Seduced by a Highlander by Paula Quinn Page B

rest of his rough-and-ready clan, but rather sought to emulate ancient ideals he had learned from books.
    “I’ve nae intention of standin’ with the English when I leave Camlochlin, faither,” Tristan reminded him for the hundredth time. “I simply want to live my own life.”
    “In Glen Orchy,” Callum pointed out as if Tristan didn’t know.
    Tristan shrugged. “Mother’s home is mine by my birthright. ’Tis the only thing that may ever be mine.”
    “Our clan is yers.”
    Hell, Tristan thought, looking away. Why did his father fight so hard to keep him at home? His indiscriminate attraction to the fairer sex had brought as much trouble to Camlochlin in the past several years as Callum’s had in his outlaw days. His father should be glad to be rid of him.
    “Ye belong at home, Tristan.”
    Did he? “Campbell Keep is my home, as well. The men who help me restore the keep may bring their families and stay with me.”
    Callum turned his gaze north and remained silent long enough for Tristan to shift beneath the weight of things he wanted to say, but couldn’t.
    “I dinna’ understand why ye want to leave,” his father finally said. “I confess I understand
ye
even less.”
    Aye, Tristan was aware that the loneliness of no one’s truly knowing him was his own fault. He’d always found it easier to misdirect and confound his father, rather than tell him the truth—that as a boy, he’d often wished Robert Campbell had fathered him. It wasn’t because he didn’t love the man riding beside him, or that his father didn’t love him. They were blood, and nothing could destroy that, but that was all they had in common.
    “I love Camlochlin,” Tristan said, wanting from someplace deep within to prove to his father that they were not so different after all. “But I belong in Glen Orchy.” It was the truth and the only one he could give for now.
    From atop a windswept crest, Tristan fixed his gaze on the castle carved from the black mountains behind it, its jagged turrets piercing the mist. Camlochlin. An impenetrable fortress built by a clever warrior determined to keep his kin safe from their enemies. Would it be enoughto hold off the Dutch should they come looking for Lady Montgomery?
    Watching his father flick his reins and thunder into the vale, Tristan pitied any army that came here. He pitied his brother, as well. Hell, he might have kissed a Fergusson, but Rob had brought Davina Montgomery to Camlochlin, and mayhap an enemy army with her.
    Meeting her a short while later helped Tristan understand Rob’s reckless decision to bring her here. She was enchantingly beautiful, with pale, damp locks draping her slender shoulders and enormous silvery blue eyes that grew even wider when she nearly careened into him on her way to meet his parents. He guessed almost instantly that Rob loved her. It would be easy for any man to lose his heart, mayhap even his mind, to such a guileless smile. It had happened countless times in history, according to the tales in his books, tales he had found himself recalling more over the past several weeks, of faithful knights swaying from their duties, even betraying their kings, all for the love of a lass. Tristan had never thought the tales untrue, but he’d been with countless women and never fallen in love with any of them. And he never would. He would never open his heart to such a powerful emotion again. He had already lost the most important person in his life, and it had destroyed him. For ten years he had kept himself apart from everyone else, never allowing anyone to get too close to him. Why would he be so foolish as to risk losing someone he loved again?
    He certainly would never allow himself to love a lass his kin hated. He was fond of Isobel Fergusson, but that was all. She was a greater challenge to win than any lass before her. Everything she had lost in her life—everything his kin had lost—was his fault, and he wantedto make it right. Aye, the more he