by Paula Quinn
Patrick wasn’t done with him, but Charlie had no more time to watch when one of Hamish’s friends came at her.
Patrick tossed the wood aside, rooted his feet to the ground, and smashed his fist into Hamish’s jaw. He watched the brute go down and shook the pain from his hand. It had to be quick else Hamish could have knocked out a tooth this time. Besides, the brawny villager was fortunate to be still breathing after the insult he caused Charlie. Patrick may not live by Camlochlin’s ideals but they were inside him, engrained in him, and they were correct ideals. Aye. What kind of man stands idly by while a lass, and one he was thinking of courting, was so slighted? Not he.
Where were the other two bastards? He turned to find them and saw Duff’s fist fly into flesh and bone again, and then again until his opponent crumpled at his feet.
Patrick smiled and then looked around for the third man.
To his horror, Patrick found him fighting Charlie! In truth, it wasn’t much of a fight. The scoundrel swung at her. She ducked and rammed her knee into his groin. He collapsed instantly and while he was going down, she clasped both hands together and swung—much like the way he had swung the leg of the chair at Hamish. The man’s head snapped back and he sank the rest of the way to the floor.
She looked up from her work to find Patrick watching her. He wanted to smile, to hurry to her and take her in his arms. Women who knew how to fight were nothing new to Patrick. His female cousins had always been welcomed to practice with the lads. His cousin Caitrina was a pirate for hell’s sake! He didn’t look down his nose at women warriors. No man in Camlochlin did.
“I don’t think we should linger here,” she said, dragging him back to the present.
“Aye,” he agreed. She was correct. “Come, let’s be off.”
They left Blind Jack’s in a hurry and made their way to their horses.
“What was that about?” Duff asked him. “Who was that man?”
Reaching for her reins, Charlie shook her head and said acidly. “Honestly, Duff, do you mean to tell me that you don’t get to know anyone in the times you’re spying on me?”
“I’m not here to make acquaintances.”
His sister tossed him a disapproving glance and gained her saddle. “His name is Hamish. He’s a villager from Pinmore who loves a lass called Bethany. A lass Patrick took to a room.”
“Where nothin’ took place,” Patrick defended.
“How do you know about him taking anyone to their room?” Duff asked her, horror dawning on him. “You were here recently. Without me. You put something in my drink.”
“I had no choice,” she confessed.
So, Patrick thought, giving their conversation half his attention and coming to his own conclusion, she’d recognized him all this time and said nothing.
“I didna want Bethany,” he said, feeling the need to explain to them both. “I didna even know her name until…now.”
Hell, he pondered the truth of it. He was as bad as Will, mayhap worse. Mayhap he too had bairns scattered all through Scotland. The thought of it made him feel ill. Children going through life without him. Just like Duff.
“Well, you will need to put an end to such behavior if you want to court my sister, Campbell.”
Charlie looked down at them from her saddle. “Court me?” She spread her dark gaze over Patrick. “You want to court me?”
Patrick glared at Duff. Now what was he supposed to say? He’d never courted a lass before. Hell, he didn’t know how to go about it. He didn’t know if he wanted to now. “I, well, I—”
“You’ve piqued his interest, Charlotte,” Duff supplied.
“Oh, have I?” She cocked her brow at Patrick as he mounted.
It was either go along with it or punch Duff in the face. Patrick had had enough fighting for one night. He stared at Charlie instead, taking in the sight of her. Remembering the way she’d brought down her attacker, the reason she was here, the reason she’d been here before, and likely to other pubs besides this one, putting herself in danger. For her sister. Always for others. What did she do for herself? What made her happy?
“Tell me, lass,” he said, sounding to his own ears lost and sickly, “are ye truly surprised that ye would pique m’ interest? Any man’s interest fer that matter?”
She smiled and his muscles went hard. “You wield your tongue as well as your fists.”
He shook his head. “Nae, I find m’ tongue has a mind all its own when it comes to ye.”
Duff cleared his throat. “Mine doesn’t.” He swung his steely gaze to his sister. “We’ll speak about your fighting skills and where you learned them when I’ve had a chance to consider what it means.”
“It means I can take care of myself, Duff,” she said woodenly, her smiling fading.
Silence spread over them as they raced toward home. Patrick listened to the booming sound of it, louder than any disagreement. Duff seemed to truly try to gain his sister’s favor, short of falling to his knees and begging her forgiveness for whatever it was he’d done. Charlie’s anger toward him was evident in her eyes, her tone with him. But she didn’t hate him. She remained loyal to his secret and had never equated him with Hendry.
But the rift between them was wide. What had Duff done to cause it?
“When will you get the butterbur?” she asked, turning to him and making Patrick thankful that she liked him. He never wanted to see disdain in her eyes when she looked at him. Hell, he felt feverish when he looked into her eyes.
What had she done to him? What was he going to do about it?
“Tomorrow,” he told her.
She smiled and he feared there wasn’t much he could do.
He was glad he could help Elsie and if the truth be known, he liked that he could give Charlie something so important. He hoped that once she had what her sister needed, she would stop visiting taverns in the dead of night, but he didn’t suspect she would. If another need arose, she’d do what she could to see to it. He looked at her riding slightly ahead. How did she carry so much weight on her delicate shoulders? He’d have her be free from all of it. He’d begin with her brother. Whatever Duff had done couldn’t have been so terrible as to carry the burden of so much anger. They returned to Cunningham House and walked to the stable.
“Might I have a word alone with yer sister, Duff?” Duff looked about to refuse but his eyes settled on her. It had to be clear to Duff that his sister liked Patrick. He’d told her about butterbur, though he’d had no idea she’d been searching for it. She’d offered him her smiles, more than poor Duff could pull from her. He hoped his cousin would remember his words and grant him time with Charlie alone.
“Verra well,” Duff grumbled. “I’ll brush the horses down. You have until I finish and I bring her inside.”
Patrick smiled at him. They would get along well in Camlochlin.
“Go,” Duff ordered. “Before I change my mind.”
Patrick took Charlie’s hand and led her out of the stable.
“How did you do that?” Charlie asked when they were alone.
“What?” He liked holding her hand. He’d never done it before with any lass. He’d never wanted to walk and talk and be content to simply stare at any other lass before.
“How did you get him to agree to this?” she asked, moving her finger between them.
How should he answer? With the truth, as wretched as it sounded? “I asked him fer time alone with ye to decide if I want a wife.”
He thought she’d be angry but she threw back her head and laughed. “And he believed you?”
Patrick wanted to laugh with her but he suddenly felt feverish again. What did she find so amusing about him wanting to mayhap…possibly wed her? Did she see nothing but a rogue when she looked at him? Why did her reaction hook him in the guts? He didn’t let women affect him this way. He was becoming someone else because of her—a little lass’s defender, a champion for the ill and the poor. He liked who he saw now, not any more or any less than who he’d seen bef
ore. This man worried him though. For he no longer found Camlochlin’s ideals dusty, but shining in the heart of a lass. In her, those ideals came to full radiant life, drawing him, beckoning him to walk with her along her path.
To what lengths would he go to win her? What would he do once he did? He would surly ponder these matters, but not now.
“Dinna fear,” he reassured her, his playful smile returning. “I’m no’ here fer a wife.”
“Pity,” she sighed and moved closer to him while they walked, rattling his good senses when her arm brushed his. “I think you and Eleanor Kennedy would make a handsome pair.”
His lips widened into a toothy, dimpled grin as he bent his head to hers. “Ye think me handsome then?”
She shrugged and broke away from him, leaping back like a playful mare. “I’ve seen worse.”
He didn’t give chase but continued on toward the house, confident that she liked what she saw. “But am I handsome enough fer Eleanor? Mary said she’s quite beautiful. Mayhap I should call on her.”
Charlie’s smile grew stiff and she pinned him with a glare, all traces of lightheartedness gone. “You’re free to do as you wish.”
She was jealous. It delighted him.
Reaching out, he snatched her hand and pulled her with him around the side of the kitchen entry. Hidden from the stable—and anyone possibly watching from it, Patrick dragged her in close against him. He coiled an arm around her slender waist and traced the outline of her elegant neck with the other hand.
“Then I think,” he whispered, dipping his head to her throat, “I’ll stay right here with ye.”
His mouth hovered over the rapid pulse-beat in her neck. He kissed it and she trembled in his arms. Or mayhap it was his body that was trembling with desire for her. He found her lips, eager for his, and cupping his hand around her nape, he tilted her head so he could take her mouth more fully. He swallowed up her gasp and swept away her fears and misgivings with a stroke of his tongue.
She looped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair, answering pleasure’s demand with a tight groan and a shift in her body that made him go hard.
A sound to his left caught his ear and he withdrew, expecting to see Duff.
A flash of golden hair proved it wasn’t Charlie’s brother who saw them, but her sister.
Elsie?
“Elsie!” Charlie cried out, breaking free of Patrick’s embrace. “What in the world are you doing out here at night! You’ll catch—”
“Nice to see you, Mr. Campbell.” Elsie looked around her shoulder and offered Patrick a pleasant smile.
“Elsie,” he replied with a friendly smile of his own.
“Charlie,” her sister blinked back to her, “I will not tell Father if you don’t.”
Charlie’s mouth fell open. “What should I not tell him?” She looked around, noticing for the first time the direction from which her sister was coming. “Were you in the village?” she asked, stunned. “Were you with someone?”
“Charlie,” her sister replied, stepping around her, “do I ask you whom you meet when you disappear at night?”
“You know perfectly well where I was. You told Duff!” Charlie defended. “Who, by the way, is just inside the stable and will be here any moment.”
“That didn’t stop you both from sharing a moment of passion,” Elsie pointed out with a soft smile. “Are you going to marry Mr. Campbell, Charlie?”
“What? Nay, I…We…”
“Were locked in a most passionate embrace,” Elsie finished for her. “Kissing.”
“It meant nothing!”
“Mr. Campbell,” Elsie lifted her sparkling blue eyes to him. “Did it mean nothing to you, as well?”
She was clever veering the topic away from herself. If it were daylight, he would have smiled and played along. What was wrong with a lass running off to meet her beau for a kiss? But it was night and both of them should be home. “I enjoyed it,” he admitted, “but yer sister’s correct to be concerned. Ye should have an escort.”
“Perhaps,” Elsie allowed with a shrewd curl of her lips. “And perhaps Charlie should have an escort as well.”
Aye, mayhap she should, Patrick agreed silently. He sure as hell couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth or hands off her. Even now, all he could think about was her sweetly salacious kiss, the taste of her breath, her bold, curious tongue. She drove him mad with desire and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could control it.
“Elsie,” Charlie said now, tempering her reaction with a steady tone. “You know who I was kissing, now you will tell me who you were with.”
When Elsie coughed into her fist, Charlie went pale in the dim light. “Are you unwell?”
“I am fine, sister,” Elsie assured her gently.
There was nothing gentle in Charlie’s voice when she demanded, “Who were you meeting? What if you had fallen ill in his care?”
“Truly, I’m fine, and you don’t know him,” Elsie said, dipping her gaze to her boots. Patrick recognized the deception she tried to conceal. He looked at Charlie, curious if she saw it too. “Can we return to the house so Duff doesn’t see me? If he knew I’ve been slipping out when he follows you, he would—”
Charlie looked horrified. “This isn’t the first time? Is that why you told Duff about me seeking your cure? So that he wouldn’t be here to see you sneaking out?”
“Don’t be angry, Charlie,” Elsie said breathlessly. A noise sounded from the stable. She looked nervously toward it, then turned to head back to the house. “Don’t tell Duff, I beg you.”
With her hands fisted on her hips, Charlie watched her sister go, and then turned to Patrick with stunned disbelief. “I don’t believe it. She’s been sneaking out!”
Patrick smiled at her. Damn it, he couldn’t help himself, despite her fury. She was utterly, ravishingly beautiful to his eyes, his poor soul. If he never kissed another lass, he’d be satisfied to remember this one for the remainder of his days. But he wanted to do more than remember her. He wanted to kiss her again.
He nodded, doing his best not to smile at her overprotective nature over her sister. For an instant he felt as if they were the parents of a disobedient child. He liked how it felt.
“She’s no’ a child, lass,” he said softly, wanting to ease her apprehension.
“But I’m to take care of her,” she told him.
Patrick was quiet while she walked away. She took on every responsibility herself, so unlike him, who ran from it. He wanted to run now at the thought of it all, but he wanted to comfort her more.
He caught up in two long strides and took her hand in his. “She’ll be all right, lass. I’ll see to it in the morn.”
Chapter Nineteen
Patrick reached Colmonell early the next day.
He rode toward the line of trees that separated the sparse woods from the western edge of the Fergussons’ large farmstead.
What if they no longer grew butterbur? His mother hadn’t needed it in years. No, it had to be here. Was his memory correct and this was the area where the plant had previously grown? He knew what butterbur looked like. Large white leaves, sometimes three feet in diameter, heart-shaped with scalloped edges topping tall fleshy stalks. They shouldn’t be too difficult to find.
His thoughts brought him back, as they had all morning, to last night and Charlie’s kiss. Patrick hadn’t wanted to let her go. Her lips, so soft and sweetly yielding drove him daft. He wanted her. He wanted to bring her home or stay here with her—he didn’t care which.
But the cold dawn brought with it misgivings. Did he want to promise her things he wasn’t sure he could give her? Did he want to change his life so drastically? Did he want a wife? Being a husband was the highest of duties, and, as he’d learned throughout his life from his kin, the hardest.
But hell, he was ready for a hard fight. He hadn’t had one in so damn long.
But did she want something else? Someone else?
Did she stil
l love whichever of his cousins had given her her sling? Who had it been? And what kind of fool was he to have let her go? Patrick could ride to Tarrick Hall and find out. But he’d promised Charlie he’d make haste after Elsie awoke this morn with labored breathing. He also didn’t know how he’d tell his uncles, whom he hadn’t seen in a decade—that he was falling for the daughter of their enemy. The same lass one of their sons had fallen for. Hell, he could barely admit it to himself. And what if his cousin who had taught her how to use a sling still loved Charlie and was staying away to quell the feud?
Was it heroic or cowardly? Would Patrick have to fight him?
“Why would I?” he asked himself, moving over a worn path toward clusters of tall stemmed plants where he believed the butterbur to be.
What else would Patrick do about permanently losing her? Had he truly ever pondered a life of needing her—and not being able to have her because she belonged to his cousin? He pondered it now. It wouldn’t be pleasant, that was for damn sure. How could he put a halt to the effects her smile, her spirit had over him?
Patrick spotted the leaves and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasted no time gathering what he needed and packing it up. He was surprised none of his uncles were out patrolling the farmland—and even more surprised that he hadn’t been struck in the head with a stone from someone’s sling.
How were his uncles? What had happened between them and the Cunninghams that caused Duff to hate them? He’d make it a point to discover why when he returned to Pinwherry. And then he’d come back and visit his kin.
Gaining his mount, he looked toward Tarrick Hall. It hadn’t been finished when last he’d visited and MacGregors and Grants had been everywhere. Now, the Hall, complete with lattice windows of lead and animal horn, stood like a strong fortress nestled within the flower-carpeted hills.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The hair on the back of Patrick’s nape stood erect. He wasn’t alone. He looked around and held his hands up in surrender.