The Campbell Trilogy (84 page)

She had to wait hours to find out what he meant.

Walking in the hills was difficult enough; trudging over them in snow was even worse. She followed the path Patrick cleared for her as best she could, but her skirts made it slow going. When they reached the small copse of trees and the burn, she was at first skeptical and then grateful for the funny treads he’d fashioned for her from branches and pieces of the string from her ever handy stays. The branches gave her traction and kept her from sinking into the soft, wet snow.

But as they descended farther down the hills, they became unnecessary. The deep snow at the summit lessened to mere inches and then to only patches, as the sun—all but forgotten yesterday—worked its magic. When they entered the forest for what he assured her was the last few miles of their journey, she was warm enough to remove the plaid. They walked through the trees and along a burn for a time, finally coming to a stop just before dusk at the head of a charming loch. It was perhaps only half a mile wide at its mouth, but it was miles long. On her right, on the south bank, a few hundred feet away stood a small, stately castle—newly constructed, from the looks of it.

She gazed at Patrick, but his face was inscrutable as he intently scanned their surroundings. Her heart tugged. If anything, the past few days had only made him more handsome. His skin was rough and rugged from the wind and cold, his hair silky and tousled, and the dark shadow of a beard emphasized the hard lines of his jaw.

“What is this place?” Lizzie asked.

“Loch Earn.” He turned to her, his face solemn. “It used to be my home.”

She sucked in her breath. This was the land her cousin had added to her dowry. The land that Patrick wanted to get back. His sole purpose for wanting her. Her chest tightened. “Why have you brought me here?”

“I don’t really know.” He paused thoughtfully, his gaze returning to the loch. “I wanted you to see it. To know what happened here. To know why I did what I did.”

“What happened here?” she asked gently, sensing the importance.

Patrick didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t stop gazing out over the loch, at the castle. It was as if something—the memories, perhaps—had overtaken him.

His face was ravaged with raw emotion, and Lizzie realized she’d never seen him look so exposed. Usually he kept himself remote, detached, but at that moment she saw it for what it was: a façade. The lines etched on his handsome face and the sorrow in his eyes revealed a man who’d suffered deeply.

His voice held no emotion as he spoke, but it was there—simmering under the surface—and she felt it wrap around her. “This land belonged to my clan for hundreds of years, but we had not the paper to prove it. The Earls of Argyll turned us into tenants on our own land.”

Lizzie knew something of the MacGregors’ history. In the dispute of the claim to the throne between the Bruces and the Balliols, they’d chosen the wrong side, and when Robert became king, he’d made them suffer for it. Without charters to prove ownership, the MacGregors had been divested of their land. That the Campbells had benefited was the source of the feuding between the clans in the years that followed.

“But that was hundreds of years ago,” Lizzie said softly.

“Aye.” He met her gaze. “But time does not correct a
wrong.” His face hardened. “For years my family held this land as vassals of Argyll—never content, but accepting. Almost twenty years ago that relationship, however tenuously held, was severed. Argyll illicitly sold the tenancy of our lands to Glenorchy, and the black devil did not waste time in asserting his ill-gained ‘rights.’ ”

He paused, and Lizzie couldn’t tell whether that was all. “So Glenorchy evicted your family from this land?”

“Evicted?” He made a sharp, pained sound. “That’s one word for it. Glenorchy’s methods were more akin to extermination. When my father refused to cede our land, Glenorchy decided to burn us out. I was ten when the soldiers came. I remember looking out my window and seeing the fire and thinking it was Armageddon.”

Lizzie’s chest pounded as she waited for him to continue, her heart going out to the terrified little boy he must have been.

“My mother sent me and my brothers into the forest. Annie was just a babe, and my mother thought we would be safe—she was Glenorchy’s sister, after all.” His face twisted, and Lizzie felt her heart twist along with it. “I didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted.”

He stopped, and Lizzie put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.” She had guessed what was coming.

“But you don’t know what happened,” he said harshly, his face tortured. “I’d left something behind, something my father had trusted me to keep safe, so I went back.” His voice was hollow. “It was so hot. Hard to breathe. Everything was burning. I thought I’d walked through the gates of hell—but it was worse. The dead bodies of my clansmen lay scattered across the
barmkin.
My father was among them.”

Lizzie squeezed his arm. He was so taut, every muscle clenched, she could almost feel the incredible tension running through him under her fingertips.

“A couple of Campbell soldiers found me at his side and decided I was better off dead.”

“But you were only a boy!”

“Aye, but they were right. I would have hunted them down.” His eyes were stark when he turned to her. “My mother saw what was about to happen and rushed out to stop it. Instead, she took the blade that was meant for me. She died in my arms.” His voice was wooden. Emotionless. But it no longer deceived her.

Lizzie felt the tears burning in her eyes. She’d lost her parents at a young age but couldn’t imagine seeing them murdered before her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. Your mother was only trying to protect you.”

“I know, though it took me years not to feel to blame. Glenorchy murdered my parents and built his cursed castle on the ashes of my home and the blood of my parents and clansmen. Their deaths lie at his feet.” He held her gaze. “You see, Lizzie, it wasn’t just about a few merks of land. I’ve been fighting ever since to get back part of what was taken from me that day. All my legal claims had failed. When I heard that your cousin had added the land to your dowry, I knew the opportunity I’d been waiting for had arrived. I just hadn’t counted on one thing.”

The look in his eye took her breath away. Her heart pounded. “What’s that?”

One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “You. I knew I couldn’t tell you the truth, but I hated deceiving you. I told myself I would make it up to you, but it all changed when Robert Campbell arrived.”

Lizzie sucked in her breath, realizing how horrible that must have been for him, seeing the son of the man who’d taken everything from him wooing her. All of a sudden, her eyes shot to his face. “You wanted me to marry him.”

He tensed, his expression once again unreadable. “I knew he would make you happy and give you the life you
deserved. With me you would have been …” He let his voice trail off as if he’d said too much and then straightened. “Until the king decides otherwise, I’m an outlaw.”

My God, he’d cared about her enough to sacrifice everything he’d been fighting for since he was a boy—to the son of the man who’d killed his parents.

She didn’t know what to say. What to do. Too stunned by all that he’d told her and suffered at the hands of her clan. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He met her gaze and nodded, looking a little embarrassed. Shifting his gaze, he lifted his eyes to the sky. “There isn’t enough time to reach Balquhidder before it gets too dark. Come, I think I know a safe place we can stay for the night.”

He led her along the shore of the loch. There were a few small cottages along the way, but she was surprised to see that the castle appeared to be virtually deserted.

“The castle,” she said.

“Edinample,” he supplied.

“Why is it so deserted?”

“It’s cursed.”

At first, Lizzie thought he was joking. “You’re serious.”

“The villagers believe so. Glenorchy is said to have tossed the architect off the roof when he found out that the parapet he’d requested had not been built. The ghost is said to walk the roof at night, cursing the laird.”

Lizzie grimaced. From what she knew of Glenorchy, it was entirely believable. “How horrible.”

Patrick nodded. “The black devil is said to have used gravestones of MacGregors to build it—to save him money and the trouble of bringing in more stone.”

Lizzie shivered. If the place wasn’t cursed, it deserved to be. They walked a little farther, and Patrick left her for a moment while he went to speak with an old man, his leathery face battered by years of sun and wind, who was pulling a small skiff out of the loch.

Patrick returned after a moment, a smile on his face. “We are in luck. Not only shall we have a warm place to sleep for the night, but you might even get a bath and a meal as well.”

Lizzie sighed dreamily, unable to mask her excitement. It was amazing how what had seemed basic only a few days ago now felt like the most wonderful treat. “Where are we going?”

“There,” he said, pointing into the loch. “It’s an old crannog—an island built by our Highland ancestors hundreds of years ago—there is a small stone dwelling on the other side. Basic provisions are kept there in case it needs to be used as a refuge in an attack, though it hasn’t been used for such in years. There used to be a wooden walkway to the island, but it sank long ago.”

It didn’t look to be more than a tree-covered rock, but Lizzie took his word for it.

Patrick helped her into the small skiff, and the old man rowed them out to the crannog. It was bigger than she’d thought—perhaps fifty feet in diameter. As promised, a small building stood—shakily, by the looks of it—on the far side.

Patrick thanked the fisherman, gave him a coin from his sporran, and secured a promise to return for them at dawn. As he left, the old man murmured something to Patrick and then snickered.

When the old man was out of earshot, Lizzie asked, “Why, what did he say?”

“Nothing fit for your ears.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What did you tell him about us?”

Patrick looked mildly uncomfortable. “That we’ve just been married and are fleeing from your father, who doesn’t approve.”

She lifted her brow skeptically. “And he’s a romantic?”

Patrick laughed. “Not quite. He’s a MacLaren, and I mentioned that your father is a Buchanan.”

“And let me guess, they are feuding?”

Patrick grinned devilishly. “For years.”

Lizzie’s heart stopped as for a moment she caught a glimpse of the happy, carefree man he might have been had fortune and not tragedy defined him. Yet even with everything that had befallen him, he was still amazing. A man to admire.

A man to love.

The realization took her aback.
I still love him.

Perhaps even more so. For now she knew what drove him, finally understanding the darkness that she’d always sensed lingering just beneath the surface.

She hated that he’d lied to her, but no longer did she think he didn’t care for her. His actions spoke the truth. Murray or MacGregor, his name didn’t matter. What mattered was the man inside, and he hadn’t changed.

She knew what this would mean. Knew what she’d be giving up. He was an outlaw, being hunted by her own family. If she went with him, she could lose everything. Her home, her comfort, her security.

But she also knew that without him she would never be happy.

She wanted him.

Her heart clenched. But did he want her?

Patrick frowned. Lizzie was being unusually quiet. He glanced across the small table, watching as she popped the delicate morsels of fish into her mouth, savoring each bite as if she’d never tasted anything more delicious. The tiny sounds of enjoyment teased his memory, driving him mad with lust, reminding him of very different circumstances where she’d made such sounds.

Her damp hair glistened in the firelight, and springy flaxen tendrils had started to curl enchantingly around her face.

His body heated as he grew painfully aware of the intimacy
of the moment. Perhaps this place had been a bad idea. It was too small. Too cozy. Too hot and steamy from the water he’d heated to fill the small wooden tub—actually more of a large bucket, but it had sufficed under the circumstances.

With little space for privacy and not trusting himself to avert his gaze, he’d left her to her bath while he went outside to douse the sudden throbbing in his loins in the cold loch. He’d washed away the dirt and grime of the past few days, but his body would not be so easily tamed.

He was hard as a damn rock and painfully aware that beneath the plaid she’d wrapped around herself, only a torn thin sark covered her nakedness.

She took a nip of the last of the
uisge-beatha
that he’d poured in two tin cups, catching a drop of the amber liquid that dribbled down her lip with a flick of her pink tongue.

The bolt of raw desire went straight to the head of his cock.

He turned away with a sharp sound of annoyance. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she was purposefully trying to torture him.

“Is everything all right?” Lizzie asked.

“Fine,” he said tightly.

She stood up and walked around to stand beside him. She’d wrapped the plaid around her like a shawl slung low on her shoulders, emphasizing the lush, round curve of her breasts. Tiny bare toes peeked out below.

She was standing too close. Her soft feminine scent wrapped around him like a sensual vise from which he could not break free.

“You don’t seem fine,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulders. “You seem tense.” She started to knead the tight muscles in his shoulders and neck. “Are you sure you don’t want to take off your jerkin? It’s nice and toasty in here.”

With intimate familiarity, her hands moved around to the front of his chest and her nimble fingers started to work
the buttons of his jerkin. During the course of their all-too-brief affair, she’d become amazingly proficient at undressing him. When her hands dipped too low on his belly, her wrist brushing the plump head of his erection, he knew there was no mistaking her overtures.