes twinkled as radiantly as the shards of sunlight streaming through the trees.

  The wretched brute was laughing at her.

  Caitrina narrowed her gaze, not used to being laughed at—particularly by a man. She supposed there was something amusing about the entire situation, but he should have the courtesy not to show it. It left her feeling at a distinct disadvantage, which was silly given her circumstances. She was at a disadvantage. But not for long. When he got her down from here, she would give him a piece of her mind.

  She bristled and in her most haughty voice—the one she used with her brothers when she wanted them to do something—said, “Just hurry up and help me down … now!”

  She realized immediately that issuing demands might not have been the best tactic when the smile that had temporarily lightened his hard expression vanished and his lips thinned into a straight line. He gave her a long stare, then crossed his arms over his broad chest. Her breath caught, confronted with the impressive bulge of muscle. Good gracious, he was strong.

  “No,” he said lazily. “I don’t think I shall.”

  Chapter 2

  Caitrina gasped, more shocked than angry—at first. “No? You can’t say no.”

  He lifted a brow, begging to differ.

  “But why not?” she sputtered inanely, finding it impossible to comprehend a refusal.

  His gaze slid over her body. “I’m rather enjoying the view from here.”

  “How dare you!” She gave him a withering stare, which was easier said than done from her position. “You are a vile man.”

  The smile that curved his mouth
sent a shiver running through her. “If I were in your position, I think I’d be praying that you were wrong about that.”

  She ignored the warning. “But I will fall,” she protested.

  He eyed the distance from her feet to the ground. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Caitrina was at a loss—never having encountered a situation like this. In truth, she wasn’t used to being told no—particularly by men. Was he in earnest or merely toying with her? His expression was infuriatingly unreadable.

  She’d gone about this all wrong. But he’d irritated her with his amusement at her predicament and his bold appraisal of her body. Taking a deep breath, she forced a broad, playful smile to her face and batted her lashes for good measure. “For a moment I thought you were serious, but I know a gallant knight such as yourself would never refuse a lady in peril.”

  Gallant knight, ha! He wasn’t likely to be confused with a knight in shining armor anytime soon.

  He arched a brow. It was obvious he knew exactly what she was up to. He gave her another long, penetrating look, one that she felt all the way to her toes. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

  Something in his voice caused the hair to prickle at the back of her neck. “What sort of arrangement?”

  “I believe it is customary in such situations to offer a boon.” Their eyes met, and she could see the unspoken challenge in his gaze. “A kiss, perhaps?”

  Her eyes widened. Of all the arrogant … Outrage coursed through her body, but somehow she held her temper in check. “I believe it is customary in such situations for a gentleman to offer to help a woman without condition.”

  He turned back to his horse, gathered the reins, and started to lead it away. “Suit yourself.”

  She gaped at his retreating back. “Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here.”

  He turned and gave an infuriating lift of his brow. He didn’t need to say anything, the gesture said it all: He could indeed.

  The branch under her feet cracked and sagged a few more inches. He might have made a movement toward her, but she couldn’t be sure. Her arms had begun to ache from the strain of supporting most of her weight; she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on. Her face was hot with anger and indignation. She would argue with him later. “Very well. Just get me down.”

  He gave a mocking bow. “As you wish, my lady.”

  For such a tall, muscular man, he negotiated the branches of the tree with surprising agility and speed, stopping a few branches below the weakened branch that was partially supporting her. In the span of only a few seconds, his hands circled her waist. She sucked in her breath at the unfamiliar sensation. His hands were big and strong, and she was acutely aware of his thumbs positioned under her breasts.

  Their eyes met. Shock reverberated through her. Up close, he was even more handsome that she’d realized: piercing slate blue eyes, dark brown hair that in the sunlight contained hints of the red it had probably been in his youth, a wide mouth, and a hard, square jaw. It was a harshly masculine face, but also an incredibly attractive one. Given his abominable behavior, it shouldn’t affect her, but she found herself flushing nonetheless. Though his expression betrayed nothing, somehow she knew that he was not as indifferent as he seemed.

  His hold was firm and sure as he plucked her from the cracked branch and lowered her toward him, bringing her to rest securely against the hard length of his body.

  Relieved, she sagged against him. Her arms felt like jelly, and for a moment she allowed herself to take refuge against his warm, solid strength. Solid was perhaps an understatement. His chest and arms were like granite. But rather than intimidate, the powerful evidence of his strength made her flush with a strange, heavy heat.

  She’d never been this close to a man, where it seemed as if every inch of her body were melded to his. It felt … exciting—disturbingly so. One of her legs was caught between his powerful thighs, and her breasts were crushed against his chest. She could feel the steady pounding of his heart, all the more disconcerting because of the erratic beat of hers. He was so warm and smelled incredible—clean and soapy, with the faint hint of an exotic spice.

  She had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze and realized he was every bit as tall as she’d imagined. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders. “You can let go of me,” she said unevenly. “I can get down from here.”

  At first she thought he would refuse, but after a moment he released her.

  Thankfully, the feeling had returned in her arms and she was able to follow his lead the rest of the way down. He dropped to the ground from the lowest branch and reached for her. She stared at his outstretched hand and hesitated. It seemed somehow significant. Cautiously, she slipped her hand into his and jumped. He caught her by the waist and lowered her down as if she weighed no more than that kitten she’d just rescued.

  When her feet touched the ground, she wanted to sigh with relief. Instead she found herself unable to breathe, caught in the web of his magnetic gaze—and the strange sensations wrought by the realization that only a very thin piece of linen separated her nakedness from him.

  What if he wasn’t a gentleman? It was probably something she should have thought of earlier, but she’d never been in such a vulnerable predicament. And she’d never met anyone like him.

  Her heart fluttered like the wings of a bird trapped in a cage. His arms were still around her. She should pull away—he was a stranger, a man who hadn’t even told her his name—but her body seemed to have a will of its own. She stood there, transfixed by a connection that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  But its strength frightened her, enough to give her the sense to jerk away.

  “Thank you,” she said quickly, her voice unsteady. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear nervously. He watched the movement with an intensity that unnerved her. Actually, everything about him unnerved her. “I can manage from here.” But all six-foot-plus, heavily muscled inch of him stayed exactly where he was—too close. If she weren’t feeling so strangely vulnerable and unsettled, she might have admired the impressive physique she’d just been plastered to. “You can go now.”

  Again she’d taken the wrong tone, she realized.

  “Dismissed, my lady? Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Her cheeks burned. “You can’t mean to hold me to your ridiculous condition. I agreed only under duress.”

  “It’s a debt of honor.” He paused. “Is the word of a Lamont worth nothing?”

  She gasped. “You know my name!”

  He laughed again with that knowing look. “An educated guess. ’Tis said the Lamont has a very beautiful daughter.” He frowned, giving her face great scrutiny. “But maybe I’m wrong. They didn’t say anything about a crooked nose.”

  “What!” Her hand went immediately to her nose. “I don’t have a—” She stopped, heat staining her cheeks, seeing his grin. The arrogant lout was teasing her again. Well, not exactly arrogant, she supposed. More like confident in his authority and strength. She flushed at the memory of his hard body stretched against hers.

  And now he wanted her to kiss him.

  Caitrina bit her lip, debating what to do. She owed him nothing, but she had agreed to his “bargain.” His attack had been well aimed, striking in the one place every Highlander was vulnerable—their pride.

  Her struggle seemed only to amuse him. “What is it to be, my lady?”

  A long, slow smile spread across her face; she had the answer. “Very well. You shall have your kiss.”

  She thought a flicker of surprise crossed his face. When she held out her hand, he looked puzzled for a moment before comprehension settled in that cool, steely gaze.

  She thought she’d won when he took her proffered hand, but then she saw the determined glint spark in his eyes. Determination that made a shiver of alarm slide down her spine.

  Her fingers seemed to be swallowed by his big warrior’s hand.
It was warm and hard with calluses—and strong. He could crush her without effort, but instead his thumb caressed her palm and the hair on her arms stood straight up. He turned her hand over, revealing the jagged scratches on her palm.

  A frown settled over his handsome features. “You’re hurt. Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”

  Self-conscious, she tried to pull her hand away, but he held firm. “It’s nothing,” she dismissed.

  Holding her gaze, he slowly lifted her hand to his mouth.

  She couldn’t turn away. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was wait and anticipate, her pulse as frantic as the wings of a hummingbird.

  She felt the warmth of his breath on her hand right before he pressed his lips against her injured palm. She sucked in a short gasp of air. The shock of his kiss was like a lightning bolt, a brand upon her skin.

  His lips moved along her palm to the sensitive skin at her wrist. Her heart pounded faster, realizing what he intended. This would be no simple kiss of the hand. It was a seduction.

  And it was working. Something strange was happening to her body. Her legs felt suddenly weak as a heaviness descended over her. His mouth trailed from her wrist to the bend of her arm. The press of his soft lips and warm mouth on her bare skin sent tiny shivers sweeping up her arm. The gentle scratch of his chin on her skin made every nerve ending stand on edge and prickle with awareness.

  Her lips parted and her breath hitched. He lifted his eyes to her face, and something changed. In one movement, his hand slid around her waist and he pulled her to him.

  His handsome features were drawn in a hard line, but there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze. His eyes fell to her mouth. The pulse at his jaw quickened.

  She knew what he was going to do.

  She could have stopped him.

  But she didn’t want to. She’d never wanted a man to kiss her before … until now.