The Campbell Trilogy (81 page)

They exchanged a long look. The lingering pain in his eyes made her heart twist, and she had to fight the urge to comfort him. He was so pale, with deep lines of pain and weariness etched around his mouth.

He seemed to understand her quandary.

“Go, get some rest, Lizzie,” he said gently. “We only have a few hours. It’s too dangerous to travel into these hills at night; we’ll need to leave at first light.”

She wanted to say something, but what was left that hadn’t already been said? Instead she nodded and returned to her place on the plaid. Alone. She lay down and purposefully turned away from him, lest she be tempted to watch over him. He didn’t need her; why had she ever thought he did? Closing her eyes, she let the pull of exhaustion take her under.

The crunching sound of someone walking quietly over rocks sounded in her ear where it pressed against the
ground, startling her awake. Her eyes fluttered open in the semidarkness, and she was relieved to see that it was only Patrick. For a moment, her heart leapt with joy—forgetting where they were and what had happened—then the truth brought her crashing back to reality. Reality in the form of a dark, rocky cave, musty with animal scents, with more crevices than she cared to explore.

The fire had gone out, but surprisingly, she wasn’t cold. She looked down to see the plaid wrapped around her.

“You can tend to your needs down by the loch,” he said, raking his fingers through his still-damp hair. “I’ve left you some dried beef and a bit of oatcake. It’s not much, but we need to ration just in case.” He motioned to a rock near the saddlebags. “I’m going to climb up the hill to get a better vantage of the area before we go.”

Lizzie felt an unwelcome pang in her chest. He looked horrible. Though if she didn’t know him so well, she might not notice the lines of strain etched around his mouth, the flatness of his eyes, and the slight pallor of his skin. The signs of a long night spent in pain that no dunking in the loch could wash away. Her foolish heart went out to him. She’d be surprised if he had slept at all.

“Your leg …,” she started. “Does it hurt very badly?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“But …” She bit her lip, unable to hide her apprehension.

“I’m not going to die, Lizzie,” he said gently. “Not yet, at least. But my brother and yours, when they discover what has happened, will be doing their best to see otherwise. I’m going to need you to be strong if we are to have a chance. I won’t lie to you, lass. The next few days are going to be difficult. Can you manage?”

“Of course,” she retorted, annoyed that he thought her so weak.

Later, she would come to question that confidence.

Lizzie was holding up better than Patrick had expected. Stubborn pride apparently had its benefits. He’d issued her a challenge, one that she would not easily forgo.

From the way she carefully avoided his gaze, he knew she was hurting. Her initial anger had turned to sadness—as if she were mourning the death of a loved one. And though she was not the sort to appear sullen or to mope, this quiet acceptance was almost more difficult to take. He wished she would lash out at him, but that was not her way.

He’d known it would be difficult when she discovered the truth, but seeing the betrayal in her gaze was far worse than he’d imagined. The only consolation was that at least he was not deceiving her any longer.

Their slow trek through the boggy pass between Loch Katrine and Loch Achray known as Bealach nan Bo, Pass of the Cattle, where his clansmen brought their cattle (some reived) from the Highlands into the Lowlands, had taken longer than he’d anticipated, complicated by his efforts to hide their muddy tracks and avoid dangerous bogs. But as they climbed higher and the ground became firmer, he was able to quicken their pace.

The low clouds and fine mist that descended as the day wore on did not bode well, and Patrick wanted to reach the edge of the tree line along the hill of Binnein before the rain came. There weren’t any caves in the area, but he would be able to fashion some sort of shelter that would keep them
dry enough while they waited to see if they’d eluded their pursuers.

He was used to being hunted and disappearing into the wild, but this time it was different.

He glanced over at Lizzie, noticing her flushed cheeks and heavy, uneven breathing. She wasn’t used to this kind of exertion, and even with the aid of the walking stick that he’d made from a tree branch, she was struggling. But if they wanted to stay ahead of his brother, they had to keep forging along.

With the plaid he’d given her wrapped around her like an
arisaidh,
she certainly didn’t resemble a Campbell heir ess. She looked more like a bedraggled urchin. Her hair had long ago lost its bindings, and stray flaxen tendrils fell across her face and, more often than not, tangled in her lashes. Mud stained the bottom of her skirts up to the knee, and small droplets were spattered over the rest. At least she was wearing sturdy leather riding boots and not the flimsy slippers she often wore.

What the hell had he been thinking? This was after just one day in the wild. At times he’d lived like this for weeks. How could he have ever thought to bring her into this sort of life?

She wasn’t the only one struggling. Truth be told, he was looking forward to reaching their destination as well. Each step he took sent a fresh needle of pain shooting up his leg that was becoming more difficult to ignore. He’d taken a risk in burning the wound closed and sealing in any infection. But that wouldn’t come for days, if it did, and if he hadn’t, he would have lost too much blood.

Sensing that Lizzie needed a rest, he stopped on a small rise and offered her a drink of water from the skin that he’d refilled at the loch. She accepted it eagerly, taking a long gulp before handing it back to him.

There was a break in the trees affording a breathtaking view east through the mist of the loch beyond.

“Is that the loch where we were earlier?”

She’d been silent for so long, it was a surprise to hear the sweet melody of her soft voice. “Aye.” He pointed a little farther south. “The cave is on the side of the mountain there.”

She nodded. “The loch is beautiful. What’s it called?”

“Loch Katrine,” he said, his voice forbidding. He’d been doing his best not to think about it all day. To think how close they were.

He saw her eyes scan eastward and then stop. Her eyes sparkled with the first glimmer of excitement he’d seen from her in days. “Is that an island?”

He stiffened. “Aye. Molach.” The islet where his sister and some of the other MacGregor women and children had taken refuge. Only the knowledge that it was one of the first places his brother would search once he realized they hadn’t gone south prevented him from going to see Annie. He didn’t blame Lizzie for what had befallen his sister, but he was trying not to dwell on the events that had separated them. As soon as Lizzie was safe, he would find Annie. And then he would find Auchinbreck.

“It’s charming,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do you think they are following us?”

“Aye. My brother will not give up that easily.” He saw the fear in her eyes and instinctively sought to reassure her. “I chose these hills for a reason, Lizzie. No one will find us if I don’t want them to.”

If he’d intended to allay her fears, his words seemed to have the opposite effect. Her cheeks paled beneath the flush. “We’re going into the hills?”

“Not unless we have to, but I need to get to Balquhidder to gather my men.” It was too dangerous to try to get her to safety on his own. He hoped to hell that Robbie and the others had gotten away without a problem. He pointed in the direction of the hill where they were heading. “From up there I will have a clear view of the surrounding area. If my
brother has picked up our trail, I will see him. If there is no sign of him, we will follow the lochs and rivers north and get my men, then I will take you to your cousin.”

She looked at him as if he were mad. “To Dunoon? Won’t that be dangerous for you? What if my family has already discovered that I’m missing and have learned who you are?” She paused. “What if I decide to tell them?”

He peered down into her tiny upturned face, seeing the challenge in her gaze and in the hard set of her chin. “Will you?”

Her mouth pursed together. “I just might.”

His lips curved in a half-smile. “I suppose ’tis a chance I’ll have to take.”

They both knew his secret was safe with her. No matter how angry she was with him, Lizzie did not have a bloodthirsty bone in her body. Hers would not be the hand that spelled his doom. But she was right. When it was discovered that she was missing, there wouldn’t be anywhere in the Lowlands for him to hide.

“And what if your brother has picked up our trail?”

“We’ll take the high road through the hills. Gregor won’t be able to track us as easily over the rock, and we’ve enough of a head start to stay well ahead of him. But at this time of year, venturing into the mountains can be dangerous.”

“Why?”

“The weather changes quickly.” At least it was still too early for snow. He slung the skin back around his shoulder. “Which will work in our favor today. The rain will slow them down.”

“Rain?” Lizzie looked up to the sky and frowned. “What rain?”

Lizzie swore she wouldn’t complain. No matter how exhausted, no matter how hungry, no matter how miserable she felt. She would prove to him that she was not some
fragile piece of porcelain ready to crack at the first sign of difficulty.

And then as he predicted it started to rain.

Not a light, misty rain, but a full Highland downpour with icy gusts of wind that cut to the bone.

So now in addition to being tired, hungry, and cold, by the time they reached the area where Patrick decided to shelter for the night, she was also drenched.

And when she realized there would be no cozy cave to sleep in this night, she wanted to cry.

But it appeared she had underestimated Patrick’s resourcefulness. He showed her to a fallen tree for her to sit on while he set about gathering the materials—tree limbs, pine bows, and moss—to build a shelter. Using part of the fallen log she was sitting on for a base, he cleared away the ground of leaves and rocks and built a tentlike structure with branches. Then he wove the bows between the branches to create a roof and laid moss on the ground to provide a buffer from the wet ground.

At the open end of the shelter, he built a small fire. It would be smoky, perhaps, but warm. And a few minutes later, when he settled her underneath, she realized it was also dry.

“You’ve done this before,” she said wryly.

His mouth twitched. “Perhaps once or twice.” He paused. “It’s not what you are used to.”

“No,” she admitted. Far from it.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Famished,” she replied before she could think to lie.

“I might be able to catch a mountain hare. I can try to fashion some twine from vines or …” He gave her an odd look—almost as if he were embarrassed.

“Or?” she asked.

“If we had some kind of string.”

She tilted her head, perplexed.

“Such that might be a part of a lady’s undergarments.”

“You want the tie from my stays? Why didn’t you just say so?” He’d seen her naked, but he was flustered by talk of undergarments. It was … adorable. If a heavily muscled Highland warrior of well over six feet could be characterized as such.

He turned to give her privacy, and she quickly went to work removing the plaid that he’d given her and the heavy woolen jacket that she wore underneath, then loosened the ties of her kirtle enough to slide it down to her waist. With all the walking and climbing they were doing, it would be nice to be able to move a little easier. When she got to her stays, however, she had to stop. She’d forgotten. They tied in the back.

She bit her lip and looked at his broad back, debating.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“I’m afraid …” She took a deep breath and started again. “I’m afraid I need some help.”

She covered her breasts, fully visible beneath the damp linen of her sark, with her arms as he turned. His eyes heated for an instant, lingering on the bare skin of her arms and neck, before he bent and placed his hands on her back, slowly working the ties of her stays. She held her breath, painfully aware of the warmth of his hands, of every stray brush of his fingers on her back. Of his breath on her neck. Of his body so close to hers.

It was an altogether too familiar intimacy that her body remembered well. Her skin prickled. From the cold, she told herself. But then why was she so flushed?

God, did he only have to touch her for her to fall apart? Did she so easily forget that he’d lied to her and deceived her from the first moment they’d met? That his seduction had been coldly calculated with one purpose—her dowry? That he was a MacGregor—her clan’s enemy and an outlaw?

She straightened her spine and forced herself to ignore him and not let his touch affect her.

He must have felt her resistance, because he finished
quickly, murmured a brusque thanks, and said that he would return soon, leaving her to dress in peace.