The Campbell Trilogy (64 page)

Lizzie felt her temper blast hot on her cheeks. Frustration turned to anger at the sight of his knowing smile. Her
hands balled into tight, rigid fists at her side. “There are very big rocks underfoot, and if they don’t stay out of my way, I’ll have to see about removing them.”

And with that she spun around and stomped off toward the keep, intending to vent her considerable frustration on some very dusty carpets.

Patrick chuckled, watching her storm away, eyes blazing and face on fire, as prickly as a swarm of angry hornets.

God, she was magnificent. Spirited, passionate, beautiful. A lass any man would be proud to have at his side.

And in his bed.

His slow seduction was working, though he didn’t know who was suffering more. Nor did he know how much longer he could be patient.

He spent the days hard as a rock and the nights with his cock in hand, trying to take the edge off his frustration. But erotic dreams were a poor substitute for the woman who inspired them.

His only consolation was that he was not alone in his sexual frustration. Did she touch herself and think of him?

Hell.
He adjusted the source of his constant agony and steered his thoughts from silken softness.

How much longer could she resist what was between them?

If her reaction today was any indication, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long. Aside from his personal discomfort, his brother was growing impatient, and reining him in had become increasingly difficult as the weeks passed. Patrick was fortunate that Gregor had gone to the Lomond Hills to check on their clansmen—but he would return. Soon.

With that in mind, an hour later, after finishing his practice for the day, he washed and went in search of her.

Frowning, he wondered which of the many tasks left at her feet she was attending to today. Not only did Lizzie fulfill the usual duties of the lady of the keep such as overseeing
the household servants and the numerous spinners and weavers tasked with clothing the clansmen, planning the meals, and seeing to the education of the children, she was also serving as lord in her cousin’s absence, including arbitrating disputes, overseeing the accounts, and managing the castle affairs. If all that weren’t enough, she’d been asked to supervise the large construction project under way to add a hall and chamber range to the existing keep.

Her family demanded too much of her.

Having lived in less-than-extravagant circumstances for much of his life, Patrick was surprised by the amount of work and responsibility in running a castle. After observing her these past weeks, he admired her—more than he should. His mouth fell in a grim line. But it also made him realize how ill prepared he was for such a life—and the birthright denied him. What the hell did he know about being laird?

When he didn’t find her in the laird’s solar poring over some dusty account ledger, or in the kitchen storerooms going over the week’s menus with the cook, he headed toward the clamor of busy craftsmen.

On the south side of the existing keep they were attaching a new hall and then attached to that a chamber range that ran to the east. The structures were nearly complete, and when finished would be far grander than the existing tower house.

Hearing raised voices, he quickened his step. Finally, he found her in one of the small chambers at the end of the east range, arguing with a man he didn’t recognize. Her back was to him, and she hadn’t heard him approach.

“I’m afraid it cannot be done for less, my lady. The price of stone has soared in the past few months.”

“How can that be when the stone is being quarried from my cousin’s holdings?”

“It’s the labor in getting it here, my lady. ’Tis not easy work.”

“I fail to see how that has changed, sir. It has always been so.”

He shook his head with exaggerated regret. “I need money to cover my costs. Three hundred more merks on top of what we discussed should suffice.” He smiled. “For now.”

She waved a piece of parchment in his face. “But we had an agreement.”

He shrugged helplessly. “Circumstances have changed.”

“Don’t you mean that the supervision has changed? Would you be demanding more money if my cousin were here?”

The man looked shocked. “You do me a great injustice, my lady. It never occurred to me—”

“Didn’t it?”

Patrick could hear the barely restrained fury in her voice. He wanted nothing more than to take the man and toss him against the wall for trying to take advantage of her, but he didn’t want to interfere. Nor did he think she would welcome his coming to her rescue—not in this case, at least. He’d learned that Lizzie was more than capable of taking care of the duties that had been thrust upon her. Duties he might have shared under different circumstances.

Thus, he was as surprised as the workman when she said, “Very well.”

The man broke into a wide smile. “I’m relieved that you have recognized the difficulty of the situation. When can I expect the money?”

“You can’t.”

The man’s face fell. “What? I must have misunderstood—”

“You didn’t misunderstand anything. If you do not fulfill the terms of the agreement, you and your men can pack up your belongings and leave.”

Patrick grinned at the stupefied expression on the man’s face. Good for her.

“But the earl—”

“As you’ve no doubt noticed, the earl is not here at present. He’s left me in charge. I make all decisions. You can be assured that he will support me on this one when I explain—”

The man’s face drained. “That won’t be necessary.” Obviously, he’d underestimated his opponent—a fatal flaw in battle as it was in any context. “There’s no cause to bring this matter to the earl’s attention. The stone will be here as we agreed upon by the end of the week.”

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.