The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  “Bah. What care do Highlanders have for courtly fashion?”

  Lizzie smothered a grin, observing the look of disgust on Alys’s face. “In case you’ve forgotten … we aren’t in the Highlands. And it’s barely decent.”

  Alys stared at Lizzie with a devious smile on her face. “Not decent? Wonderful. Your braw laddies won’t be able to take their eyes off of you.”

  Off quite a bit of her, if Lizzie recalled the tight, low-cut bodice correctly. She arched her brow. “Is that what this is all about?”

  The older woman looked at her as if she were addled. “Of course that is what this is about. Time is a-wasting, my wee lassie. You’ll not be able to keep those two dangling after you forever. Like two snarling wolves, they are. I heard what happened earlier on the hunt.”

  Lizzie blushed and quickly turned away to avoid the maidservant’s eagle-eyed gaze. Instead she made a great show of yanking a brush through her damp hair. “They aren’t dangling and nothing happened.”

  “Don’t you play coy with me, Lizzie lass. Imagine,” she said, sighing dreamily, “two handsome, strapping warriors like that fighting over you. It’s so romantic.”

  Lizzie bit back a smile at Alys’s expression. It was a wee bit romantic, but she didn’t want to encourage her.

  “Too bad you can’t choose both,” Alys said wickedly. “But I don’t think Patrick Murray is of any mind to share.” She shook her head. “Poor Robert will be disappointed.”

  Lizzie shot her a glare. “What makes you think I want Patrick? Robert Campbell is the man my family has chosen for me to marry.”

  Alys’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t love Robert Campbell.”

  “I don’t love either—”

  Alys’s sharp gaze cut off her protest. “Elizabeth Campbell, I’ve known you since you were a wee lass. Don’t try to deny that you are in love with that gorgeous man.”

  Lizzie blanched. Am I in love with Patrick Murray?

  “You practically light up the moment he enters the room,” Alys continued, unaware of how thoroughly Lizzie was reeling. “And he’s every bit as much in love with you as you are with him.” She shook her head. “Why is it that young people are so stubborn and foolish when it comes to matters of the heart?”

  Lizzie didn’t know what to say. Alys made it sound so simple. But it wasn’t. It was complicated and difficult and tearing her apart. “Marriage has very little to do with the heart,” she said softly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It has everything to do with it. Don’t let what happened with that poppycock ruin your chance for happiness. Would you marry a man you do not love?”

  Lizzie twisted her hands. “I have a responsibility to my family. I’m in no position—”

  “You’ve done enough for your family,” Alys said harshly. “They love you and want to see you happy.” It was exactly what Patrick had said. There was a fierce look on the older woman’s face that Lizzie had never seen before. “I’ve never regretted for a moment my decision.”

  Lizzie’s brows wrinkled. “What decision?”

  Alys pushed aside some of the gowns to clear a spot on the coverlet. She patted the space next to her for Lizzie to sit. “Did you know that my father is the Chief of Buchanan?”

  Lizzie’s eyes widened. “I knew you were a Buchanan, but you’ve never mentioned that the chief was your father.”

  “As a young girl, I was betrothed to Lord Aven, the Marquess of Hamilton’s son.” Lizzie let out an audible gasp, which she tried quickly to smother, but Alys only smiled. “Yes, he recently inherited an earldom, I hear. As you can imagine, my father was less than pleased when I decided to marry a young, landless Campbell guardsman instead. But from the moment I first saw my Donnan at court with your cousin the earl, I loved him.” Her eyes sparkled. “Still do, as a matter of fact. And I’ve never regretted my decision for a moment.”

  Lizzie stared at her for a long time. It had taken some real courage to do what she had done. “And your father?”

  Alys laughed. “Oh, he was angry at first, but he eventually recovered from the shock. My younger sister married well. He does still enjoy reminding me of all that I have forsaken, and I figure the least I can do for all the years of happiness he’s given me is let him.” Alys stood up. “Enough about me. That was a very long time ago. But if you aren’t going to be late for dinner, we need to get you dressed. You’ll need your pearls,” she said, going back to the ambry. “And the matching circlet, I think.” She pulled out a thin piece of gauze that matched the gown and could be worn in Lizzie’s hair like a veil, then shook her head. “No. We want them to see your beautiful hair.” Her hands lifted the heavy blond waves and then let them tumble down Lizzie’s back. “Your hair is glorious, Lizzie. You must show it to your advantage.”

  “I’m not wearing that dress,” Lizzie protested, but as before, her words fell on deaf ears. Alys was already searching for stockings and underskirts thin enough to wear under the gown.

  “Try this,” she said, holding out a thin satin underskirt. When Lizzie started to argue, Alys smiled sweetly. “Why don’t we just see how that old dress looks on?”

  An hour later when Lizzie left her chamber for the great hall, it was no surprise what she was wearing.

  Patrick returned to the castle that night for the last time, his trip to the village having been for naught. Given what he’d decided, however, he was glad Gregor had yet to return from the Lomond Hills. He knew his brother wouldn’t be as understanding as his men.

  The guardsmen had taken the news of their leaving on the morrow with nary a word of protest. After today’s events, they all realized they were living on borrowed time. Even Hamish had made only a halfhearted attempt to argue for taking Lizzie with them. It seemed the heart had gone out of their fight. Patrick was not the only one who’d fallen under the spell of Elizabeth Campbell. She’d charmed them all with her kind heart and serene beauty. He shook his head. Look at them now: a pack of ruthless MacGregor warriors brought to heel by a mere wisp of a lass—and a Campbell one at that.

  His men had gone to the hall to join in the evening entertainment, but Patrick was in no mood for merriment. He returned to the barracks, welcoming the solitude. With only one more night to fill their bellies with food and drink their fill of the Campbells’ wine and ale, it would be a while before anyone returned.

  He started gathering his meager belongings in a pile and then fitting them into the leather bags he would tie to his saddle. He’d been a fool to reject Campbell’s gold. Pride wouldn’t keep him warm or his belly full in the coming winter. He would see about procuring some food from the kitchens in the morning. It would need to last them a while—the ride deep into the Lomond Hills to find the rest of his clan might take some time. Though his mind was already on the road ahead of him, he hadn’t figured out how he was going to say good-bye to what he left behind.

  No matter how tempting it might be to simply leave, he knew he could not do that to her. Lizzie deserved some kind of explanation—if only he could find the words to make her understand that what he was doing was for the best.

  Leaving a note wasn’t an option. An education was just one more thing he’d lost when his parents had been killed and his clan broken.

  He was still weighing what to do when the door opened and the decision was wrested from him.

  Lizzie stood silhouetted in the doorway, the torch in her hand illuminating her stricken face as she stared at the bags and belongings strewn across his pallet.

  Every muscle in his body went taut. He froze, as though he’d been knocked senseless, utterly transfixed by the ethereal beauty of the fey creature before him. She looked like a figment of a dream, her flaxen hair and silvery gown shimmering like quicksilver in the flickering flame. An angel.

  His face darkened. Except that her gown was anything but angelic.

  What the devil was she trying to do, drive him mad with longing?

  His eyes slid over her and came back to rest where they had sta
rted: on the sweet round breasts displayed to mouthwatering perfection in a gown that revealed far more than it concealed. She might as well have been wearing a damn night rail. It was no more than a wisp of cloth; he could see the curve of her hips, the round of her bottom, the long, slim lines of her legs. Heat pounded through his body, surging hard through his veins. Lust. Hot, demanding lust throbbed in his suddenly too-tight breeches.

  A wave of possessiveness came over him, almost frightening in its intensity. Mine. The thought of another man looking at her was almost enough to make him change his mind about leaving.

  He turned his back on her as he fought to temper the instinct to toss her down on the rough pallet, rip that flimsy dress off her until she was naked beneath him, and ravish her senseless. And then hold her warm, soft body against his and drink in her sweetness.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He flinched at the sound of her voice, hearing the disbelief tinged with panic. He wanted to go to her. To hold her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right.

  But it wasn’t.

  He clenched his jaw, realizing that this was going to be harder than he’d ever imagined. He bent over the bed to continue his packing, his movements harsh. “What it looks like I’m doing, packing.”

  He heard the door close and then the tap of slippered footsteps approaching tentatively. His pulse raced as her soft feminine scent hit him, coiled around him, and wouldn’t let him go.

  “How long will you be gone? A few days?”

  He took a deep breath and stood up, meeting her wide-eyed gaze, his muscles vibrating for want of her. “Nay, Lizzie, I’m leaving for good.”

  Her heart felt yanked out from under her.

  “Leaving?” Lizzie echoed dumbly, her thoughts scattering like petals in the wind. For good. When he hadn’t showed up for the evening meal, she’d been apprehensive, but never could she have anticipated this. “No! You can’t go.”

  He arched a dark brow, an unspoken challenge.

  “I mean … I … we need you here.”

  His face shuttered, and she knew she’d said something wrong.

  “You have your brother”—he gave her a hard, penetrating stare—“and Campbell. It should be easy enough to hire more guardsmen. There are plenty of broken men to be found eager for work.”

  As if he were so easily replaceable.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  “But what about us?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I thought …”

  His eyes were hard and flat. They belonged to a stranger. “Campbell can take care of that as well.”

  Lizzie made a small choking sound, stunned by his coldness. How could he talk to her like this? After what they’d shared, he was just going to walk away and never look back. Was she so insignificant to him?

  I thought he cared for me.

  She put her hand over her mouth and tried to swallow. Dear God, had she made some horrible mistake … again?

  His jaw was set in a hard, determined line. He looked so remote. So alone. As if he didn’t need anyone in the world. Certainly not her.

  Never had she imagined that the ruthlessness she’d witnessed on the battlefield would be directed toward her.

  She turned away, unable to look at him any longer. She fought to breathe. One. Two. She forced air in and out and tried to prevent the hot ball of hurt from swallowing her up.

  She had to get out of here before she disgraced herself by bursting into tears. And she would have done just that if she hadn’t chanced to glance up at him one more time.

  His eyes gave him away. Tormented. Pained. Filled with such naked longing, it took her breath away.

  He did want her. With an intensity that matched her own.

  In that one unguarded moment, she recognized the truth of her own heart. From the first moment he’d burst through the trees, she’d sensed something special. Not just physical awareness, but a sense of connection so strong and deep, it seemed as if it had always been there.

  I love him.

  This big, strong warrior whose implacable exterior masked a tortured soul.

  She’d been attracted to his handsome face, to his strength, courage, and natural authority, but it was the wounded man inside who had captured her heart.

  He needed her.

  She yearned to soothe his sadness. To heal him with the balm of her love. Just as he had given her the courage to risk her heart again. John Montgomery was in the past. This was different. She needed to trust herself—and him.

  Robert might be the “better” choice, but there was something about Patrick that could not be measured by objective criteria, it simply was. He might have been born a guardsman, but he had the makings of a fine chieftain. Leadership ran in his veins, and it was up to her to unlock it with opportunity.

  Alys was right. She would never regret marrying the man she loved. Her family would understand. They would have to.

  The unexpected news she’d received this evening gave her even more cause to hope. Jamie had written to tell her of his impending marriage to Caitrina Lamont. Though by the time she received the letter they would already be married, her cousin demanded her presence at Dunoon as soon as possible.

  She still couldn’t believe it—her brother … married. Colin had been furious. From what she could tell, the Lamonts had recently been accused of harboring MacGregors, and the poor girl had lost her entire family and been left virtually penniless. From Jamie’s note, it appeared that he felt some sort of responsibility. But it also meant that she would not be the first in her family to make an inopportune match.

  Now that she’d made her decision, she thought of all she might have unknowingly forsaken. This was what Meg and Flora talked about. Love so strong you would die for it—or without it.

  Whether destiny or fortune, she didn’t know, but she thanked God for having Patrick Murray appear on the road that day.

  Even as the truth of her feelings became clear, however, she could not savor the moment, not while he was trying to push her away.

  She straightened her back and looked him square in the face. “So just like that, you are going to leave? No explanation. Nothing.”

  He stood stone still, but every inch of his body seemed set on edge. She crossed the room, stopping only when she stood right before him. Close enough to inhale the spicy masculine scent of him. He wouldn’t look at her, but she could feel the tension radiate from him, hot and heavy. The air between them seemed charged, ready to fire.

  She tilted her head back to look up at him. His chiseled features seemed even sharper, harder. The tic below his jaw pulsed. His fists clenched and unclenched, as if he were fighting for control. Danger swept over her skin in a prickly sheen of awareness. He looked every inch the fearsome warrior pushed to the edge.

  But she did not heed the warning and leaned closer, allowing her breasts to brush his chest. “I thought you wanted to marry me?”

  Every muscle tensed at her intimate touch. His eyes flashed shards of green fire. “What the hell do you want from me?” he growled through clenched teeth. “I’ll not sit here and watch you marry another man. God’s blood, Elizabeth, I’m not made of stone.”

  His very ferocity gave her courage. He did care. Boldly, she put her hand on his chest and felt him flinch beneath the soft leather of his jerkin. “You’re not?” she asked, skimming her hands over the heavy slabs and sharply defined muscle that felt as unyielding as stone. “You feel like it.” When she reached the opening, she slipped her hand beneath the leather to the thin linen of his shirt, breathing in the hard, warm skin underneath.

  He practically hissed.

  She peeked at him from under her lashes, wanting to press tiny kisses along the rigid lines of his jaw until his resistance softened. As she leaned against him to whisper in his ear, damp tendrils of slick dark hair brushed against her nose and mouth. The faint scent of soap and warm male cascaded through her in a heady rush. “I’m not marrying another man,
” she said softly.

  His muscles flexed under her fingertips. She could feel the hard pounding of his chest, but he made no move to enfold her in his arms.

  Lizzie felt a moment of uncertainty. She’d just as good as told him that she’d chosen him. Shouldn’t he be holding her tight against his chest and pressing kisses on her head? On her mouth?

  Instead, he clasped his hand around her wrist and forcibly set her away from him. “You should.”

  The look in his eyes pierced her newfound confidence. Stricken, she felt the happiness seep out of her. “What do you mean?” Her voice wobbled. Please, don’t stammer. She took a deep, ragged breath. “Don’t you wish to marry me?”

  He swore, and the tiny lines etched around his mouth turned stark white. “God damn it, Elizabeth. You’re not making it easy. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

  “Right thing?” Her eyes raked his face. She could feel her chance at happiness slipping away. The prospect of unrequited love loomed like a dark cloud. “Why is it right that I marry Robert?”

  He turned from her, taking a few steps away as if to clear his mind. “There are things … there are things about me that you don’t know.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “Then tell me. I want to know everything about you.”

  He wanted to. She could see the turmoil on his face, but he shook his head. “I can’t.”

  She dropped her hand. “Or won’t,” she said tonelessly.

  “Or won’t,” he agreed.

  Disappointment fisted in her belly at his rejection. But she heard the sadness in his voice and knew that even if he would not tell her its source, she could not just walk away.

  “It doesn’t matter. I know all I need to know. All that is important. I know the kind of man you are: strong, kind, and honorable to the core.”

  A bark of pained laughter shot from him. “You don’t know me at all. Would that I were half the man you think me.” He shook his head, no longer fighting it, as if her words had made it easier on him. “No. Marry your Campbell, Lizzie. He will give you the life you deserve. I have nothing to offer you. No position, no wealth, no fine castles.”