by Paula Quinn
Chapter Twenty-Two
Patrick went after her immediately. He didn’t wait for Duff’s approval. He didn’t need it anymore. He didn’t wait to see if her brother would go after her first. Which he didn’t.
“Charlie,” he called out, following her outside and into the breaking dawn.
She stopped and turned to him as bursts of gold and orange light rose behind her. She wore her thick black tresses tied into a heavy knot on the top of her head. Golden rays spilled across her bare neck tempting Patrick to distraction with the thought of kissing her there.
“Duff told you of him.” Her shattered voice stole across his ears. “He shouldn’t have. My family’s gruesome history does not concern you. You should leave and continue on your journey, forgetting this part of it.”
But it did concern him. He couldn’t tell her why it did. Not yet at least. Surely she would think his uncle had sent him here to win her favor and then take revenge on her family. Even more though, she concerned him. He wasn’t sure he could forget her and it rattled all his defenses. Having his heart control his logic was unfamiliar territory to him. She muddled his thoughts. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore—or why he even wanted to do it.
But how could he leave her here with men who’d done such a heinous thing? She would never be safe.
“I know what I should do,” he told her in a quiet voice as he moved toward her. “But I keep findin’ reasons to stay.”
“Aye, reasons such as my brother being a MacGregor, enemies of the Campbells for what, two hundred years now? And that he killed a boy? He will bring you quite a bounty.”
“I have no intentions of deliverin’ him over to anyone. And besides, Duff claims he didna kill the lad.” The words spilled forth before he could stop them—and now, when he tried, his tongue continued to defy him. Why in blazes was he defending Duff to Charlie? He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He didn’t know how he would feel if Mailie or Violet hated him and never forgave him something for which he was sorry. He opened his eyes again to mutter an oath. “Though he admits to doin’ nothin’ to stop it, I believe he is—”
“I don’t care what he admits to. It won’t bring back Kendrick.”
Nae, it wouldn’t. She wished it would. She carried his sling. Was he truly jealous of his dead cousin? Damnation, he was pitiful indeed.
“Duff said ye love him still.” Clearly, he still had no control over his tongue. But he wanted to know.
“I will always love him. He was the one I intended to marry. I miss him tremendously every day and I will never forgive those who took him from this world, either with their sword or their silence.”
She turned away from him and lifted the hem of her skirt as she padded toward the wheat house. “If you will excuse me, the chickens need to be fed.”
Patrick watched her leave, his heart stuck somewhere between his chest and his mouth. Was there no room in her heart for anyone else then? And why did he feel so defeated when he wasn’t staying?
“’Twas five years ago,” he said, picking up his steps to walk beside her. “Why d’ye remain loyal to— He’s the one who gave ye that sling though, aye?”
Her glare as they neared the wheat house stopped him from finishing.
He knew he should give her some sort of repentant look, but he hoped she’d answer. “’Tis his sling, aye?”
“Aye,” she gave in with an exasperated sigh. “’Tis his sling.”
He pulled open the thick wooden door and offered her entry into the wheat house first.
“I have others that I’ve fashioned to look like Kendrick’s sling. I give them when I’m caught using it. I’d never let them take his.”
Patrick tried to swallow. It felt as if something deep inside of him wanted out. Was it possible that of all the lasses he could have fallen for, he’d chosen the one who was still in love with his deceased cousin? She’d gone to the trouble of crafting decoys just so she wouldn’t lose Kendrick’s gift.
What kind of fool was he?
What kind of fool was she? Who loved a memory? That’s what Kendrick was. Would she be satisfied to go through her life with no man at her side because she was still in love with a memory? It was preposterous. Even more absurd was how it clawed at his insides.
“Yer faither didna want a union with the Fergussons,” he said, stepping inside and taking the bucket she handed him. “Would ye have defied him had Kendrick lived?”
“Aye,” she told him, looking him in the eyes. “I would have. I defy him every chance I get.”
Patrick smiled, despite the thought of her being wed to Kendrick. He enjoyed her spirited nature. It tempted him almost beyond his endurance to take a leap into the fray and claim her as his own.
“And now, ye would live oot yer life alone?”
She paused and looked up at him as if a brighter alternative had drifted across her thoughts. “Nay.” She blinked the thought away. “I would have Elsie.”
Aye, the dreams of a life with Elsie she’d mentioned. How could he tell her he didn’t think Elsie was enough to make her happy?
“Ye have a plan then?” he asked while they filled their buckets.
“Aye, get my sister well enough to leave, and then go.”
Hell, what fool wouldn’t fall for her? She had a plan!
“What aboot the villagers ye’ve been helpin?” he asked her, following her to the door.
“I’ll do what I can to help them, but Elsie and I have to leave before he marries us off. A husband would take me away from Pinwherry and if I must go, I would prefer to leave with her.”
“Where would ye go?”
“Someplace far away, where we could disappear.”
He knew of such a place. Damn him to Hades. In fact, he did feel a bit warmer. Stepping outside into the cool morning breeze didn’t help. “Elsie might no’ want to go now that she’s in love.”
Charlie scowled obviously disapproving. “I will speak with her.”
He nodded. “’Twill be dangerous fer two lasses travelin’ alone to someplace far away.”
She set down her bucket and looked at him while she bolted the door. “Are you offering escort?”
“I might be.” He might be mad. He was definitely mad.
“I thought you were in a hurry to leave.”
His dimple flashed. “I never said I was in a hurry.”
When she smiled back at him, he lost his breath, as if someone punched him in the guts. He tried to fight it. He couldn’t stay and she wouldn’t want him to once he told her the truth.
He had to fight it. Even if she could forgive him for his secrets, his kin would never accept a Cunningham. The MacGregors had received many into the fold, Campbells and Menzies alike, a pirate and even a queen! But sharing blood with those who killed children was unforgivable.
And as if all that weren’t enough to keep them apart, her heart was lost to Kendrick.
He could fight it. Fighting was what he did best. He turned away and began the short trek to the henhouse. He’d drop off the bucket then do his best to keep his distance from her until he left.
“Patrick?” she called out.
“Aye?”
He didn’t stop and he didn’t turn to look at her. He was afraid that if he did, he’d smile like some captivated fool.
“When the time comes, would you return here and take us to your Camlochlin?”
The ground was falling away beneath his feet. Aye, Camlochlin. She would be happy living there, hidden from the world. His mother would help her take care of Elsie until she was completely well…
He stopped and turned to her, bracing his feet firmly on the ground, the way he did before any good match. “I thought ye wanted me to ferget ye.”
The tips of her lips curled upward in a mischievous smile. “I never said me in particular.”
Where was the harm in smiling at her? Damn it all. How easily did she make his resilience falter? Camlochlin was impossible. Tell her! “D’ye thi
nk ye could stand seein’ me there every day?”
“Likely no.” Her dark eyes twinkled in the sunlight as she walked past him. “But luckily for me, you don’t stay home for long, do you?”
Forgetting his plan and his resistance, and his cousin, his grin widened. His gaze took in the sight of her hips swaying beneath the gauzy folds of her skirts, her bare feet peeking out from beneath the hem while they carried her farther away.
“When ye’re ready to come,” he called out, his good humor fully restored. “I could already have taken a wife and settled down.”
She laughed at him over her shoulder. “That’s even less likely.”
He was happy to hear her laughter. Happy that he was the one who brought it to her. He didn’t deny her assumption but followed her into the hen house.
“Ye dinna believe m’ heart can be won then?”
She looked at the chickens and tossed them a handful of feed. “I think you would fight it until your dying day.”
He chuckled and shook his head at himself. “I canna seem to hide m’self from ye. Ye step boldly into m’ thoughts and see me plainly.”
She turned to look at him where he stood behind her and offered him a knowing, solemn smile. She didn’t want to be right about him. She didn’t want him to fight. He wished he didn’t have to. He could love this lass madly. Did he already? Was he willing to forget that her heart belonged to someone else? That her clan was the archrival of his?
He moved closer to her and she turned to face him fully. He wanted to kiss her, steal her from Kendrick’s ghostly embrace and lay claim to her heart, her body. He wanted to bring her home and defy anyone who stopped him. “D’ye also see how difficult ye make it to withstand each blow?”
Her smile on him warmed. “I am unsure of what I see. There are many facets to you, Patrick. You’re cheeky with a rakish charm I’m sure gets you out of trouble. You know the right words to say and the right way to look when you say them.”
“Ye dinna believe I speak in earnest?” he asked bending his head to her, whispering along her temple, her ear. “Ye dinna believe that ye make me doubt everything I thought I knew?”
“Damn your silver tongue, rogue,” she breathed out as his mouth descended on her and his arms closed around her waist, drawing her close.
He wanted to run his lips over every inch of her. For now, he basked in the sweetness of her mouth. She tasted like daisies and for the maddest of all his moments yet, he feared his heart might just be completely lost. He may have succumbed to the wild, uncontrollable beast that was love. It stripped him of everything and everyone but her, here in his arms.
Molding his lips to hers, he kissed her until she fell weak against him. Holding her up in the crook of his arm, he withdrew just enough to look at her, heavy-lidded, lips parted and red from his kiss. He wanted more of her. All of her. He cupped her bare nape in his hand and tipped her head to receive him more fully.
He swept his tongue over the warm caverns of her mouth in slow, salacious strokes that made her tremble against him. He didn’t want to let her go.
But he had to. He had to remember who stood between them. Kendrick Fergusson. But first, he ran his tongue, his lips, and his teeth down the long column of her neck. He drew in her scent with a long, deep inhalation, and then stepped away.
For the first time in his life, words eluded him. He watched her recover, touching her fingers to her smiling lips. He waited for his heart to slow down before he opened his mouth to speak.
“Charlotte.”
They both turned to the sound of Hendry’s voice as he entered the hen house a moment after they stepped apart. Patrick was glad he was still a wee bit muddleheaded from kissing Charlie. It stopped him from leaping for Hendry’s throat.
He smiled stiffly instead.
“Campbell. What a surprise.” The peacock strutted forward, his golden hair matching the color of the haystack Patrick wanted to toss him into. “Charlotte, Father wants you at the breakfast table.”
“Tell him I had to feed the hens and now I’m going to return to El—”
“Tell him yourself. ’Tis enough that I had to fetch you. I’ll not be your messenger.”
Charlie fisted her hands at her sides and stomped off.
“Hendry,” Patrick called out, stopping him from following his sister out. “Share a word with me.”
Before Hendry could refuse, Patrick flung his arm around his shoulder. He could kill the bastard right now, or at least break a few of his ribs. “I know aboot Kendrick Fergusson,” he said close to Hendry’s ear. “Ye’re goin’ to meet me back here later and tell me what ye did with the lad’s body.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hendry tried to break free, but Patrick held fast.
“Ye killed him. In Dumfries. Of what else do ye need remindin’?”
Hendry’s color drained so quickly Patrick thought the sniveling worm would faint. “Who told you this? Charlie? She’s a lying witch who will—”
Patrick squeezed Hendry’s throat between his bicep and forearm and pulled him closer. “Ye’re goin’ to tell me everything I want to know or I’m goin’ to tell yer faither that ye insulted m’ Campbell kin in such a way that m’ only recourse is to summon m’ uncle, the Duke of Argyll, to Pinwherry.”
“What do you want to know?” Hendry relented after a moment of stunned silence, red-faced and short of breath from Patrick’s hold.
“Later.” Patrick released him with a smack on the back. “First,” he said, setting his gaze on the door and the house beyond. “I will see to yer sister.”
He started out, then turned back. There was something he forgot to tell the worm. “If ye ever cause harm to Robbie Wallace again or his kin I’ll snap yer neck in two. Understand?”
Something…Perhaps in Patrick’s deadly gaze, or in his hands rolling into fists at his sides, compelled Hendry to nod and keep quiet until Patrick was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Duff.” Elsie tugged on his sleeve beside her. “Tell Patrick one of the stories you told me while I was abed. I know! Tell him about when the Lamont brothers tried to rob you!”
Sitting across from her at the supper table, Charlie smiled. Elsie was well. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires in the firelight and even the bounce in her golden curls had returned. Her recovery had been swift after two cups of butterbur tea, taken as Patrick prescribed, over a few hours. Patrick had remained at Elsie’s bedside with her the whole afternoon, making Elsie smile, as he was so wont to do with folks.
But neither of them could get her to confess the name of the man she’d been meeting each time Charlie and Duff had left Pinwherry. Charlie still found it difficult to believe. Shy, meek Elsie doing something so bold! Was she in love with her mystery man? She must be if she was willing to defy their father. What of her and Charlie’s plans to leave? Charlie would find out. For now, she was thankful that Elsie was well and there was hope for her future—whether she spent it with Charlie or not.
Charlie hadn’t stopped her when she’d insisted on leaving her bed tonight and dressing for supper, and Patrick had agreed with her decision. If Elsie felt well enough to move about, she should do so.
Sitting with her now, Charlie wanted to celebrate. Patrick had done it. He’d brought Elsie the correct remedy. He saved her life.
She turned to look at him sitting next to her, his profile etched in the hearth fire behind him. He lifted his cup to his mouth, and from behind the rim he watched her father and brothers the way a wolf watches its prey. Thanks to Duff, Patrick knew what they’d done to Kendrick and his disdain was evident in his sharp gaze on her father and his forced smile when Duff began his tale.
Was he going to do something about it? Would he come back for her and take her and Elsie with him to Camlochlin? Did she truly want to live where he lived? Could she bear being near him, hearing his laughter, watching him open his arms to another woman?
His questions about her love for Kendrick had made h
er uncomfortable. Not because she was ashamed for loving a memory, but because she knew it was hurting Patrick to hear it—and because she was no longer certain she was still in love with Kendrick.
Sensing her gaze, Patrick turned his head and winked at her.
Her heart flipped so hard she nearly hiccupped. She wanted to smile at him but his attention slipped back to her family. She drenched her gaze in the shape of his lips, remembering how she’d surrendered to them. She’d thought about his kiss all day. Twice she had to ask her sister to repeat her query. She’d thought about his mouth, and his intimate gaze shrouded in the shadows of his lashes. She’d basked in his playful grins and the melodic lilt in his voice while he melted her sister right out of her socks. Charlie wasn’t wearing any or she would have melted right along with her. She hadn’t thought about him leaving. She hadn’t thought of Kendrick. She only thought of kissing Patrick, of being swept up in his burly arms and looking into his meaningful gaze before he kissed her.
He’d answered her prayer and brought laughter to her amidst all the worry. She knew a part of him lived the life of a careless scoundrel with no regard for any noble ideals other than to kick the dust from his boots. But there was a deeper part of him who rushed to the aid of a child and baled Robbie Wallace’s hay. For her. She didn’t want him to go. He hadn’t kissed her in the henhouse like he wanted to leave.
Ye dinna believe m’ heart can be won then?
Could it? Did she want to be the one who did it? She hadn’t discarded her plans with Elsie, but was it wise to live with him on his homestead if something meaningful between them could never be? He made her want something meaningful, something filled with physical, soul-stirring passion and life-changing love.
He leaned in and without taking his gaze from Duff and his tale, spoke quietly in her ear. “Are ye also rememberin’ our kiss then?”
She blinked and looked into his eyes when he turned to her. “Our…?”
“…kiss,” he whispered and quirked one corner of his mouth. “In the henhouse. All of them, in fact. They haunt m’ thoughts.”