“Your knife,” Robbie said, indicating it with a gesture.
Patrick looked down at the piece of twisted metal in his hand, bent without him realizing it while he’d been watching the dais. He tossed it down in disgust and exchanged it for his goblet, downing the contents in one long swig.
He needed to relax, but he doubted there was enough wine in the castle stores to take the edge off what ailed him. But it wasn’t just sexual frustration tying him in knots. His plan had also been frustrated by the arrival of Auchinbreck and Robert Campbell; the opportunity for private conversation—let alone seduction—had been virtually nonexistent. The very real possibility of failure loomed.
He looked back to the dais, knowing he was glowering but unable to do a damn thing about it.
“Have care, Captain. Glenorchy’s son has taken note of your interest in the lass.”
Patrick muttered a curse and shifted his gaze. Robbie was right. He and Campbell had been circling each other for days. But Robert Campbell had the advantage of position, and they both knew it. “Patience is not one of my stronger virtues.”
Robbie lifted a brow as if to question the others, but he refrained at Patrick’s black look. Instead he asked, “How much longer do you think they will stay?”
Patrick shook his head. “Who can say? They were only supposed to be here a few days and it’s been a week. But for our people’s sake, the longer the better.”
“You’ve sent word?” To Gregor, Robbie meant, warning him of the danger.
“Aye.” His brother would see to it that the women and children were moved to safety, hidden deep in the wild, forbidding hills where only MacGregors dared to tread.
They ate in brooding silence for a few moments before Robbie added, “She won’t accept him.”
A wry smile turned his mouth. “I wish I shared your confidence.” Though Lizzie might care for him, she was not as susceptible as he’d assumed. The deeply ingrained sense of duty that he’d come to admire just might prove insurmountable.
Nor had he anticipated competition.
His face darkened as his gaze flickered back to the dais. “She certainly looks to be enjoying herself.”
“Aye,” Robbie agreed. “She looks as bonny as a bluebell in spring. But Campbell’s not the one her eyes follow.”
Patrick’s jaw flexed. “But she likes him.”
Robbie frowned, not disagreeing. “He’s not like his father.”
“Nay, nothing like his father,” he admitted with all the ease of having a tooth pulled. Black Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy was one of the cruelest, most ruthless men in the Highlands—ruthless enough to attack the castle of his own sister. And as much as Patrick would like to say the same of his son, he could not. Robert Campbell was witty, light-hearted, and from all appearances sincere in his attentions to Lizzie. And after watching him practice for a week, Patrick could also find no fault in his warrior’s skills. Robert Campbell was a worthy opponent both on and off the battlefield.
She could do far worse.
Like marrying an outlaw—a man with nothing but pride and justice on his side. Marriage to him would be nothing like marriage to Robert Campbell, and the knowledge festered in his gut like a rotten piece of beef.
It was getting harder and harder to ignore the real cost his plan would exact on Lizzie.
It shouldn’t be that way. By rights, he should be sitting in Robert Campbell’s seat. Never had he so longed for the life denied him. The full force of everything that had been stolen from him hit him hard.
But not Lizzie. He’d be damned if he’d lose her, too.
Lizzie laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. The room spun around her as she danced and twirled to the point of collapse.
“No more, no more!” she cried, breaking away from her partner. Cheeks flushed and chest heaving, she fanned her hand before her face as she fought to catch her breath.
Robert grinned, the dazzling white of his teeth matched by the dancing light in his deep blue eyes. A lock of blond hair fell adorably across his forehead. There was no denying his appeal. He was an incredibly handsome man. She should be giddy.
“But you can’t stop now,” he bemoaned woefully. “The reel is not yet over.”
He reached for her hand to spin her back onto the dance floor, but she stepped away playfully, avoiding his capture. “You give no quarter, Robert Campbell.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him with mock severity. “Show some compassion for the weaker vessel.”
“Ha!” he exclaimed with a wicked gleam in his eye, taking a step toward her. He was tall and powerfully built, but she did not hum with awareness. “You’ll not fool me with such an excuse. I’ve watched you around here for a week and there’s not a weak bone in your body, Elizabeth Campbell.”
She blushed, pleased by the compliment. And even more so because she heard the sincerity behind his teasing.
She looked up, met his gaze, and smiled, realizing how much she was enjoying herself. This past week had been … fun. For Lizzie, being courted by one man was a rarity in itself; two was unprecedented.
Even Colin had been more lighthearted than usual. She’d tried to question him about the disagreement with Jamie that had sent him riding hell-bent out of here a few months before, but Colin dismissed it as only a “misunderstanding.”
Robert Campbell was everything she could have hoped for in a suitor: handsome as sin, intelligent, and charming. A perfect gentleman in every way.
As right as Patrick Murray was wrong.
“Very well, if you will not dance, then walk with me. A turn in the garden will refresh you soon enough.”
“I can’t,” she said reflexively. “Not while the feast—”
He cut her off with a frown. “The guests will not begrudge their hostess a few moments. We will return before anyone notices we are gone.”
“But …”
Someone would notice that they were gone. Her gaze instinctively searched for Patrick, though why she didn’t know. He’d been avoiding her all week. With the arrival of Colin and Robert, the pattern of her day had changed; she missed their opportunities for private conversation.
She missed him.
She knew that something was wrong. All week he’d been as bristly as a bear, but today was far worse. She’d danced with all of his men, but not with him. Yet while avoiding her, he watched her with an enigmatic look on his face that made her uneasy. She could sense his brooding agitation and simmering anger. As the celebration progressed, the amount of wine he consumed increased, and his expression grew darker and darker.
Robert noticed the direction of her gaze. “It’s only the garden,” he said wryly. “No need for your watchdog. I’ve something I’d like to talk to you about—in private.”
“Very well, a stroll in the garden would be lovely.” With one last glance across the room, she put her hand in the fold of Robert’s arm and followed him out the door, feeling Patrick’s eyes boring into her back the entire way.
Once outside, the cool air was like a pleasant shock upon her flushed skin. She sighed deeply, inhaling a cleansing breath. It was later than she’d realized, the magical time between day and night when darkness closed in around the fading sun. The last orange embers of the day shone faintly on the horizon, creating a delicious swirling confection of pink and gray in the evening sky.
“It’s beautiful,” she said as they walked along the path.
“Aye,” Robert agreed. “Beautiful.”
Lizzie felt heat warm her cheeks, discerning from the huskiness in his voice that he hadn’t been talking about the sunset. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. She was enjoying herself and didn’t want to think about anything beyond tonight.
They walked in companionable silence until they reached the iron gate for the terraced garden. A short stone wall encircled the gardens, decorative and not defensive. He opened the gate for her, and she passed through. He followed, motioning her to a stone bench along a hedgerow with a spec
tacular view of the Ochil hills and the village of Dollar below.
He took a seat beside her and after a moment gathered her hand in his. “I’ve enjoyed myself this week,” he said.
“As have I.”
He smiled, soft lines crinkling around his eyes. Smiling was something he was used to. “I’m glad to hear that.” He was contemplative for a moment, as if searching for words. A bird sang softly in the distance. “Auchinbreck and I will be leaving soon.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment was genuine. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“As am I, but the outlaws must be apprehended. The king will not be mollified this time.” He cleared his throat. “But that is not what I want to speak with you about. You are aware, no doubt, of the discussions between my father and Argyll.”
She bit her lip and nodded, embarrassed. This was the first time the subject had been broached directly since they’d arrived.
“To be honest, an arranged marriage was not to my liking. I didn’t know what to think at first, but after these past few days I’ve no doubt. I think we would suit in every way.” She looked up at him, staring into deep pools of blue. “I would be honored if you would agree to be my wife.”
She’d known it was coming, but the words were still a shock.
“I …” She didn’t know what to say. She knew what she should say, but the words seemed to tangle in her mouth. Not in a stammer, but in uncertainty.
It was ridiculous. Here she was, sitting beside a handsome man in the moonlight, and all she could think of was someone else.
He must have read her hesitation. “I don’t expect you to answer right now. Take some time. Think about it.”
What was wrong with her? There was nothing to think about. Her duty was clear.
He watched her face, a faint smile lifting his lips, and she wondered if her thoughts were so transparent.
Robert stood up and pulled her into his arms. Tilting her chin back, he forced her gaze to his. “I will do my best to make you happy, Elizabeth.”
She believed him. He would make her happy. She would have a beautiful home, a wonderful husband, her own children, and the satisfaction of her family’s approval. Everything she’d always wanted. It should be enough.
Then why, why couldn’t she take it? Why did her heart cry out for more? For desire so strong, it swept away everything else in its powerful wake. For passion that consumed her soul. For everything she thought would not happen to her.
For love.
He dipped his head and his lips swept over hers in a soft kiss. It was sweet and tender, and she felt … nothing.
She wanted to cry out with frustration.
Lizzie willed herself to want him, this gallant man who looked at her with warmth and kindness in his eyes. She tried, tried with everything she had, but her body wouldn’t heed the demands of her mind.
His hand fell from her chin. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”
She nodded, not knowing what else to say. Thinking wouldn’t change anything.
“Good.” He stepped back and offered her his arm. “Shall we return?”
“You go ahead.” When it looked as if he were going to argue, she added, “I just need a moment.”
“Very well,” he agreed with an understanding smile. “But don’t be long or I’ll start to worry. It’s almost dark and you’ll catch a chill.”
His thoughtfulness only made her feel worse. What was wrong with her?
Robert Campbell stopped suddenly as he was about to enter the keep. Standing stone still, he peered into the deep shadows created by the wooden structures erected along the barmkin wall. It was almost as if he sensed the danger.
He was right to fear.
Patrick stood in the shadows, possessed by a rage so intense that it took every ounce of his control not to kill the bastard.
He’d kissed his woman. Touched her. Held her in his arms.
Patrick’s fists clenched at his sides. Rage seethed inside him, filling his veins. Building and building until his muscles flexed and burned with the pressure to contain it.
He wanted to be discovered. Wanted the excuse to vent his rage. Damn the consequences. After what he’d just witnessed, he’d probably lost what chance he had with her anyway.
But with one last glance in his direction, Robert Campbell strode back into the keep, not realizing how close he’d come to death.
Patrick’s gaze turned back to the solitary figure shadowed in the moonlight, seated on the bench in the garden. He was filled with a yearning so intense it threatened to consume him. He was beyond reason, beyond caution, beyond any claim of indifference.
This tiny, serious woman had penetrated his defenses, revealing emotions he’d thought himself incapable of. His black heart, it seemed, was not completely dead.
Seeing her in the arms of another man had unleashed something primitive in him. Something wild and uncontrollable. Something that could not be denied.
He looked around the perimeter of the barmkin wall, checking to make sure the castle guardsmen were in their usual positions. He’d studied their routine—their movements—knowing that he and his men might one day need to make a quick escape.
I could take her right now. She would be mine. No other man would ever touch her again.
The temptation to take what he wanted was overwhelming, warring with the tattered shreds of his honor.
Do it.
Hell, he was already an outlaw. He would only be fulfilling the destiny the Campbells had created for him. After everything they’d stolen from him, didn’t he deserve a little happiness?
He’d stolen before. Food, clothing, whatever it took to survive.
But this was different. This wasn’t about survival. He would possess her … but at what cost?
Not since his parents had died had someone looked at him as Lizzie did. In her eyes, he felt like the man he might have been had circumstances been different. If he took her, he would be no better than the lawless brigand they’d tried to turn him into. She would look at him the way he deserved to be looked at: as a thief, an outlaw, a man without honor.
Could he bear to see the derision in her gaze and know that it was warranted?
Nay, not that. Never that.
As much as he wanted to claim that this was all about the land, he could not. He was not indifferent—if he ever had been. He wanted her to choose him.
He wouldn’t hand her over to Robert Campbell without a fight.
But not tonight. Tonight his anger was like lightning—wild and ready to strike at any moment in any direction.
Without another glance, he returned to the keep, intent on taming the beast writhing inside him with plenty of the Campbells’ best claret.
Lizzie had lingered as long as she could to no effect; the answer to her dilemma still eluded her.
Who would have thought a few months ago that she would be faced with the problem of having two men pursuing her?
Her nose wrinkled. Though exactly what Patrick Murray wanted from her she did not know. He desired her, but he’d never made his intentions clear. In truth, he said very little at all. She was hardly an expert at decoding masculine motives. She’d thought John had wanted her, too. He had, but for the wrong reasons. And with the way Patrick was looking at her tonight, she was no longer sure of anything.
Had she done something wrong?
Her chest squeezed. Or maybe he’d reconsidered. Was that it?
She had to know. She needed to see what was behind that enigmatic shell of his. Why was he so secretive? What dark secret hung over him like a thundercloud ready to unfurl its destruction in its stormy path?
If she was going to make the right decision, she needed to know everything. It was well past time to clear the air between them.
She hurried up the path and across the barmkin on her way back to the keep, wondering when she’d developed this sudden streak of boldness. Something had changed in recent weeks, and she suspected that she had Patrick Murray to than
k for it. He was right: She’d locked herself away—in more ways than one. Her quiet, serious nature had been exacerbated by stammering and fear of ridicule. After the disaster with John, she’d removed herself even further, hiding behind the wall of her duty. If her family had taken advantage of it, it was as much her fault as theirs.
The lilting sound of the pipes greeted her arrival back to the hall. Smoke from the peat fires swirled around the rafters and wound through the room crowded with throngs of dancing clansmen whirling by. She noticed more than one serving girl perched on the lap of a guardsman and felt a sudden pang for the simplicity of a life uncomplicated by duty. With privilege and position came responsibility, and she’d never felt more aware of that than right now. What she wouldn’t give for the ability to choose freely.
She caught Robert’s eye from across the room and smiled. He was locked in conversation with her brother and the Laird of Dun, one of their neighbors who’d come to enjoy the festivities.
Patrick, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. His men were still gathered around the table drinking, but he’d disappeared. She contemplated asking after him but couldn’t come up with a good reason for doing so. Frustrated that he seemed to be avoiding her once again, she was about to rejoin her brother and Robert when she saw Robbie duck out of the laird’s solar, the small room located off the far side of the hall.
As inconspicuously as possible, Lizzie worked her way across the crowded room and slipped through the door, closing it firmly behind her.
Patrick sat sprawled out in a chair before the fireplace, his long, powerful legs kicked out before him, holding a large flagon of wine in one hand. By all appearances he was relaxed, but even with his back to her she could feel the tension radiating from him.
“God’s blood, Robbie, I told you to leave me alone.”
“What are you doing in here?”
He flinched at the sound of her voice, taking a long drag from the flagon before turning to face her. His eyes glinted dangerously, his expression dark and forbidding and tainted with drink. Every muscle taut, he seemed like a surging lion restrained by a silken thread.
The Campbell Trilogy Page 50