The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  Was it fate that had brought them together?

  It took her a moment to find the words she’d dreamed of someday saying, if ever given the opportunity, to the man who’d been so kind to her. She smiled, sheer wonder making her eyes shimmer with tears. “Thank you.”

  Her praise seemed to make him uncomfortable. “It was nothing.”

  But they both knew it was much more than that—he’d risked his life in helping her. He’d stood beside her when no one else would. How could she be anything but eternally grateful? Gazing up into his handsome face, she shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t. You would have known I was a MacGregor.”

  She nodded and then frowned. “But why not after? Why not tell me once I discovered your identity? You must have known how grateful I would be.” His gallantry had been the only bright spot in that horrible day.

  “I thought the memory might cause you pain—I thought it better left in the past.”

  She winced, suddenly picturing with embarrassing clarity the scene he’d witnessed. Tripping and landing in the puddle on her backside. Sitting there, dripping with mud, utterly humiliated. No one coming to help her.

  Had he heard what John and his friends had said?

  Her cheeks heated with mortification. Of course he had.

  She dropped her gaze, too embarrassed to look at him, scared that she would see pity on his face.

  He tipped her chin in his strong fingers and forced her gaze back to his. “It’s their shame, not yours, Lizzie.” He pressed his lips on hers in a tender kiss. “Forget about it. That day was a long time ago and means nothing to us now.”

  He was right. What happened then was the past and he was her future. The memory would always be a painful one, but now perhaps knowing his part would make it a little more bearable.

  She covered her embarrassment with a wry smile and a self-deprecating attempt at humor. “What must you have thought of me? I must have looked quite the pitiful sight.” She laughed self-consciously. “Not exactly a good first impression. I can’t believe you would even want to try tricking me into marriage after that. I suppose you drew the short straw.”

  The jest fell flat in a thud of uncomfortable silence.

  She looked up at him expectantly, waiting for reassurance, surprised instead to see a flash of something akin to guilt.

  Her poor attempt at eliciting a compliment had misfired—badly. The smile slid from her face and she stepped back, eyeing him uncertainly.

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said an instant too late. “I’m the one lucky to have you, Lizzie. I never thought I could have a woman like you and jumped at the opportunity. I wouldn’t hear of it being anyone else.”

  All of a sudden, the implication of what he’d seen—and then done—hit her with enough force to take her breath away. He tried to pull her into his arms again, but she backed out of his reach. “Patrick”—her eyes locked on his taking in every facet of his reaction—“did what you saw that day play a part in your decision to pursue me—to seduce me into marrying you?”

  Her heart thumped wildly as she guessed the answer.

  The look in his eyes said it all.

  Please, anything but pity. Her insides curled. She wanted to crawl into a tight ball.

  She took a step back, the burning in her chest excruciating. “God, it did,” she said, her voice hoarse with pain.

  “It’s not what you are thinking,” he said fiercely.

  He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. He’d probably never felt a moment of self-doubt or insecurity in his life. Her eyes raked over his too perfect face, her heart straining to beat in her tight chest. Tears swam before her eyes. “P-p-poor, pathetic Elizabeth Campbell.” She took a deep breath, forcing the stammer from her voice. Could she be any more humiliated already? “A plain girl with a stammer and three broken engagements would be grateful for the attention of any man, let alone a sinfully handsome one like yourself. Did you think me so desperate that I would fall at your feet?” The memories stabbed. She would lap it up like a grateful pup. And she had. She’d fallen right into his seductive trap. But look at him—she’d never had a chance. A sob tore from her chest. Eyes wide, she gazed up at him and asked in a tiny voice, “Did you laugh at me?”

  He pulled her fiercely against him in a tight embrace, not letting her push him away. “Never! Don’t ever think that. Aye, I admit I thought you might have been left vulnerable by what had happened, but that is not the reason I wanted to marry you. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, and it had nothing to do with pity.”

  She heard the vehemence and sincerity in his voice, but it couldn’t completely pierce the veil of hurt or repair the damage to her pride. Pride that had taken years to rebuild. “I’m to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  She wanted to believe him, and perhaps deep down she did, but she couldn’t get the images out of her head. Had they laughed at her? Made fun of her?

  She cringed, unable to think about it. He’d thought her an easy mark—a scorned woman who’d be only too grateful for his attentions. She’d thought she’d put that day behind her, but perhaps there was still a part of her that believed that her deep-rooted desire to fall in love made her susceptible to being taken advantage of—just as John had done. “I don’t know which is worse,” she said miserably, “to be pursued for my land or for being an easy mark.”

  But certainly not for me.

  “Stop.” His expression was as hard as she’d ever seen it. “I will not let you think that way. You are making more of this than there ever was. Even if I suspected you would be susceptible to seduction, I quickly learned that I was wrong. If anything, you had been made more wary by what had happened before. My motives for finding you again might have been ill conceived, but I’ll never be sorry that I did. I wanted to marry you because I fell in love with you. Not for your land, but for you.” His thumb swept over the curve of her cheek, wiping away a single tear. He looked right into her eyes. “I love you, Elizabeth Campbell, with all my heart.”

  For an instant, happiness broke through the pain. I love you. Words she’d dreamed of but never heard. Not until now. Why now? “You don’t need to say that just to make me feel better.”

  His jaw flexed, and pride radiated from him. “I’ve never said those words to anyone before.” His penetrating gaze moved over her. “Nor do they come easy for me.”

  Lizzie heard the censure in his voice and understood—he’d held himself apart for so long because of all that had been taken from him. Relinquishing that control over his emotions would have not come easily. Those words had cost him a lot. “I want to believe you.”

  He took her chin in his hand and turned her face to his, his gaze tender and … loving. “Then do. Does knowing I was there that day really change anything, Lizzie? However it started, I do love you. That isn’t a lie. After all we’ve been through, all that we’ve shared, can you really doubt my feelings for you?”

  She looked up at him with watery eyes. Could she? She knew the answer in her heart.

  A sound in the distance behind them, however, drew his immediate attention. He swore and grabbed her hand. “I will prove it to you if it takes me a lifetime, but the rest of this discussion will have to wait. They’re coming. We have to go. Quickly.”

  She nodded, not wasting any time arguing, and ran. After a few minutes, an old stone church—now a kirk—came into view on the other side of a small hill. What looked to be a small waterfall ran alongside it. A large crowd of men and horses filled the yard.

  Patrick turned to her with an encouraging smile. “Not much farther. My men—”

  He stopped in his tracks and swore.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He turned to her, eyes blank. “Those aren’t my men.”

  “Then who?” Her gaze shot back to the kirk, and she easily recognized the man who was mounting his horse, obviously intending to give them chase.
“It’s Jamie!” Her heart gave an involuntary lift before she realized what it meant—if her brother was here, that meant Patrick’s men were not.

  She put a restraining arm on Patrick when she recognized the man at Jamie’s side. Colin. Dear God. Patrick’s entire body went tight as a whip. His face contorted with hatred—and she knew that if he had the opportunity, he would kill Colin without a second thought.

  She would never know what might have happened, because at that moment a hail of arrows flew from the trees behind them, one landing not three feet from where she was standing. Patrick shouted a warning and pulled her around in front of him. She felt the frantic pounding of his heart at her back. The arrow could have killed her.

  She didn’t need to look to know that it had come from his brother.

  They were trapped, literally caught in the middle between two worlds: hers before them and his behind.

  With nowhere for them to go.

  With only an instant to decide, Patrick knew he had no choice. Escape would be a long shot at best, and he would not risk Lizzie’s life—not again.

  Even if it meant his own.

  He started to walk forward, but she stopped him. “What are you doing? You can’t do this,” she begged, her eyes filling with fear. For him. “Colin … I don’t know what he’ll do. You have to try to get away.”

  Patrick didn’t say anything, just kept pulling her forward. He wouldn’t leave her unprotected, not until she was safe with her brothers—not with Gregor within arrow’s shot.

  “Patrick, please. Don’t do this. You need to run.”

  Her cries tugged at his heart, but he let them wash over him. The Campbells were mounted and riding toward them at full speed. They broke off into two groups—the larger party led by Colin headed into the trees behind them after Gregor. Jamie Campbell was riding right for him, his sword raised high above his head.

  Patrick pulled his sword from the scabbard at his back and, ignoring her cries, pushed Lizzie out of the way.

  He stood his ground … waiting.

  It didn’t take long. Campbell’s face was filled with fury, but Patrick kept his eye on the blade. The sound of horses pounded in his ears. Almost there …

  He braced himself but was still unprepared for the force of the blow. Jamie’s sword descended in a high arc, and Patrick raised his sword with both hands to block it. The pain shot right to his injured leg. He wobbled but recovered quickly.

  Campbell dismounted, his sword lifted high above his head.

  Patrick could hear Lizzie begging her brother to stop. She would have run between them, but thank God a few of her clansmen were holding her back.

  Jamie fought with a vengeance—his rage his only weakness. They exchanged blow after blow, and with each swing Patrick knew he was weakening. He managed to land a blow on Jamie’s shoulder, and he heard Lizzie scream. His gaze shot to her, and he knew he couldn’t do this. Even if he could kill Jamie Campbell, he wouldn’t.

  His blood pounded. Every instinct clamored against it. The rush of battle was still upon him. But he let it go.

  He met Campbell’s gaze, and when the Enforcer swung his sword around and tried to use his elbow to knock Patrick to the ground, instead of evading the blow, he took it full force in the temple.

  Lizzie’s scream rang in his ears as blackness crashed over him.

  Chapter 21

  He wasn’t dead. That was the first thing Patrick realized when he woke. The next was that his head felt as if it had exploded and been put back together in a jumbled mess; and the third was that he was not alone.

  He was lying on a bed in what appeared to be an old stone botban. He could see a fireplace for heating and cooking, the bed, a few tables and chairs, a cupboard, and sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, watching him with a black look on his face, was Jamie Campbell. Though he appeared to be relaxed and not an immediate threat, Patrick did not fool himself. Argyll’s Enforcer was one of the fiercest and most deadly men in Scotland—Highlands or Lowlands.

  Still, he was alone, and for a moment Patrick contemplated escape.

  Reading his mind, Jamie smiled. “I wouldn’t advise it,” he said. “Even if you could get past me, which I doubt given your current condition, my men have surrounded the building. This time, they will not hesitate to shoot.”

  Patrick realized that his nearness to Lizzie when they were taken was likely what had prevented them from using their guns before. He was immediately conscious of his disadvantage. Hell if he would lie here like some damn invalid. Gritting his teeth, he sat up slowly. His head exploded in fresh pain, and nausea crashed over him. Biting back the urge to empty his stomach, he rode out the wave. Then, seeing a flagon near the bed, he helped himself to a long drink, welcoming the fiery taste of the crude whisky—ambrosia to a starving man.

  “Patrick MacGregor,” said Jamie, tapping his fingers on the arm of the wooden chair. “It’s been a long time.”

  Not as long as you think. Jamie was referring to the time they’d spent—briefly—fighting together on the Isle of Lewis, but Patrick had seen him much more recently than that. He’d had an arrow pointed at Campbell’s back only a few months ago.

  “Not long enough,” Patrick replied dryly, given his current state of imprisonment. “How did you find us?”

  “We learned of the attack on Lizzie almost immediately—one of the guardsmen managed to escape. Then, while we were searching the area, one of my men chanced to be nearby when the fiery cross passed through Callander. We took a chance that you were headed here.”

  Patrick swore at the bad luck. “And my men?”

  Jamie gave him a long look. “We’d seen neither hide nor hair of anyone until you arrived.” His expression hardened. “The outlaw Gregor and his men, however, were taken not long after you fell. They will be executed in Edinburgh for their crimes.”

  Patrick felt a stab in his chest. Not for the brother he had, but for the one he’d lost before circumstances changed Gregor into the bitter, hate-filled man he’d become.

  “And your brother’s crimes?” Patrick said cuttingly. “Will Auchinbreck be executed for his?”

  Campbell’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “I’m sorry for what happened to your sister.”

  The concession surprised him. Jamie Campbell seemed honestly repelled by his brother’s actions. “Yet Auchinbreck will not pay for what he’s done.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

  “In the courts … nay.” Campbell met his gaze. “But I’ve no doubt that one day there will be a reckoning.”

  Patrick studied him carefully, knowing there was something Jamie Campbell wasn’t telling him but also realizing he’d told him all he would.

  But if Gregor had been taken and was already on his way to Edinburgh, as was likely, why was he here? “Where’s Lizzie?”

  Campbell gave him a hard look. “Somewhere safe.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “No.”

  If Campbell thought he would accept that, he was sorely mistaken. The first thing he would do when he got out of here was find her. She might hate him right now, but she was his wife.

  Jamie rubbed his shoulder in the place Patrick had landed a blow with his claidbeambmór. “You’ve improved since last we met.”

  Patrick examined the knot on his head, his fingers skimming over the bloody, tender flesh. “So have you.”

  They’d both been young on Lewis. Now they were men—warriors in their prime.

  Campbell met Patrick’s gaze with a knowing look. “You’re too good a swordsman not to have avoided the blow to your head.”

  Patrick didn’t say anything, looking away from the other man’s piercing stare. They both knew he’d stood down, but damned if he’d explain himself.

  “My sister told me an interesting story,” Jamie said casually, though Patrick could tell it was an act.

  “Is that so?”

  Campbell’s eyes simmered with rage. “Give me one good reason why I sho
uldn’t kill you right now.”

  Patrick met his anger with his own. “Because your sister insists that you believe in justice, and the only crime I’ve been accused of is one that I did not commit. The atrocities done at Glenfruin were not the work of the MacGregors.”

  Campbell’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m talking about what you did to my sister. Lying and wheedling your way into Castle Campbell to convince her to marry you—not to mention putting her life in danger, even if, as she says, you did save it more than once.”

  Patrick wondered how much Lizzie had told him. The basics, probably. If Campbell knew the worst of it, Patrick wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

  There was nothing Jamie Campbell could say to him that Patrick hadn’t already said to himself. “I imagine the only thing staying your hand is the same thing that stayed mine—killing me will hurt her.”

  Jamie didn’t appear very happy about it, but he reluctantly appeared to accept the truth of the observation. Two enemies bound by the happiness of the woman they both loved. “Mine is not the only hand itching to strike,” Campbell warned him, referring to Argyll and Auchinbreck. “Lizzie’s feelings will not keep you alive forever.”

  Patrick’s head hurt, and he was tired of Campbell’s subtle interrogation. “What will, since I assume that is your purpose for being here?”

  Jamie smiled, though it lacked any pretense of friendliness. “Cut to the quick, is it? Fine. My sister might claim to care for you, and given what you did out there today, I’m willing to concede that her feelings are reciprocated, but I want you out of her life. Though I am not without sympathy for the plight of your clan, it doesn’t mean I want my sister tied to an outlawed MacGregor.” His gaze turned shrewd and unyielding. “You will have your freedom and the tenancy of the land near Loch Earn, which I understand was the reason for this pursuit of my sister in the first place. I will find a way to mollify Glenorchy. In return, you will repudiate the handfast and never seek her out again.”

  “No,” Patrick answered without hesitation. Jamie Campbell was offering him the two things he thought he’d wanted most in the world, but Patrick had been wrong. Lizzie had given him something much more important. She’d brought him back from the very edge of darkness. Without her, he would be the empty, cold shell of a man he’d been before.