The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  With the plaid he’d given her wrapped around her like an arisaidh, she certainly didn’t resemble a Campbell heir ess. She looked more like a bedraggled urchin. Her hair had long ago lost its bindings, and stray flaxen tendrils fell across her face and, more often than not, tangled in her lashes. Mud stained the bottom of her skirts up to the knee, and small droplets were spattered over the rest. At least she was wearing sturdy leather riding boots and not the flimsy slippers she often wore.

  What the hell had he been thinking? This was after just one day in the wild. At times he’d lived like this for weeks. How could he have ever thought to bring her into this sort of life?

  She wasn’t the only one struggling. Truth be told, he was looking forward to reaching their destination as well. Each step he took sent a fresh needle of pain shooting up his leg that was becoming more difficult to ignore. He’d taken a risk in burning the wound closed and sealing in any infection. But that wouldn’t come for days, if it did, and if he hadn’t, he would have lost too much blood.

  Sensing that Lizzie needed a rest, he stopped on a small rise and offered her a drink of water from the skin that he’d refilled at the loch. She accepted it eagerly, taking a long gulp before handing it back to him.

  There was a break in the trees affording a breathtaking view east through the mist of the loch beyond.

  “Is that the loch where we were earlier?”

  She’d been silent for so long, it was a surprise to hear the sweet melody of her soft voice. “Aye.” He pointed a little farther south. “The cave is on the side of the mountain there.”

  She nodded. “The loch is beautiful. What’s it called?”

  “Loch Katrine,” he said, his voice forbidding. He’d been doing his best not to think about it all day. To think how close they were.

  He saw her eyes scan eastward and then stop. Her eyes sparkled with the first glimmer of excitement he’d seen from her in days. “Is that an island?”

  He stiffened. “Aye. Molach.” The islet where his sister and some of the other MacGregor women and children had taken refuge. Only the knowledge that it was one of the first places his brother would search once he realized they hadn’t gone south prevented him from going to see Annie. He didn’t blame Lizzie for what had befallen his sister, but he was trying not to dwell on the events that had separated them. As soon as Lizzie was safe, he would find Annie. And then he would find Auchinbreck.

  “It’s charming,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do you think they are following us?”

  “Aye. My brother will not give up that easily.” He saw the fear in her eyes and instinctively sought to reassure her. “I chose these hills for a reason, Lizzie. No one will find us if I don’t want them to.”

  If he’d intended to allay her fears, his words seemed to have the opposite effect. Her cheeks paled beneath the flush. “We’re going into the hills?”

  “Not unless we have to, but I need to get to Balquhidder to gather my men.” It was too dangerous to try to get her to safety on his own. He hoped to hell that Robbie and the others had gotten away without a problem. He pointed in the direction of the hill where they were heading. “From up there I will have a clear view of the surrounding area. If my brother has picked up our trail, I will see him. If there is no sign of him, we will follow the lochs and rivers north and get my men, then I will take you to your cousin.”

  She looked at him as if he were mad. “To Dunoon? Won’t that be dangerous for you? What if my family has already discovered that I’m missing and have learned who you are?” She paused. “What if I decide to tell them?”

  He peered down into her tiny upturned face, seeing the challenge in her gaze and in the hard set of her chin. “Will you?”

  Her mouth pursed together. “I just might.”

  His lips curved in a half-smile. “I suppose ’tis a chance I’ll have to take.”

  They both knew his secret was safe with her. No matter how angry she was with him, Lizzie did not have a bloodthirsty bone in her body. Hers would not be the hand that spelled his doom. But she was right. When it was discovered that she was missing, there wouldn’t be anywhere in the Lowlands for him to hide.

  “And what if your brother has picked up our trail?”

  “We’ll take the high road through the hills. Gregor won’t be able to track us as easily over the rock, and we’ve enough of a head start to stay well ahead of him. But at this time of year, venturing into the mountains can be dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “The weather changes quickly.” At least it was still too early for snow. He slung the skin back around his shoulder. “Which will work in our favor today. The rain will slow them down.”

  “Rain?” Lizzie looked up to the sky and frowned. “What rain?”

  Lizzie swore she wouldn’t complain. No matter how exhausted, no matter how hungry, no matter how miserable she felt. She would prove to him that she was not some fragile piece of porcelain ready to crack at the first sign of difficulty.

  And then as he predicted it started to rain.

  Not a light, misty rain, but a full Highland downpour with icy gusts of wind that cut to the bone.

  So now in addition to being tired, hungry, and cold, by the time they reached the area where Patrick decided to shelter for the night, she was also drenched.

  And when she realized there would be no cozy cave to sleep in this night, she wanted to cry.

  But it appeared she had underestimated Patrick’s resourcefulness. He showed her to a fallen tree for her to sit on while he set about gathering the materials—tree limbs, pine bows, and moss—to build a shelter. Using part of the fallen log she was sitting on for a base, he cleared away the ground of leaves and rocks and built a tentlike structure with branches. Then he wove the bows between the branches to create a roof and laid moss on the ground to provide a buffer from the wet ground.

  At the open end of the shelter, he built a small fire. It would be smoky, perhaps, but warm. And a few minutes later, when he settled her underneath, she realized it was also dry.

  “You’ve done this before,” she said wryly.

  His mouth twitched. “Perhaps once or twice.” He paused. “It’s not what you are used to.”

  “No,” she admitted. Far from it.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Famished,” she replied before she could think to lie.

  “I might be able to catch a mountain hare. I can try to fashion some twine from vines or …” He gave her an odd look—almost as if he were embarrassed.

  “Or?” she asked.

  “If we had some kind of string.”

  She tilted her head, perplexed.

  “Such that might be a part of a lady’s undergarments.”

  “You want the tie from my stays? Why didn’t you just say so?” He’d seen her naked, but he was flustered by talk of undergarments. It was … adorable. If a heavily muscled Highland warrior of well over six feet could be characterized as such.

  He turned to give her privacy, and she quickly went to work removing the plaid that he’d given her and the heavy woolen jacket that she wore underneath, then loosened the ties of her kirtle enough to slide it down to her waist. With all the walking and climbing they were doing, it would be nice to be able to move a little easier. When she got to her stays, however, she had to stop. She’d forgotten. They tied in the back.

  She bit her lip and looked at his broad back, debating.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid …” She took a deep breath and started again. “I’m afraid I need some help.”

  She covered her breasts, fully visible beneath the damp linen of her sark, with her arms as he turned. His eyes heated for an instant, lingering on the bare skin of her arms and neck, before he bent and placed his hands on her back, slowly working the ties of her stays. She held her breath, painfully aware of the warmth of his hands, of every stray brush of his fingers on her back. Of his breath on he
r neck. Of his body so close to hers.

  It was an altogether too familiar intimacy that her body remembered well. Her skin prickled. From the cold, she told herself. But then why was she so flushed?

  God, did he only have to touch her for her to fall apart? Did she so easily forget that he’d lied to her and deceived her from the first moment they’d met? That his seduction had been coldly calculated with one purpose—her dowry? That he was a MacGregor—her clan’s enemy and an outlaw?

  She straightened her spine and forced herself to ignore him and not let his touch affect her.

  He must have felt her resistance, because he finished quickly, murmured a brusque thanks, and said that he would return soon, leaving her to dress in peace.

  Being alone in the forest at dusk, however, even with a fire, was not conducive to a state of peace. Frankly, it was terrifying. She jumped at every sound, imagining all sorts of horrible creatures lurking behind the trees. Time passed slowly, tolled by each rustling leaf, each snapped twig, and each oddly timed raindrop that splattered on a nearby rock. By the time he returned, her nerves were frayed raw and she would have welcomed the devil himself with open arms.

  He took one look at her face and apologized. “It took longer than I expected. With the rain, there aren’t as many hares venturing from their holes.” He set down his bow and sword and sat opposite her. After putting the dead animal in front of him, he took out his dirk. “I hope you weren’t frightened?”

  “Of course not,” Lizzie said automatically, before seeing his teasing expression. “Well, maybe a little,” she conceded. “I kept thinking of that wolf. Are there any other wild beasts that I should be aware of?”

  She turned her gaze as he started to skin the dead animal. Not normally squeamish about such things, she was none theless usually more removed from the preparation of her meat.

  “You mean other than boars and wildcats?”

  Boars and wildcats, dear God! “Aye, other than those.”

  He appeared contemplative and then shook his head. “Nay, nothing else I can think of.”

  “I’m greatly reassured,” she said dryly.

  He chuckled. “I don’t mean to make light of your fears, lass, but it’s not the wild animals we need to worry about. They’re just as scared of you as you are of them.”

  “I doubt that.”

  He laughed again. “I won’t let anything harm you, Lizzie.”

  She peered up at him, gazing at the hard angles of his handsome face flickering in the firelight, and could almost believe him. There was very little, she suspected, that this man could not do. His strength had always impressed her, but she was only now beginning to learn of its depths. She’d never met a man like him—tough to the bone, resilient, and resourceful. He would protect her with his last breath. Even against his own brother.

  She’d been too angry to think about it at first, but she was glad Patrick hadn’t killed him. The thought of him killing his brother for her … She shuddered.

  “How is your leg?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “A bit stiff.”

  An understatement if there ever was one, she would wager. “That’s right, I forgot. Hamish said that you don’t feel pain.”

  He gave her a long look. “I feel pain, Lizzie. I’ve just learned not to show it.”

  Their eyes held, and she wondered if maybe he wasn’t as unaffected by what had happened between them as she had thought. It was some time before she looked away.

  The smell of roasting meat a short while later was surpassed only by the first succulent bite. It was the first real meal she’d had in almost two days, and not knowing when she would have another, she ate her fill. It was some time before she stopped eating long enough to speak.

  “Good?” Patrick asked, a wry smile on his face.

  “Delicious,” she said enthusiastically.

  He handed her the skin of water. “If we had something to boil water in, I could make you a hot drink with pine needles.”

  “Hmmm. I didn’t realize you were such a talented chef.”

  “Necessity breeds many talents.”

  She heard the underlying truth behind his jest, a reference to his life as an outlaw, she realized. What must it be like? A little like this, she’d wager. Hunted, living on the run, forced to find shelter in the wild. She felt a moment of compassion before she shook it off with the memory of how he’d gotten that way.

  But now that the initial sting of his betrayal had dulled, she was left with many questions. “There’s something I don’t understand.”

  He nodded for her to continue.

  “I thought the MacGregor had agreed to surrender.”

  Something in his gaze hardened. Or perhaps it was just the light from the fire?

  “He did,” he said carefully.

  “Then why did your brother attack my guardsmen, and why did you change your mind and decide to take me to Dunoon?”

  He didn’t say anything, the silence punctuated by the crackle and pop of the fire and the slowing plop of rain on the bows overhead.

  “What is it? What won’t you tell me?”

  His jaw clenched. “You won’t want to hear what I have to say.”

  His forbidding tone gave her a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, I do.”

  He took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on hers. “You know that Alasdair MacGregor surrendered under a promise from Argyll to see him safe to English ground—the deal brokered by your brother Jamie. Well, your cousin kept his promise, transporting the chief to England and setting him down upon English soil, only to immediately arrest him and return him to Edinburgh. Alasdair was executed along with twenty-four other of my clansmen a fortnight past.”

  Lizzie gasped with horrified disbelief. “You must be mistaken!” Her cousin wouldn’t do something so dishonorable … would he? His hatred for the MacGregors made her pause. But even if Archie were so inclined, Jamie would never be a part of it.

  Patrick’s gaze was hard as steel. “I assure you, I am not mistaken. My cousin’s and brother’s heads sit over Dumbarton gate right now.”

  Her heart plummeted. “Your cousin and brother?”

  “Aye, Alasdair MacGregor was my cousin—twice over. Our fathers were brothers and our mothers were sisters. My youngest brother, Iain, died at his side.”

  Lizzie felt ill. She could not doubt him—the ravaged sadness on his face couldn’t be feigned—even if she couldn’t believe the part he’d attributed to her family. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “I do not blame you.”

  “But your brother does?”

  “Aye. I erred in trusting Gregor, but always before I could convince him to see reason. I thought he’d understood. I was wrong.”

  She could see something in his expression. “What are you not telling me?”

  His gaze was flat as he stared into the fire. “There were risings after the executions. My sister …”

  He had a sister. God, she knew nothing about him.

  He stopped and cleared his throat. Lizzie felt her heart start to hammer with trepidation. “My sister, Annie, was rap—” His voice cracked, and she put her hand on his arm.

  Her stomach turned. He didn’t need to finish. “I’m so sorry.”

  He gazed down at her hand and then back up at her face. His expression was as grim as she’d ever seen it. “At Auchinbreck’s orders.”

  She pulled her hand away as if she’d been scalded. “No!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “That’s a vicious lie! How dare you make such an accusation!”

  He didn’t say anything, just stared at her—almost as if he felt sorry for her.

  Lizzie was not naïve. She knew that men often violated women in the name of war—as a means to humiliate and attack the pride of their opponent. But the thought that her brother could do anything so vile—so cruel and despicable …

  God, was it possible?

  There had to be an explanation. She needed to see Jamie, he would clear things up.

  Lizzie
was reeling from what Patrick had told her. No wonder he’d changed his mind about marrying her. If even a small portion of it was true, he had every reason to hate her.

  Instead, he’d saved her life and battled his brother to do so.

  Her eyes flew to his, suddenly recalling Robbie’s hastily spoken word. “My God. You are chief.”

  “Aye, though it’s clear that my brother means to challenge me.”

  Patrick Murray, simple guardsman, was really chief of the once-proud clan of MacGregor. The irony would have been laughable if it hadn’t been at her expense. He was every bit her equal in position and in another time might have been a suitable husband for her. “Can he do that?” she asked.

  “If the clan thinks I am unfit.”

  “But why would they … Oh.” Because of me.

  “I didn’t say they would, just that they could. Gregor will try, but I will be able to convince them otherwise.”

  In her heart, she hoped Patrick succeeded. He would be a good chief. The qualities that had made him seem like a good husband also made a good leader: smart, strong, controlled, calm under pressure, and a fierce warrior. The type of man others looked to.

  But she also knew the danger that position would put him in. It would also make him the most hunted man in Scotland.

  He moved away from her toward the opening of the shelter. She noticed that it had stopped raining. “That’s enough talking for tonight. Get some rest. You will have need of it.”

  She lay down, using the plaid as a blanket, her head resting on a surprisingly pillowlike pile of moss. She closed her eyes, but they wouldn’t stay shut. Her gaze kept drifting to the large solitary figure shadowed in the flames. Finally she asked, “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

  “Later, lass. Later.”

  Later never came.

  The sun had risen an hour ago, and still there was no sign of Gregor. Patrick wanted to be relieved—if his brother had picked up their trail, he should have been here by now—but the heavy sense of foreboding that had shadowed Patrick all night would not be so easily persuaded.