Lizzie smiled, the excitement contagious. “I’m not sure. I’ve only just suspected. Perhaps a few months after your babe.”
Jamie started to slink back, obviously happy for the change of subject, but Lizzie stopped him. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m not finished with you yet. I’m not a girl anymore. I don’t need my big brother to fight my battles.” She shook her head. “I should have said something and put a stop to this interfering after what you did to John Montgomery.”
Jamie smiled. “I’d like to take credit for that, lass. But someone beat me to it.”
Lizzie frowned. “But if you didn’t, who …”
Her gaze shot to her brother. Patrick. It amazed her to think that he’d felt enough of a connection even then to exact vengeance on her behalf. The knowledge soothed her lingering hurt and made her even more certain that she hadn’t been completely wrong about his motives and feelings. “Did you know it was him?”
Jamie shook his head. “Nay. I’d recognized him at the gathering, and knew he’d come to your assistance, but that was all. Though after what happened a few weeks ago, I suspected.”
Lizzie swallowed. I will kill anyone who harms you. John should be glad he’d only suffered the loss of an ear and part of his arm—if Patrick knew then what he did now … She shivered.
Though there was a certain poetic justice to it, Lizzie wasn’t sure she liked the idea of such violence in her name.
“He’s a Highland warrior, Lizzie. You can’t make him something he is not,” Jamie said, reading her thoughts.
Jamie was right. Patrick had been fighting for survival most of his life. Like most Highlanders, he was used to exacting vengeance and solving problems with his sword. “Do harm to mine and I’ll do worse to yours” was part of the Highland credo. Barbaric? She supposed some might think so, but it was the way of it. Not to say that she didn’t plan to work on his skills at diplomacy.
“You must have made some impression on him,” Jamie said. “ ’Tis a lot of trouble to go to for someone he barely knew.”
I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. His words that day when she’d realized that he’d been her gallant knight came back to her. He had cared about her, even from the beginning.
“What will you do?” Caitrina asked.
Lizzie thought for a minute. She was tired of being the one to fight for their happiness. If he wanted her, he was going to have to decide on his own—perhaps with a bit of prodding so he didn’t wait too long.
“After all the effort my brother and Patrick went to just to see to my happiness, I hate to disappoint them.” She smiled. “Now that I am free to marry, I think I shall do so. Perhaps I shall send him a wedding invitation?”
Caitrina’s eyes went wide with admiration. “You wouldn’t.”
Lizzie smiled. “Oh, I just might.”
Jamie looked back and forth between them. “I never thought I’d say this about a MacGregor, but I almost feel sorry for him.”
Patrick might be going to hell in the form of the Campbell’s dungeon for this, but he didn’t bloody well give a damn.
He rode through the gates of Dunoon ready to do battle, barely heeding the formidable stone walls of the impenetrable fortress or the mass of equally formidable warriors lining them.
“Are you sure about this?” Robbie asked in a low voice. “Riding into the devil’s lair is hardly the best way to test your newfound freedom.”
Patrick gave him a sharp look. “It’s you who insisted on coming along. I told you to stay back with Annie.”
Robbie locked his jaw and shook his head. “Nay, she has Lamont to watch over her.”
Because Patrick knew a little something about jealousy, he added gently, “She won’t talk to him.”
“Aye, but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love him.”
Patrick couldn’t argue with that. But in this case, love didn’t seem to matter. It broke his heart to see how the life had been sucked out of her. Annie was a shell of the happy, spirited sister he remembered.
But one thing hadn’t changed: She was still the most stubborn woman he had ever met. Patrick didn’t know whether his sister would ever forgive Niall Lamont for not returning her love until it was too late. He could commiserate with Lamont—what if I’m too late?
Every instinct had told him he was making a mistake as he was riding away from the kirk. But he hadn’t listened until he’d seen his sister and Lamont; it was then that he knew he had to do something.
But his duties as chief—trying to instill order in a clan dispersed by chaos after the death of so many of the clan elite—had interfered, and he hadn’t acted fast enough.
Married. His stomach turned. It still seemed incomprehensible.
Word of her marriage had filtered up to him in Molach a few days ago, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. But when the missive from Campbell had arrived with his pardon, mentioning a wedding feast …
He’d never forget the shot of searing pain that knifed through him.
How could she think about marrying someone else? It had been only thirty-six bloody days!
The worst part was that it was his own damn fault. He’d had her, and like a fool, he’d let her go. But if Patrick knew anything, it was how to fight for what was his. And Elizabeth Campbell had belonged to him from the first moment he’d held her in his arms. Hell, from the first moment he’d helped her out of that damn puddle.
As his arrival at Dunoon had been announced at the gate, Patrick wasn’t surprised to see Jamie Campbell coming out of the keep to meet them. He wore a grim look on his face when he saw Patrick, but he actually smiled when he noticed Robbie at his side. If there was any MacGregor who need not fear the Enforcer, it was Robbie. Campbell would never forget Robbie’s loyalty to Margaret MacLeod, an old friend of the Enforcer’s, during some trouble they’d had at the hands of Dougal MacDonald back on Lewis.
“Robbie, lad, ’tis good to see you.” He checked Patrick with a hard look. “MacGregor. I thought you agreed not to seek out my sister.”
Patrick met the other man’s challenging gaze, cold steel on cold steel. “You know damn well why I’m here. I’m afraid I can no longer abide by the terms of our agreement, so if you intend to arrest me, you better do it now.” When he didn’t move, Patrick said, “Where is she?”
Campbell had a strange look on his face—almost pitying. “I’m not sure she wants to see you.”
“Too bloody bad, because I’m not leaving until she does.”
Patrick knew he was acting irrationally, but he didn’t give a damn. They were meant to be together, and if she didn’t listen to reason, he was going to do what he should have a long time ago—carry her away and make love to her until she did. Even if he had to defeat an entire Campbell garrison to do so.
He was done trying to do the right thing. Honor was overrated.
Jamie led him up the wooden staircase and into the great hall of the keep. It was near dusk and the servants were preparing the evening meal, but otherwise it was quiet. He’d expected Jamie to have him wait and thus was surprised to be led immediately into the laird’s solar.
Half expecting to see his nemesis, Argyll, Patrick heard the door close behind him and instead found himself alone with the very person he’d ridden hell-bent for leather to see.
His heart stopped when he saw her. She had her back to him. She loomed so large in his mind, he’d forgotten how tiny she was. She wore a dark blue velvet gown encrusted with tiny seed pearls. Her long flaxen hair tumbled down her back in silky waves, set off by a diamond-and-sapphire tiara as fine as any royal crown.
For a moment he hesitated, the disparity between their circumstances as sharp as ever. Wealth, power, privilege, she had it all. And though his situation was much improved—he was no longer being actively hunted, he had land to work and a place to live—it would still be a long time before his clan recovered from the destruction wrought by years of abuse a
nd persecution.
But if she was willing to have him, he would cherish her and not look back.
She turned. If he’d hoped for a sign that she was happy to see him, he was to be disappointed. As smooth and expressionless as alabaster, her face betrayed no emotion.
Never had she looked at him with such … nothingness. Dread sank like a heavy stone in his stomach. He felt a prickle of uncertainty.
What if I’m too late?
Their eyes met, and still nothing. Were her feelings so shallow that they could be changed so easily? So damn quickly?
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Did you come to offer me congratulations?”
Her cool, even tone and blunt question sent his already hammering chest into a violent spin. Anger surged inside him, and he could barely restrain himself from crossing the small room and venting his frustration in an altogether less civilized manner. “Nay, I didn’t bloody well come to offer you congratulations.”
“No? Then why, may I ask, are you here?”
He took a few steps toward her and forced himself to stop. The muscles in his arms flexed and unflexed. Be rational, not a barbarian. “You can’t marry someone else. You are bound to me for a year. The handfast can’t be repudiated until then.”
“Oh, that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “My brother assured me that since there were no witnesses, it would be difficult to prove valid.”
Patrick’s fists clenched at his side. The little wave almost pushed him over the edge. His body tightened with anger, and it took every ounce of his strength to rein it in. “It was valid to me.”
“Is that so? Strange way you have of showing it.” She smiled. Actually smiled. “In any event, it was for the best. It was so lovely of you and my brother to see to my happiness like this. I don’t know what I would have done without you two looking after me.”
The lack of sarcasm in her voice was the first inkling he had that something wasn’t right. Uneasy, he studied her face, not exactly sure what he was looking for.
“If that is all that you have to say, I’m afraid I’m quite busy.” She turned to dismiss him, but he had his hand on her arm before she could move away.
“That is not all that I have to say. You can’t marry someone else, because you love me, and I love you.”
Tiny white lines appeared around her mouth, the first sign that she was not as unaffected as she appeared. “Love? You certainly have an odd way of showing it.”
He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her gaze to his. The raw emotion radiating from her pale, upturned face socked him right in the gut. He’d hurt her terribly. “I love you with all my heart. It’s because I love you that I left. I thought I was doing what was right. I thought you would be better off without me.”
Her eyes searched his, probing. “What changed your mind?”
“I realized that if you were half as miserable as I was, there was no way you would find happiness with someone else.” His heart pounded with dread, with fear. “Was I wrong?”
Tears blurred her eyes. And his chest squeezed with hope.
“How could you leave me like that? After what we’d shared?” The tiny fist of her hand slammed against his chest with surprising force. “You wanted me to believe that you didn’t care about me.”
He pulled her into his arms and smoothed his hand over her silky head. “I’m so sorry, love. My only defense is that I love you so much, I only wanted what was best for you.”
She whacked him again.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing the spot. His wee kitten had a bit of a vicious streak.
“You’re what’s best for me, you overbearing oaf.”
Sweeter words had never been spoken, though he would have to work on her vocabulary. He pulled her into his arms again and squeezed her tightly. “Does that mean you won’t be marrying someone else?”
Lizzie pulled back to look into his eyes, a mischievous twist to her sensuous lips. “Don’t you want to ask who it is that I’m marrying?”
He frowned. “I assumed it was Robert Campbell.”
She shook her head.
His face hardened. “Then who is it? Tell me so I can kill him.”
“Another ‘random’ attack on the road, perhaps? Thank you, but there will be no more severed limbs in my name.”
He lifted a brow. She’d figured it out, had she? Since he had none, he didn’t bother feigning remorse. “The bastard is lucky I didn’t know the extent of his blackguard behavior. Now tell me.”
“I don’t know,” she hedged. “I haven’t decided whether to forgive you or not.”
His lips covered hers in a soft, coaxing kiss, his heart soaring with happiness when he felt her sweet response. He pulled his mouth away and gazed into her eyes. “Name your price, my love. I will do whatever it takes to win you back, even if it means getting down on my knees and begging.”
Her nose wrinkled, as if she were seriously considering it. “Sounds intriguing. I recall the last time you were on your knees.” He met her amused gaze and a bolt of hot lust went straight through him. “But I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m thinking that what Caitrina threatened my brother with will be enough.”
He hated to ask. “And what’s that?”
Lizzie moved his hand to cover her stomach. “She swore she would bear him only girls.”
His heart plummeted, the blood in his face draining at her words. He suddenly felt unsteady on his feet and had to brace himself against the wooden table beside them. “A babe?”
She nodded.
He sat on the nearest bench and sank his head into his hands, emotion overtaking him, overwhelmed by all that he could have lost. She sat beside him, and when he looked up, his eyes burned. “God, Lizzie, I’m sorry.”
Her eyes shone with tears. “I take it you are happy?”
The lump in his chest was hot and thick as he gathered her into his arms. “I didn’t think I could ever feel this happy.”
He’d sought Lizzie for her land, but never could he have realized all that she would bring him. With her he would have a home—a family. And the love and happiness he’d known so long ago.
He kissed her again. Softly. Tenderly. With a poignancy that would mark this moment forever.
All of a sudden, he pulled back as the truth finally dawned on him. “There was never anyone else you were intending to marry. It was me.”
Lizzie broke into a wide smile. She pressed her cheek against his chest and sighed. “It’s only ever been you.”
The heart he didn’t realize he had seemed to become too big for his chest.
And this time when he kissed her, he didn’t stop.
Author’s Note
The persecution of clan Gregor (or Clan MacGregor) by the Campbells is well-known. The Campbells—and the 7th Earl of Argyll in particular—have gone down in history as the “bad guys,” and the MacGregors have been romanticized as outlaws in the vein of Robin Hood, no doubt in large part thanks to Sir Walter Scott. As with most things, I think the truth is much more complicated. As I mentioned in the author’s note of Highland Warrior, it was clear that atrocities were committed by both sides. Errol Flynn the MacGregors were not, and I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be walking the moors at night and run into one of these guys. Even MacGregor historians conceded that there were some rough and wild men in the bunch,1 although perhaps, given their history, this is understandable.
The downfall of the MacGregors stemmed from their landlessness. By the fifteenth century, the ancient fiefdoms of the MacGregors had all been forfeited, leaving the clan “without an acre of land held free of the crown.”2 The MacGregor alliance with King John Balliol led to the subsequent forfeiture of much of their land under King Robert the Bruce.3 Not surprisingly, clan Campbell, with its close alliance to the Bruce, was the beneficiary, acquiring superiority over the MacGregors. But the MacGregors continued to occupy many of these lands by coir a glaive, the right of sword, giving rise to deadly feuds. As I alluded to in the story
, this situation became even more complicated when Glenorchy purchased the superiority from Argyll (making Glenorchy and the MacGregors both vassals of Argyll) and refused to recognize the MacGregors as tenants.4 By the end of the sixteenth century, the situation was desperate. Alasdair MacGregor did attempt legal means to secure possession, but his efforts were effectively thwarted by Glenorchy.5 But the MacGregors were renowned warriors, and plenty of men, including the Campbells, were willing to make use of them.
The character of Patrick MacGregor was based loosely on Duncan MacEwin MacGregor, the Tutor of Glenstrae. As the hero of my next book is named Duncan, I borrowed the given name of his nephew (and future chief). Ironically, in writing novels based on actual historical figures, I find that one of the most frustrating things is trying to keep all the genealogy straight with the propensity for clans to use the same names over and over. Within and between generations, the MacGregors had numerous Iains, Alasdairs, Duncans, Gregors, and a few Patricks. Coupled with my effort to use historically accurate names for the period (of which there are a very limited number), it makes naming characters extremely difficult. Where I could, I tried to use different versions of the same name (for instance, John versus Iain).
The battle of Glenfruin, the Glen of Sorrow—or “the Field of Lennox,” as it was known then—actually occurred on February 7, 1603 (with Argyll’s “Highland promise” and Alasdair’s execution occurring in early 1604). Four hundred MacGregors defeated the Colquhouns, killing one hundred forty, including (according to Sir Walter Scott) schoolboys from Dumbarton who’d come to watch the battle. The MacGregors claimed the killing was done on the orders of a rogue MacDonald. But rumors of MacGregor atrocities abounded. On his death, Alasdair, who could not write but dictated his final words, laid the blame for the attack at Argyll’s feet. You can find a link to his last testament on my website.
After the battle, the Colquhoun widows went to Stirling Castle, parading the blood-soaked garments of their dead on pikes before the king. Exhibiting quite a flair for the dramatic, the widows were reported to have dipped the “bludie sarks” in sheep’s blood for effect.
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