The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  Patrick’s blood pounded; he was holding himself by a very tight rein. It scared him how much he wanted to take up her offer. But he loved her too much to do that to her. She had no conception of the life she would be thrown into, the desperate situation of his clan, and what she would be giving up. He couldn’t allow her to make such a sacrifice for him.

  His face turned hard, his mouth twisting in a sneer. “You’ve been raised in the finest castles in Scotland, surrounded by servants who tend to your every wish, you have never wanted for anything. Can you imagine what it’s like to go to bed with nothing in your belly? To hear your babe cry with hunger? To go for months being so cold you can’t move your fingers? This isn’t some romantic girlish fancy—something you can end when you get tired of it. It never ends.”

  Her face flushed. “I won’t pretend that it will be easy.”

  “Easy?” He laughed harshly. “You wouldn’t last a month.”

  Her eyes flashed, and he knew he’d gone too far. “How dare you condescend to me like this! Have I in any way proved myself less than any of the women in your clan? I am not some pampered princess, and I will not be treated as such. I can make my own decisions, and I certainly don’t need some overbearing, overprotective knight in shining armor who thinks he knows what’s best for me doing it for me. What you describe is horrible, and I won’t make light of the situation of your clan or pretend that I know what it is like, and God knows why with the way you are acting right now, but for some reason you make me happy. I love you and I’d rather endure hell with you than hell without.”

  Jesu, he thought, taken aback. She had a feisty little temper beneath that sweet façade.

  “If you don’t want me for your wife, just say so, but don’t try to scare me away because it won’t work.”

  He swore, standing stone still, willing himself not to pull her into his arms and ravish her senseless. He was only trying to save her from herself. “This has nothing to do with what I want.” His eyes met hers. “God, Lizzie, you’re killing me. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

  She leaned toward him. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest enticingly, but it was the flash of hope in her eyes that proved the death knell of his resistance. “Then stop. This is the right thing.” She reached down and clasped his hand in hers. Her soft, warm fingers entwined with his. “Give me a year to prove it to you. If I’m wrong, you can walk away with impunity.”

  He stilled, understanding exactly what she was proposing. A handfast. The old Highland custom was frowned on by the Kirk, but not as uncommon as it would like. A year? Hell, once she was his, he’d never wish to let her go. But it would give her a way out.

  Gazing into her big blue eyes, he knew that he couldn’t fight destiny. He loved her, and he was done trying to find reasons for them not to be together.

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “Here, before God, I, Patrick MacGregor, do pledge to you, Elizabeth Campbell, my troth. I agree to be bound to you for a year and a day under the ancient custom of handfast.”

  “Here, before God, I, Elizabeth Campbell, do pledge to you, Patrick MacGregor, my troth. I agree to be bound to you for a year and a day under the ancient custom of handfast.”

  When she was done, a wide smile broke across her face, unleashing a swell of something inside Patrick that he hadn’t felt in many years—happiness.

  His mouth brushed over hers softly, tenderly, sealing their vows with a reverent kiss. The poignancy of the moment was forever etched on his soul.

  He swung her up in his arms and carried her over to the pallet near the fire.

  “Your leg,” she protested.

  “It doesn’t hurt.” In truth, right now he was so happy that he could feel no pain.

  He set her down and removed the plaid from her shoulders, arranging it on the pallet as a covering. He shirked off his unbuttoned jerkin and removed his boots, but when he started to pull off his shirt, she stopped him. “Let me.”

  The soft huskiness in her voice filled him with heat, but it was nothing to the incredible sensation of her hands on his body.

  She slid her hands under his shirt, skimming her palms over his belly and chest, lingering, exploring the ridges of muscle with her fingertips, driving him mad with her feather-soft touch. His skin heated, and every nerve ending flared at her delicate caress. She drew out every movement, taking her time in lifting the linen shirt up and over his head.

  She knew what she was doing to him, the little minx, and when her hand dipped to play the same game with the ties of his breeches, he clasped her wrist. “My turn.”

  He knelt before her, running his hands up her calves and looping his thumbs under the edge of her torn sark. He raised the fabric inch by inch as his hands stroked her long, shapely legs. Her skin was like velvet—so incredibly smooth and creamy under his rough fingertips. The contrast between them could not be more profound, but it no longer worried him. She might be tiny and delicate, but she’d been made for him. She wouldn’t break—he smiled wickedly—though he intended to make her shatter.

  When his hands had finished exploring every inch of creamy smooth skin, he used his mouth, pressing soft kisses on the curves of her calves, her tiny knees, the tender insides of her thigh, pushing the fabric higher and higher as his mouth climbed toward her petal-soft sex. The scent of her filled him, seeping deep into his bones, arousing dark, primitive yearnings.

  His staff pulsed against his belly. But it would have to wait.

  Her legs started to shake and her breathing hitched as he slowly approached his destination.

  He wanted to bury his head between her legs and taste her hard and deep, but he forced himself to go slowly—to drag out every moment of her pleasure.

  Her legs pressed together reflexively, her body tightening with resistance, but he forced them apart.

  “No,” she protested. “Surely you can’t mean to—”

  She gasped. Her words turned into a moan as his tongue flicked over her slick womanly core.

  He closed his eyes and groaned, savoring her taste and the feminine scent of desire, before pressing his mouth fully over her.

  Her legs wobbled and she had to grab his shoulders as he slid his tongue deep inside her, probing intimately. She was so warm and soft. So deliciously wet. And tasted as sweet as honey.

  Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he increased the pressure, increased the pleasure. Stroking. Flicking. Sucking. Bringing her to the brink and then easing her down.

  Her moans turned frantic. “Please,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair.

  Her passion undid him. He grabbed the soft curves of her buttocks and lifted her fully against his mouth, thrusting deep inside her with his tongue, the stubble of his beard scraping her gently as he gave her the relief she desired. And when he felt her body clench, he sucked, right as the spasms of release crashed over her.

  He jerked, having to hold back his own release as the soft cries of her pleasure echoed in his ears.

  Only when the shudders had ebbed from her body did he finally lift the sark over her head and lower her to the pallet. Naked. Sated. Her gaze soft and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Never had she looked more beautiful.

  My wife.

  His chest burned with emotion and wonderment. Moved beyond words at the poignancy of the moment, the most perfect of his life.

  Unable to wait a minute longer, he quickly divested himself of his breeches and moved between her legs.

  She grabbed his shoulders, holding him with her loving blue-eyed gaze as he entered her.

  He loved to watch her face, watch the erotic way her eyes widened and her lips parted with soft gasps as he pressed inside her, inch by inch.

  Her body clutched him like a warm glove. He shook with the effort of restraint. She was so small, so incredibly tight. It felt too good.

  He thrust, groaning at the sensation of being deep inside her, filling her. Loving her. The pressure in his groin was in
tense, but he wanted to prolong every moment of this—to show her with his body all the love and tenderness in his heart.

  Cradling her face with one hand, he kissed her gently, twining his tongue with hers in a slow, delicious dance. Only then did he move inside her with long, deep strokes, drawing out every inch of pleasure.

  He couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to feel every inch of her soft skin pressed against his.

  He could feel her restlessness, feel as her passion built. Her hands roamed his back, his arms, clutching harder and harder as their bodies climbed together in perfect step to the peak of pleasure.

  He’d never felt like this in his life. So completely attuned to another person. Feeling her pleasure as surely as if it were his.

  His chest pounded. The pressure in his loins was tight and hot. He pumped harder and faster, her hips rising in perfect synchronicity to meet him.

  Warmth washed over him in a heavy flood. Pleasure intensified and tightened at the base of his spine.

  Oh God, yes.

  He was going to come. Her breath quickened. And so was she.

  Their eyes met and the world exploded, shattering into a kaleidoscope of spine-tingling pleasure. She cried out, her body contracting tight around him like a fist. He thrust one more time, high and deep, roaring with the force of his own release. He gave himself to her completely as he was sucked into a vortex of pleasure so intense, she claimed not only his body, but his soul.

  Forever.

  Chapter 20

  Lizzie pressed her hips back against him to take him deeper, in the throes of the most wildly erotic dream of her life.

  Patrick’s big, hard body was pressed against her back. God, she loved the feel of all those muscles surrounding her. His thick, strong arms, his heavy, powerful thighs, his incredible granite-hard chest. He was warm, his skin so hot that it sizzled. She sizzled.

  He was kissing her neck, his warm mouth and wet tongue making her skin prickle and shiver with heated awareness. His big hands, rough with calluses, cupped her breasts, squeezing and caressing her as if he couldn’t get enough of their weight.

  She’d never felt so naughty or so desirable. She felt beautiful. Sensual. Free. She didn’t think, didn’t allow embarrassment or self-consciousness to hamper any of her movements. She took what she wanted, and that was him. All of him. As deep and hard as he could go.

  She arched her back, pressing her breasts deeper into his palms as he thrust and churned inside her. The sultry masculine scent of him, of their lovemaking, infused her senses with a primal need.

  She moaned, the tingling heat between her legs incredible. Pleasure washed over her in a hot, heavy wave, drenching her with sensation. She was so wet. So incredibly aroused. Every nerve ending flared, awaiting his touch.

  She never wanted to wake up.

  Her moans became frantic cries as their movements grew more frenzied—more intense. More focused on one goal.

  Her pulse raced as the road to paradise opened up in front of her—beckoning. “Oh, God … yes.”

  Sensation built in a focused center between her legs. She arched back to take him deeper. He was so big and thick, wedged up high inside her. She could hear his harsh breathing and his hard grunts of pleasure in her ear.

  His kissing grew rougher, more urgent, sucking, nipping, the roughness of his unshaven stubble scraping against the sensitive skin of her nape.

  One hand plied the rigid peak of her nipple, twisting it gently, as the other hand slid down between her legs. His fingers caressed her from the front as his erection filled her from behind. And when his thumb found the most sensitive spot …

  It was too much. Her heart slammed into her chest. Her breath caught. Sensation splintered and she started to shatter.

  “That’s it, love,” he whispered. “Come for me.” His voice was low and ragged. “God, you are so hot.”

  Her mind went blank as white hot pleasure exploded inside her. She cried out with the force of the spasms that rocked her from head to toe. No part of her was left out.

  He thrust one more time, holding himself deep inside her, and then began to circle his hips, the pressure and friction taking her even higher—to a peak she’d never climbed.

  And then he started to come, the hot rush of his seed joining the warm flow of her cresting release, drawing out the pleasure even further.

  When the spasms at last began to ebb, he wrapped his arms around her, snuggling her against the warm, protective shield of his chest. They were still connected, her body tingling from the effects of their lovemaking.

  She sighed against him with utter contentment. She could stay like this forever.

  “You’re awake,” he murmured near her ear.

  She laughed. “I am now.”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He reached down and lovingly cupped her bottom. “I woke and this was pressed temptingly against me. Your skin is so soft.” He stroked her gently, his hand caressing the curved flank. “I hope you aren’t too sore.”

  Though they’d made love most of the night, surprisingly she wasn’t. Or if she was, she was too exhausted and well sated to feel it. “No. Though at first I thought it was a dream.”

  He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Not a dream, Lizzie.”

  She turned around and smiled at him, emotion at what had happened last night tugging at her eyes and throat. “No, not a dream.”

  They’d handfasted. He was hers for a year. She would never let him go.

  If there had been a smidgen of doubt in her mind that he didn’t care for her, it was gone now. She thought of how despite his own desires, he’d tried to resist her last night, just as he’d tried to urge her to marry Robert Campbell. To the last he was honorable to the core, trying to save her from the hardship that marriage to him might entail.

  And the affection in his eyes right now … he didn’t just care for her.

  He loves me. She knew it in her heart.

  Some of the softness slipped from his face as reality intruded. “I wish we could stay longer, but it’s not safe. We need to get to Balquhidder so I can join my men.” His body slid from hers, and she felt an immediate chill. “It’s almost dawn. Our ride will be here soon.”

  Sooner than he realized.

  They’d barely had time to wash and dress before Patrick heard the sound of an approaching boat. His senses were uncanny; she hadn’t heard anything. After he’d donned his weapons and gathered their belongings, they hurried outside to meet the fisherman. Lizzie was surprised to see a sheen of water clinging to the rock and trees. It had rained last night, and she hadn’t even noticed.

  As they approached the boat, she knew something was wrong even before he spoke.

  “Hurry,” the old man said. He gave Patrick a knowing look. “Men are coming this way.”

  “Did you see them?” Patrick asked, the tenderness gone from his voice—as if it had never been. Once again he was the hard, implacable warrior.

  The fisherman shook his head. “Only from a distance. But since they’re coming down the hills, I figured they were after you.”

  The short ride to shore seemed interminable. Lizzie could see Patrick scanning the trees and hills to the south—the direction from which they’d come.

  When at last they’d reached the beach, Patrick thanked the man and gave him a few more coins. “If they do come, I’d appreciate it if you keep our presence here a secret.”

  The old man put a coin between his teeth and bit it. Apparently satisfied, he broke into a wide-toothed grin, the weathered ruddy leather of his skin crinkling into hundreds of lines. “They’ll hear nothing from me,” he vowed.

  Without wasting any more time, Patrick took her hand and led her along the shore, back in the direction from which they’d come. When the loch was behind them, they continued west. “Do you think it’s your brother?” she asked.

  “Or yours,” Patrick answered. “Either way, we need to reach Balquhidder first.�
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  They ran for a while, perhaps a mile, but the ground was slick and Lizzie was having a difficult time keeping up. The challenges of the past few days had taken their toll; her legs were like jelly.

  But she bit her tongue, refusing to complain. This was the first day of the rest of her life, and she’d better get used to it.

  The outcropping of a few buildings came into view, and she knew they must be close. Patrick was a few feet ahead of her, when all of a sudden the ground slipped out from under her feet and she landed backward in a puddle of mud. The impact took her breath away, and a jolt of pain radiated up her spine. The shock of the fall jarred her, and it took her a few moments to realize that she was unhurt.

  Patrick ran to her side. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “I think so. It’s my pride that’s hurt most of all.” She smiled. “I’m not usually so clumsy.”

  The smile slid from her face. Except for once. She looked up at Patrick’s face, seeing his concern but also something else. He reached down his hand to help her up, and she took it, sliding her hand into his as he lifted her to her feet.

  She felt a jolt of recognition. Something clicked together in her head, like two pieces of a puzzle snapping together.

  She jerked her hand away with a gasp, the shadow of a memory hitting her. Of a gallant knight who’d helped her at one of the worst moments of her life. Her gaze shot to his, and her mouth went dry.

  “My God, it was you,” she whispered. “That day at the gathering.”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “It was me.”

  For a moment, she was overcome. Overwhelmed with the realization that her knight in shining armor and the man to whom she’d given her heart were one and the same. She took a few steps forward, catapulting into the waiting shelter of his embrace and letting out a deep sigh of contentment when his strong arms enfolded her against him. She pressed her cheek against his chest, savoring the discovery of a connection that extended further than she’d ever imagined.

  It was him. She couldn’t believe it.