The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  He hurried away, brushing past Patrick with nary a glance in his eagerness to leave.

  As soon as he’d gone, Lizzie sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging with weariness. Something inside him snapped.

  Why was she doing this to herself? She was too young to be locked away in this grim castle, weighed down with responsibility that was not hers to shoulder. She should be at parties, being feted, dancing, and enjoying herself.

  Or be surrounded by bairns. My bairns, he thought fiercely.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  She started at the sound of his voice. He hated the way her shoulders stiffened instinctively, as if to ward off attack. From me. The realization struck him cold. She turned her head just enough for him to catch her face unprotected and see the look of exhaustion on her face. It roused every protective instinct inside him.

  “What are you doing here?” She looked at him imploringly. “Please, I’ve not the strength to do battle with you right now.”

  Her accusation was well aimed, and Patrick felt a hard stab of guilt. He’d wanted to press her, but not like this—not when she was vulnerable. Right now all he wanted to do was ease the worry from her mind.

  He stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed but relaxed as his fingers began to knead the tension from her neck. Her skin was warm and velvety, the tiny hairs at the back of her neck as downy soft as the top of a babe’s head. She smelled like flowers, and if he dipped his head into her silky blond hair …

  He straightened, reminding himself that he’d only meant to soothe her.

  “They ask too much of you,” he said in a low voice. He felt her stiffen. Before she could argue, he spun her around to look into her eyes. “You are doing the work of lord and lady with none of the reward. Does your family realize how much you’ve sacrificed for them?”

  “You’re wrong. ’Tis no sacrifice. They ask nothing of me that I do not wish to give.”

  He gave her a hard look. “I do not doubt that, Elizabeth. That’s what you do: give and give.”

  She bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you take care of everyone else before thinking of yourself. You think I don’t see what you’ve done around here. Yet when is the last time you received even a word of thanks?”

  Her mouth clamped together. He read the answer in her defiant gaze. “I do not need thanks. I’m happy to help my brothers and cousin where I can.”

  “They are taking advantage of you,” he said bluntly. Though he admired her capability and the way she quietly attended to the needs of everyone around her, it was time someone looked out for her. “Of your kindness, of your skills, and of your strong sense of duty and responsibility. When is the last time you went to court or visited any of your friends?”

  She bit her lip, looking troubled. “It’s been some time, but the countess was ill.”

  “And after that? You’ve been locked away, taking care of your cousins and brothers when you should be enjoying yourself.” He took her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Meeting people.”

  She turned away. “You make it sound much worse than it is.”

  Seeing her hurt, he softened his tone. “I’m sure they don’t mean to, but it does not change the fact that they have taken advantage of you.” He paused. “Haven’t you sacrificed yourself on the altar of duty long enough?”

  Lizzie’s head was spinning. He was confusing her, making her see ambiguity where there was none. She enjoyed her duties. It was only sometimes, when she was tired, that everything suddenly felt so overwhelming.

  “You act as if duty is a foul word,” she said. “But it’s not all about sacrifice, it’s something you do for the greater good or because it’s the right thing to do. My family is important to me. Is there nothing that matters to you?”

  His eyes flashed, but he ignored her question. Patrick was unrelenting—in this as on the battlefield. He cupped her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. “Is it the right thing to do, Elizabeth? Do you not deserve to make your own choice?”

  In a husband. She knew what he meant. She searched his face, heart pounding. “It is my duty to marry where my family wishes.”

  “Haven’t you done enough? Or do you need to tie yourself to a man you don’t want as well to satisfy them?”

  She bristled. “You presume much. How do you know I don’t want him?”

  A dangerous glint fired in his gaze. She realized her error: He’d taken her words as a challenge. He stepped closer to her, moving her back until she was pressed against the stone wall. He braced himself over her with one hand on either side of her shoulders.

  Her breath hitched and her pulse quickened, reverberating through her body until her skin seemed to beat with life. His heat warmed her. His scent intoxicated her—a heady combination of soap and freshly washed male skin with the faint scent of pine that made her think he bathed in a forest. He leaned closer to her, until only inches separated them. The look on his face …

  He terrified her. But not with fear.

  He’s going to kiss me. She held her breath, knowing that she would not refuse him.

  But at the last minute his mouth moved to her ear, his breath sweeping over her in a warm whisper. “Because you want me.”

  Blast the arrogant brute! And blast him doubly for being right.

  But she couldn’t forget the hurt. “And what of you, Patrick? Will you marry again? Or perhaps you’ve already found someone?”

  His gaze burned into hers, knowing that something was behind her words. “What do you mean?”

  Her eyes heated with the anger and hurt that had been held inside her for too long. “Your trips to the village have not gone unnoticed.”

  A look of confusion crossed his too-handsome face. “What does my going to the village have to do with us?”

  “I know there are women—”

  He swore and gripped her arm, jerked her up against his chest. “Who put such nonsense in your head?”

  She didn’t say anything, her throat hot and tight from the ball of tears constricting it.

  “Finlay,” he said flatly. She looked at him in surprise. “ ’Tis no secret that he despises me, but I am surprised that you listened to his venom.”

  “It’s not too difficult to believe. You are a man.”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “But I’ve not had another woman, Elizabeth.”

  Her heart faltered. Her eyes shot to his, not daring to believe … He cradled her cheek tenderly in his big hand.

  “How can I when I want someone else?”

  He hasn’t been with a woman … he wants me.

  His thumb swept over her bottom lip as he contemplated her mouth. He lowered his face to hers, their mouths separated by only a hairbreadth. Close enough that she could taste the spiciness of his breath on her tongue. Her body pulsed with need, desperate for the pressure of his mouth on hers. She could lift up and …

  He pulled back suddenly—cruelly. His fingers cupped her chin, tipping her head back to meet his cool, piercing gaze.

  “But it cannot be, isn’t that right, Elizabeth?”

  “I—” Her breath caught. Could it?

  He gave her a long look. “Let me know when you decide.”

  She hated him for leaving her like this: heart pounding, body soft and heavy, drenched with heat … wanting.

  But even though the effects of his touch faded, his question haunted her long after he’d left.

  Could she ignore her duty to her family for the sake of personal happiness?

  As she made her way back to the great hall, she contemplated the gauntlet he’d tossed at her feet.

  There was no denying that on the surface, Patrick Murray—a simple guardsman with no land, wealth, or position to speak of—was an unsuitable choice of husband for her. Yet in the ways that mattered, he was everything she’d ever dreamed of—strong, handsome, honorable. A fierce warrior and natural leader who inspired devotion in his men. Perhaps he
was a smidgen rough around the edges, but it seemed only to enhance his appeal.

  She appreciated his blunt, straightforward manner, knowing that she could count on him not to hide the truth. She believed him about the village. He hadn’t sought out another woman. And it was surprising how much that knowledge mattered. Her growing feelings, suddenly unhampered by doubt and hurt, had broken free of their moorings. She could admit to herself just how much she cared for her dark guardsman.

  And just as important, he truly seemed to care for her.

  From the first he’d singled her out, making her feel special, desirable. He’d never made her feel self-conscious about her stammer or lacking in any way. And no one had ever worried about her before. His protectiveness was nice—not smothering, but nice. She could get used to it.

  Maybe … it was possible.

  As she reached the hall, the sounds of a disturbance outside caught her attention. She intercepted the bailiff as he was making his way toward the kitchens below.

  “What is it, Donald?”

  “Ah, there you are, my lady. The Laird of Auchinbreck has arrived with some men.”

  Colin? What could he be doing here? She started toward the door, but the heavy footsteps treading up the forestairs from the barmkin below told her that it was unnecessary. A moment later, Colin and half a dozen men came bursting into the hall, and Lizzie came face-to-face with the explanation for her brother’s unexpected arrival.

  The blood drained from her face as she met the friendly blue-eyed gaze of the handsome blond giant standing before her.

  It seemed she would not be able to ignore her duty; it had just arrived. For standing next to her brother was none other than Robert Campbell.

  “Ah, there you are, Lizzie,” Colin said, moving forward to enfold her in an awkward embrace. Physical affection had never come easily to her brother—actually, affection in general didn’t seem to come easily to him. “I was surprised you did not come out to greet us.”

  Lizzie didn’t miss the subtle admonition so typical of her brother. “I was in the east range and didn’t hear you arrive.” Remembering what Patrick had said, she added, “Overseeing the construction project that our cousin left under my supervision.” Figuring that Colin could use a little admonition himself, she said, “If I’d known you were coming, of course, I would have been here to greet you and your guests myself.”

  Colin frowned, looking at her as if she’d just grown a second head.

  But Robert Campbell chuckled. “She’s got you there, Auchinbreck.” He took her hand and gave her a short bow. “We apologize for descending on you unannounced, my lady, but there wasn’t time to send a messenger.”

  “Aye,” Colin said, recovering from his shock at her rebuke. “I met up with Campbell here a few days ago near the Lomond Hills. We decided to join forces, but the damn outlaws have vanished.”

  Lizzie swallowed hard. It seemed that the prospect of an alliance between the two warring branches of clan Campbell was already bearing fruit. The noose hanging around her neck tightened. Realizing that the men were staring at her, she asked, “So you’ve given up your search?”

  “Nay, little sister, I’ll never give up.” Colin’s eyes hardened. “After what they dared try to do to you, the MacGregors will pay. I’ll see their heads on pikes—every last one of them.”

  Something in his voice made her skin crawl with fear. Colin was a hard man, occasionally even a cruel one. He was a difficult man to love, but as he was her brother, she tried to do so.

  Though Lizzie had no wish to encounter the MacGregor brigands again, neither did she want any more bloodshed on her account. But she knew her brother well enough to know that nothing she said would change his mind. He cared for her in his own way. But of all her brothers, Colin valued her opinion the least.

  “We decided to retrench for a few days and lull them out of hiding,” Robert Campbell explained. “Your brother was kind enough to invite me and my men to enjoy the hospitality of Castle Campbell while we wait.”

  “I thought it was a good opportunity for you to get to know each other better,” Colin said meaningfully.

  Lizzie felt the heat rise to her cheeks. So much for subtlety. How like a brother to say something to embarrass her. “You and your men are most welcome, my laird,” she said with a smile directed at Robert Campbell.

  He returned her smile, and at that moment Patrick Murray walked through the door from the kitchens, holding an apple in his hand.

  He stopped midstep, shock and something else crossing his face before he quickly covered it.

  “Excuse me,” he said with a short nod, heading immediately for the door.

  Colin was studying him with a queer look on his face. “Who is that man? I don’t recognize him, but he seems familiar.”

  “Patrick, wait,” Lizzie said, stopping him just as he’d reached the door. He turned and looked at her, his face devoid of expression. “My brother the Laird of Auchinbreck has arrived.”

  “So I see, my lady.” His gaze turned to Robert Campbell.

  “And this is Robert Campbell,” she said softly, the hint of an apology in her voice. His gaze chilled, as hard and black as coal. Something painful squeezed in her chest, and she had to look away. “This is Patrick Murray,” she explained to Colin, “the man who rescued us from the attack. He and his men agreed to stay on for a while.”

  “Is that so?” Colin said, stroking his chin. “It seems we owe you a debt of gratitude, Murray.”

  “You owe me nothing, my laird. I was honored to offer the lady assistance.” Patrick’s voice was polite but empty. His gaze when he looked at her was that of a stranger, giving no hint of what had passed between them only moments ago. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my duties.”

  She didn’t miss his emphasis on the last word. A gauntlet indeed.

  Chapter 10

  To Patrick’s mind there was no cause to celebrate, but the hall was filled to bursting with the sounds of the pipes and merrymaking as the ceilidh got under way. Highlanders welcomed any excuse to feast, and Campbells—Highlanders when it proved expedient—were no exception.

  He kept his gaze fixed on the steaming pile of beef and vegetables in front of him and not on the laughing couple seated at the dais, but every inch of his body teemed with barely restrained fury. After a long week of being forced to stand in the shadows and watch his enemy woo the woman he wanted—and not being able to do a damn thing about it—Patrick was perilously close to losing control.

  Every instinct clamored to storm over there and smash his fist through the too-damn-charming smile of his erstwhile cousin Robert Campbell, though to do so could be a disaster of deadly proportions. Patrick dared not do anything to draw any more attention to him and his men. They were treading on dangerous ground already.

  The shock of walking into the great hall and seeing the Laird of Auchinbreck and Robert Campbell had yet to fade. Patrick knew he was damn lucky that neither of the men recognized him. He’d crossed paths with Elizabeth’s brother a few times and Robert Campbell once or twice, but never close enough for careful study. Nonetheless, not even the knowledge of how close he’d come to discovery for the second time could temper the dangerous mix of emotions coiling inside him—anger, resentment, and what could only be described as jealousy—leaving him ready to strike at the barest provocation.

  Indifferent? Hardly. No longer could he lay claim to that state, if he ever could. Discovery was not the only danger he faced; he was also in danger of becoming too attached. Something he’d carefully avoided.

  Until now.

  He glanced over at her again, but the picture hadn’t changed.

  As regal as any princess on a throne, she’d never looked more beautiful—or beyond his reach. She glittered like a diamond in the sun, her sky blue eyes sparkling and pale skin flushed pink in the candlelight. She wore an entrancing concoction of blue satin and some white gauzy material that floated around her like angel’s wings. Her hair was arra
nged in a Grecian circle at the top of her head, secured by a wreath of diamonds and pearls. Long, silky strands of white blond curls cascaded around the creamy pale skin of her neck and shoulders.

  She appeared as exactly what she was: the quintessential lady of the castle. A woman to be admired from afar.

  Once again she’d worked her magic, turning the gloomy old hall into a glittering panorama of light and color that seemed to blaze with life—though he suspected that she would make a warm, comfortable home out of a hovel. He’d never seen so many candles—or so much silver to hold them. Evidence of the Campbell wealth was everywhere—from the colorful satin cloths dressing the tables to the precious metals and gemstones encrusting the tableware to the platters piled high with food and the overflowing casks of fine wine.

  While his people were starving.

  He should resent her, but it wasn’t resentment that he felt when he looked at her laughing and smiling at Robert Campbell. It was something far more dangerous.

  If only she didn’t look so damn happy.

  There was no denying that she had bloomed under the dueling attentions of two men. The new womanly confidence that mixed with her sweet vulnerability was irresistible—and he hadn’t been the only one to notice. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t fault Robert Campbell for falling under her spell.

  The other man leaned over and whispered something in her ear that caused her to toss her head back and laugh. The sweet, throaty sound drove like nails into his chest.

  “Have a wee bit of pity on the utensils, Captain.”

  “What?” he replied sharply, turning his anger from the laughing couple to the man who’d disturbed his self-inflicted torture.

  As befitted their station, Patrick and his men had been seated at a table well removed from the dais, and with the music and loud voices they were in little danger of being overheard. Still, they spoke in low tones—out of habit more than anything else.