Hot tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. “You don’t need to explain. I should go.” She tried to lever her body off his, but it was like trying to bend steel. The hard, muscular wall of his chest didn’t budge, nor did the arm holding her.
He uttered another oath, muttering something about her being too damn innocent.
In that he was wrong.
“Look at me,” he ordered, his fingers gently tipping her chin. Reluctantly, she complied. “I don’t want you to touch me, because it feels too good.” The muscle below his jaw pulsed. He leaned closer, his mouth a hairbreadth from hers. Her heart fluttered wildly—erratically. Startled, she felt the slightest brush of his lips against hers, like the whisper of a feather—so soft that she wondered whether she’d imagined it—before he pulled back with a groan. “It’s all I can do right now not to pull you down on top of me and kiss you until you beg for me to take you.”
The heat in his voice left her no doubt that he meant what he said. The idea of ravishment didn’t frighten her as much as it should. Two spots of color burned high on her cheeks. She swallowed hard. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” He dropped her wrist, releasing her, but she didn’t move right away. Couldn’t even if she wanted to. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own—being near him like this felt too good.
His confession shouldn’t have made her so absurdly pleased … but it did. A flush of pleasure rushed up her cheeks. She bit her lip and said shyly, “I didn’t realize …”
“I know.” His gaze deepened. “But now you do. I want you, and I’m not gentleman enough not to do something about it.”
Her eyes widened again, taking in the dangerous-looking man lying half-naked beneath her. He was right about that—he didn’t look anything like a gentleman. He looked like a warrior. Like a man hanging very close to the edge of civility. Why wasn’t she frightened? “I see.”
“So if that makes you change your mind about your offer—”
“I’m not changing my mind,” she said firmly. The look that passed between them in the silence that followed was so thick with intensity, it was almost palpable. She felt the connection, the cinch that was pulling them closer and closer. Tighter and tighter.
She realized her words might have sounded like an invitation. Blushing, she pulled away. “I mean, well, these are unusual circumstances. There’s no reason to think something like this will ever happen again. One of the maid servants can tend to your bandage from now on.”
He gave her a look that suggested it might not be so simple, but she chose to ignore the implications.
She moved toward the door, stopping suddenly and turning to give him one last glance. “So you’ll stay?”
Their eyes connected with an intensity that told her she was a fool. What sparked between them was not confined to this room.
“Aye, lass, I’ll stay.”
She smiled, more relieved than she wanted to acknowledge. But a small part of her wondered whether she’d just opened Pandora’s box and invited in more than she could handle.
Chapter 6
Two days later, Patrick could no longer contain his restlessness. To hell with what the blasted healer said, he would not stay abed for one more hour, let alone one more day. He was a chieftain, a warrior, not a bloody invalid. Every minute that he and his men spent in the bosom of their enemy increased the danger of discovery. Time was of the essence, and he’d not waste it abed—alone.
Bathed, fed, and dressed in clothes that had been thoughtfully cleaned for him, he fastened his dirk and sword at his waist and tossed his bow over his shoulder, leaving behind the luxurious accommodations of the Earl of Argyll as he went in search of his men. It was amazing what simple comforts could do to revitalize a man. For the first time in years, more than he wanted to think about, he felt civilized. A strange occurrence for an outlaw, and one he’d best not get used to.
His stay at Castle Campbell was not likely to be a long one. As soon as he could convince Elizabeth to run away with him, they would leave for the Highlands. It might be some time before she was welcomed back into her home.
The realization of all she would unknowingly be leaving behind pricked at him like a swarm of pesky midges in August. He didn’t like deceiving her, but Elizabeth would be more likely to throw one of her dirks at him than she would be to entertain the suit of a MacGregor.
Even with the deception, however, she was avoiding him. Not surprising given what had—and what had nearly—happened between them.
He couldn’t recall ever having something come over him like that. The all-consuming, almost violent urge to possess. His need for her had filled every pore, every fiber, every bone of his body. He rarely lost control—even in the heat of battle—and certainly not with a woman. No one had penetrated the shell that had surrounded him since the murder of his parents. That this tiny, serious lass should do so now surprised him. It had been the truth when he’d told her that he was moments away from pulling her down on top of him and ravishing her senseless.
Perhaps he should have. Then she would be in no doubt of what she did to him.
He couldn’t believe she’d actually thought he wasn’t attracted to her. His blunt appraisal to the contrary had unsettled her. Unsettled, but not discouraged. A subtle but important difference.
It was all the encouragement he needed. The challenge would be in finding time alone with her. Perhaps he shouldn’t have warned her away from his sickbed, but the thought of her tending him, of her hands on his body and him not being able to do anything about it … there would be nothing “slow” about his seduction at all.
What happened to his vaunted control? It sure had picked a hell of a time to desert him.
His shoulders bumped along the walls of the narrow staircase as he wound his way down the three flights to the great hall. Though he knew they’d been built for protection—to prevent attackers from storming up the stairs—he vowed one day to build a keep with doors high enough that he did not have to duck his head, and stairs wide enough not to have to walk sideways. Still, despite his size, he was used to moving stealthily through confined areas, and habit made him do so now. The soft leather of his boots was nearly soundless on the narrow stone treads as he exited the dark stairwell.
He took one step into the great hall and stopped for a long, bloodcurdling instant before retreating silently back into the safety of the stairwell.
He leaned against the cool, solid stone, allowing the fierce pounding of his heart to slow. A cold sweat had formed on his brow and down his back. Still in shock, he listened to the voices of the two people he’d seen, knowing that he’d been one step, one chance glance, away from certain death.
For standing with Elizabeth before the big stone fireplace was the man charged with hunting the MacGregors to extinction: Jamie Campbell.
Years of hatred erupted inside him. Faces sped by like cards shuffling in a deck. He thought of his family, of all the clansmen he’d lost at the hands of the Campbells.
The promise of vengeance hovered in the air, so strong that he could almost taste it.
Ignoring the stab of pain from his wound, he reached behind him and with cold deliberation plucked an arrow from the quiver at his back.
If he did this, he’d have to flee. The opportunity to reclaim his family’s land would be lost, and Elizabeth Campbell would be forever beyond his reach.
Jamie Campbell’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Alasdair MacGregor has gone too far. I’ll see every one of their damn heads on pikes.”
If he had any doubt, the Enforcer’s words erased it. Patrick’s mouth clenched in a grim line as he notched the bow and raised his arrow to the back of the man who’d hunted his clansmen like dogs. Who’d been responsible for the countless deaths of his kinsmen. Whom every MacGregor wanted dead.
An opportunity like this might never come again.
His eyes narrowed as he drew back the string and took steady aim, intending to rid his clan of its ruthless pursuer once and fo
r all.
A movement caught her eye, and Lizzie glanced over her brother’s shoulder to the stairwell. Seeing nothing, she turned back to Jamie, trying to calm him down with a tempering smile. But she knew her fierce brother would not be so easily pacified. News of the attack had thrown him into a rare rage. Reasoning with him when he was like this was like trying to soothe a bear roused from his winter’s bed.
“I know you are upset, Jamie, but—”
“Upset? God’s wounds, Lizzie! That doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling right now.” His voice lowered and he pulled her into his arms. “If you’d been harmed—”
“But I wasn’t.”
“From what you’ve described, only by the narrowest of margins. If Tullibardine’s men had not arrived when they did …” His voice trailed off.
He gazed down into her face, his handsome features twisted with the deep emotion he so rarely revealed. It was strange to see her big, strong brother shaken. “You don’t know what these men are capable of, Lizzie.”
Remembering the look of hatred on the MacGregor warrior’s face before he left, she shivered and rested her cheek against the cold steel of his chest plate. “I’ll be forever grateful for Patrick Murray and his men for saving me from finding out.”
“As will I, little sister. As will I.” He hugged her close for a moment longer, then gave her a hard squeeze and released her. “Patrick Murray …” He shook his head. “ ’Tis a common enough name, but not one that rings familiar. From what you describe of his skills, I’m surprised that I haven’t heard of him. No matter, I should like to offer him my own thanks.”
She’d mentioned Patrick’s injury and that he was resting in their cousin’s room when she’d first relayed the details of the attack. “And so you shall. Perhaps this evening, if he feels up to entertaining visitors.” She smiled up at her brother, still not believing that he was truly here. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him until she’d seen him riding through the gates as if the devil were nipping at his heels. “I still can’t believe you arrived so quickly. I haven’t even had time to pen a note to Archie explaining my delay.”
Jamie shrugged. “It’s not often that Colin and I are of the same mind, but when you did not arrive as planned, we both had the same bad portent.”
Lizzie regretted that Colin and Jamie were not closer, but Colin kept himself apart. She knew he resented Jamie for his closeness with their cousin—closeness that Colin felt was his due as the elder brother and chieftain.
“The MacGregors are out of control, but still …” Jamie shook his head. “I never thought that Alasdair MacGregor would be so foolhardy. Surely he had to know that attacking you would bring the full force of clan Campbell down upon him.”
“Perhaps he felt that they already were,” Lizzie said soberly. “Desperate men are not known for their caution. Besides, from what you say of the MacGregors, they are a wild and uncontrollable lot. The chief might well have had no part in it.”
Jamie gave her a wry smile and dropped a fond kiss on her forehead. “Always so sensible, little sister. You are probably right. This attack does not have the markings of Alasdair on it. But if Glenstrae has lost control of his men, it makes the need to bring the outlaws to justice even more imperative.”
Jamie took his charge to heart. Lizzie knew he’d traveled to the Isle of Bute to follow their trail. “Did you have any luck on Bute?”
A strange look crossed her brother’s face—if she didn’t know him better, she would say that it was regret. “No. There was no sign of them.”
There was something in his voice. “But?”
“But I’m almost sure they are there.”
Lizzie thought for a moment, recalling what she knew of the Lamonts. “How did you find the Laird of Ascog’s daughter? I’ve heard it said that she is very beautiful.”
There it was again. The look of regret, but this time tinged with something else. Something she’d never seen on her brother’s face before: a raw mixture of hurt and anger. Her gaze turned assessing. Could it be that a woman had finally gotten under his steely skin?
“Beautiful? Aye, she’s a beauty. But sharp-tongued and spoiled as well.”
Lizzie’s mouth quirked. “So she wanted nothing to do with you?”
Jamie chuckled. “I see your wit has not softened any, sister of mine. But nay, that is not the problem.”
“What is the problem?”
“It seems my reputation preceded me.”
“And if she didn’t see that reputation for exactly what it is—rubbish—then she’s not worthy of you.”
Jamie smiled. “I’m afraid it’s not as easy as that, Lizzie.”
Seeing from his expression that she’d gotten as much out of him as she would, she turned the conversation. “How long will you stay?”
“A day or two, no more. Our cousin is probably awaiting our arrival at Dunoon right now.”
Her heart stopped. “Our?”
“I shall escort you there myself.”
“But …” Her thoughts flew instinctively to the man resting in the chamber above. He was not ready to travel. If she went to Dunoon, it would be without Patrick Murray. There was no good reason for her not to travel with Jamie, except the increasingly strong urge to delay the talk of marriage.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Jamie said, assuming that the possibility of another attack was bothering her.
“I know that, but we lost so many men. You have only a handful of guardsmen with you. A large traveling party will leave the castle woefully underprotected.”
Jamie thought for a moment. “Aye. We will need to hire more guardsmen right away. I will have Donnan see to it as soon as he is able.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that she’d already done so, then slammed it shut again, knowing how overprotective her brother could be. Instead she took a deep breath and ventured, “I think it would be best if I stayed here. At least until this situation with the MacGregors is resolved.”
He rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “Are you sure you are not trying to avoid a certain conversation with our cousin?”
Lizzie bit her lip, heat crawling up her cheeks. “You know about that?”
He shrugged. “ ’Tis no secret.”
There was something in his voice that did not bode well. “Does Archie have someone particular in mind?”
“Aye, I thought you knew. Robert Campbell.”
Campbell of Glenorchy’s second son. It made horrible sense. The two branches of clan Campbell had been at odds for years over power and land. She should have guessed when her cousin wrote about the new addition to her tocher. If she wasn’t mistaken, that parcel of land was the subject of their current dispute.
She swallowed, feeling the noose of duty tightening. “I see.”
Jamie frowned. “I thought you’d be happy. But if Campbell is not someone you would consider, we’ll find someone else.”
Even her brother’s choice of words made her feel horrible. She knew how lucky she was. Most women would not be so fortunate as to even be allowed an opinion on their choice of bridegroom, let alone one that mattered.
She’d met Robert Campbell at court a few times and because of the conflict between the families had never considered him, but he was a man any woman would find herself fortunate to marry. Handsome, strong, charming—completely at odds with his terrifying father. The stories she’d heard of Glenorchy’s rages would chill even the hardest heart.
She had no reason to object, yet quite uncharacteristically that’s exactly what she wanted to do.
“Lizzie?”
She forced her mouth to curve upward, but she could not lighten her heart enough to put any feeling behind the effort. “Of course I shall consider him.”
Jamie nodded, as if he’d expected that she’d say nothing else. “I will inform our cousin.”
“Then I can stay?”
“I will consider it, but if things are as you say, it might be for the best.�
�� He paused, searching her face. “Is there something wrong, Lizzie?”
“You mean beyond my almost being kidnapped by a band of outlaws?”
Jamie grinned. “Yes, beyond that. Do you not wish to marry? I’ve always wondered whether there was something you didn’t tell me about Montgomery.”
There was much she hadn’t told him, and much she never would. She stood up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “There is nothing wrong. Of course I wish to marry.”
It was the truth, but sometimes the truth didn’t tell everything.
Robert Campbell. Glenorchy’s son. His damn cousin—though the murder of his mother had severed all kinship to the Campbells of Glenorchy in his mind. Patrick felt as though he’d taken an arrow in the back.
Glenorchy was the man responsible for his parents’ deaths, for evicting his clan from their land and burning down his home. For turning him into an outlaw. And now Glenorchy’s son would have it all—Patrick’s land, the life denied him, and Elizabeth Campbell. The injustice ate at him, churning like a pool of acid inside his blackened soul.
Shoot him.
His muscles started to twitch from the force of holding the bowstring taut for so long. He should have taken his shot right away. But he’d been surprised to see a touch of humanity in the man he’d thought a ruthless Enforcer. “Lizzie,” he’d called her, for Christ’s sake. Though Patrick hadn’t thought Jamie Campbell had it in his black heart, clearly he loved his sister. And just as clearly, she loved him. That perhaps more than anything else stayed his hand.
He gritted his teeth, sweat running down his temple. The loss of blood had made him weaker than he’d realized.
The Enforcer’s broad back loomed before him, an easy target. There was no one else around. He could make his escape before anyone realized what had happened. There was nothing in his way.…
Take the damn shot.
Patrick lowered the bow.
Damnation.
He couldn’t do it. No matter how much he hated him, he couldn’t shoot a man in the back. The Campbells might have forced him from his home, turned him into an outlaw, and hunted him with bloodhounds, but Patrick had not lost all honor. No matter how slippery the reins of civility had become, he was not yet a cold-blooded murderer.
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