Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(7)
But she didn't do things like that anymore.
She wanted to ease the worried look on her father's face, to assure him that he spoke true, that she was nothing like her mother. That nothing would ever induce her to be so rash.
But doing so would only cause him more pain, so Jeannie kept her promises to herself and changed the subject.
The wait was at an end. The Laird of Grant had arrived.
Duncan Campbell eyed the crowd that had spilled out into the courtyard, effectively blocking the entrance to the great hall. But it did not deter him. Though he'd rather muck the castle stables than suffer through another evening of court entertainment—which too often meant the drama taking place off the stage and not on it—he had a job to do.
He forged his way through the throng as purposefully as a birlinn cutting across the waves. More than one young woman saw him coming and stumbled “accidentally” into his path, murmuring apologies while casting him an inviting glance. That a few looked at him with something more than a dalliance in mind was a new experience for him. News traveled swiftly at court, and word of his being named captain of his father's guard and keeper of Castleswene had not escaped notice. Apparently for some, his new position was enough to blur the stain of his birth.
But no manner of enticement, no matter how bold, would steer him from his course. He'd spent the past few days cooling his heels, waiting for Grant to arrive and now that he was finally here Duncan was anxious to proceed. His father, the powerful Campbell of Auchinbreck, had sent him to court to persuade the Chief of Grant to join forces with the king and the Campbells in the impending battle with the Earl of Huntly. His father was giving him a chance to further prove himself, and Duncan had no intention of squandering the opportunity . So he disentangled himself with a polite smile, before purposefully continuing on his way.
Upon entering the hall, a wave of heat and the sickly sweet stench of sweat masked with too much perfume hit him hard. He grimaced. What he wouldn't give for a fresh breath of heathery Highland air.
He scanned the room, searching for Grant. As on the battlefield, his prodigious height proved useful and his gaze traveled unobstructed over the sea of swarming courtiers.
His younger brother Colin dragged up beside him, having had a bit more difficulty in navigating through the crowd. “Damn it, Duncan, slow down. Gad brother, you must be blind. Lady Margaret's lovely br**sts were wedged so firmly against your arm, she was practically serving them up on a platter.”
Duncan's gaze slid down to his brother's. At eight and ten few things interested Colin more than a pair of lovely br**sts. Hell, at one and twenty Duncan wasn't altogether disinterested himself. He arched a brow. “I saw them.”
“And you didn't stop and offer an encouraging word?” Colin asked incredulously. “That field may be well plowed, but ‘tis a bountiful harvest all the same. She's a lusty lass. A real screamer, I hear. Thomas said he had to put his hand over her mouth to prevent her from waking the whole castle.”
Duncan frowned. Whether she was free with her favors or not, he didn't like to hear his brother speak with such coarseness about a lass. “I've no time to dally with the lasses, Colin. I've other matters to attend.”
“How much time do you need?” Colin paused as the young woman in question approached, her eyes sweeping over the brothers with interest. His gaze followed her round backside as she sauntered past, hips swaying enticingly. Only when she'd moved out of sight did Colin's gaze return to him. “The lass is panting after ye. Grant has only just arrived. Surely your talk can wait an hour?”
“The sooner I speak with him, the sooner I can persuade him to see reason.” And the sooner he could return to Castleswene and prepare his men for battle.
“You've a mind for only one thing,” Colin said with a shake of his head.
His brother's look of utter disgust tugged a wry grin from Duncan. And when he saw Colin's eyes following another comely lass, he laughed and said, “As do you, little brother.”
Colin grinned, not bothering to deny it.
If Duncan was ruthless in his determination to make a name for himself, it was because he had not the luxury of anything else. Duncan didn't envy Colin the freedom afforded by his position, he accepted his place with the same pragmatism he would anything else he couldn't change.
For a bastard he was more fortunate than most. When his mother had abandoned him, his father had brought him into his household and raised him alongside his half brothers and sister, treating him no differently. If anything, his father often found it difficult to hide his favoritism toward his bastard son. But it was Colin, younger by three years, who was the Laird of Auchinbreck's heir and tanaiste. Not even his father's love could change that.
But Duncan hadn't let the circumstances of his birth impede him. He'd worked hard for what he'd achieved and in some ways he suspected it was all the more satisfying. He'd been made captain and become the right-hand man of his cousin the Earl of Argyll in spite of his birth, not because of it.
It was a good start, but only the beginning of what Duncan intended to achieve.
Returning to the task at hand, Duncan renewed his search for Grant.
Suddenly, he stilled.
It was the laugh that drew him. Soft and sweet, filled with a natural exuberance that seemed utterly out of place among the throng of jaded courtiers.