The Campbell Trilogy (63 page)

Had the situation been reversed, would she have looked at him like that as well? The thought was sobering.

Gregor might have deserved it, but it didn’t mean that Patrick did not understand the source of his anger. Anger that he, in fact, shared. The king and his Campbell minions had stripped them of everything. Land. Family. Wealth. Position.

When Patrick looked at his younger brother, he saw himself untempered by responsibility, left to wallow in anger. After so many years as an outlaw, Patrick’s sense of duty had been whittled away, but in Gregor it had all but disappeared. All pretense of civility had faded under the brutal existence of an outlaw.

He felt a strange urge to defend her, but he didn’t think Gregor would welcome hearing Lizzie’s finer points. “Leave the lass to me, and if you ever pull anything like that again …” He looked him straight in the eye. “Mark my words, kin or no, you will not live long enough to regret it.” Gregor flinched, but it was clear that he understood. “Stick to the plan,” Patrick cautioned him.

“It’s working, then? The lass is taking the bait?”

Patrick thought about it. “Aye.” Though she was fighting her attraction, Lizzie was far from immune to him.

“The pathetic little mouse played right into your hands, eh?” Gregor laughed. “She’s itching for you, I’d wager. Or perhaps you’ve already given her a good scratching with your prick?”

Patrick gave no hint of the spark of anger that flared inside him from Gregor’s coarseness. Usually it wouldn’t
bother him, but he didn’t want to talk about the details of his seduction with his brother, and he sure as hell didn’t want Gregor talking about Lizzie like that. But he knew Gregor would hang on to any sign that Patrick wasn’t ruthlessly pursuing their objective.

“It’s only been a week. This will take some time. The lass has been raised from infancy to do her duty. She’ll not run off with the first man she fancies.”

“I thought you said the gel was desperate.”

Patrick bit back a grimace. Had he really said that? She wasn’t desperate at all. She was sweet and kind and vulnerable, perhaps, but not desperate.

Still, it did not change the crux of what Gregor was asking. Though she might put up more of a fight than he’d anticipated, Patrick was confident that in the end Elizabeth Campbell would succumb. He could be just as ruthless as her black-hearted kin when it came to getting what he wanted. “Give it time, Gregor.” He took a long drink of
cuirm.
“What news have you from our cousin?”

“They arrived safely at their destination.”

Patrick nodded. “Good.” The Lamont of Ascog must have agreed to protect them.

“Not good,” Gregor corrected. “They arrived right before the gathering, and guess who should be in attendance but Jamie Campbell.”

“He’s not there now.”

Gregor eyed him suspiciously. “How can you know that?”

“I saw him at Castle Campbell only a few days ago.”

“You saw him and he did not leave with an arrow between his eyes?”

Patrick clenched his jaw. “There wasn’t an opportunity. He was only at the castle for a short while before he was called away. I was more concerned with making sure our paths did not cross. I was fortunate not to be discovered.”

Patrick didn’t like the way Gregor was studying his face.
“With the Enforcer in your sight, I would have thought you would have found an ‘opportunity.’ ”

Patrick tightened his hand around the tankard before him. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”

“Nay. Not that. But I do wonder what the lass has over you.”

“She has nothing over me.”

“She’s a Campbell.”

As if he could forget that fact. “She’ll also be my wife,” he said as a warning.

“We should have just taken her. You’d be married by now.”

“But for how long? Nay, we’ll do it my way. The prize will be worth the wait.”

“Just don’t confuse the real prize.”

The land, not the girl. “I know well what I’m here for, I don’t need you to remind me.” Nor would he tolerate his brother’s subtle threats. “And remember what I said, Gregor. Do not interfere again. I know what I’m doing.”

Despite her protestations, he knew Lizzie had been just as affected by the kiss earlier as he. For whatever reasons, she was determined to fight her attraction to him, but he didn’t intend to make it easy for her. Her brother had mandated that a guardsman be with her at all times, and from here on out he didn’t intend to leave her side.

And if seduction didn’t work …

He grimaced. He would do what he had to do to prevent her from marrying Glenorchy’s son, including leaving her no choice.

Abduction would be the road of last resort, but if it came to it, he would not shirk from his duty.

As the sun reached its zenith in the summer sky and the days began to shorten in their steady march toward fall, Lizzie had started to wonder whether her family had forgotten her.

It had been quiet—too quiet.

Except for a short missive from her cousin expressing his relief at her well-being following the attack and vowing retribution for the incident, she hadn’t heard anything from Dunoon.

The prolonged silence made it easy to forget the plans for her future and to dream of other things. Things that, were it not for her lingering hurt, would be easy to believe possible.

Lizzie knew she had no cause to be distressed that Patrick Murray had sought his pleasure elsewhere, but it did not stop her mind from torturing itself with images of him doing so every time he ventured into the village. Images that were as sharp and cutting as any knife.

At first, she tried to avoid him. Every time their eyes met she would look away, the tightness in her chest nearly unbearable. But occasionally their gazes would snag for a long heartbeat, and she swore she could see pain that mirrored her own.

As the weeks passed, she found herself grateful for the pain. It was the only thing that prevented her from making a much bigger mistake.

Like doing something foolish and losing her heart.

Patrick had appointed himself her personal guardsman, and his constant presence had begun to fray the edges of her resolve. Whenever the opportunity arose, he was at her side, his intense, enigmatic gaze following where he could not. At meals, in the garden, in the
barmkin,
he was there. He’d invaded her home, her thoughts, her dreams.

She could not avoid him. Without her even realizing it was happening, a comfortable pattern had developed between them in the natural interweaving of their days. In the morning while she saw to her duties around the keep, he rode or hunted with the other guardsmen. While she tended the garden, he practiced his battle skills in the yard, often stopping on his way to and fro to exchange a word or help carry a basket. If she ventured beyond the castle gate for a walk to the village to visit Alys or for a ride, inevitably he managed to be in the group that accompanied her.

His attentiveness had been noticed, of course, but not remarked upon. Her brother had left instructions that she was to be well guarded, and Donnan, now recovered, had come to rely upon the skilled warrior almost as much as she did.

It alarmed her to realize just how accustomed she’d become to his solid presence.

Still, in many ways he was as much of a mystery to her now as the day she’d first met him. He did seem happier, but sometimes he got that faraway look in his eyes and she knew he was remembering. Her attempts to broach the subject of his past were met with silence or a swift change of topic.

Did the subject cause him too much pain, or was there another reason for his reticence? Lizzie couldn’t help but wonder whether he was hiding something. Something was not quite right about him. A little too controlled. Always careful to mask his reaction. Maybe it was simply that she wasn’t used to being around guardsmen.

Being so much in his company, however, did not come
without a cost. She alternated between not being able to imagine life without him and wishing him thousands of miles away. Her attraction to him had intensified to the point where it felt as if she were jumping out of her skin every time he entered the room.

Though he’d kept his word and not made any attempt to kiss her again, he touched her so often that she could think of little else.

Never had she been so aware of a man. Every detail seemed etched in her mind, from the lines that crinkled around his eyes when he let go a rare smile to the scar that bisected the edge of his right brow, to the way his eyes changed from mossy green to dark emerald with the falling of the light.

And his face. She’d looked for flaws—hoping to find something to bring him down to the level of mere mortal—but further inspection had done nothing to dispel her initial impression. Patrick Murray was simply the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

Her fascination, however, had begun to chafe. She didn’t know whom she was angrier with: herself for wanting him or him for making her want him.

Lizzie was no fool; she knew what he was doing. The question was why.

She wiped her brow under the wide brim of her hat and stood up, her legs unsteady after being on her knees in the warm sun for so long. Though there was a small kitchen garden to the west of the keep, the formal—and unusual—terraced gardens to the south were where she spent much of her time. Today, rather than stroll around the grounds, she’d been pulling weeds.

As she walked past the rocky knoll known as “John Knox’s Pulpit,” since Knox’s stay at Castle Campbell nearly half a century before, and up the path back to the inner yard, she kept her eyes fastened on the dirt and rocks at her feet, careful to avoid glancing in the direction of the
practicing warriors. Her fascination with Patrick Murray had gotten so ridiculous that no longer could she watch his practice—
particularly
sword practice on warm days.

She’d almost reached the safety of the keep when a large shadow crossed her path. Her step faltered. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end, and her skin seemed to hum with the sudden spark that crackled in the air with all the subtlety of lightning.

She didn’t need to look up to know who was standing before her.

“Will you be going for your ride as usual this afternoon, my lady?”

Gritting her teeth and willing herself to indifference, she lifted her gaze … and gasped. She couldn’t help it.

Chest. All she could see was a naked wall of chest. A tanned, gleaming, naked wall of chest, with muscles rippling like sharp shards of stone chipped from the face of a rocky crag. She couldn’t look away, momentarily mesmerized by the wide span of hard—very hard—male flesh. His body had been honed to steely perfection, as much a weapon as the sword he wielded with such ease. Built for battle … and female fantasies.

No man should look like this. Her eyes gorged on the taut, flat stomach and broad shoulders. On the arms as thick and powerfully wrought as any smith’s. And on the trickle of sweat that carved a wicked path over the rigid bands of his stomach to disappear beneath the waist of his low-slung trews.

Trews that left very little to the imagination, displaying the powerful muscles of his thighs in formfitting leather. And the prominent bulge …

She shook off her stupor and snapped, “No.”

He took a step closer and she could feel the heat radiating off his skin, mingling with the sultry masculine scent of toil in the sun.

“A walk, then?” His voice was low and husky, sending a
shudder of awareness down her spine. Warmth spread over her like molten lava.

Curse the blighter.
He was doing this on purpose. Tormenting her. Making her want him. Eyes narrowed, she met his devilish green-eyed gaze. “You might think to don a shirt before addressing a lady.”

The wretch had the nerve to grin. “My apologies. It must have slipped my mind—with it being so hot and all. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can return—”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” she shrieked like the madwoman he was turning her into. What had happened to the quiet, sensible woman she’d been before? Trying to calm the rising hysteria, she managed a smile, hoping her face didn’t crack. “We wouldn’t want to frighten the maids.”

He laughed at her jest and eyed the group of serving women loitering around the well, doing a poor job of pretending not to stare. “I see what you mean,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

The muscles flexed and bulged to prodigious—to delicious—proportions. Her eyes widened, and her mouth went utterly dry.
Good God, he’s magnificent.

She pursed her mouth together like an old shrew and practically hissed, “If that is all, you’ll excuse me. I’ve much work to do.” She tried to push past him but miscalculated and instead came into full, sizzling contact with the wall of burning-hot skin.

Though they touched for only a second, it didn’t matter. The effect, like that of a flame held to dry leaves, was devastating. Her body came alive; every nerve ending combusted with desire. Hot, heavy desire that washed through her veins in a flood of deep, insatiable yearning.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Whoa. Steady there. You’d best watch your step. There are quite a few rocks around to trip on.”