Chapter 8 #2
Dread coiled in her belly like spoiled milk.
Had she driven him away?
No. He wouldn’t leave, she told herself. Not when he’d promised to stay. Not without saying goodbye.
She took her seat beside the bailiff and Finlay, both men offering her a pleasant greeting. As they’d been waiting for her to start the meal, she raised her hand and the merrymaking began.
She made small talk with the bailiff for a bit before broaching the question foremost on her mind.
“I don’t see the Murray guardsmen in the hall. Were they called to duty for some reason?”
The bailiff frowned, his eyes flickering over the tables crowded with clansmen. “Not to my knowledge, my lady.”
She heard Finlay snicker beside her; he’d obviously overheard—or been listening to—their conversation. “ ’Twas not duty that called them away, my lady.” He had a smug smile on his face, as though he were thinking about a naughty joke. “But a call of an entirely different kind.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Finlay sobered, but Lizzie caught the gleam in his eyes. “They went to the village to do a wee bit of celebrating.”
Her brows knit together. “But why would they do that? We’ve food and drink aplenty here.”
Finlay put on a show of looking uncomfortable, but Lizzie could tell that he was anxious to tell her what he knew. “We’ve not everything here that they have in the village.”
Oh God. Lizzie sucked in her breath, feeling suddenly ill. Women. They went to find women.
A slim dagger slid between her ribs, pricking a tiny corner of her heart—the part that had believed for a moment that there was something special in the kiss she and Patrick had shared. She swallowed. “I see.”
It shouldn’t matter. Even if she had some claim on him—which she didn’t—men often availed themselves of other women.
But knowing didn’t lessen the kernel of disappointment aching inside her. Or the feeling that once again she’d seen something special where there was only lust. Lust that any willing arms would sate.
The comely, buxom lass perched on his lap did nothing to ease Patrick’s restlessness. Still, cognizant of the tavern’s patrons, he made a good show of enjoying himself as he tossed back another tankard of cuirm, letting the maid fondle him.
The needs of the flesh had provided as good an excuse as any for why he and his men sought to avail themselves of the village’s offerings this night. Maybe a wee tumble was just what he needed.
But the smell of stale ale was not lavender. When her wet kisses on his ear and the press of her breasts against his arms did nothing to get a rise out of him, he gave her a pat on her round rump and ushered her away with vague promises that he had no intention of keeping.
He had business to take care of, and his reason for being here had just ducked through the front door.
Patrick almost didn’t recognize him. Gregor had gone to great lengths to change his appearance from that day in the forest. His tattered breacan feile and leine had been exchanged for a leather jerkin and trews—no doubt obtained the way Patrick had secured his own new clothing.
It was the first time Patrick had seen his brother cleanshaven since Gregor was old enough to grow a beard.
He’d trimmed his hair as well, and had it tied back in a short queue at his neck.
Though Gregor’s hair was lighter brown and his eyes dark blue, the resemblance between the two brothers had never seemed more marked.
Patrick hoped to hell no one from the castle was around to take note.
He caught his brother’s eye but gave no indication that he knew him.
After a few moments, he moved back into one of the private “rooms”—a table and benches separated with a canvas curtain—offered by the alehouse for privacy in the back.
Though the village of Dollar was small, it boasted a fine alehouse and lodging.
If not as well maintained as a drover’s inn, it would do for their meeting.
A short while later, Gregor slid onto a bench opposite him. Robbie and his other men would ensure that they were not interrupted and that no one drew close enough to overhear.
Patrick stared at his brother for a long moment but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His anger was palpable.
To his credit, Gregor didn’t back down or look repentant, trusting that the bonds of brotherhood would once again protect him from the full force of Patrick’s wrath.
It would, but barely. Over the past few years, those bonds had frayed, and after the attack last week, they now hung by mere threads.
“I should cut your damn throat for what you did,” Patrick said.
“You look well, brother.”
Patrick gave him a sharp glare of warning, both for his recklessness in calling him brother and for the snide bite underlying his words.
He reached across the table and grabbed his brother by the throat, hard enough to cut off his breath.
“Don’t fuck with me, Gregor. I’m of no mind for your subtle poison. If you’ve something to say, say it.”
Gregor’s eyes darkened and he jerked away, rubbing his throat until his breathing returned to normal. “You’ve lost none of your manners, Patrick. I was merely observing that you look well. Castle life agrees with you.”
“What agrees with me is that my blood is running in my body and not out of it. For the first time in weeks I’m no longer plagued by an open wound.” His eyes slid over his brother. “You don’t appear to be suffering any from your … accident.”
Gregor’s face grew red with anger. “The bitch is lucky her blade did no lasting harm. But I’ll bear a scar and the memory of the pain to remind me.”
Patrick didn’t like what he saw in his brother’s eyes. He held his gaze with a look that brooked no argument. “Stay away from her, Gregor. Our fight is not with the lass.”
“It’s not? Then who is it with? She’s a Campbell—or have you forgotten?”
“Leave it, I said. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is. You were supposed to wait until we were in position.” He leaned across the table menacingly, daring his brother to ignore the ramifications of what he’d done. Of the men they’d lost. “No one was supposed to die.”
“The men wanted a little fun. All those Campbells …” He shrugged. “It was too good an opportunity to waste.”
“It wasn’t your decision to make. I’d expect this from our uncle and from Iain—God knows not even our cousin can keep them in control—but not from you.”
Gregor finally had the good sense to appear shamefaced. Even without land, Patrick was his chieftain. He also knew that Patrick would not allow his authority to be challenged. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Not mind that you were trying to abscond with the lass I intend to wed?”
Gregor’s face hardened. “It’s not as if she means anything to you. The bitch made me angry. The way she looked at me. As if I were no better than a dog.”
Had the situation been reversed, would she have looked at him like that as well? The thought was sobering.
Gregor might have deserved it, but it didn’t mean that Patrick did not understand the source of his anger. Anger that he, in fact, shared. The king and his Campbell minions had stripped them of everything. Land. Family. Wealth. Position.
When Patrick looked at his younger brother, he saw himself untempered by responsibility, left to wallow in anger.
After so many years as an outlaw, Patrick’s sense of duty had been whittled away, but in Gregor it had all but disappeared.
All pretense of civility had faded under the brutal existence of an outlaw.
He felt a strange urge to defend her, but he didn’t think Gregor would welcome hearing Lizzie’s finer points.
“Leave the lass to me, and if you ever pull anything like that again …” He looked him straight in the eye.
“Mark my words, kin or no, you will not live long enough to regret it.” Gregor flinched, but it was clear that he understood.
“Stick to the plan,” Patrick cautioned him.
“It’s working, then? The lass is taking the bait?”
Patrick thought about it. “Aye.” Though she was fighting her attraction, Lizzie was far from immune to him.
“The pathetic little mouse played right into your hands, eh?” Gregor laughed. “She’s itching for you, I’d wager. Or perhaps you’ve already given her a good scratching with your prick?”
Patrick gave no hint of the spark of anger that flared inside him from Gregor’s coarseness.
Usually it wouldn’t bother him, but he didn’t want to talk about the details of his seduction with his brother, and he sure as hell didn’t want Gregor talking about Lizzie like that.
But he knew Gregor would hang on to any sign that Patrick wasn’t ruthlessly pursuing their objective.
“It’s only been a week. This will take some time. The lass has been raised from infancy to do her duty. She’ll not run off with the first man she fancies.”
“I thought you said the gel was desperate.”
Patrick bit back a grimace. Had he really said that? She wasn’t desperate at all. She was sweet and kind and vulnerable, perhaps, but not desperate.
Still, it did not change the crux of what Gregor was asking.
Though she might put up more of a fight than he’d anticipated, Patrick was confident that in the end Elizabeth Campbell would succumb.
He could be just as ruthless as her black-hearted kin when it came to getting what he wanted.
“Give it time, Gregor.” He took a long drink of cuirm. “What news have you from our cousin?”
“They arrived safely at their destination.”
Patrick nodded. “Good.” The Lamont of Ascog must have agreed to protect them.
“Not good,” Gregor corrected. “They arrived right before the gathering, and guess who should be in attendance but Jamie Campbell.”
“He’s not there now.”
Gregor eyed him suspiciously. “How can you know that?”
“I saw him at Castle Campbell only a few days ago.”
“You saw him and he did not leave with an arrow between his eyes?”
Patrick clenched his jaw. “There wasn’t an opportunity. He was only at the castle for a short while before he was called away. I was more concerned with making sure our paths did not cross. I was fortunate not to be discovered.”
Patrick didn’t like the way Gregor was studying his face. “With the Enforcer in your sight, I would have thought you would have found an ‘opportunity.’ ”
Patrick tightened his hand around the tankard before him. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”
“Nay. Not that. But I do wonder what the lass has over you.”
“She has nothing over me.”
“She’s a Campbell.”
As if he could forget that fact. “She’ll also be my wife,” he said as a warning.
“We should have just taken her. You’d be married by now.”
“But for how long? Nay, we’ll do it my way. The prize will be worth the wait.”
“Just don’t confuse the real prize.”
The land, not the girl. “I know well what I’m here for, I don’t need you to remind me.” Nor would he tolerate his brother’s subtle threats. “And remember what I said, Gregor. Do not interfere again. I know what I’m doing.”
Despite her protestations, he knew Lizzie had been just as affected by the kiss earlier as he.
For whatever reasons, she was determined to fight her attraction to him, but he didn’t intend to make it easy for her.
Her brother had mandated that a guardsman be with her at all times, and from here on out he didn’t intend to leave her side.
And if seduction didn’t work …
He grimaced. He would do what he had to do to prevent her from marrying Glenorchy’s son, including leaving her no choice.
Abduction would be the road of last resort, but if it came to it, he would not shirk from his duty.