The Campbell Trilogy (77 page)

They rode along the edge of the Ochil hills, then crossed the bridge over the Forth at Stirling. Instead of taking the main road to Lennox, they kept north of the river, following
narrow paths across the moors and through woodlands that were at times difficult to make out.

For a man who hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, he couldn’t seem to get there fast enough. But he was being careful—wary, it seemed, of another attack. She sensed his vigilance in the intensity of his gaze and the way he reacted to every sound distant or near. He had men scouting ahead and behind them as an added precaution.

He pushed them at a brutal pace, traveling for hours—with only short water breaks for the horses—before finally stopping to rest. Though it was only a few hours past noon, with winter creeping ever closer the sun was almost gone.

It wasn’t only the horses that were exhausted. Lizzie was a good rider under normal circumstances, but she wasn’t accustomed to riding at this gait over difficult terrain for so long. Her legs, not used to such abuse, shook as she tried to dismount. She would have fallen if Patrick hadn’t caught her.

Just the sensation of his strong hands around her waist was enough to make her heart clench—and then drop when he released her all too suddenly.

Dear God, what was wrong? He wouldn’t even touch her.

Her legs wobbled, but she managed to stay on her feet. “Thank you.” He nodded curtly and started to turn away. She grabbed his arm, the leather of his jerkin cold and stiff under her fingertips. “Wait.”

His gaze met hers. He didn’t bother to mask his impatience.

Her heart throbbed, not understanding his coldness. “Where are we?”

“East of Menteith.”

Her brows drew together. “So far north? Shouldn’t we be heading south?” Though it was possible to reach Dunoon over land by winding along the fingerlike coast, it
was days faster to take a
birlinn
from Dumbarton across the Clyde. And this late in autumn, there was always weather to consider. They were fortunate thus far to have avoided rain, but the heaviness of the mist descending upon them did not bode well. Her cheeks were already numb from the cold.

“Aye. We’ll turn south near Loch Lomond.”

Loch Lomond. A veritable oasis. “Is that where we will stop for the night?”

He shook his head. “We won’t be stopping.”

She offered her protest with a groan.

Finally showing some sign of sympathy for her exhaustion, he explained, “I know you are tired, but as you well know, the roads can be dangerous.”

A shiver ran through her. She remembered all too well.

His voice softened. “You are well protected, Lizzie. But it’s best if we keep moving. Besides, your cousin is expecting you.” He hardened his jaw. “If that is all, I need to see to the horses.”

Dismissed. Lizzie suddenly felt her pulse spike with anger. She didn’t know what was wrong, but whatever it was, she didn’t deserve to be treated like this. “That is not all,” she snapped. “I want to know why are you acting like this.”

His eyes sparked with warning. “Leave it be, Lizzie.”

She lifted her chin. “No, I will not leave it be. What have I done to earn your displeasure? I apologize for leaving the castle alone, but I honestly did not see the harm.” He didn’t say anything, just stared at her with that hard, implacable look in his emerald gaze. She took a step toward him and gazed up at him beseechingly, wanting to penetrate this mysterious barrier he’d erected between them. “I know you don’t want to go to Dunoon, but if it means that much to you, I will go with you right now—wherever you want. It doesn’t matter where we marry—”

He swore, cutting her off. Grabbing her by the shoulders,
he shook her, his face tortured by conflicting emotions she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “Damn it, Lizzie! Don’t you understand? There will be no marriage.”

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her. A bolt of searing white-hot pain shot through her, cutting off her breath. If he’d turned around and shot her with a musket, she couldn’t have been more surprised.

Her heart rejected his words even as her eyes confirmed them. One look at him left no doubt. Her eyes burned with dry tears of disbelief as she gazed up into the fierce, handsome face of the man to whom she’d given her heart, the man who now thought to crush it under his heel with all the significance of a bug.

She didn’t beg, didn’t plead, didn’t burst into tears—though she wanted to. Instead, she drew up her shoulders and swallowed the thick ball of hurt, too outraged to let her emotions reign. She wasn’t insignificant, and she deserved to be treated better than this. “Am I to be told the reason for this decision, or did you think to just drop me at my cousin’s gate and leave with no explanation?”

The expression on his face made her step back in horror.

“My God,” she breathed, gazing up at him as if she’d never seen him before. “That’s exactly what you intend to do.” Her throat was so hot and tight, she could barely get the words out. “Do I mean so little to you? I thought you …”

Her heart caught, the burning in her chest excruciating.
Cared for me—maybe even loved me.

His eyes bored into her with brutal intensity. She thought she saw a flicker of regret before it was quickly shrouded behind the steely veil.

Once she’d admired his control; now she hated it.

“Circumstances have changed, making a marriage between us impossible.”

“Circumstances?” she repeated. Her voice was beginning to rise, and the other men were glaring in their
direction uneasily, but Lizzie didn’t care. How could he stand there so calmly—with all the emotion of a rock—when her heart was breaking apart? His coldness infuriated her, making her lash out with haughty sarcasm. “Could you perhaps be any more specific?”

She saw the flash of anger in his gaze. “No, I can’t. I told you before that there are things about me—”

“I’m tired of your secrets,” she exploded, her voice shaking with outrage. “Whatever it is, just tell me. Don’t I deserve the truth?” She gave him a look full of scorn. “Or do you often seduce women with promises of marriage and discard them when they no longer have use to you?”

“That’s not the way it happened,” he clipped, reminding her that she’d been the one foolish enough to seduce him. His eyes blared with something she’d never seen before—recklessness. He started to say something, but his words were cut off. If he’d meant to tell her his secret, she wouldn’t hear it now.

“Chie—Captain.”

Lizzie jerked around at the sound of Robbie’s harried voice, breaking above the din of stomping hooves. The young warrior had been scouting behind them, and from the anxious look on his face, there was a problem.

Chief. He’d been about to call Patrick chief. That was a strange mistake to make. Her gaze shot back to Patrick, but he’d already turned away from her.

Robbie dismounted by jumping from the saddle and strode quickly to Patrick’s side to confer with him. He spoke in a low voice, but she was able to make out one word. A word that sent chills sweeping across her already cold skin: followed.

Patrick knew it was useless to rail against the injustice, against the capricious fates that seemed intent on forcing them apart, but he couldn’t prevent the anger. At her for
being a Campbell, for being so damn sweet and trusting. And at himself for allowing himself to care.

And God, he cared about her. More than he’d imagined possible. Just looking at her, knowing that he couldn’t have her, made him want to lash out wildly. Cruelly. What limited possibilities they’d had for a future had been all but extinguished by the executions of his kinsmen at the hands of her cousin and the rape of his sister.

He knew that she was confused, that she didn’t understand his frustration, but it would be better for her to hate him. It would make leaving her easier.

There was one way he could ensure her hatred. And for one reckless moment—despite the danger presented by the handful of Campbell guardsmen that accompanied them—he contemplated telling her. I’m a MacGregor. An outlaw. Chief of a broken clan since your cousin murdered mine.

There was no reason to hide his identity any longer—only the need to get her to the safety of Dunoon without getting his men killed stayed his tongue.

Then Robbie arrived and the impulse was gone, his attention focused immediately on the threat at hand. The only question was who it was from.

“What is it?” he asked.

Robbie’s voice was hard and succinct. “We’re being followed.”

Patrick’s gaze darted meaningfully to Elizabeth, who was making no effort to hide her interest in their conversation. Robbie lowered his voice. “Campbells, Chief. The guardsman Finlay and ten other men, not two miles behind. I wanted to be sure, but they are definitely tracking us.”

Finlay. And ten men? Hell. With the five Campbells he’d brought with him, that would leave him and his five men vastly outnumbered. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t worry him, but he had Lizzie to consider. The threat he’d expected was from his brother, not from the
Campbell guardsman. Patrick’s mind went to work with the possible explanations for Finlay’s sudden arrival hard on their heels, but none of them boded well. “Tell the men to ready the horses.”

“We will attempt to outrun them?”

Patrick shook his head. If it was just him and his men, it would be different. But Lizzie was already about to fall off her horse. “Nay, but I would like to be closer to the hills before we find out what they want.” Though he’d picked a relatively protected area in which to rest, they were still in the valley of the river Forth—and a few leagues away from the forested hills and glens that separated the Lowlands from the Highlands.

If necessary, they could disappear into those hills.

Robbie nodded. “What about the lass?” he asked, broaching the question Patrick didn’t want to contemplate.

What about Lizzie?

Though he’d wanted to see her to Dunoon himself, if Finlay had discovered who he was, they would part much sooner than that.

His chest pinched. Perhaps it was for the best. “She’ll be safe enough with her clansmen.” And if his fool brother was tempted to attack almost a score of Campbell guardsmen with only a handful of ragtag outlaws, Patrick would keep him at bay.

Surprisingly, Lizzie made no complaint when their re spite was curtailed and once again they were riding at a hard—if not breakneck—pace across the moors. But her eyes haunted him, wounded and full of silent recrimination. Recrimination he could not answer for.

In spite of the circumstances, with each mile that brought them closer to the lush border of hills, forests, and secluded lochs that separated the Lowlands from the Highlands, Patrick felt his excitement grow. This was MacGregor land. His land.

And he’d been gone too long.

After an hour of hard riding, they reached the easternmost edge of the forest just south of Aberfoyle and the great shadow of the mountain of Beinnmheadhonaidh; at last, they slowed. It didn’t take long for Finlay and the other Campbell guardsmen to come into view behind them.

Lizzie, who’d been looking over her shoulder with enough frequency to tell him that she’d heard at least part of Robbie’s report, saw them and pulled up. “Wait. They’re Campbells.”

Patrick made eye contact with Robbie and Hamish, giving them silent communication to be ready.

Lizzie was studying him suspiciously, as were a few of the Campbell guardsmen they’d brought with them. “Why are we running from my cousin’s men?” she asked pointedly.

“We weren’t running,” Patrick replied. It wasn’t an answer and she knew it, but the arrival of Finlay and his men prevented any further questions.

If Patrick’s suspicions proved correct, her question would be answered soon enough.

“Finlay,” she said, swinging her horse around and moving toward him, “what are you doing here? Why are you following us?”

“Move away, my lady,” Finlay said.

Patrick and his men readied. One look at the triumphant expression on the Campbell guardsman’s face was enough for him to know that they’d been compromised. But if Finlay thought he’d won, he was mistaken. They might be outnumbered, but they were MacGregors—and the Campbells were on his terrain now. If there was a fight, the only thing that worried him was ensuring that Lizzie stayed out of harm’s way.

“Move away from what?” Lizzie asked, clearly confused.

“From me,” Patrick said flatly, his gaze never once leaving the guardsman.

Lizzie looked back and forth between them. “What is this about, Finlay?”

“Aye,” Patrick taunted, cocking a brow in a manner designed to get a rise out of the other man. “What is this about?”

Anger turned Finlay’s already red and sweaty face scarlet. “This man is not who he says he is.”

The pronouncement was met with dead silence. Lizzie didn’t gasp or make any other sound of surprise, nor did she look at him, but Patrick saw the slight stiffening of her shoulders. “Then who is he?”

Her voice sounded hollow—empty.

Finlay scowled. “I don’t know. But the Laird of Tullibardine has never heard of Patrick Murray.”

Like a musket shot, the sound of a horse tearing through trees from the forest to the west was greeted with the steely sound of blades being drawn from scabbards.

“Wait,” Patrick said. “It’s my man.” It was Tormod, the man he’d sent scouting ahead of them. “What is it, Tormod?”

The warrior looked around, grasping the situation. “MacGregors,” he said. “Coming fast.”

Patrick swore. Could this get any worse? Damn his brother to hell. He thought quickly and turned to Finlay. “Take the lady and make for the road to Lennox. I’ll hold them off.”

Finlay scoffed. “Think you I’m an idiot? This is just a ploy for you to make your escape.”

Patrick wanted to grab him by the throat and shake him. He didn’t bother to hide his rage. “This isn’t a ploy, and if you don’t leave right now, you’ll find out soon enough that I’m telling the truth. But by then it will be too late. We can settle this later, but right now your duty is to the lady.”

The Campbell guardsman was unmoved. Instead he said, “Arrest these men.” The man at his side moved quickly to do as he commanded.