had evaded an immediate marriage, but a fiancée was just as bad, just as binding. He would have to think of something to get out of it, and to save poor Cait Campbell from the horrible fate of serving Lady Graham.
***
David Campbell watched the sun rise across fields of swaying heather, bathing the countryside in a warm, orange glow. He held the sleeping Isabelle in his arms and rode on, though his muscles ached and cramped.
Ever since he saved Isabelle on the road, his journey had gone poorly. No, that was not entirely true. Things had gone bad from the moment he saw Laird Douglas and began to dodge questions regarding his nuptials with Douglas’s daughter. Campbell still had a difficult meeting ahead of him in Glasgow, so his day had the strong possibility of getting worse. At least he had been able to arrange a good match for his sister, Cait, so his journey was not a complete loss.
Isabelle moved slightly, made a soft mewling sound, and slept on. At least one of them was comfortable. Despite the cramp in his back, Isabelle was warm and soft and smelled like only a woman could smell. Her straight black hair spilled over her sleeping form. She had tried to braid it back, but without a tie it fought for its freedom and flowed free once more. He had been unable to resist the urge to touch it and had stroked its silky length in the dark of night. Though her deep red velvet gown was quite ruined, the fabric was still soft to the touch. His hand rested on her waist and burned with the desire to caress the soft fabric and the woman beneath it.
Who was this Isabelle and how had she come to be alone and ruined on the road to Glasgow? He suspected he had not gotten the full story. Despite some lack of clarity as to her past, one thing was perfectly clear, she was undeniably English. Her regrettable lineage should have put an end to the direction his thoughts had taken. Unfortunately, his body responded to hers in a manner beyond all rational control.
Isabelle stirred again and stretched. Campbell had to hold on tight to prevent her from slipping to the ground. Her eyes flew open. “Where am I?” Isabelle’s wide eyes met his. “Oh!”
“Good morn to ye.”
“Yes, well. Good morn—is it morning already? Did we not have a brown horse? Have I slept all night?”
“Aye, we had a brown horse; we changed hours ago. And aye, ye did sleep through the night.”
“I did? Well, I do apologize. It has been a trying time, I must have been quite exhausted. I hope I did not cause you any trouble carrying me.”
“No burden at all,” Campbell lied.
Isabelle sat up straight, which should have relieved his aching arm, but instead left him missing her warmth. “How beautiful. The morning sun makes the grasses shine like gold.”
Campbell looked out over the fields and indeed they glistened. Isabelle’s eyes also shone warm and brown. Her dark eyes were intriguing, enticing him to gaze into them longer than he should. He forced himself to keep his eyes on the road ahead of him. She could never be his.
Even if he was not promised in marriage, he was still the laird to the large and powerful Campbell clan. It was expected, no required, that he form an alliance with a Scot clan. And she would never be anything other than English. Odd that he had to remind himself of this fact. Generally he was reserved with women. As laird, he could not risk having a bastard son to grow up and challenge his rightful heirs. He had to be discreet.
Holding this infernal English bundle on his lap reminded him of just how discreet he had been. It had been long, much too long, since he had allowed himself the comforts of a bedmate. His body screamed with need.
He needed to direct his thoughts to more pressing matters. His sister Cait would be wed soon. And he too must marry. But whom? Somehow he needed to choose a bride… without sparking the clans into war.
“I’m to be married.” He had not the slightest idea why he said that.
She
***
David Campbell watched the sun rise across fields of swaying heather, bathing the countryside in a warm, orange glow. He held the sleeping Isabelle in his arms and rode on, though his muscles ached and cramped.
Ever since he saved Isabelle on the road, his journey had gone poorly. No, that was not entirely true. Things had gone bad from the moment he saw Laird Douglas and began to dodge questions regarding his nuptials with Douglas’s daughter. Campbell still had a difficult meeting ahead of him in Glasgow, so his day had the strong possibility of getting worse. At least he had been able to arrange a good match for his sister, Cait, so his journey was not a complete loss.
Isabelle moved slightly, made a soft mewling sound, and slept on. At least one of them was comfortable. Despite the cramp in his back, Isabelle was warm and soft and smelled like only a woman could smell. Her straight black hair spilled over her sleeping form. She had tried to braid it back, but without a tie it fought for its freedom and flowed free once more. He had been unable to resist the urge to touch it and had stroked its silky length in the dark of night. Though her deep red velvet gown was quite ruined, the fabric was still soft to the touch. His hand rested on her waist and burned with the desire to caress the soft fabric and the woman beneath it.
Who was this Isabelle and how had she come to be alone and ruined on the road to Glasgow? He suspected he had not gotten the full story. Despite some lack of clarity as to her past, one thing was perfectly clear, she was undeniably English. Her regrettable lineage should have put an end to the direction his thoughts had taken. Unfortunately, his body responded to hers in a manner beyond all rational control.
Isabelle stirred again and stretched. Campbell had to hold on tight to prevent her from slipping to the ground. Her eyes flew open. “Where am I?” Isabelle’s wide eyes met his. “Oh!”
“Good morn to ye.”
“Yes, well. Good morn—is it morning already? Did we not have a brown horse? Have I slept all night?”
“Aye, we had a brown horse; we changed hours ago. And aye, ye did sleep through the night.”
“I did? Well, I do apologize. It has been a trying time, I must have been quite exhausted. I hope I did not cause you any trouble carrying me.”
“No burden at all,” Campbell lied.
Isabelle sat up straight, which should have relieved his aching arm, but instead left him missing her warmth. “How beautiful. The morning sun makes the grasses shine like gold.”
Campbell looked out over the fields and indeed they glistened. Isabelle’s eyes also shone warm and brown. Her dark eyes were intriguing, enticing him to gaze into them longer than he should. He forced himself to keep his eyes on the road ahead of him. She could never be his.
Even if he was not promised in marriage, he was still the laird to the large and powerful Campbell clan. It was expected, no required, that he form an alliance with a Scot clan. And she would never be anything other than English. Odd that he had to remind himself of this fact. Generally he was reserved with women. As laird, he could not risk having a bastard son to grow up and challenge his rightful heirs. He had to be discreet.
Holding this infernal English bundle on his lap reminded him of just how discreet he had been. It had been long, much too long, since he had allowed himself the comforts of a bedmate. His body screamed with need.
He needed to direct his thoughts to more pressing matters. His sister Cait would be wed soon. And he too must marry. But whom? Somehow he needed to choose a bride… without sparking the clans into war.
“I’m to be married.” He had not the slightest idea why he said that.
She
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