The Campbell Trilogy (76 page)

Disgusted, he released his hold, pushing Gregor away from him.

“She’ll never be your wife,” his brother sputtered, clasping his throat.

Patrick ignored Gregor’s taunts. “Where have you been? You should have returned weeks ago. I’ve news of our cousin.”

Gregor stilled, and the look in his eyes cut Patrick to the quick. He felt a premonition.…

“Our cousin is dead,” Gregor spat. “Murdered by the Campbells, along with our brother Iain, our uncle, and every other man tricked into surrender under the false terms of Argyll’s promise.”

Ice froze in Patrick’s veins. It took a moment to absorb
the shock of his brother’s words. A trick? Dead? A quick glance at the other men’s faces told him every word of it was true.

He felt as if the blood had been drained out of him, his body sapped of life. He wanted to sink to his knees in an agony of despair and horror. Not since his parents had been murdered had he felt such a blow. It was almost impossible to conceive such a loss. “Dear God,” he whispered.

“God?” Gregor roared. “He had nothing to do with this. It was the devil Argyll.” His voice shook with rage and resentment. “Twenty-five MacGregors have hanged at Mercat Cross in Edinburgh this past week alone courtesy of the Campbells. Right now, our chief’s head sits on a stake at the gates of Dumbarton beside our brother’s.” Something changed in Gregor’s eyes, a flash of pain so acute that Patrick braced himself for what was to come. “And while you have been playing the fine gentleman with your lady, mooning after her like some lovesick pup, our sister was being raped by her brother’s men.”

“No!” The sound he made wasn’t human. Raw pain tore through his chest like a ragged claw, splicing him apart. Not his sister. Not sweet, stubborn, beautiful Annie. He grabbed Gregor by the shirt and shook him as if he could clear away his words. “What the hell happened? I told you to hide them.” His throat was tight and his voice raw. “You were supposed to keep them safe.”

“I tried, damn it.” Gregor wrenched away. “I had them hidden in the braes of Balquhidder, but they were betrayed for gold, and Auchinbreck exacted his retribution on Annie.”

Auchinbreck was a dead man.

“Retribution?” Patrick growled. “For what?”

“When news reached us of Argyll’s treachery—of the deaths of our chief and kin—there were risings from the
braes of Balquhidder to Rannoch Moor. We burned a path of vengeance a mile wide.”

“And you didn’t think to let me know.” All of a sudden, the ramifications of Alasdair’s death hit him. He pinned his brother with his gaze. “I am chief.”

Gregor’s eyes flashed as if he wanted to argue, but instead he shrugged. “There wasn’t time.”

It was a damned insufficient excuse, and they both knew it. Did Gregor intend to challenge his leadership? Being chief was not a position Patrick had ever wanted, but he damn well intended to be a good one—certainly better than his brother. If the MacGregors had any chance of survival, it wouldn’t be with the mercurial Gregor at the helm. He didn’t want to think his brother could be so disloyal, but Gregor had changed. He’d always been able to placate him before. “And the resurgence of fighting is why Auchinbreck sought retribution?”

Patrick caught the flicker in Gregor’s gaze. “The men were enraged, out of control. Thirsting for revenge.” He shrugged. “A Campbell lass got in the way.”

Patrick swore, guessing what had happened. “And our clansmen decided to take some of their rage out on a woman?” He looked away in disgust. Poor Annie had been caught in the crossfire.

I should have protected her.
Could he have done something different? If he’d taken that shot at Jamie Campbell, would his cousin and brother still be alive?

It sickened him to think that less than two weeks ago, he’d sat across the room from the man who was responsible for the rape of his sister. His stomach clenched. He couldn’t think about it. “I have to go to her,” Patrick said. “Where is she?”

Gregor shook his head. “She won’t see you. She won’t see anyone. Not even Niall Lamont. I knew how Annie felt about him, so I fetched him from Bute. That’s what delayed my coming here. But she sent him away.”

“Where is she?”

“Molach, the islet in Loch Katrine, with some of the other women and children. She’s safe for now.”

Safe? Annie would never feel safe again.

Black. That was all Patrick could see, all he could feel. Cold. Empty. Dead. Any feeling left inside him had been destroyed by the news of the deaths of his kinsmen and his sister’s rape. All that was left was a simmering rage. Rage that lashed inside him with nowhere to go.

He clenched his fists, his mouth pressed into a tight line. By all that was holy, Achinbreck and the Campbells would pay for what they had done.

Only moments ago he’d had hope for the future, and now everything had changed. His cousin and brother were dead, his sister raped; he was chief of a broken clan.…

And marrying Lizzie had become impossible.

The return of his family’s land was secondary to saving his clan from destruction and his duty as chief. Any hope of a peaceable solution had vanished with Argyll’s treachery.

The enormity of his responsibilities hit him hard. He’d been running his whole life, focused on surviving, but now he was responsible for the survival of his entire clan. His duty was clear. His clan would demand vengeance, and he would give it to them—gladly.

Ironic, he supposed, that at the moment he realized he could never have her, he understood Lizzie better. Understood her sense of duty and the struggle she must have gone through to decide to marry him.

He’d been a fool to think he could ever find happiness with a Campbell. With anyone. He should have known better.

“Where is Auchinbreck now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Gregor replied. “But we have everything we need to find him.”

Lizzie. Patrick fought the urge to thrash his brother even for the suggestion.

I will kill anyone who harms you.
He recalled his vow but had never anticipated that that someone might be his brother. “I won’t let you hurt another innocent woman,” he warned. “It’s Auchinbreck who deserves our vengeance, not his sister.”

But Gregor was beyond rationality, and Patrick’s words of caution fell on deaf ears. Eyes wild, Gregor gave him a look teeming with scorn. “You’ve grown soft, brother. The lass has blinded you to what needs to be done. You have a duty to the clan—”

“I don’t need you to tell me what my duty is.” Patrick’s voice held the edge of a razor. “I know exactly what needs to be done.” And it didn’t include harming Lizzie.

Gregor studied his face. “You’d put this Campbell slut above your own kin? She’ll die, but first she’ll suffer like our sister. If you aren’t man enough to do what needs to be done, I will.”

Every muscle in Patrick’s body flexed, but he kept his voice deadly calm. “Raping a woman does not make you a man. Touch her and I’ll kill you. I said to leave the lass be. I’m chief, I make the decisions.”

“For now.”

Patrick’s gaze hardened. “Is that a challenge,
brother?
”

Gregor looked uncomfortable, proving that he was not completely without loyalty. “Not if you do what needs to be done.”

“And by that you mean taking revenge on Elizabeth Campbell?” Patrick held his anger in check, though his first instinct was to take his dirk to his brother’s neck and impress upon him the seriousness of what he was about to say. But one of them had to be rational. “Revenge on innocents isn’t going to help our cause.”

“Cause?” Gregor scoffed. “What cause? The Campbells won’t rest until every one of us is dead. I for one intend to take as many of them as I can with me.”

Patrick heard the murmurs of agreement from the other
men and knew he had to make them see beyond the thirst for revenge. It was a thirst he shared, but one he had to hold in check for the future of the clan. “So your answer is to give up? Go down in a blaze of glory? Don’t you see that every day we survive is a victory? The Campbells have tried for years to get rid of us, but the fact that you and I are standing here shows that they’ve failed.” He looked into the faces of the other men. Men with wives and families. “What about our women and children? Would you leave them unprotected, at the mercy of men like Auchinbreck? Would you see the name MacGregor die, never to be reborn?”

Gregor had a mulish look on his face. “The clan wants revenge.”

“And they shall have it. Our murdered kinsmen and our sister will not be forgotten. But if you make war on Elizabeth Campbell, there will be no place for us to hide. Every Campbell will be hunting us, and the other clans will turn against us. Don’t you see?”

His brother’s eyes had lost a bit of their rabid glaze. Patrick’s words appeared to have finally penetrated. He nodded. “Aye.”

“Good. Then ride north and send out the
crann tara,
the fiery cross. I want every MacGregor from here to Rannoch Moor to gather at the kirk in Balquhidder a week hence.”

Gregor frowned. “What about you? Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Aye, but first I want to see what I can discover of the Campbell plans and Auchinbreck’s movements. I’ll follow in a few days.”

“And the Campbell chit, you intend to just leave her?”

“Aye.” The tightness in his chest nearly cut off his breath. Every instinct rejected what had to be done. His course had been laid out for him. To join his men. To fight. To punish those who’d murdered his kinsmen and raped his sister.

Only one thing stood in his way.

Lizzie. He was torn between his duty to his clan and his need to see her safe.

His brother’s accusation rang in his ears. He wasn’t putting her before his clan, but he couldn’t leave her unprotected. He thought he’d gotten through to his brother, but with Lizzie’s safety Patrick wouldn’t take any risk. If anything happened to him …

There would be no one to keep a rein on Gregor.

Lizzie would be as good as dead.

Patrick formulated his plan on his way back to the castle. Tonight he would send a few of his men to follow his brother and ensure his return to the Highlands, and then tomorrow morning Lizzie would get her wish.

She must have been waiting for him, because as soon as he passed through the gate she ran toward him. “What happened? Why did you send me away like that?” She stopped in her tracks a few feet away when she saw his expression. “Patrick, what’s wrong?”

Everything. He forced himself to look at her, wanting to see her for what she was—a Campbell, his enemy, the sister of the man who’d ordered the rape of Annie, and the cousin of the fiend who’d sent his brother and chief to their deaths.

He wanted to hate her.

But all he could see was guileless blue eyes set in a pale face fraught with concern. For him.

His chest twisted. Did she have to be so damn sweet? He wanted to grab her and shake her, lash out until she hated him. It would make leaving her so much easier.

He squared his jaw. “Go. Pack your things and be ready to leave at sunrise.”

“Go?” she repeated, startled. “Where?”

He met her gaze, giving no hint of the turmoil raging inside. Heaven help him, he still wanted her. But he would
see her safely to her cousin and be done. With the removal of him and his men and the conscription by Auchinbreck of half its already depleted fighting force, Castle Campbell would be left woefully undefended. He might despise Argyll, but he knew Lizzie would be safe with her powerful cousin, and he had no choice but to take her there himself.

“Dunoon,” he said flatly. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you shall have your wish.”

And without another word, he turned on his heel and left her standing there, unable to look at her another minute.

He’d thought he was dead inside, thought that he’d lost the ability to feel.

He was wrong.

Letting her go would be like cutting himself in two, and he feared what would be left of himself when she was gone.

His brother’s face flashed before his eyes, giving him his answer.

After a sleepless night waiting for Patrick to come to her room and explain his sudden change of heart, only to be disappointed, Lizzie stood in the
barmkin
in the semidarkness of dawn, shivering, watching a stranger ready their horses to leave.

Her heart squeezed as she wrestled with confusion. This should be the happiest moment of her life, but he wouldn’t even look at her. She’d gotten what she wanted, but she would run away with him right now if only he would stop acting like this. Too late, she realized that it didn’t matter how they married just as long as they were together.

Never had she seen him like this. Patrick seemed a cold, angry shell of the man she loved. His expression was hard and implacable, his eyes flat. All attempts to question him were rebuffed with stony curtness.

What had happened on their way back to the castle yesterday? Was he angry because of her refusal to run away with him or was there some other reason?

Nothing made sense.

She listened as he gave orders to his men and the handful of Campbell guardsmen who would accompany them, and before the sun had crested the horizon, they were on their way to Dunoon.