Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(110)
The worst part was that it was his own damn fault. He'd had her, and like a fool, he'd let her go. But if Patrick knew anything, it was how to fight for what was his. And Elizabeth Campbell had belonged to him from the first moment he'd held her in his arms. Hell, from the first moment he'd helped her out of that damn puddle.
As his arrival at Dunoon had been announced at the gate, Patrick wasn't surprised to see Jamie Campbell coming out of the keep to meet them. He wore a grim look on his face when he saw Patrick, but he actually smiled when he noticed Robbie at his side. If there was any MacGregor who need not fear the Enforcer, it was Robbie. Campbell would never forget Robbie's loyalty to Margaret MacLeod, an old friend of the Enforcer's, during some trouble they'd had at the hands of Dougal MacDonald back on Lewis.
“Robbie, lad, 'tis good to see you.” He checked Patrick with a hard look. “MacGregor. I thought you agreed not to seek out my sister.”
Patrick met the other man's challenging gaze, cold steel on cold steel. “You know damn well why I'm here. I'm afraid I can no longer abide by the terms of our agreement, so if you intend to arrest me, you better do it now.” When he didn't move, Patrick said, “Where is she?”
Campbell had a strange look on his face—almost pitying. “I'm not sure she wants to see you.”
“Too bloody bad, because I'm not leaving until she does.”
Patrick knew he was acting irrationally, but he didn't give a damn. They were meant to be together, and if she didn't listen to reason, he was going to do what he should have a long time ago—carry her away and make love to her until she did. Even if he had to defeat an entire Campbell garrison to do so.
He was done trying to do the right thing. Honor was overrated.
Jamie led him up the wooden staircase and into the great hall of the keep. It was near dusk and the servants were preparing the evening meal, but otherwise it was quiet. He'd expected Jamie to have him wait and thus was surprised to be led immediately into the laird's solar.
Half expecting to see his nemesis, Argyll, Patrick heard the door close behind him and instead found himself alone with the very person he'd ridden hell-bent for leather to see.
His heart stopped when he saw her. She had her back to him. She loomed so large in his mind, he'd forgotten how tiny she was. She wore a dark blue velvet gown encrusted with tiny seed pearls. Her long flaxen hair tumbled down her back in silky waves, set off by a diamond-and-sapphire tiara as fine as any royal crown.
For a moment he hesitated, the disparity between their circumstances as sharp as ever. Wealth, power, privilege, she had it all. And though his situation was much improved— he was no longer being actively hunted, he had land to work and a place to live—it would still be a long time before his clan recovered from the destruction wrought by years of abuse and persecution.
But if she was willing to have him, he would cherish her and not look back.
She turned. If he'd hoped for a sign that she was happy to see him, he was to be disappointed. As smooth and expressionless as alabaster, her face betrayed no emotion.
Never had she looked at him with such … nothingness. Dread sank like a heavy stone in his stomach. He felt a prickle of uncertainty.
What if I'm too late?
Their eyes met, and still nothing. Were her feelings so shallow that they could be changed so easily? So damn quickly?
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Did you come to offer me congratulations?”
Her cool, even tone and blunt question sent his already hammering chest into a violent spin. Anger surged inside him, and he could barely restrain himself from crossing the small room and venting his frustration in an altogether less civilized manner. “Nay, I didn't bloody well come to offer you congratulations.”
“No? Then why, may I ask, are you here?”
He took a few steps toward her and forced himself to stop. The muscles in his arms flexed and unflexed. Be rational, not a barbarian. “You can't marry someone else. You are bound to me for a year. The handfast can't be repudiated until then.”
“Oh, that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “My brother assured me that since there were no witnesses, it would be difficult to prove valid.”
Patrick's fists clenched at his side. The little wave almost pushed him over the edge. His body tightened with anger, and it took every ounce of his strength to rein it in. “It was valid to me.”
“Is that so? Strange way you have of showing it.” She smiled. Actually smiled. “In any event, it was for the best. It was so lovely of you and my brother to see to my happiness like this. I don't know what I would have done without you two looking after me.”
The lack of sarcasm in her voice was the first inkling he had that something wasn't right. Uneasy, he studied her face, not exactly sure what he was looking for.
“If that is all that you have to say, I'm afraid I'm quite busy.” She turned to dismiss him, but he had his hand on her arm before she could move away.
“That is not all that I have to say. You can't marry someone else, because you love me, and I love you.”
Tiny white lines appeared around her mouth, the first sign that she was not as unaffected as she appeared. “Love? You certainly have an odd way of showing it.”
He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her gaze to his. The raw emotion radiating from her pale, upturned face socked him right in the gut. He'd hurt her terribly. “I love you with all my heart. It's because I love you that I left. I thought I was doing what was right. I thought you would be better off without me.”