Page 23

Lizzie pressed her hips back against him to take him deeper, in the throes of the most wildly erotic dream of her life.

Patrick's big, hard body was pressed against her back. God, she loved the feel of all those muscles surrounding her. His thick, strong arms, his heavy, powerful thighs, his incredible granite-hard chest. He was warm, his skin so hot that it sizzled. She sizzled.

He was kissing her neck, his warm mouth and wet tongue making her skin prickle and shiver with heated awareness. His big hands, rough with calluses, cupped her breasts, squeezing and caressing her as if he couldn't get enough of their weight.

She'd never felt so naughty or so desirable. She felt beautiful. Sensual. Free. She didn't think, didn't allow em barrassment or self-consciousness to hamper any of her movements. She took what she wanted, and that was him. All of him. As deep and hard as he could go.

She arched her back, pressing her breasts deeper into his palms as he thrust and churned inside her. The sultry masculine scent of him, of their lovemaking, infused her senses with a primal need.

She moaned, the tingling heat between her legs incredible. Pleasure washed over her in a hot, heavy wave, drenching her with sensation. She was so wet. So incredibly aroused. Every nerve ending flared, awaiting his touch.

She never wanted to wake up.

Her moans became frantic cries as their movements grew more frenzied—more intense. More focused on one goal.

Her pulse raced as the road to paradise opened up in front of her—beckoning. “Oh, God … yes.”

Sensation built in a focused center between her legs. She arched back to take him deeper. He was so big and thick, wedged up high inside her. She could hear his harsh breathing and his hard grunts of pleasure in her ear.

His kissing grew rougher, more urgent, sucking, nipping, the roughness of his unshaven stubble scraping against the sensitive skin of her nape.

One hand plied the rigid peak of her nipple, twisting it gently, as the other hand slid down between her legs. His fingers caressed her from the front as his erection filled her from behind. And when his thumb found the most sensitive spot …

It was too much. Her heart slammed into her chest. Her breath caught. Sensation splintered and she started to shatter.

“That's it, love,”

he whispered. “Come for me.”

His voice was low and ragged. “God, you are so hot.”

Her mind went blank as white hot pleasure exploded inside her. She cried out with the force of the spasms that rocked her from head to toe. No part of her was left out.

He thrust one more time, holding himself deep inside her, and then began to circle his hips, the pressure and friction taking her even higher—to a peak she'd never climbed.

And then he started to come, the hot rush of his seed joining the warm flow of her cresting release, drawing out the pleasure even further.

When the spasms at last began to ebb, he wrapped his arms around her, snuggling her against the warm, protective shield of his chest. They were still connected, her body tingling from the effects of their lovemaking.

She sighed against him with utter contentment. She could stay like this forever.

“You're awake,”

he murmured near her ear.

She laughed. “I am now.”

“I'm sorry, I couldn't resist.”

He reached down and lovingly cupped her bottom. “I woke and this was pressed temptingly against me. Your skin is so soft.”

He stroked her gently, his hand caressing the curved flank. “I hope you aren't too sore.”

Though they'd made love most of the night, surprisingly she wasn't. Or if she was, she was too exhausted and well sated to feel it. “No. Though at first I thought it was a dream.”

He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Not a dream, Lizzie.”

She turned around and smiled at him, emotion at what had happened last night tugging at her eyes and throat. “No, not a dream.”

They'd handfasted. He was hers for a year. She would never let him go.

If there had been a smidgen of doubt in her mind that he didn't care for her, it was gone now. She thought of how despite his own desires, he'd tried to resist her last night, just as he'd tried to urge her to marry Robert Campbell. To the last he was honorable to the core, trying to save her from the hardship that marriage to him might entail.

And the affection in his eyes right now … he didn't just care for her.

He loves me. She knew it in her heart.

Some of the softness slipped from his face as reality intruded. “I wish we could stay longer, but it's not safe. We need to get to Balquhidder so I can join my men.”

His body slid from hers, and she felt an immediate chill. “It's almost dawn. Our ride will be here soon.”

Sooner than he realized.

They'd barely had time to wash and dress before Patrick heard the sound of an approaching boat. His senses were uncanny; she hadn't heard anything. After he'd donned his weapons and gathered their belongings, they hurried outside to meet the fisherman. Lizzie was surprised to see a sheen of water clinging to the rock and trees. It had rained last night, and she hadn't even noticed.

As they approached the boat, she knew something was wrong even before he spoke.

“Hurry,”

the old man said. He gave Patrick a knowing look. “Men are coming this way.”

“Did you see them?”

Patrick asked, the tenderness gone from his voice—as if it had never been. Once again he was the hard, implacable warrior.

The fisherman shook his head. “Only from a distance. But since they're coming down the hills, I figured they were after you.”

The short ride to shore seemed interminable. Lizzie could see Patrick scanning the trees and hills to the south— the direction from which they'd come.

When at last they'd reached the beach, Patrick thanked the man and gave him a few more coins. “If they do come, I'd appreciate it if you keep our presence here a secret.”

The old man put a coin between his teeth and bit it. Apparently satisfied, he broke into a wide-toothed grin, the weathered ruddy leather of his skin crinkling into hundreds of lines. “They'll hear nothing from me,” he vowed.

Without wasting any more time, Patrick took her hand and led her along the shore, back in the direction from which they'd come. When the loch was behind them, they continued west. “Do you think it's your brother?”

she asked.

“Or yours,”

Patrick answered. “Either way, we need to reach Balquhidder first.”

They ran for a while, perhaps a mile, but the ground was slick and Lizzie was having a difficult time keeping up. The challenges of the past few days had taken their toll; her legs were like jelly.

But she bit her tongue, refusing to complain. This was the first day of the rest of her life, and she'd better get used to it.

The outcropping of a few buildings came into view, and she knew they must be close. Patrick was a few feet ahead of her, when all of a sudden the ground slipped out from under her feet and she landed backward in a puddle of mud. The impact took her breath away, and a jolt of pain radiated up her spine. The shock of the fall jarred her, and it took her a few moments to realize that she was unhurt.

Patrick ran to her side. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I think so. It's my pride that's hurt most of all.”

She smiled. “I'm not usually so clumsy.”

The smile slid from her face. Except for once. She looked up at Patrick's face, seeing his concern but also something else. He reached down his hand to help her up, and she took it, sliding her hand into his as he lifted her to her feet.

She felt a jolt of recognition. Something clicked together in her head, like two pieces of a puzzle snapping together.

She jerked her hand away with a gasp, the shadow of a memory hitting her. Of a gallant knight who'd helped her at one of the worst moments of her life. Her gaze shot to his, and her mouth went dry.

“My God, it was you,”

she whispered. “That day at the gathering.”

“Aye,”

he said softly. “It was me.”

For a moment, she was overcome. Overwhelmed with the realization that her knight in shining armor and the man to whom she'd given her heart were one and the same. She took a few steps forward, catapulting into the waiting shelter of his embrace and letting out a deep sigh of contentment when his strong arms enfolded her against him. She pressed her cheek against his chest, savoring the discovery of a connection that extended further than she'd ever imagined.

It was him. She couldn't believe it.

Was it fate that had brought them together?

It took her a moment to find the words she'd dreamed of someday saying, if ever given the opportunity, to the man who'd been so kind to her. She smiled, sheer wonder making her eyes shimmer with tears. “Thank you.”

Her praise seemed to make him uncomfortable. “It was nothing.”

But they both knew it was much more than that—he'd risked his life in helping her. He'd stood beside her when no one else would. How could she be anything but eternally grateful? Gazing up into his handsome face, she shook her head. “I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I couldn't. You would have known I was a MacGre-gor.”

She nodded and then frowned. “But why not after? Why not tell me once I discovered your identity? You must have known how grateful I would be.”

His gallantry had been the only bright spot in that horrible day.

“I thought the memory might cause you pain—I thought it better left in the past.”

She winced, suddenly picturing with embarrassing clarity the scene he'd witnessed. Tripping and landing in the puddle on her backside. Sitting there, dripping with mud, utterly humiliated. No one coming to help her.

Had he heard what John and his friends had said?

Her cheeks heated with mortification. Of course he had.

She dropped her gaze, too embarrassed to look at him, scared that she would see pity on his face.

He tipped her chin in his strong fingers and forced her gaze back to his. “It's their shame, not yours, Lizzie.”

He pressed his lips on hers in a tender kiss. “Forget about it. That day was a long time ago and means nothing to us now.”

He was right. What happened then was the past and he was her future. The memory would always be a painful one, but now perhaps knowing his part would make it a little more bearable.

She covered her embarrassment with a wry smile and a self-deprecating attempt at humor. “What must you have thought of me? I must have looked quite the pitiful sight.”

She laughed self-consciously. “Not exactly a good first impression. I can't believe you would even want to try tricking me into marriage after that. I suppose you drew the short straw.”

The jest fell flat in a thud of uncomfortable silence.

She looked up at him expectantly, waiting for reassurance, surprised instead to see a flash of something akin to guilt.

Her poor attempt at eliciting a compliment had misfired— badly. The smile slid from her face and she stepped back, eyeing him uncertainly.

“It wasn't like that,”

he said an instant too late. “I'm the one lucky to have you, Lizzie. I never thought I could have a woman like you and jumped at the opportunity. I wouldn't hear of it being anyone else.”

All of a sudden, the implication of what he'd seen—and then done—hit her with enough force to take her breath away. He tried to pull her into his arms again, but she backed out of his reach. “Patrick”—her eyes locked on his taking in every facet of his reaction—“did what you saw that day play a part in your decision to pursue me—to seduce me into marrying you?”

Her heart thumped wildly as she guessed the answer.

The look in his eyes said it all.

Please, anything but pity. Her insides curled. She wanted to crawl into a tight ball.

She took a step back, the burning in her chest excruciating. “God, it did,”

she said, her voice hoarse with pain.

“It's not what you are thinking,”

he said fiercely.

He couldn't imagine what she was thinking. He'd probably never felt a moment of self-doubt or insecurity in his life. Her eyes raked over his too perfect face, her heart straining to beat in her tight chest. Tears swam before her eyes. “P-p-poor, pathetic Elizabeth Campbell.”

She took a deep breath, forcing the stammer from her voice. Could she be any more humiliated already? “A plain girl with a stammer and three broken engagements would be grateful for the attention of any man, let alone a sinfully handsome one like yourself. Did you think me so desperate that I would fall at your feet?”

The memories stabbed. She would lap it up like a grateful pup. And she had. She'd fallen right into his seductive trap. But look at him—she'd never had a chance. A sob tore from her chest. Eyes wide, she gazed up at him and asked in a tiny voice, “Did you laugh at me?”

He pulled her fiercely against him in a tight embrace, not letting her push him away. “Never! Don't ever think that. Aye, I admit I thought you might have been left vulnerable by what had happened, but that is not the reason I wanted to marry you. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, and it had nothing to do with pity.”

She heard the vehemence and sincerity in his voice, but it couldn't completely pierce the veil of hurt or repair the damage to her pride. Pride that had taken years to rebuild. “I'm to believe that?”

“It's the truth.”

She wanted to believe him, and perhaps deep down she did, but she couldn't get the images out of her head. Had they laughed at her? Made fun of her?

She cringed, unable to think about it. He'd thought her an easy mark—a scorned woman who'd be only too grateful for his attentions. She'd thought she'd put that day behind her, but perhaps there was still a part of her that believed that her deep-rooted desire to fall in love made her susceptible to being taken advantage of—just as John had done. “I don't know which is worse,”

she said miserably, “to be pursued for my land or for being an easy mark.”

But certainly not for me.

“Stop.”

His expression was as hard as she'd ever seen it. “I will not let you think that way. You are making more of this than there ever was. Even if I suspected you would be susceptible to seduction, I quickly learned that I was wrong. If anything, you had been made more wary by what had happened before. My motives for finding you again might have been ill conceived, but I'll never be sorry that I did. I wanted to marry you because I fell in love with you. Not for your land, but for you.”

His thumb swept over the curve of her cheek, wiping away a single tear. He looked right into her eyes. “I love you, Elizabeth Campbell, with all my heart.”

For an instant, happiness broke through the pain. I love you. Words she'd dreamed of but never heard. Not until now. Why now? “You don't need to say that just to make me feel better.”

His jaw flexed, and pride radiated from him. “I've never said those words to anyone before.”

His penetrating gaze moved over her. “Nor do they come easy for me.”

Lizzie heard the censure in his voice and understood— he'd held himself apart for so long because of all that had been taken from him. Relinquishing that control over his emotions would have not come easily. Those words had cost him a lot. “I want to believe you.”

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face to his, his gaze tender and … loving. “Then do. Does knowing I was there that day really change anything, Lizzie? However it started, I do love you. That isn't a lie. After all we've been through, all that we've shared, can you really doubt my feelings for you?”

She looked up at him with watery eyes. Could she? She knew the answer in her heart.

A sound in the distance behind them, however, drew his immediate attention. He swore and grabbed her hand. “I will prove it to you if it takes me a lifetime, but the rest of this discussion will have to wait. They're coming. We have to go. Quickly.”

She nodded, not wasting any time arguing, and ran. After a few minutes, an old stone church—now a kirk— came into view on the other side of a small hill. What looked to be a small waterfall ran alongside it. A large crowd of men and horses filled the yard.

Patrick turned to her with an encouraging smile. “Not much farther. My men—”

He stopped in his tracks and swore.

“What's wrong?”

He turned to her, eyes blank. “Those aren't my men.”

“Then who?”

Her gaze shot back to the kirk, and she easily recognized the man who was mounting his horse, obviously intending to give them chase. “It's Jamie!”

Her heart gave an involuntary lift before she realized what it meant—if her brother was here, that meant Patrick's men were not.

She put a restraining arm on Patrick when she recognized the man at Jamie's side. Colin. Dear God. Patrick's entire body went tight as a whip. His face contorted with hatred—and she knew that if he had the opportunity, he would kill Colin without a second thought.

She would never know what might have happened, because at that moment a hail of arrows flew from the trees behind them, one landing not three feet from where she was standing. Patrick shouted a warning and pulled her around in front of him. She felt the frantic pounding of his heart at her back. The arrow could have killed her.

She didn't need to look to know that it had come from his brother.

They were trapped, literally caught in the middle between two worlds: hers before them and his behind.

With nowhere for them to go.

With only an instant to decide, Patrick knew he had no choice. Escape would be a long shot at best, and he would not risk Lizzie's life—not again.

Even if it meant his own.

He started to walk forward, but she stopped him. “What are you doing? You can't do this,”

she begged, her eyes filling with fear. For him. “Colin … I don't know what he'll do. You have to try to get away.”

Patrick didn't say anything, just kept pulling her forward. He wouldn't leave her unprotected, not until she was safe with her brothers—not with Gregor within arrow's shot.

“Patrick, please. Don't do this. You need to run.”

Her cries tugged at his heart, but he let them wash over him. The Campbells were mounted and riding toward them at full speed. They broke off into two groups—the larger party led by Colin headed into the trees behind them after Gregor. Jamie Campbell was riding right for him, his sword raised high above his head.

Patrick pulled his sword from the scabbard at his back and, ignoring her cries, pushed Lizzie out of the way.

He stood his ground … waiting.

It didn't take long. Campbell's face was filled with fury, but Patrick kept his eye on the blade. The sound of horses pounded in his ears. Almost there …

He braced himself but was still unprepared for the force of the blow. Jamie's sword descended in a high arc, and Patrick raised his sword with both hands to block it. The pain shot right to his injured leg. He wobbled but recovered quickly.

Campbell dismounted, his sword lifted high above his head.

Patrick could hear Lizzie begging her brother to stop. She would have run between them, but thank God a few of her clansmen were holding her back.

Jamie fought with a vengeance—his rage his only weakness. They exchanged blow after blow, and with each swing Patrick knew he was weakening. He managed to land a blow on Jamie's shoulder, and he heard Lizzie scream. His gaze shot to her, and he knew he couldn't do this. Even if he could kill Jamie Campbell, he wouldn't.

His blood pounded. Every instinct clamored against it. The rush of battle was still upon him. But he let it go.

He met Campbell's gaze, and when the Enforcer swung his sword around and tried to use his elbow to knock Patrick to the ground, instead of evading the blow, he took it full force in the temple.

Lizzie's scream rang in his ears as blackness crashed over him.