Page 16

Alys removed a dark sapphire gown from the ambry and held it up to Lizzie, who was standing barefoot in her sark in the middle of her bedchamber, feeling quite superfluous. Making a face, the older woman tossed it atop the growing pile of discarded velvet and satin on Lizzie's bed—not that you could tell there was a bed under there right now.

Lizzie groaned, rolling her eyes with nonexaggerated hardship. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Too dark,”

Alys murmured, her head already burrowed deep in the ambry as she rifled through Lizzie's quickly depleting wardrobe. “All these deep jewel tones are harsh with your pale coloring.”

“Perhaps you mean insipid?”

Alys's eyes sparked. “I mean pale. It is not the same, but you do need to be careful when choosing colors.”

Apparently. Lizzie watched with bemusement as gown after gown was tossed out behind Alys, until she finally emerged holding a shiny satin gown of such pale blue, it looked almost like quicksilver. “Ah, let's try this one. It will be perfect with your luminous pale skin and eyes.”

Lizzie shook her head and folded her arms defiantly— already anticipating the argument that was sure to follow. “I can't wear that. It was made for a masque at court a few years ago. I was supposed to be Demeter.”

The gown was cut in a simple Grecian style, with little embellishment and no ruff or lace to speak of. “It doesn't even have a farthingale.”

“Bah. What care do Highlanders have for courtly fashion?”

Lizzie smothered a grin, observing the look of disgust on Alys's face. “In case you've forgotten … we aren't in the Highlands. Andit's barely decent.”

Alys stared at Lizzie with a devious smile on her face. “Not decent? Wonderful. Your braw laddies won't be able to take their eyes off of you.”

Off quite a bit of her, if Lizzie recalled the tight, low-cut bodice correctly. She arched her brow. “Is that what this is all about?”

The older woman looked at her as if she were addled. “Of course that is what this is about. Time is a-wasting, my wee lassie. You'll not be able to keep those two dangling after you forever. Like two snarling wolves, they are. I heard what happened earlier on the hunt.”

Lizzie blushed and quickly turned away to avoid the maidservant's eagle-eyed gaze. Instead she made a great show of yanking a brush through her damp hair. “They aren't dangling and nothing happened.”

“Don't you play coy with me, Lizzie lass. Imagine,”

she said, sighing dreamily, “two handsome, strapping warriors like that fighting over you. It's so romantic.”

Lizzie bit back a smile at Alys's expression. It was a wee bit romantic, but she didn't want to encourage her.

“Too bad you can't choose both,”

Alys said wickedly. “But I don't think Patrick Murray is of any mind to share.”

She shook her head. “Poor Robert will be disappointed.”

Lizzie shot her a glare. “What makes you think I want Patrick? Robert Campbell is the man my family has chosen for me to marry.”

Alys's eyes narrowed. “You don't love Robert Campbell.”

“I don't love either—”

Alys's sharp gaze cut off her protest. “Elizabeth Campbell, I've known you since you were a wee lass. Don't try to deny that you are in love with that gorgeous man.”

Lizzie blanched. Am I in love with Patrick Murray?

“You practically light up the moment he enters the room,”

Alys continued, unaware of how thoroughly Lizzie was reeling. “And he's every bit as much in love with you as you are with him.”

She shook her head. “Why is it that young people are so stubborn and foolish when it comes to matters of the heart?”

Lizzie didn't know what to say. Alys made it sound so simple. But it wasn't. It was complicated and difficult and tearing her apart. “Marriage has very little to do with the heart,”

she said softly.

“Don't be ridiculous. It has everything to do with it. Don't let what happened with that poppycock ruin your chance for happiness. Would you marry a man you do not love?”

Lizzie twisted her hands. “I have a responsibility to my family. I'm in no position—”

“You've done enough for your family,”

Alys said harshly. “They love you and want to see you happy.”

It was exactly what Patrick had said. There was a fierce look on the older woman's face that Lizzie had never seen before. “I've never regretted for a moment my decision.”

Lizzie's brows wrinkled. “What decision?”

Alys pushed aside some of the gowns to clear a spot on the coverlet. She patted the space next to her for Lizzie to sit. “Did you know that my father is the Chief of Bu chanan?”

Lizzie's eyes widened. “I knew you were a Buchanan, but you've never mentioned that the chief was your father.”

“As a young girl, I was betrothed to Lord Aven, the Marquess of Hamilton's son.”

Lizzie let out an audible gasp, which she tried quickly to smother, but Alys only smiled. “Yes, he recently inherited an earldom, I hear. As you can imagine, my father was less than pleased when I decided to marry a young, landless Campbell guardsman instead. But from the moment I first saw my Donnan at court with your cousin the earl, I loved him.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Still do, as a matter of fact. And I've never regretted my decision for a moment.”

Lizzie stared at her for a long time. It had taken some real courage to do what she had done. “And your father?”

Alys laughed. “Oh, he was angry at first, but he eventually recovered from the shock. My younger sister married well. He does still enjoy reminding me of all that I have forsaken, and I figure the least I can do for all the years of happiness he's given me is let him.”

Alys stood up. “Enough about me. That was a very long time ago. But if you aren't going to be late for dinner, we need to get you dressed. You'll need your pearls,”

she said, going back to the ambry. “And the matching circlet, I think.” She pulled out a thin piece of gauze that matched the gown and could be worn in Lizzie's hair like a veil, then shook her head. “No. We want them to see your beautiful hair.” Her hands lifted the heavy blond waves and then let them tumble down Lizzie's back. “Your hair is glorious, Lizzie. You must show it to your advantage.”

“I'm not wearing that dress,”

Lizzie protested, but as before, her words fell on deaf ears. Alys was already searching for stockings and underskirts thin enough to wear under the gown.

“Try this,”

she said, holding out a thin satin underskirt. When Lizzie started to argue, Alys smiled sweetly. “Why don't we just see how that old dress looks on?”

An hour later when Lizzie left her chamber for the great hall, it was no surprise what she was wearing.

Patrick returned to the castle that night for the last time, his trip to the village having been for naught. Given what he'd decided, however, he was glad Gregor had yet to return from the Lomond Hills. He knew his brother wouldn't be as understanding as his men.

The guardsmen had taken the news of their leaving on the morrow with nary a word of protest. After today's events, they all realized they were living on borrowed time. Even Hamish had made only a halfhearted attempt to argue for taking Lizzie with them. It seemed the heart had gone out of their fight. Patrick was not the only one who'd fallen under the spell of Elizabeth Campbell. She'd charmed them all with her kind heart and serene beauty. He shook his head. Look at them now: a pack of ruthless MacGregor warriors brought to heel by a mere wisp of a lass—and a Campbell one at that.

His men had gone to the hall to join in the evening entertainment, but Patrick was in no mood for merriment. He returned to the barracks, welcoming the solitude. With only one more night to fill their bellies with food and drink their fill of the Campbells’ wine and ale, it would be a while before anyone returned.

He started gathering his meager belongings in a pile and then fitting them into the leather bags he would tie to his saddle. He'd been a fool to reject Campbell's gold. Pride wouldn't keep him warm or his belly full in the coming winter. He would see about procuring some food from the kitchens in the morning. It would need to last them a while—the ride deep into the Lomond Hills to find the rest of his clan might take some time. Though his mind was already on the road ahead of him, he hadn't figured out how he was going to say good-bye to what he left behind.

No matter how tempting it might be to simply leave, he knew he could not do that to her. Lizzie deserved some kind of explanation—if only he could find the words to make her understand that what he was doing was for the best.

Leaving a note wasn't an option. An education was just one more thing he'd lost when his parents had been killed and his clan broken.

He was still weighing what to do when the door opened and the decision was wrested from him.

Lizzie stood silhouetted in the doorway, the torch in her hand illuminating her stricken face as she stared at the bags and belongings strewn across his pallet.

Every muscle in his body went taut. He froze, as though he'd been knocked senseless, utterly transfixed by the ethereal beauty of the fey creature before him. She looked like a figment of a dream, her flaxen hair and silvery gown shimmering like quicksilver in the flickering flame. An angel.

His face darkened. Except that her gown was anything but angelic.

What the devil was she trying to do, drive him mad with longing?

His eyes slid over her and came back to rest where they had started: on the sweet round breasts displayed to mouthwatering perfection in a gown that revealed far more than it concealed. She might as well have been wearing a damn night rail. It was no more than a wisp of cloth; he could see the curve of her hips, the round of her bottom, the long, slim lines of her legs. Heat pounded through his body, surging hard through his veins. Lust. Hot, demanding lust throbbed in his suddenly too-tight breeches.

A wave of possessiveness came over him, almost frightening in its intensity. Mine. The thought of another man looking at her was almost enough to make him change his mind about leaving.

He turned his back on her as he fought to temper the instinct to toss her down on the rough pallet, rip that flimsy dress off her until she was naked beneath him, and ravish her senseless. And then hold her warm, soft body against his and drink in her sweetness.

“What are you doing?”

she asked.

He flinched at the sound of her voice, hearing the disbelief tinged with panic. He wanted to go to her. To hold her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right.

But it wasn't.

He clenched his jaw, realizing that this was going to be harder than he'd ever imagined. He bent over the bed to continue his packing, his movements harsh. “What it looks like I'm doing, packing.”

He heard the door close and then the tap of slippered footsteps approaching tentatively. His pulse raced as her soft feminine scent hit him, coiled around him, and wouldn't let him go.

“How long will you be gone? A few days?”

He took a deep breath and stood up, meeting her wide-eyed gaze, his muscles vibrating for want of her. “Nay, Lizzie, I'm leaving for good.”

Her heart felt yanked out from under her.

“Leaving?”

Lizzie echoed dumbly, her thoughts scattering like petals in the wind. For good. When he hadn't showed up for the evening meal, she'd been apprehensive, but never could she have anticipated this. “No! You can't go.”

He arched a dark brow, an unspoken challenge.

“I mean … I … we need you here.”

His face shuttered, and she knew she'd said something wrong.

“You have your brother”—he gave her a hard, penetrating stare—“and Campbell. It should be easy enough to hire more guardsmen. There are plenty of broken men to be found eager for work.”

As if he were so easily replaceable.

This couldn't be happening.

“But what about us?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I thought …”

His eyes were hard and flat. They belonged to a stranger. “Campbell can take care of that as well.”

Lizzie made a small choking sound, stunned by his coldness. How could he talk to her like this? After what they'd shared, he was just going to walk away and never look back. Was she so insignificant to him?

I thought he cared for me.

She put her hand over her mouth and tried to swallow. Dear God, had she made some horrible mistake … again?

His jaw was set in a hard, determined line. He looked so remote. So alone. As if he didn't need anyone in the world. Certainly not her.

Never had she imagined that the ruthlessness she'd witnessed on the battlefield would be directed toward her.

She turned away, unable to look at him any longer. She fought to breathe. One. Two. She forced air in and out and tried to prevent the hot ball of hurt from swallowing her up.

She had to get out of here before she disgraced herself by bursting into tears. And she would have done just that if she hadn't chanced to glance up at him one more time.

His eyes gave him away. Tormented. Pained. Filled with such naked longing, it took her breath away.

He did want her. With an intensity that matched her own.

In that one unguarded moment, she recognized the truth of her own heart. From the first moment he'd burst through the trees, she'd sensed something special. Not just physical awareness, but a sense of connection so strong and deep, it seemed as if it had always been there.

I love him.

This big, strong warrior whose implacable exterior masked a tortured soul.

She'd been attracted to his handsome face, to his strength, courage, and natural authority, but it was the wounded man inside who had captured her heart.

He needed her.

She yearned to soothe his sadness. To heal him with the balm of her love. Just as he had given her the courage to risk her heart again. John Montgomery was in the past. This was different. She needed to trust herself—and him.

Robert might be the “better”

choice, but there was something about Patrick that could not be measured by objective criteria, it simply was. He might have been born a guardsman, but he had the makings of a fine chieftain. Leadership ran in his veins, and it was up to her to unlock it with opportunity.

Alys was right. She would never regret marrying the man she loved. Her family would understand. They would have to.

The unexpected news she'd received this evening gave her even more cause to hope. Jamie had written to tell her of his impending marriage to Caitrina Lamont. Though by the time she received the letter they would already be married, her cousin demanded her presence at Dunoon as soon as possible.

She still couldn't believe it—her brother … married. Colin had been furious. From what she could tell, the Lam-onts had recently been accused of harboring MacGregors, and the poor girl had lost her entire family and been left virtually penniless. From Jamie's note, it appeared that he felt some sort of responsibility. But it also meant that she would not be the first in her family to make an inopportune match.

Now that she'd made her decision, she thought of all she might have unknowingly forsaken. This was what Meg and Flora talked about. Love so strong you would die for it—or without it.

Whether destiny or fortune, she didn't know, but she thanked God for having Patrick Murray appear on the road that day.

Even as the truth of her feelings became clear, however, she could not savor the moment, not while he was trying to push her away.

She straightened her back and looked him square in the face. “So just like that, you are going to leave? No explanation. Nothing.”

He stood stone still, but every inch of his body seemed set on edge. She crossed the room, stopping only when she stood right before him. Close enough to inhale the spicy masculine scent of him. He wouldn't look at her, but she could feel the tension radiate from him, hot and heavy. The air between them seemed charged, ready to fire.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. His chiseled features seemed even sharper, harder. The tic below his jaw pulsed. His fists clenched and unclenched, as if he were fighting for control. Danger swept over her skin in a prickly sheen of awareness. He looked every inch the fearsome warrior pushed to the edge.

But she did not heed the warning and leaned closer, allowing her breasts to brush his chest. “I thought you wanted to marry me?”

Every muscle tensed at her intimate touch. His eyes flashed shards of green fire. “What the hell do you want from me?”

he growled through clenched teeth. “I'll not sit here and watch you marry another man. God's blood, Elizabeth, I'm not made of stone.”

His very ferocity gave her courage. He did care. Boldly, she put her hand on his chest and felt him flinch beneath the soft leather of his jerkin. “You're not?”

she asked, skimming her hands over the heavy slabs and sharply defined muscle that felt as unyielding as stone. “You feel like it.”

When she reached the opening, she slipped her hand beneath the leather to the thin linen of his shirt, breathing in the hard, warm skin underneath.

He practically hissed.

She peeked at him from under her lashes, wanting to press tiny kisses along the rigid lines of his jaw until his resistance softened. As she leaned against him to whisper in his ear, damp tendrils of slick dark hair brushed against her nose and mouth. The faint scent of soap and warm male cascaded through her in a heady rush. “I'm not marrying another man,”

she said softly.

His muscles flexed under her fingertips. She could feel the hard pounding of his chest, but he made no move to enfold her in his arms.

Lizzie felt a moment of uncertainty. She'd just as good as told him that she'd chosen him. Shouldn't he be holding her tight against his chest and pressing kisses on her head? On her mouth?

Instead, he clasped his hand around her wrist and forcibly set her away from him. “You should.”

The look in his eyes pierced her newfound confidence. Stricken, she felt the happiness seep out of her. “What do you mean?”

Her voice wobbled. Please, don't stammer. She took a deep, ragged breath. “Don't you wish to marry me?”

He swore, and the tiny lines etched around his mouth turned stark white. “God damn it, Elizabeth. You're not making it easy. I'm trying to do the right thing here.”

“Right thing?”

Her eyes raked his face. She could feel her chance at happiness slipping away. The prospect of unrequited love loomed like a dark cloud. “Why is it right that I marry Robert?”

He turned from her, taking a few steps away as if to clear his mind. “There are things … there are things about me that you don't know.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Then tell me. I want to know everything about you.”

He wanted to. She could see the turmoil on his face, but he shook his head. “I can't.”

She dropped her hand. “Or won't,”

she said tonelessly.

“Or won't,”

he agreed.

Disappointment fisted in her belly at his rejection. But she heard the sadness in his voice and knew that even if he would not tell her its source, she could not just walk away.

“It doesn't matter. I know all I need to know. All that is important. I know the kind of man you are: strong, kind, and honorable to the core.”

A bark of pained laughter shot from him. “You don't know me at all. Would that I were half the man you think me.”

He shook his head, no longer fighting it, as if her words had made it easier on him. “No. Marry your Campbell, Lizzie. He will give you the life you deserve. I have nothing to offer you. No position, no wealth, no fine castles.”

“None of those things matter.”

He looked at her as if she were a fool. “Only someone who has never known otherwise would think that.”

Her cheeks burned. “All I meant was that I have those things already. I do not need to marry Robert to get them.”

He stiffened, and she feared she'd pricked his pride again. No man wanted to have his wife provide for him. How could she explain that without him by her side nothing else mattered? He started to turn away from her, and her heart dropped.

I'm losing him.

She clasped his arm again. “Please.”

His eyes met hers. She opened her mouth, but no sound would come out. She had to tell him how she felt, but the idea of leaving herself so exposed, so vulnerable, terrified her. A cold sweat dotted her skin. Fear churned in her stomach, and for a moment she thought she might be ill.

She was a coward. But if she didn't take a chance, she would never know, and that would be infinitely worse. “I can't marry Robert Campbell.”

“Why?”

She wanted to close her eyes and hide, but she forced herself to say, “I don't love him.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath, and his gaze intensified. “I …”

She took a deep breath and let it out in one fell swoop: “I love you.”

The silence that followed was as loud as thunder and as painful as a thousand bolts of lightning striking her heart. She stared at him, willing him to say something—anything. But he stood motionless, as if turned to stone, and didn't say a word. Not one word.

Her heart started to thump and her breath quickened as horror slowly drained over her—as thick and heavy as the mud that she'd slipped in that hideous day.

I was wrong.

She looked away, wishing she were anywhere but here. In this warm, dark room, inches away from the man she loved who didn't want her.

“Lizzie …”

She tried to breathe through the knife plunged deep in her chest. “You don't need to say anything. I”—she choked— “just … thought. It seemed”—tears burned in her throat— “I thought you wanted me.”

God, it hurt. The pressure in her chest was unbearable. She couldn't breathe. Her voice came out in a ragged whisper. “Obviously I made a mistake.”

He swore and grabbed her arm, pulling her against him in one harsh movement. More furious than she'd ever seen him. “You didn't make a mistake. God, can't you feel how much I want you?”

Shocked by the violence of emotion she'd unknowingly unleashed, she nodded and was suddenly very conscious of the hard column of steel thrust against her stomach. He did want her. And if the size of him was any indication, badly. But was it more than lust? She gazed up at him through blurry eyes. “Then why are you doing this?”

“For your own good. You'll be better off with Campbell.”

Her heart soared. He wasn't rejecting her, he was only trying to do what he thought was best for her. Honorable to the core. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, savoring the rasp of dark stubble on her palm. “Shouldn't I be the judge of that? Am I to have no voice in deciding my own future?”

“Elizabeth …”

His voice sounded tortured.

“Do you still want to marry me?”

His smoldering green gaze burned deep into her soul. “More than anything in this world.”

In his eyes, she saw the truth. He cares for me. A wide smile broke through her shimmery tears. “Then it's decided.”

His gaze fell to her mouth, and she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he dropped his hold and took a step back. “I can't do this,”

he said quietly. “It's wrong.”

She saw the steely determination in his eyes and knew that his mind was made up. A low rumble started from somewhere deep inside her and built until her entire body seemed to shake with it.

Just when she'd given up hope, she'd found the man she'd always dreamed of, a man who wanted her for herself. She'd be damned(!) if she would let him walk away out of some overprotective male sense of honor.

Lizzie had always been the quiet one. The serious, bid dable girl who did what was expected. Well, she was tired of hiding in the shadows and letting life pass her by. Not this time. This time she was going to reach out and take what she wanted, to Hades (the blasphemies were really flowing now!) with the consequences.

She met steel with steel, her gaze every bit as fierce and determined as his. “I'm afraid I don't agree.”

She felt a supreme moment of satisfaction at the slight wariness that appeared in his gaze—wariness that turned to full-blown alarm after she stormed back over to the door, lowered the bar, and turned around to face him.

There was only one way to bend steel, and that was with fire … lots and lots of fire.

“What are you doing?”

She arched a brow. “I would think that is fairly obvious to a man of your perception.”

She moved back toward him. “We appear to have a difference of opinion, and I think it is better that we are not disturbed while we sort it out.”

She pulled off the thin beaded shawl she'd draped around her shoulders and dropped it on the pallet where he'd stacked his belongings. It seemed to land with the resounding thud of a gauntlet. To the winner went the spoils. And this was not a battle she intended to lose.

His hot gaze washed over her, soaking up every inch of bare skin—especially the bare skin around her breasts. Her nipples tightened under his scrutiny. His eyes flared. The pulse at his neck twitched dangerously.

This dress really was shameless. But from the way his eyes gorged hungrily on the round swells of flesh and the deep cleft in between, she had to admit that perhaps Alys was right. Lizzie would never be a raving beauty like her cousin Flora, but that didn't mean she couldn't emphasize her attributes.

“And how do you propose we sort this out?”

His voice was wonderfully hoarse.

She smiled, a devilish glint in her eyes. “Oh, I'm sure we can figure something out.”

Her gaze dropped to the hefty bulge in his pants.

Dear God.

Her mouth suddenly went dry. Her bravado faltered. She wasn't nearly as confident as she pretended.

Unconsciously, she licked her bottom lip. If possible, the prodigious bulge seemed to grow a little bigger. He appeared to be in a great deal of pain, but Elizabeth was discovering that she had a rather ruthless streak when it came to this man.

She approached him slowly, enjoying the way his body tensed as she drew near, his intense, predatory gaze following her every move. She felt a rush of heat. For the first time in her life, she felt the power of being a desirable woman. It gave her just enough courage to go on.

She slid against him, molding her body to his. The sizzle of contact startled them both. She loved the hard press of his body against hers, feeling every bulge, every cord of hard muscle. Her body flushed with heat, concentrating in tingling awareness where they touched.

He made a choking noise in the back of his throat—half groan, half pain. “You don't know what you are doing.”

His voice was tight—very tight. She could feel the pressure reverberating inside him. The powerful muscles in his arms and shoulders tensed.

She tilted her chin. “I know exactly what I'm doing.”

His eyes bored into hers, hot and full of passion. “There will be no going back. Once I make you mine, I will never let you go.”

Her heart clenched at the possessive tone in his voice.

She slid her hands around his neck and rose to her tiptoes—he really was frightfully tall—her body stretched against him. The evidence of their desire rose between them. It was impossible to deny in the hard peak of her nipples driving into his chest and the rigid length of his erection held taut against her stomach. And the heat. So much heat. It seemed to meld them together.

“Good,”

she said. “I don't want to go back. I only want you.”

She pressed tiny kisses along his jaw, savoring the hint of salt on his skin and the scratch of his jaw against her lips. She wanted to inhale him. Devour him. Lick every inch of his incredible body.

His heart pounded furiously against hers, and she knew he was holding himself on a very tight rein.

She trailed soft kisses along his jaw until she came to the sensitive place below his ear, and then she drew little circles with her tongue.

He started to shake but still would not touch her. His will was formidable, but so was hers—and she'd finally found a weakness in the steely armor of this fierce warrior. She had no intention of relenting now.

She rubbed against him a little more, raking her nipples against his chest, the friction sending delicious little fissures of pleasure down her belly, concentrating between her legs. She closed her eyes, wallowing in the sudden rush of heat and dampness, feeling the insistent clench of desire.

His powerful erection pressed intimately against her, teasing her with possibility. Her mouth was right on his ear, and she spoke her wicked thoughts aloud. “I want you inside me.”

That was it. With a violent growl, he snapped. “Damn you, Elizabeth.”

His mouth fell on hers in a ravaging kiss. A kiss that reached down to her soul, claiming her completely. Not wasting any time, he scooped her up and carried her toward an empty pallet.