but she could see the moment he realized what he’d done. How his arrogance had been twisted against him. His expression shifted from cocksure to enraged. She’d tricked him, and he knew it.
Eyes blazing, he bowed stiffly. “Until the end of the contest, then”—he gave her a calculated look that was just short of menacing—“when I shall come to claim my prize.”
She watched him storm away, feeling a prickle of discomfort. Discomfort that only worsened a few moments later.
“Morning, Princess.”
Caitrina startled, recognizing that deep, husky tone immediately. The man could melt a frozen loch with the heat of that sultry voice. So much for avoiding him. She looked over to see Jamie Campbell standing in the doorway, holding the reins of his horse.
Princess indeed.
“It’s well past morning, and don’t call me Princess.” He grinned, and Caitrina berated herself for letting him bother her. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t you have something better to do than spy on me? Frighten a few helpless old women or children, perhaps—”
He led his destrier inside a stall, gave instructions to one of the stable lads, and strode toward her. Her insides seemed to toss about like a rudderless
birlinn
in a storm as he neared. He might be a devil, but he had the face of an archangel. Handsome enough to make her wish he weren’t a Campbell. The intense slate blue eyes, the aquiline nose, the hard sculpted cheekbones and wide mouth above a strong square jaw. She couldn’t seem to look away, drawn to his dark masculinity in a way that she could not explain. Except that it resonated, she felt it in every inch, every pore, of her body. His size, his expression, his fearsome reputation, should urge danger. But it wasn’t fear that set off bells of alarm—it was the intensity of her reaction to him. Unconsciously she took a step back.
“Spying wasn’t necessary,” he said, pointing to the open shutters opposite the door where hay for the horses was tossed in. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Your ability to rid yourself of a suitor is to be commended, but your delivery lacks finesse. Have care for the pride of a young man, my sweet. From the look on that one’s face, his was badly bruised and he’ll not soon forget it.”
“I don’t recall asking for your advice,” she said with an angry toss of her chin. It was none of his blasted business.
The infuriating beast only laughed. “You shall have it allthe same. It’s about time someone around here spoke the truth.”
The hair at the back of her neck rose in full affront. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Not all men will be led around by their—” He stopped. “Not all men will bow to your bidding.”
“Like you, for one?” she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.
He moved a little closer. Close enough for her to smell the sun and sweat from his ride. The primitive scent was oddly arousing, swarming her senses with wicked yearnings. He stood so close, she could see the dark stubble that shadowed the hard lines of his jaw. She remembered how it had felt rubbing against the tender skin of her cheek when he’d kissed her, and something fluttered low in her belly.
“Aye, like me,” he said huskily, almost as if he knew what she was thinking.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She turned away, not wanting him to see how deeply he rattled her. When he didn’t leave as she hoped, she asked, “Why were you out riding? I thought you were taking part in the games.”
“I hadn’t decided, but now that I’ve heard the prize to be won, I think I shall enter the archery contest.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. Her eyes flew to his face, thinking he was jesting, but his expression was implacable. “You can’t be serious.” He couldn’t intend to court her.
His eyes met hers, and the intensity shook her to her toes. “And what if I am?”
She ignored the sudden race of her heart. Despite her
Eyes blazing, he bowed stiffly. “Until the end of the contest, then”—he gave her a calculated look that was just short of menacing—“when I shall come to claim my prize.”
She watched him storm away, feeling a prickle of discomfort. Discomfort that only worsened a few moments later.
“Morning, Princess.”
Caitrina startled, recognizing that deep, husky tone immediately. The man could melt a frozen loch with the heat of that sultry voice. So much for avoiding him. She looked over to see Jamie Campbell standing in the doorway, holding the reins of his horse.
Princess indeed.
“It’s well past morning, and don’t call me Princess.” He grinned, and Caitrina berated herself for letting him bother her. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t you have something better to do than spy on me? Frighten a few helpless old women or children, perhaps—”
He led his destrier inside a stall, gave instructions to one of the stable lads, and strode toward her. Her insides seemed to toss about like a rudderless
birlinn
in a storm as he neared. He might be a devil, but he had the face of an archangel. Handsome enough to make her wish he weren’t a Campbell. The intense slate blue eyes, the aquiline nose, the hard sculpted cheekbones and wide mouth above a strong square jaw. She couldn’t seem to look away, drawn to his dark masculinity in a way that she could not explain. Except that it resonated, she felt it in every inch, every pore, of her body. His size, his expression, his fearsome reputation, should urge danger. But it wasn’t fear that set off bells of alarm—it was the intensity of her reaction to him. Unconsciously she took a step back.
“Spying wasn’t necessary,” he said, pointing to the open shutters opposite the door where hay for the horses was tossed in. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Your ability to rid yourself of a suitor is to be commended, but your delivery lacks finesse. Have care for the pride of a young man, my sweet. From the look on that one’s face, his was badly bruised and he’ll not soon forget it.”
“I don’t recall asking for your advice,” she said with an angry toss of her chin. It was none of his blasted business.
The infuriating beast only laughed. “You shall have it allthe same. It’s about time someone around here spoke the truth.”
The hair at the back of her neck rose in full affront. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Not all men will be led around by their—” He stopped. “Not all men will bow to your bidding.”
“Like you, for one?” she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.
He moved a little closer. Close enough for her to smell the sun and sweat from his ride. The primitive scent was oddly arousing, swarming her senses with wicked yearnings. He stood so close, she could see the dark stubble that shadowed the hard lines of his jaw. She remembered how it had felt rubbing against the tender skin of her cheek when he’d kissed her, and something fluttered low in her belly.
“Aye, like me,” he said huskily, almost as if he knew what she was thinking.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She turned away, not wanting him to see how deeply he rattled her. When he didn’t leave as she hoped, she asked, “Why were you out riding? I thought you were taking part in the games.”
“I hadn’t decided, but now that I’ve heard the prize to be won, I think I shall enter the archery contest.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. Her eyes flew to his face, thinking he was jesting, but his expression was implacable. “You can’t be serious.” He couldn’t intend to court her.
His eyes met hers, and the intensity shook her to her toes. “And what if I am?”
She ignored the sudden race of her heart. Despite her
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