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This tiny, serious woman had penetrated his defenses, revealing emotions he'd thought himself incapable of. His black heart, it seemed, was not completely dead.

Seeing her in the arms of another man had unleashed something primitive in him. Something wild and uncontrollable. Something that could not be denied.

He looked around the perimeter of the barmkin wall, checking to make sure the castle guardsmen were in their usual positions. He'd studied their routine—their movements—knowing that he and his men might one day need to make a quick escape.

I could take her right now. She would be mine. No other man would ever touch her again.

The temptation to take what he wanted was overwhelming, warring with the tattered shreds of his honor.

Do it.

Hell, he was already an outlaw. He would only be fulfilling the destiny the Campbells had created for him. After everything they'd stolen from him, didn't he deserve a little happiness?

He'd stolen before. Food, clothing, whatever it took to survive.

But this was different. This wasn't about survival. He would possess her … but at what cost?

Not since his parents had died had someone looked at him as Lizzie did. In her eyes, he felt like the man he might have been had circumstances been different. If he took her, he would be no better than the lawless brigand they'd tried to turn him into. She would look at him the way he deserved to be looked at: as a thief, an outlaw, a man without honor.

Could he bear to see the derision in her gaze and know that it was warranted?

Nay, not that. Never that.

As much as he wanted to claim that this was all about the land, he could not. He was not indifferent—if he ever had been. He wanted her to choose him.

He wouldn't hand her over to Robert Campbell without a fight.

But not tonight. Tonight his anger was like lightning— wild and ready to strike at any moment in any direction.

Without another glance, he returned to the keep, intent on taming the beast writhing inside him with plenty of the Campbells’ best claret.

Lizzie had lingered as long as she could to no effect; the answer to her dilemma still eluded her.

Who would have thought a few months ago that she would be faced with the problem of having two men pursuing her?

Her nose wrinkled. Though exactly what Patrick Murray wanted from her she did not know. He desired her, but he'd never made his intentions clear. In truth, he said very little at all. She was hardly an expert at decoding masculine motives. She'd thought John had wanted her, too. He had, but for the wrong reasons. And with the way Patrick was looking at her tonight, she was no longer sure of anything.

Had she done something wrong?

Her chest squeezed. Or maybe he'd reconsidered. Was that it?

She had to know. She needed to see what was behind that enigmatic shell of his. Why was he so secretive? What dark secret hung over him like a thundercloud ready to unfurl its destruction in its stormy path?

If she was going to make the right decision, she needed to know everything. It was well past time to clear the air between them.

She hurried up the path and across the barmkin on her way back to the keep, wondering when she'd developed this sudden streak of boldness. Something had changed in recent weeks, and she suspected that she had Patrick Murray to thank for it. He was right: She'd locked herself away— in more ways than one. Her quiet, serious nature had been exacerbated by stammering and fear of ridicule. After the disaster with John, she'd removed herself even further, hiding behind the wall of her duty. If her family had taken advantage of it, it was as much her fault as theirs.

The lilting sound of the pipes greeted her arrival back to the hall. Smoke from the peat fires swirled around the rafters and wound through the room crowded with throngs of dancing clansmen whirling by. She noticed more than one serving girl perched on the lap of a guardsman and felt a sudden pang for the simplicity of a life uncomplicated by duty. With privilege and position came responsibility, and she'd never felt more aware of that than right now. What she wouldn't give for the ability to choose freely.

She caught Robert's eye from across the room and smiled. He was locked in conversation with her brother and the Laird of Dun, one of their neighbors who'd come to enjoy the festivities.

Patrick, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. His men were still gathered around the table drinking, but he'd disappeared. She contemplated asking after him but couldn't come up with a good reason for doing so. Frustrated that he seemed to be avoiding her once again, she was about to rejoin her brother and Robert when she saw Robbie duck out of the laird's solar, the small room located off the far side of the hall.

As inconspicuously as possible, Lizzie worked her way across the crowded room and slipped through the door, closing it firmly behind her.

Patrick sat sprawled out in a chair before the fireplace, his long, powerful legs kicked out before him, holding a large flagon of wine in one hand. By all appearances he was relaxed, but even with his back to her she could feel the tension radiating from him.

“God's blood, Robbie, I told you to leave me alone.”

“What are you doing in here?”

He flinched at the sound of her voice, taking a long drag from the flagon before turning to face her. His eyes glinted dangerously, his expression dark and forbidding and tainted with drink. Every muscle taut, he seemed like a surging lion restrained by a silken thread.

“Trying to find some peace,”

he replied, then added, “without much success.”

His rudeness took her aback. As did his anger. It seemed coiled in him like a snake, ready to strike.

He took another long drink. “So unless you'd care to bring me more wine, you'll leave me be.”

Determined not to be intimidated, she forced herself to take a few steps into the lion's den. “I think you've had enough.”

He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound bereft of humor. “There isn't enough.”

She'd never seen him like this. He'd always seemed too controlled to lose himself in drink. “What's wrong, Pat rick? What is bothering you?”

He turned away from her, gazing stonily into the smoldering fire, his jaw locked and unyielding in profile. “Return to your guests, my lady. I'm not fit for civilized company right now.”

There was something behind his words, but she couldn't hazard a guess. Her instincts told her to leave, but instead she moved closer. Close enough to reach out and put her hand on his arm. It felt as yielding as stone under her fingertips. “Is it your wound?”

she asked gently.

He wrenched away as if her touch had scalded him. “My wound is fine,”

he growled.

She swallowed the hot ball of hurt. Why was he acting like this? “Then what is it? I know something is wrong.”

His eyes met hers, dark and impenetrable. “Won't you tell me?”

she implored.

His hand clenched the flagon until his knuckles turned white, but he didn't say a word.

Something was eating away at him, causing him pain. There could be only one explanation. Her heart went out to him, her only thought to try to ease his suffering. “Is it your wife? You must miss her terribly. Is there anything I can do?”

He muttered a crude curse and tossed the flagon into the fire, the jar shattering and claret spraying before bursting into a web of crimson flames. He was out of the chair and on her before she could react. He grabbed her arms, shaking her with the force of his anger. “God damn you, Elizabeth, always so bloody selfless! Trying to take care of everyone around you. Don't think to try to fix me. There are some things beyond even your considerable skills.”

She shrank back instinctively from the vitriol; he'd never talked to her like this. Yet she realized this was the anger she'd sensed in him, lurking under the surface. The part of him he'd always kept hidden. Without the fa?ade, she saw him for what he truly was: a man consumed by demons she couldn't begin to fathom.

But it didn't explain why all this rage was directed at her. He was looking at her as if he hated her. What had she done to provoke him so?

She'd thought …

Fool. She'd thought he cared for her.

Tears burned behind her eyes. “I was only trying to help. I just wanted to know what was wrong.”

Something in his gaze seemed to snap.

She stepped back instinctively, but he caught her to him in his iron grasp, the hard-muscled arms closing around her like a vise. Her breath caught in surprise. For the first time, she felt the force of his strength. He could crush her without even trying.

“You want to know what's wrong?”

He took her chin, forcing her to look at him. She could feel the angry pounding of his heart through the soft leather of his jerkin. “I'll tell you what's wrong. I want you so bad, I can't think straight. My body is on fire. I can't look at you without wanting to pull you into my arms. I can't touch you without thinking of running my hands all over you.”

Her eyes widened. The raw desire in his gaze shocked her. Never had she thought herself capable of driving a man to such extreme passion. “But that is only half the problem.” His eyes had narrowed to slits, the lines around his mouth etched white. The dark stubble of his beard cast an ominous shadow along his hard, square jaw.

Whatever the problem, it didn't bode well for her. She tried to pull away, for the first time truly frightened, but he wouldn't let her go. His arms were like steel.

“You want to know what's really wrong, Elizabeth?”

His face was only inches from hers. “I saw you kiss him.”

He spoke each word with damning precision.

She gasped. He saw us. He was angry with her because he was jealous. But it was the intensity that surprised her. One chaste kiss had driven him to the edge. “It was nothing,”

she said softly, trying to soothe his anger.

“Nothing?”

He looked as though he wanted to shake her. “He asked you to marry him, didn't he?”

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

He swore and finally released her, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “God, you are actually considering him, aren't you?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

His fiery gaze pinned her. “Because you want me.”

His flat tone infuriated her. “Wanting you isn't the issue.”

His eyes flashed, but she pressed on, heedless of the danger, needing to know his intentions. “If that is all that is between us—”

“Is that what you think?”

His eyes locked on hers, his expression tight and fierce but brutally exposed. She could see the warning tic at his jaw and felt his body shudder with anger. “Did you think I would take you and not marry you? I might be only a guardsman, but I'm not without honor.”

“I didn't mean to suggest—”

“Didn't you?”

He gave her a piercing look. “I've no right, but I want you to be my wife more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. And the thought of you marrying him is tearing me apart.”

Her heart slammed into her chest at the dark emotion in his voice. But before she could react, his mouth was on hers, claiming her, possessing her, giving proof to his words.

The dam had broken. All the pent-up anger, the pent-up emotion, the pent-up desire, rushed free with the force of a tidal wave, crashing over her and pulling her into the dark whirlpool of passion. Where the only thing she could think of was kissing him and drowning in sensation.

His mouth devoured hers with a hunger that could not be denied. As if she were the only one for him and he for her. As if he could claim her forever with the force of this one kiss.

It was a kiss not to persuade, but to compel.

She opened her mouth and he groaned, sliding his hand through her hair, cupping her head to bring her more firmly against him. And then his tongue was inside her, twining, demanding, urging her deeper and deeper. Harder and faster. Until his breath became her own.

The taste of him filled her. The wine. The spice. The heady masculine essence of him permeated her bones.

She melted against him, wanting to get closer, the power of his body a potent aphrodisiac. He was so tall and strong—all thick, heavy muscle and long, powerful limbs. A warrior. A protector. In his arms, she knew that nothing would ever harm her.

She trusted him. Completely.

The fierce pounding of his heart against hers drove her on. The rough stubble of his jaw scratched the tender skin around her mouth, but she didn't care. Her nipples hardened against his chest. His hand slipped around her bottom, lifting her to him.

She gasped, feeling the thick column wedged against her, and then moaned. Her body clenched hot with desire.

She kissed him with all of the emotion that she could not yet put words to. Kissed him with all she had, wanting it never to stop.

Patrick was mindless with lust, his hunger insatiable. The claret had dulled his reason. All he could think of was touching her, sinking into the heat, and making her his.

It was what she wanted, too. He knew it in the way her body went limp in his arms in sweetest surrender. She dissolved against him, warm and syrupy.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the large wooden table, laying her back so that her hips rested just on the edge. His breathing was as heavy as the pounding of his heart as his gaze swept over her flushed cheeks, her pink lips softly parted, her trusting blue eyes hazy with desire. Her skirts were tangled in glorious disarray, revealing part of one slim, shapely leg.

So beautiful. So ripe and ready for his touch. He'd never been more aroused in his life. He wanted to see her naked, splayed out before him. The only thing that prevented him from ripping apart her bodice was the crowd of people in the other room.

The possibility of discovery only heightened the urgency.

Slowly, he edged up her skirts and sucked in his breath. He jerked hard, the sudden pull in his groin almost unbearable.

She was naked from the waist down except for thin ivory stockings that stopped above her knee and pale blue stain slippers on her tiny feet. Her legs were exquisite—delicately shaped with flawless velvety ivory skin that he ached to touch. And between her legs was the sweetest soft pink flesh he'd ever seen. He couldn't wait to taste her. To slide his tongue between her honey folds, to take her shudders of pleasure against his hungry mouth.

His pause had given her time to be embarrassed, and she tried to push down her skirts.

He grabbed her wrist and held her gaze. “No. I want to see you. Don't you know how beautiful you are?”

Her cheeks flushed and he could see her uncertainty, but before she could protest he touched her, sliding his hand between her thighs. “God, your skin is so soft.”

He scraped his knuckles back and forth along the tender skin, and she shivered. “Like silk,”

he whispered huskily.

She tossed her head back, and the sexy little throaty sound she made told him that she'd forgotten her embarrassment. His fingers swept higher, closer, teasing her until she moaned. Until her body started to quiver. For him.

In their passion, if nothing else, they were equal.

He inhaled deeply, the faint feminine scent of her desire calling to him in the darkest, most primitive way. “Look at me, Lizzie,”

he demanded gently. “I want to see your face when I touch you.”

Her eyes widened and her breath came quickly from between her lips in a little gasp, but she didn't look away. Her hips lifted reflexively against his hand.

It was he who closed his eyes with a groan of pleasure when he finally slid his finger inside her. The relief was too intense. She was so slick and soft. So hot. His finger dipped inside her, and she closed around him like a glove. He sank into her again and again as he pressed the heel of his hand against her mound.

The sweet little sounds she made forced his eyes open, and the look of utter rapture on her face nearly undid him. He was hard as a damn rock and ready to explode, throbbing to the point of pain. But he didn't stop.

He was going to make her come.

He watched her breath quicken, watched the confused restlessness cross her face, watched as her back arched and her hips started to press against his hand. He couldn't wait to get inside her. Couldn't wait to meet her passion with his own.

He could feel it come. Feel the pressure build and the need for release drown out everything else. Feel that sudden clench—the little pause at the very peak of pleasure— before she started to break apart.

It was the moment he'd been waiting for. He pressed against her mound a little harder, increasing the friction to make her pleasure more intense, and found the sweet little spot with his finger. Her eyes widened with surprise as the rippling contractions crashed over her. She cried out, and her sexy little sounds of pleasure made him pulse.

Watching her come was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He clenched hard to prevent himself from joining her. Not yet….

He kissed her again, sliding his tongue deep in her mouth with long, demanding strokes as he fumbled with the ties of his breeches—not for the first time cursing the absence of his plaid—and positioned himself between her open legs.

The thick head of his cock nudged against her warm dampness, the contact almost shooting him over the edge in a burst of sensation.

He had her. All he had to do was close his eyes, toss back his head, and slide deep inside her. She was his for the taking, thoroughly seduced. If he took her, she would marry him. He knew it.

He didn't know what stopped him—perhaps the kernel of deep-seated honor awakened by Lizzie—but with a pained growl, he broke the kiss. His eyes searched her face. “Tell me not to stop, Elizabeth,”

he said tightly. “Tell me you want me.”

She was still soft with her release, and confusion filled her eyes. “You know I do.”

He looked right into her eyes, breaking through the haze, forcing her to think. “Then you'll marry me?”

“I …”

Hesitation was the only answer he needed.

She didn't want him. Not enough, anyway. What the hell had made him think he could compete with the likes of Robert Campbell? The moment was gone, fading into uncomfortable silence.

The fire in his veins turned to ice. He uttered a vile oath and pulled away from her. The pain in his groin was nothing compared to the tight burning in his chest.

She sat up, her face crumpled. “Don't you see? I'm trying to do the right thing.”

He turned back to her, his face revealing no hint of the sting she'd given him. “So am I.”

And he was a fool. Honor had no part in his life—not anymore. This was about getting his clan's land back. Righting a grave injustice. He wasn't supposed to give a damn. His eyes narrowed on her. “But you had better make a choice soon, because next time I won't stop.”

He went to the door. “I hope your family realizes the sacrifice you intend to make for them. But if they love you as much as you say they do, I would think they would want your happiness.”

She didn't say anything, just stared at him with a helpless look on her face. Achingly vulnerable. She appeared to be exactly what she was—a woman who had just come apart in his arms. She wanted reassurance, but he forced himself not to go to her.

He'd given her the best part of himself, and it hadn't been enough.

His eyes lingered over her swollen mouth, mussed curls, and disheveled clothing. “You might want to freshen up a bit before you return to Campbell,”

he said coldly. His eyes raked her face. “You have the look of a woman who has just been very thoroughly pleasured.”