The Campbell Trilogy (87 page)

For an instant, happiness broke through the pain.
I love you.
Words she’d dreamed of but never heard. Not until now.
Why now?
“You don’t need to say that just to make me feel better.”

His jaw flexed, and pride radiated from him. “I’ve never said those words to anyone before.” His penetrating gaze moved over her. “Nor do they come easy for me.”

Lizzie heard the censure in his voice and understood—he’d held himself apart for so long because of all that had been taken from him. Relinquishing that control over his emotions would have not come easily. Those words had cost him a lot. “I want to believe you.”

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face to his, his gaze tender and … loving. “Then do. Does knowing I was there that day really change anything, Lizzie? However it started, I do love you. That isn’t a lie. After all we’ve been through, all that we’ve shared, can you really doubt my feelings for you?”

She looked up at him with watery eyes. Could she? She knew the answer in her heart.

A sound in the distance behind them, however, drew his immediate attention. He swore and grabbed her hand. “I will prove it to you if it takes me a lifetime, but the rest of this discussion will have to wait. They’re coming. We have to go. Quickly.”

She nodded, not wasting any time arguing, and ran.
After a few minutes, an old stone church—now a kirk—came into view on the other side of a small hill. What looked to be a small waterfall ran alongside it. A large crowd of men and horses filled the yard.

Patrick turned to her with an encouraging smile. “Not much farther. My men—”

He stopped in his tracks and swore.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned to her, eyes blank. “Those aren’t my men.”

“Then who?” Her gaze shot back to the kirk, and she easily recognized the man who was mounting his horse, obviously intending to give them chase. “It’s Jamie!” Her heart gave an involuntary lift before she realized what it meant—if her brother was here, that meant Patrick’s men were not.

She put a restraining arm on Patrick when she recognized the man at Jamie’s side.
Colin. Dear God.
Patrick’s entire body went tight as a whip. His face contorted with hatred—and she knew that if he had the opportunity, he would kill Colin without a second thought.

She would never know what might have happened, because at that moment a hail of arrows flew from the trees behind them, one landing not three feet from where she was standing. Patrick shouted a warning and pulled her around in front of him. She felt the frantic pounding of his heart at her back. The arrow could have killed her.

She didn’t need to look to know that it had come from his brother.

They were trapped, literally caught in the middle between two worlds: hers before them and his behind.

With nowhere for them to go.

With only an instant to decide, Patrick knew he had no choice. Escape would be a long shot at best, and he would not risk Lizzie’s life—not again.

Even if it meant his own.

He started to walk forward, but she stopped him. “What are you doing? You can’t do this,” she begged, her eyes filling with fear. For him. “Colin … I don’t know what he’ll do. You have to try to get away.”

Patrick didn’t say anything, just kept pulling her forward. He wouldn’t leave her unprotected, not until she was safe with her brothers—not with Gregor within arrow’s shot.

“Patrick, please. Don’t do this. You need to run.”

Her cries tugged at his heart, but he let them wash over him. The Campbells were mounted and riding toward them at full speed. They broke off into two groups—the larger party led by Colin headed into the trees behind them after Gregor. Jamie Campbell was riding right for him, his sword raised high above his head.

Patrick pulled his sword from the scabbard at his back and, ignoring her cries, pushed Lizzie out of the way.

He stood his ground … waiting.

It didn’t take long. Campbell’s face was filled with fury, but Patrick kept his eye on the blade. The sound of horses pounded in his ears. Almost there …

He braced himself but was still unprepared for the force of the blow. Jamie’s sword descended in a high arc, and Patrick raised his sword with both hands to block it. The pain shot right to his injured leg. He wobbled but recovered quickly.

Campbell dismounted, his sword lifted high above his head.

Patrick could hear Lizzie begging her brother to stop. She would have run between them, but thank God a few of her clansmen were holding her back.

Jamie fought with a vengeance—his rage his only weakness. They exchanged blow after blow, and with each swing Patrick knew he was weakening. He managed to land a blow on Jamie’s shoulder, and he heard Lizzie
scream. His gaze shot to her, and he knew he couldn’t do this. Even if he could kill Jamie Campbell, he wouldn’t.

His blood pounded. Every instinct clamored against it. The rush of battle was still upon him. But he let it go.

He met Campbell’s gaze, and when the Enforcer swung his sword around and tried to use his elbow to knock Patrick to the ground, instead of evading the blow, he took it full force in the temple.

Lizzie’s scream rang in his ears as blackness crashed over him.

He wasn’t dead. That was the first thing Patrick realized when he woke. The next was that his head felt as if it had exploded and been put back together in a jumbled mess; and the third was that he was not alone.

He was lying on a bed in what appeared to be an old stone
botban.
He could see a fireplace for heating and cooking, the bed, a few tables and chairs, a cupboard, and sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, watching him with a black look on his face, was Jamie Campbell. Though he appeared to be relaxed and not an immediate threat, Patrick did not fool himself. Argyll’s Enforcer was one of the fiercest and most deadly men in Scotland—Highlands or Lowlands.

Still, he was alone, and for a moment Patrick contemplated escape.

Reading his mind, Jamie smiled. “I wouldn’t advise it,” he said. “Even if you could get past me, which I doubt given your current condition, my men have surrounded the building. This time, they will not hesitate to shoot.”

Patrick realized that his nearness to Lizzie when they were taken was likely what had prevented them from using their guns before. He was immediately conscious of his disadvantage. Hell if he would lie here like some damn invalid. Gritting his teeth, he sat up slowly. His head exploded in fresh pain, and nausea crashed over him. Biting back the urge to empty his stomach, he rode out the wave. Then, seeing a flagon near the bed, he helped himself to a
long drink, welcoming the fiery taste of the crude whisky—ambrosia to a starving man.

“Patrick MacGregor,” said Jamie, tapping his fingers on the arm of the wooden chair. “It’s been a long time.”

Not as long as you think.
Jamie was referring to the time they’d spent—briefly—fighting together on the Isle of Lewis, but Patrick had seen him much more recently than that. He’d had an arrow pointed at Campbell’s back only a few months ago.

“Not long enough,” Patrick replied dryly, given his current state of imprisonment. “How did you find us?”

“We learned of the attack on Lizzie almost immediately—one of the guardsmen managed to escape. Then, while we were searching the area, one of my men chanced to be nearby when the fiery cross passed through Callander. We took a chance that you were headed here.”

Patrick swore at the bad luck. “And my men?”

Jamie gave him a long look. “We’d seen neither hide nor hair of anyone until you arrived.” His expression hardened. “The outlaw Gregor and his men, however, were taken not long after you fell. They will be executed in Edinburgh for their crimes.”

Patrick felt a stab in his chest. Not for the brother he had, but for the one he’d lost before circumstances changed Gregor into the bitter, hate-filled man he’d become.

“And your brother’s crimes?” Patrick said cuttingly. “Will Auchinbreck be executed for his?”

Campbell’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “I’m sorry for what happened to your sister.”

The concession surprised him. Jamie Campbell seemed honestly repelled by his brother’s actions. “Yet Auchinbreck will not pay for what he’s done.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

“In the courts … nay.” Campbell met his gaze. “But I’ve no doubt that one day there will be a reckoning.”

Patrick studied him carefully, knowing there was something
Jamie Campbell wasn’t telling him but also realizing he’d told him all he would.

But if Gregor had been taken and was already on his way to Edinburgh, as was likely, why was he here? “Where’s Lizzie?”

Campbell gave him a hard look. “Somewhere safe.”

“I want to see her.”

“No.”

If Campbell thought he would accept that, he was sorely mistaken. The first thing he would do when he got out of here was find her. She might hate him right now, but she was his wife.

Jamie rubbed his shoulder in the place Patrick had landed a blow with his
claidbeambmór.
“You’ve improved since last we met.”

Patrick examined the knot on his head, his fingers skimming over the bloody, tender flesh. “So have you.”

They’d both been young on Lewis. Now they were men—warriors in their prime.

Campbell met Patrick’s gaze with a knowing look. “You’re too good a swordsman not to have avoided the blow to your head.”

Patrick didn’t say anything, looking away from the other man’s piercing stare. They both knew he’d stood down, but damned if he’d explain himself.

“My sister told me an interesting story,” Jamie said casually, though Patrick could tell it was an act.

“Is that so?”

Campbell’s eyes simmered with rage. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Patrick met his anger with his own. “Because your sister insists that you believe in justice, and the only crime I’ve been accused of is one that I did not commit. The atrocities done at Glenfruin were not the work of the MacGregors.”

Campbell’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m talking about what you did to my sister. Lying and wheedling your
way into Castle Campbell to convince her to marry you—not to mention putting her life in danger, even if, as she says, you did save it more than once.”

Patrick wondered how much Lizzie had told him. The basics, probably. If Campbell knew the worst of it, Patrick wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

There was nothing Jamie Campbell could say to him that Patrick hadn’t already said to himself. “I imagine the only thing staying your hand is the same thing that stayed mine—killing me will hurt her.”

Jamie didn’t appear very happy about it, but he reluctantly appeared to accept the truth of the observation. Two enemies bound by the happiness of the woman they both loved. “Mine is not the only hand itching to strike,” Campbell warned him, referring to Argyll and Auchinbreck. “Lizzie’s feelings will not keep you alive forever.”

Patrick’s head hurt, and he was tired of Campbell’s subtle interrogation. “What will, since I assume that is your purpose for being here?”

Jamie smiled, though it lacked any pretense of friendliness. “Cut to the quick, is it? Fine. My sister might claim to care for you, and given what you did out there today, I’m willing to concede that her feelings are reciprocated, but I want you out of her life. Though I am not without sympathy for the plight of your clan, it doesn’t mean I want my sister tied to an outlawed MacGregor.” His gaze turned shrewd and unyielding. “You will have your freedom and the tenancy of the land near Loch Earn, which I understand was the reason for this pursuit of my sister in the first place. I will find a way to mollify Glenorchy. In return, you will repudiate the handfast and never seek her out again.”

“No,” Patrick answered without hesitation. Jamie Campbell was offering him the two things he thought he’d wanted most in the world, but Patrick had been wrong. Lizzie had given him something much more important. She’d brought him back from the very edge of darkness. Without
her, he would be the empty, cold shell of a man he’d been before.

He would be like his doomed brother.

Patrick’s fight to reclaim his land would never end until once again it belonged to the MacGregors, but it would not be won at the cost of the woman he loved.

Wincing, he thought of the argument they’d had before he was captured. He might not yet have had the chance to convince her of his love, but he’d spend the rest of his life proving it.

He thought of all Lizzie had been willing to give up for him; he would do no less for her.

No smile marred the hard set of Campbell’s jaw. “Even if it is the best thing for Lizzie?”

“Who are you to judge what is best for your sister?”

“Apparently,” Campbell intoned darkly, “I’m the only person thinking rationally around here. God’s blood, did you see her? Gowned in rags, bedraggled, weary to the point of exhaustion, looking as if she’d been through hell the past few days?”

Patrick clenched his jaw against the accusations, but she had been through hell.

“If you care for her, you will not drag her under with you. You will not see her denied the life that should be hers.”