Chapter 15 #2
With an emphatic toss of her head that sent her flaxen tresses flying, she started to spin away, but he pulled her harshly against him.
His eyes narrowed to slits. “We’ll be married, Elizabeth, if I have to tie you up and carry you to the kirk myself.
You are mine.” His gaze slid down to her belly.
“Even now, you could be carrying my babe.” He felt a twinge of satisfaction when her eyes widened and her hands clasped her stomach instinctively.
“Surely you are aware that is a natural consequence of our nighttime activity?”
And a child would make it harder for her to undo their marriage. He hated himself for even thinking it.
She swallowed hard. “Of course I am. I’m not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.” He gave her a hard look. “Next time you are angry with me, don’t do something foolish and risk your life.”
She made a soft snorting sound that only enraged him further.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need your protection to walk from the castle to the village.
If there had been any danger, it is gone now that the MacGregor has surrendered.
Do you intend to keep me locked up forever or just until we’re married? ”
Forever. So that he never had to experience that moment of icy fear again when he knew she’d gone—alone. He was being irrational, but rationality seemed to desert him when it came to her.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he snapped.
She gasped with outrage and tapped her finger on his chest. “I have three older brothers, so don’t think you can bully me.”
Unbelievable. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see if his men were seeing this. They were, and even from a circumspect distance he could see that their amusement matched his own.
He frowned. “Three?”
She nodded but didn’t elaborate. “You are the most infuriating, overbearing—”
“Enough.” He cut her off the best way he knew how.
He pulled her against him, their bodies sliding together with intimate familiarity, and kissed her.
Deeply. Passionately. Until the heat of desire tamped down the heat of anger.
Until nothing else mattered but the rush of sensation pouring through his body.
Soon he was lost in the soft warmth of her mouth. The silk of her lips. The languid stroke of her tongue against his. His hand slid down her back to the curve of her bottom, wanting to fit her more snugly against him.
“Your men,” she murmured against his mouth.
He swore and broke off the kiss. He’d forgotten about their audience, and from the smirks on his men’s faces, they’d realized it.
He tipped her chin to look into her eyes. “We’ll finish this tonight,” he promised, before releasing her.
“The kiss or the discussion?”
“Both.” He could see the worry in her eyes, and it clawed at him. Persuading her to run away was proving to be more difficult than he’d imagined, and it was wearing on them both. “It will be all right, Elizabeth.”
She met his gaze uncertainly and nodded.
A movement in the trees beyond her shoulder sent ice shooting down his spine. With his senses honed from years of evading capture, a cursory glance was all it took to assess the situation: His brother had finally returned, the news was grim, and there was an arrow pointed at Elizabeth’s back.
Patrick had her behind him, shielding her with his body, almost instantly.
“What are you doing?” she asked, shocked by his sudden maneuver.
He made a gesture with his hand, ordering his men into position. His gaze shot to Robbie. The silent communication was enough to convey the seriousness of the situation.
“What’s wrong?” Lizzie asked again, looking around.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Do you trust me, Lizzie?”
Her brows furrowed. “Of course I do.”
“Then don’t ask me any questions right now and go with my men back to the castle.”
“But what—”
He silenced her with a press of his finger on her lips. “No questions.”
She looked as though she wanted to argue, but to his relief, she nodded. His men formed a circle around her and led her safely up the hill.
When she was out of sight and earshot, he turned to face his brother, who along with half a dozen other warriors had emerged from behind the trees like bedraggled wraiths.
All were covered in dirt and dried blood, their plaids hanging in tatters from their weary limbs like ghostly robes.
They were in bad shape, but he was too angry to care.
All he could see was the arrow pointed at Lizzie’s back and the look in his brother’s eye that said he intended to shoot.
“What the hell do you think you are doing, Gregor? I warned you to leave Elizabeth Campbell to me.”
Gregor returned Patrick’s rage in kind. “It’s too late for that.”
“You’re wrong. My plan is working, the lass has agreed to marry me.”
“Plan?” Gregor sneered. “I should have killed the bitch when I had the chance.”
In two long strides, Patrick had his brother by the throat, holding him a few inches off the ground, eye to eye.
“Have care how you talk about the woman who will be my wife,” he said in a deadly tone, looking right into his eyes so there could be no mistake.
But the hard blue gaze teemed with such hatred, there was little left of the brother he remembered.
Disgusted, he released his hold, pushing Gregor away from him.
“She’ll never be your wife,” his brother sputtered, clasping his throat.
Patrick ignored Gregor’s taunts. “Where have you been? You should have returned weeks ago. I’ve news of our cousin.”
Gregor stilled, and the look in his eyes cut Patrick to the quick. He felt a premonition.…
“Our cousin is dead,” Gregor spat. “Murdered by the Campbells, along with our brother Iain, our uncle, and every other man tricked into surrender under the false terms of Argyll’s promise.”
Ice froze in Patrick’s veins. It took a moment to absorb the shock of his brother’s words. A trick? Dead? A quick glance at the other men’s faces told him every word of it was true.
He felt as if the blood had been drained out of him, his body sapped of life. He wanted to sink to his knees in an agony of despair and horror. Not since his parents had been murdered had he felt such a blow. It was almost impossible to conceive such a loss. “Dear God,” he whispered.
“God?” Gregor roared. “He had nothing to do with this. It was the devil Argyll.” His voice shook with rage and resentment.
“Twenty-five MacGregors have hanged at Mercat Cross in Edinburgh this past week alone courtesy of the Campbells. Right now, our chief’s head sits on a stake at the gates of Dumbarton beside our brother’s.
” Something changed in Gregor’s eyes, a flash of pain so acute that Patrick braced himself for what was to come.
“And while you have been playing the fine gentleman with your lady, mooning after her like some lovesick pup, our sister was being raped by her brother’s men. ”
“No!” The sound he made wasn’t human. Raw pain tore through his chest like a ragged claw, splicing him apart.
Not his sister. Not sweet, stubborn, beautiful Annie.
He grabbed Gregor by the shirt and shook him as if he could clear away his words.
“What the hell happened? I told you to hide them.” His throat was tight and his voice raw. “You were supposed to keep them safe.”
“I tried, damn it.” Gregor wrenched away. “I had them hidden in the braes of Balquhidder, but they were betrayed for gold, and Auchinbreck exacted his retribution on Annie.”
Auchinbreck was a dead man.
“Retribution?” Patrick growled. “For what?”
“When news reached us of Argyll’s treachery—of the deaths of our chief and kin—there were risings from the braes of Balquhidder to Rannoch Moor. We burned a path of vengeance a mile wide.”
“And you didn’t think to let me know.” All of a sudden, the ramifications of Alasdair’s death hit him. He pinned his brother with his gaze. “I am chief.”
Gregor’s eyes flashed as if he wanted to argue, but instead he shrugged. “There wasn’t time.”
It was a damned insufficient excuse, and they both knew it.
Did Gregor intend to challenge his leadership?
Being chief was not a position Patrick had ever wanted, but he damn well intended to be a good one—certainly better than his brother.
If the MacGregors had any chance of survival, it wouldn’t be with the mercurial Gregor at the helm.
He didn’t want to think his brother could be so disloyal, but Gregor had changed.
He’d always been able to placate him before.
“And the resurgence of fighting is why Auchinbreck sought retribution?”
Patrick caught the flicker in Gregor’s gaze. “The men were enraged, out of control. Thirsting for revenge.” He shrugged. “A Campbell lass got in the way.”
Patrick swore, guessing what had happened. “And our clansmen decided to take some of their rage out on a woman?” He looked away in disgust. Poor Annie had been caught in the crossfire.
I should have protected her. Could he have done something different? If he’d taken that shot at Jamie Campbell, would his cousin and brother still be alive?
It sickened him to think that less than two weeks ago, he’d sat across the room from the man who was responsible for the rape of his sister. His stomach clenched. He couldn’t think about it. “I have to go to her,” Patrick said. “Where is she?”
Gregor shook his head. “She won’t see you. She won’t see anyone. Not even Niall Lamont. I knew how Annie felt about him, so I fetched him from Bute. That’s what delayed my coming here. But she sent him away.”
“Where is she?”
“Molach, the islet in Loch Katrine, with some of the other women and children. She’s safe for now.”
Safe? Annie would never feel safe again.