The Campbell Trilogy (68 page)

The next morning dawned cool and clear. The early mist had lifted, leaving a thick layer of dew clinging to the hillsides beyond the castle, shimmering in the morning sun like faerie dust sprinkled over a lush bed of emerald.

Like his eyes.

Lizzie shook off the image of his gorgeous face tight with passion as he’d stroked her. God, could she think of nothing else? Especially now, when her mind should be on other matters.

She stood in the
barmkin
with Robert, readying their horses for a hunt that Colin had organized for the handful of guests who’d remained after the feast. Colin had begged off at the last minute; apparently the ill effects of drink last night had yet to wane. In addition to Robert and herself, there was a handful of noblemen from the surrounding area and half a dozen guardsmen—they would take no chances. Patrick was in his usual place at the periphery, looking unbelievably handsome and completely unaffected by the events of the evening before.

His calm, solid presence proved an unexpected annoyance. If he was still angry, she couldn’t tell.

How could he behave as if nothing had changed when it felt as if Lizzie’s entire world had just been flipped upside down?

Never had she experienced anything like that. It wasn’t just the closeness of their bodies, the intimacy of his touch, or the shattering pleasure he’d given her; it was something
much more intense, much more powerful—the feeling of utter connection to another soul. For those few brief minutes in his arms, they’d felt as one. At least she thought so.

She was a romantic fool, always seeing things that weren’t there.

Her eyes sought his again, but as he’d done all morning, he avoided her gaze. When their eyes happened to meet, he looked away. Her chest tightened with pain. His cold indifference stung even more than his terse words of the night before.

She’d angered him with her hesitation, but surely he had to know how difficult this was for her? He was asking her to put aside the learning of a lifetime. Duty had been ingrained in her from birth—it was part of who she was.

Instead, he’d looked at her as if she’d failed some unspoken test—as if she’d failed him.

Had she?

Every bone in her body had cried out to say yes to his proposal, to his body; only fear had prevented her. Fear of being hurt. She’d made the wrong decision once before based on passion, and she couldn’t bear the thought of making another mistake.

Could she risk her heart again?

Her chest squeezed. She wondered if it was already too late.

Robert came up beside her. “Are you ready, my lady?”

She managed a smile. “Yes, if you’ll help me up.”

“Gladly,” he said. Instead of moving the mounting block to her horse, he slipped his hands around her waist, lingering intimately, possessively. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t need to look to know that it was Patrick. She bit back a smug smile. Apparently he wasn’t as indifferent as he appeared.

Robert must have caught it as well, because after he’d finished lifting her and settling her on her horse, he turned to address Patrick.

“You and your men are not needed today, Murray.” There was a note she hadn’t heard in Robert’s voice before—a note of steel that belied his normally light-hearted manner. “I will watch over the lady.”

Patrick’s face betrayed none of his resentment, but Lizzie felt it fire the air between them. It was odd. Though Patrick was as dark as Robert was light, there almost seemed to be a resemblance between them.

“I’ll be going along all the same,” he replied matter-of-factly. “ ’Tis the laird’s orders. The lady is not to be outside the castle gates without her guardsmen.”

Lizzie could sense the burgeoning tension between the two men and knew that she’d better intervene before something terrible happened. She was painfully aware of the differences in their station. Moreover, Colin would have Patrick hung in chains for offending a guest—particularly a guest of Robert’s importance.

“I’m afraid Patrick’s right, Robert. My brother was quite clear about it.” Her lingering anger at Patrick for his cold treatment made her turn and give him a sugary sweet smile. “But Patrick and his men won’t interfere. I’m sure we’ll hardly know they are there.”

She saw the sudden spark of anger in his eyes and knew her barb had struck. Good. She was tired of being alone in her uncertainty.

Her words had also served to mollify Robert. He spoke to her, not to Patrick—a subtle reminder of Patrick’s position. “Very well, but I hope they can keep up.” He paused, a sudden gleam in his eye. “As long as they are going along, we might as well see what they can do with a bow.” And with that none-too-subtle challenge, they were off.

For the next few hours, they rode across the countryside stalking their prey. But hunting deer and fowl soon became secondary to the subtle battle being waged between Patrick and Robert.

Lizzie felt as if she were at the center of a tournament
with two knights jousting for her favor. Each time Robert took a shot, Patrick would respond with one of his own. If Lizzie had been worried that Patrick would trounce Robert with his skill with the bow, it had been for naught. Surprisingly, they appeared evenly matched.

Appeared.

Though there was nothing Lizzie could point to, she had the distinct feeling that Patrick was holding back. But why?

As the unofficial competition continued, the tension between the two men mounted—as did her unease. She’d never seen Patrick like this before; he seemed not just dangerous, but unpredictable. There was a reckless edge to him that did not bode well.

Though she admitted a certain womanly thrill to have two fierce warriors fighting over her, she’d begun to fear that their game might take a very real turn. Thus, she was glad when the men decided to stop and water the horses at the edge of a narrow loch.

The break, however, would prove no rest for her unease. Indeed, the battle was only climbing toward its climax.

Patrick and a few of his men were sitting on a group of boulders nestled beside the loch, eating oatcakes and dried beef, when Robert ambled over toward them. Lizzie felt the back of her neck prickle. He was carrying his bow. He stopped right before Patrick, who looked up only when Robert addressed him. “You’ve fine skill with the bow.”

Patrick nodded his head in acknowledgment.

Lizzie feared what was coming next. She hurried toward them, intent on intervening, but it was too late.

“But it’s hard to measure the skill of a man in the wild,” Robert said indolently. “I’ve always thought it better decided by contest, don’t you agree?”

Patrick took a bite of beef, then chewed it slowly before responding, appearing to weigh his words carefully. “I find no better measure of skill than in the wild. Life or death
seems a fair enough determinant. A contest serves no purpose but to satisfy pride.”

Though there was nothing overtly wrong with Patrick’s manner, it was also clear that he did not offer any deference to Robert for his station. He hadn’t even bothered to stand up.

Whether it was because Patrick did not rise to the challenge or because he’d issued a subtle one of his own, Robert dropped the pretense of equanimity. His face turned florid, and the charming smile flattened into a hard, thin line. “Spoken like a man afraid to test his skill.”

A harsh silence fell.

Lizzie sucked in her breath, not daring to let it out before Patrick responded. To a one, Highlanders were an exceedingly proud race, and Patrick, she knew from experience, was no exception. Inadvertently she’d pricked his pride before, but it was nothing like the blow just wielded by Robert.

Patrick’s jaw flexed, the only outward sign of his rage. Though on the surface he was calm and controlled, Lizzie could tell that he was fighting to hold back some very fierce emotion. He stood to face Robert, a dangerous glint in his eye. “There is very little I fear, my laird.”

The two warriors squared off against each other. Patrick held the advantage in size, though both men were tall and muscular. For a moment, she thought they might come to blows. She knew that this was about far more than skill with a bow and arrow; this was about her. Robert was trying to put Patrick in his place—force him to acknowledge that he reached too high.

Thinking to defuse the situation, Lizzie quickly stepped between the two men. “Should we start back?” she asked, her voice a tad too chirpy. “We’ve success enough for the day.”

It was a testament to the dangerousness of the situation that both men ignored her.

She looked to Robbie, silently begging him to do something, but his face was every bit as implacable as Patrick’s. Robert’s challenge could not be ignored.

“We can’t have a contest without a prize,” Robert said. “Should we say a gold scepter piece?”

Lizzie bit her tongue to keep from objecting on Patrick’s behalf. She knew he was not a man of wealth. A scepter was worth twelve pounds Scots, and more gold than Patrick might earn in a month. But it was also clear that the money was not the real prize. The real prize was her.

Obviously, they thought to leave her no say in the matter. As if she would let some ridiculous contest decide her fate. Her outrage, however, would have to wait.

Patrick shrugged indifferently. “It’s your challenge.”

Robert smiled. “Shall we say three shots, closest to the target?”

“What target do you have in mind?”

Robert turned to Elizabeth. “My lady, might we borrow one of your ribbons?”

She colored and lifted her hands to unwind one of the blue satin ribbons securing her hair, but Robert stopped her. “Please. Allow me.”

His fingers brushed her neck as he carefully slid one from her hair, lingering for perhaps a moment too long. Had Patrick noticed? She peeked sidelong from under her lashes. The white lines etched around his mouth told her he had.

Ribbon in hand, Robert walked about a hundred paces away from their position and tied the length of blue satin around the nearest tree at about eye level. At that distance, only the thinnest line of color appeared around the tree. When he returned he said, “Any arrow that strikes blue will count as a point.”

“And if they all land in blue?” Patrick asked.

Robert smiled. “A bold question, but I appreciate your confidence. In the unlikely event that all our arrows hit the
ribbon, the closest to the knot wins. If you can see it from here.”

Patrick’s expression was grim. “I can see it.”

Robert drew a line in the dirt with his dirk and then turned to Patrick. “We’ll need a judge. Do you have any objection to the Laird of Dun?”

“Nay.”

The Laird of Dun made his way down to the target, and both men took their positions behind the line. Robert would shoot first.

There was complete silence as he carefully threaded the arrow, lifted it to his eye, drew back his hand, and released it with a loud
swoosh.
It was followed seconds later by a solid
thump!
in the tree beyond.

Elizabeth could tell by Robert’s reaction that it was a good shot.

Dun confirmed it. “Damn good shot, Campbell. Right through the ribbon.”

Two more followed in quick succession, each better than the last. Of Robert’s three shots, all had found the thin blue target.

His men cheered. It was an impressive feat of shooting. Robert didn’t boast, but his eyes when he looked at her said it all: He’d won the prize—or at least he thought so.

Patrick’s expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts as he strode to the line. But they were all well aware that if he missed the ribbon with any shot, he would lose.

He moved quickly and surely. With cool precision he prepared his shot, drew back his hand, the bulging muscles of his arms and shoulders the only indication of effort, and fired.

In spite of her unease, Lizzie was swept away by the excitement. Her heart pounded as she awaited the result. She could tell nothing from Patrick’s stance.

Dun shouted excitedly, “Magnificent! A perfect shot, dead center, right through the knot.”

The men cheered wildly.

Robert’s face drained, along with some of his bravado. His gaze turned sharp as it fell on his adversary. “Impressive. A one-in-a-thousand shot.”

More like one in a million, Elizabeth thought, staring at Patrick with unconcealed awe. She’d seen his presence on the battlefield and watched enough of his practice to know that he was an exceptionally skilled warrior, but nothing had prepared her for such a feat.

“I’d wager there aren’t a handful of men in Scotland who can make that shot,” Robert pointed out, echoing her thoughts.

It might have been an innocuous statement but for the effect it had on Patrick. If she hadn’t been watching him carefully, she wouldn’t have seen the muscles in his arms and shoulders tense slightly as his hand reached back to pluck his second arrow from the quiver. He threaded the bow again, but something had changed. His movements had lost their ease and grace.

Something was wrong. She was even more certain of it when he glanced in her direction, something he’d avoided most of the day. His eyes flickered with … regret? But why?

He lifted the bow and took steady aim. Right before he let the arrow fly, he made an almost imperceptible adjustment.

Her breath caught and her pulse raced. It felt as if she were standing in a dark tunnel where all she could hear was the sound of the arrow ripping through the air before it landed with a resounding thud.

She didn’t want to look. She knew.

“You missed!” Robert shouted, unable to hide his glee.

And Robert had won.

“Aye,” Patrick said, lowering his bow.

Disappointment washed over her. She was unable to
escape the feeling that he had just made some kind of choice. The pang in her heart throbbed. It didn’t make sense.

She cast a surreptitious glance at him, but he’d already turned away, conceding defeat.

Whether it was just the contest or her, she didn’t know.

Patrick hadn’t missed a shot like that in years. But skill like his did not go unnoticed, and the last thing he needed was for Robert Campbell to start asking questions.