He’d kept watch by the fire all night, not simply because he feared an attack, but because he didn’t trust himself. The shelter was barely big enough for both of them to fit under; he would be lying too close to her. And she was too damn tempting.
Now he stood just below the summit of Binnein, his gaze sweeping from east to west. The rain had cleared, leaving gray skies but a clear view of the surrounding area. If his brother was heading this way, Patrick would see him.
He’d woken Lizzie just before dawn and told her to tend to her needs and be ready in case they needed to leave quickly. He didn’t like leaving her alone, but these slick, steep rocks were far more dangerous than anything she was likely to encounter in the forest.
The climb up the hill, normally done without thought, had been agonizing, taking far longer than he’d expected. At least he could be grateful that there were no signs of infection. So far. Little good he would be to Lizzie if infection set in.
He had to admit, she’d surprised him. She was holding up much better than he’d expected. She was tougher than she looked. Though tired and weary, she’d adapted to the situation, accepting what had to be done with fortitude and without complaint.
It almost made him wonder …
Nay. Even if she could forgive him, he was chief now. He had a duty to his clan. A duty that put him at odds with her family—he’d not ask her to choose.
He’d wanted to keep the details of her family’s treachery from her—knowing it would be difficult for her to accept coming from him—but even if she didn’t believe him, at least now she understood.
He watched the lochs, the pass, and the forest beneath him for any sign of unusual movement. A few fishermen were scattered on the water, but this was wild, inhospitable land, and inhabitants were few and far between.
Had Gregor decided not to pursue them? Had he lost their trail?
Though neither scenario sounded like his brother, Patrick knew that they needed to leave soon. If Campbells weren’t already blanketing the area, they would be soon.
An eagle cried and soared overhead. It dipped, and Patrick’s gaze lowered. And there, in a clearing in the trees below—two miles, maybe three, away—he saw a movement. Then another.
His instincts went on full alert, and he watched as a group of five men on foot followed the exact path he and Lizzie had taken yesterday. He couldn’t see the men’s faces or plaids from this distance away, but he knew: It was them.
Damn. There was only one road to Balquhidder open to them now—the high one through the hills. Lizzie was going to be seeing more of the Highlands than either of them had bargained for. He hoped to hell she was up to the challenge.
Skirting around the north side of Binnein to avoid being seen, he raced back to camp—the pain in his leg dulled by the knowledge that every second counted. They had a good lead, and they needed to keep it that way.
When he arrived back at camp, he didn’t need to say anything.
She paled. “They’re coming this way.”
“Aye. But we’ll lose them in the hills.”
She nodded, unable to completely mask her trepidation. He almost reached for her, but she turned away. His chest tightened. She didn’t want comfort from him, not any longer. Now that she knew the truth.
He looked around, intending to start getting their things in order, and realized it was unnecessary. Everything had already been packed neatly away in the bags. She’d even had the foresight to refill the skins from the small burn nearby that he’d told her to wash in this morning. In these hillsides water was never hard to find.
He quickly smothered the fire but didn’t bother to hide the evidence of their encampment. It would only take time they didn’t have, and his brother was too good at recognizing the signs to be fooled. But once they were in the hills, it wouldn’t be so easy.
Within five minutes of his arrival, they were off. He kept them moving at a brisk pace—if not a run, then not quite a walk, either. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and Gregor before nightfall. With any luck, they would spend one cold night in the mountains and be at Balquhidder before dusk tomorrow.
The woodlands soon gave way to the strath. They followed the curve of Binnein north to the higher hill of Meall Reamhar. As they made their way up, bracken, heather, and grass gave way to rockier paths and Patrick was able to easily hide their tracks.
In addition to keeping an eye on the landscape behind them, he kept constant watch on Lizzie, slowing every so often to allow her to catch her breath. Only when they crested the hill did he stop. Stretched out before them, from east to west, was a panoramic vista of burnished brown hilltops—broken only by the occasional glimpse of a loch or small copse of woodland nestled in the deep corries.
Lizzie made a sound beside him that might have been a gasp, had she breath to lose. “It’s magnificent.” Her eyes met his. “Hills as far as the eye can see.” She bit her lip. “Are you sure … it would be easy to get lost.”
“We won’t get lost.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“These are MacGregor lands. I was raised in these hills.”
She flushed. “Of course. I didn’t think. Is your home near here?”
His gaze hardened, her innocent question hitting a nerve. “What home? I’ve had no home since I was a boy.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“We’ve tarried long enough.” Turning his back to her, he started down the hill. He didn’t need her sympathy.
They walked for hours. He pushed her as hard as he could without risking her collapse. The same could not be said of himself. Each step caused an explosion of pain so blinding, he wondered how much longer he could stand it. Steely determination and the knowledge that it was not just his life on the line kept him forging ahead.
Once he thought he’d caught sight of figures cresting a hill in the distance behind them. But as often happened in these hills, the clouds proved an expedient cover, descending like a curtain to hide them from view and further hampering his brother’s ability to track them.
But it wasn’t just his brother they had to worry about.
As the day drew on, the low clouds, once friendly, took on an ominous change. They thickened, turning heavy and dark. The weather in these mountains was like quicksilver, changing without warning. But it wasn’t just the prospect of rain that worried him. It was the sudden drop in temperature—the unseasonable sudden drop in temperature.
This high in the hills, with little to protect them, the cold was bone-numbing. With the plaid wrapped around her and her heavy wool skirts, Lizzie was better protected than he was with only a shirt and leather jerkin, but neither of them could stay out here for long, and they were still a good distance away from the place he’d hoped to shelter for the night.
Realizing they weren’t going to make it before the storm set in, he knew he had to find someplace closer. He changed direction, heading due east, making for a copse of trees in one of the gulleys on the other side of the mountain ridge.
Every time he looked at Lizzie, exhausted, shivering, trying bravely not to show her fear, he felt a stab of guilt so sharp that it felt like a dirk twisting in his gut. He urged her on with words of encouragement, but she was flagging.
This was his fault. He never should have gone to Castle Campbell in the first place. Why had he? Land, yes, but also because from the first moment he’d seen her, he’d wanted her. And look where it had brought them: running for their lives in one of the most dangerous places on earth to be caught in a snowstorm—early or not.
For the first time in his life, Patrick felt real fear. Not for himself—he’d weathered storms before—but for Lizzie. He didn’t know how much more she could take.
His fears were well-founded when moments later the snow started to fall—hard and fast, as if it had been waiting months for the opportunity to let go, instantly covering their footsteps in a heavy white blanket and making each step over icy rock and dense heather more tr
eacherous than the last. But worse was the wind. Blowing in hard gusts, it blinded, preventing him from being able to see more than a few feet in front of them.
And ever present was the growing threat of darkness.
“Patrick, I …”
He turned, holding his arm against his face to ward off the icy wind. He was just able to make out her tear-filled eyes beneath the edge of the plaid that covered her head. His chest squeezed, seeing her cheeks wet and red from the cold.
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I don’t think I can go on.”
He pulled her against him, tucking her under his arm as if he could protect her from the brutal elements by the shield of his body alone. She let him hold her, and though he knew it was for his heat, for the moment it was enough.
“Come, love, you’ve done wonderfully, don’t give up now. It’s not much farther,” he lied.
He could hear the rising panic in her voice. “But how do you know? How can you see anything in this?”
He pointed to a rock. “By the direction of the snow on the rocks.” The wind had been blowing from the east.
“Is there nowhere we can rest, just for a few minutes?”
He didn’t need to look around, he knew the answer. There was no place for shelter—there were only high moors and rock with occasional patches of heather. “I know you are tired, Lizzie, but we need to keep moving.” If they stopped, they would freeze, and there was less than an hour left of light.
She looked up at him, eyes wide with concern. “I’ve taken your plaid. You must be freezing.”
“I’m used to the cold.” He looked down at her tiny hand on his arm. The tinge of blue on her fingertips struck him cold. Quickly, he took from his bag the pelt he’d kept from the hare. “Use this to wrap around your hands.” She did so without argument, though it hadn’t been tanned. “We need to keep moving. I’ll help you, all right?”
She nodded and allowed him to lead her on. He kept her tight against him, bracing her from the wind with his body as they slowly wound their way through the maze of rocky hills. But as the snow got deeper, her skirts started to tangle, impeding her steps even further.
He was literally dragging her, and when she tripped, almost falling headfirst down a steep crag, he picked her up.
“What are you doing?” she said weakly, delirious with exhaustion and cold. “Your leg. You can’t carry me.”
He was so damn cold that he didn’t feel anything—he just knew that he had to do something if they were going to have a chance. He ignored her protests and, cradling her against his chest, plowed forward through the storm.
But as he approached the summit of the last big hill before they descended toward the copse of trees, the light dimmed to almost nothing and the snow started to come down even harder. He couldn’t see two feet in front of him. They weren’t going to make it. He looked around for anything that might help shelter them from the full brunt of the storm.
Once before when he’d been caught in a storm, he’d been able to stay warm by using the carcass of a deer that had fallen down the steep mountainside into the corrie. The vile, nauseating stench was not one he’d soon forget, but right now he would welcome it.
A few feet away, he saw the dark gray top of a large rock just breaking through the snow. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. But when he reached it and tried to set Lizzie down, his heart plummeted.
Her eyes were closed, and glittering crystals of ice hung from her lashes onto her bloodless cheeks. “Lizzie!” he cried, gently slapping her cheek when she wouldn’t wake. “God damn it, Lizzie!” He felt as if his heart were being wrenched from his lungs. “Don’t you dare leave me now!”
She was deathly cold.
Knowing he had to work fast, he set her down and began to dig furiously, tunneling a small cave of snow next to the rock. When it was just big enough for them to squeeze in, he hugged Lizzie tight and pulled her inside, nestling her against his chest and enfolding her in his arms as he fought to warm her shivering body with his. But he had little heat to give. He swore one minute and prayed the next, having never felt so bloody powerless in his life.
Take me, but don’t let her die.
Not this sweet girl who’d done nothing but make the mistake of giving her heart to a man who didn’t deserve it.
God, what have I done? “I love you, Lizzie,” he said, speaking the words aloud for the first time.
His chest burned, the ache in his heart so profound that he could deny it no longer. The truth had been there all along: He loved her. Loved her as he’d never loved a woman before. He’d thought himself impervious, no longer capable of feeling these cruel emotions. But he was wrong. His love for Lizzie was too powerful to be denied.
But the realization was tinged with despair. He pressed his mouth against her head, the cold clamminess of her forehead sending ice through his already-frozen veins.
The snow and wind howled as night closed in around them like a shroud.
Chapter 19
Lizzie woke slowly, groggy with the effects of a heavy sleep. Her head throbbed, as if she’d drunk too much claret. And she didn’t think she’d ever been so cold.
Her eyes fluttered open and she felt a moment of panic—seeing nothing but icy white snow all around her.
Her heart stuck in her throat. I’ve been buried.
But almost immediately, she became aware of the strong arms held tight around her and the steady beat of his heart behind her. Instinctively, she relaxed.
“Lizzie.” Patrick shook her gently, and she could hear the urgency in his voice.
“Where are we?” she croaked.
“Thank God,” he said. “You’re awake.”
She tried to wriggle out of his arms, but there was nowhere to go.
“Careful,” he warned. “You’ll bring the roof down on top of us.”
“What roof?”
“I dug a snow cave. It was the only way to get out of the storm.”
Memories of the day before came rushing back full force, and she immediately became aware of his injured leg and the painful blisters on her feet.
“Is it still snowing?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, but I’ll go outside and make sure.”
She wanted to cry out when his arms unwrapped from around her and the warmth of his body left her backside. He kicked a hole with his feet and scooted out carefully. Moments later, he reached back in to help her out. “Come outside and see.”
Unnaturally stiff with cold, she struggled out of the small hole, but with his help a few minutes later she was rewarded with the gentle warmth of the morning sun on her face. Dawn was just breaking over the horizon, spraying soft rays of gold over a glistening carpet of white.
Lizzie sucked in her breath. “It’s beautiful.”
“Aye,” Patrick said harshly. “But it could have been deadly.”
She turned to him, realizing that she had no idea how she’d gotten into that cave. The last thing she remembered was him picking her up and carrying her.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He turned to look at her, surprised. “For what?”
“For saving my life.”
His expression hardened. “I could have killed you,” he said stonily. “It’s my fault you are out here in the first place.”
“You couldn’t have known it was going to storm.”
“Nay,” he admitted. “Even with the unaccountably cold winters we’ve been having the past few years, ’tis early for a snowstorm of this magnitude. But I never should have brought you into this.” It wasn’t the storm he was talking about. His eyes met hers. “I never meant to hurt you, Lizzie. I want you to know that. I hope one day you will be able to forgive me.”
Lizzie stared into those familiar green depths, searching for signs of deception but finding only sincerity. Her heart tugged, and she was plagued by the confusion of conflicting emotions. The experiences of the past few days had thrown her feelings into a turmoil.
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br /> He’d deceived her and lied to her in every conceivable way for a few merks of land. She should despise him. Part of her wanted to. Hatred didn’t hurt.
But she couldn’t ignore what he’d done for her—protecting her from his clan and battling his own brother to do so. He’d chosen her even when it would have been easier not to. These were not the acts of a cold, ruthless man. He might be an outlaw, but he was not without honor.
An honorable MacGregor. Was such a thing possible? Her family might not think so, but Patrick made her wonder.
Here, in the primitive, unforgiving Highlands, Lizzie felt as if she were seeing him for the first time, and it was impossible not to admire what she saw. This rugged, harsh landscape helped define him. In the hard angles of his handsome face and the granite strength of his body, she saw the beauty of the hard, uncompromising countryside. Like the sturdy heather on the hillsides, he was resilient. Like the power of a sudden storm, he could be deadly. And like the Highlands, he was tough to the bone. Hunted, with a bullet hole in his leg and little more than what they had on, he’d kept them alive.
If the past few days were any indication of the challenges facing his clan, it was a testament to their strength that they’d survived as long as they had. It also gave her a better understanding of the difficulties he faced as the leader of a broken clan—a clan without land.
Nor could she ignore the strange pull she still felt when she looked at him. Not just physical attraction, but something far deeper and far more elemental.
She wanted to believe that he’d cared for her, that it hadn’t all been a lie. That she hadn’t confused lust with love. That what they had was worth fighting for—even against the horrible events that had conspired to separate them. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “My forgiveness is important to you?”
“Very.” He gave her a long look, clearly debating whether to say something further. When his hand closed around hers, her chest gave an involuntary squeeze. With that simple connection, she felt the force of a far larger and more powerful one.
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