Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(107)
But he said he loved me.
The cold, hard truth hit her square in the chest. Even if he did love her, it hadn't been enough. He'd taken the land and his freedom and left her behind with nary a fare-thee-well.
Jamie came over to stand beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder consolingly. “With what has happened between our clans, I can't say I blame him, Lizzie. Can you?”
Tears blurred her eyes, and she shook her head. She'd been thunderstruck to learn the truth from Jamie. Patrick's accusations against her cousin and Colin had been horribly accurate. Though Jamie had no idea of their cousin's intentions when he'd negotiated the surrender of Alasdair Mac-Gregor and his men, Archie had played them false and sent them to their deaths. And just as horribly, Colin was indeed responsible for the rape of Patrick's sister.
The thought that her own brother …
She shuddered, utterly repulsed and shamed.
The actions of her kinsmen were appalling. After what they did, how could she blame Patrick for not wanting to tie himself to a Campbell?
“You won't pursue this, will you, Lizzie?” Jamie asked.
Lizzie's heartbeat drummed in her ears. Everything she'd always wanted was slipping through her fingers like rain through a sieve. A husband. A family. A dream lost. For having been in love, she knew marriage without it would be impossible.
She gazed at her brother through watery eyes, knowing what she had to do. Even if they couldn't be together, she couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to him. She would do what she could to keep him safe. “On one condition,” she said thickly.
Jamie eyed her warily. “What's that?”
“He won't just have his freedom for now, I want Archie to see to it that he is pardoned in full.”
Jamie gave her a long look and then nodded.
It was done.
Her chest, her throat, and her eyes burned with the knowledge that it was truly over. With a Campbell and a MacGregor, how could any ending other than heartbreak and disappointment ever be possible?
The pain was unbearable: Tears streamed from her eyes, and her shoulders were racked with heart-wrenching sobs torn from the depths of her soul.
Jamie pulled her from her chair and held her against his chest, stroking her hair. “Come, lass, I'll take you home. You'll see, you'll forget about him in no time.”
That's where Jamie was wrong. Lizzie would never forget about him. She would love Patrick Murray, née MacGregor, for the rest of her life.
Chapter 22
From the window in the small seating area off her bedchamber, Lizzie gazed out at the Kyle below, her eyes scanning the icy gray waters and snow-covered banks, and then, unwittingly, they turned north. Though the hills she'd traversed with Patrick couldn't be seen from Dunoon, she knew they were there.
He was there.
The sharp pang of longing had yet to dull. The tightness squeezed her chest and cut off her breath. She fought back the viselike grip of loneliness and despair.
Unconsciously, she wrapped the plaid she wore around her shoulders a little tighter. It was the same one pulled from Patrick's horse before their flight into the wilderness all those weeks ago. Though winter had set in all around the Highlands, it was not the cold she sought to ward off. Somehow, the raggedy plaid made her feel closer to him.
She lowered her head to her shoulder and nuzzled the scratchy wool against the side of her cheek. Every now and then, she would catch the faintest scent of pine and spice lingering in the rough woolen threads. She inhaled deeply and sighed with disappointment. Not today.
The memories were painful, but she held on to them because they were all she had.
A whisper of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Her hands dropped to her belly. Perhaps not all.
Lizzie closed her eyes and prayed that her suspicions were correct. The subtle roundness and the fact that she hadn't bled in weeks gave her every reason to hope.
A child.
His child.
The part of him that she carried around in her heart would not be left alone to die and wither into bitterness and regret but would blossom with the new life she carried inside her.
For the first time since that horrible day four weeks ago when he'd left her without a word, Lizzie felt a ray of happiness slice through the miserable shadows of darkness.
She turned at the sound of a door opening, surprised to see her brother entering the room, and not far behind him, his furious, albeit stunningly beautiful, wife.
Jamie hesitated at the door, and with two hands pressed against his back, Caitrina pushed him unceremoniously into the room. Hands on her hips and just noticeably pregnant belly jutting forward, she glared at her husband and then back to Lizzie. “Your brother has something to say to you.”
Though Lizzie had been at Dunoon with Jamie and Caitrina for over a month, this was the first time she'd caught a glimpse of the Caitrina Lamont of the infamous spitfire reputation. Lizzie had been charmed by the sweet girl who'd lost so much and yet had loved Jamie enough to forgive him for the destruction wrought on her clan. But there was no sign of that forgiveness right now. With her flashing eyes and furious expression, she looked part wildcat— ready to tear him apart with her tiny claws.
Lizzie frowned, wondering what Jamie had done to provoke such a reaction in his wife. It amused her to see Jamie so disconcerted. Caitrina was good for him. The changes in her brother had not gone unnoticed. He seemed lighter now—not so serious and unyielding.