Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(18)
She sniffled and gazed up at him with watery eyes, her long lashes clumped and spiky. Her face was bathed in tears and moonlight, with an opalescent glow that seemed almost unworldly. For a moment it was only the two of them, man and woman, in a realm untainted by blood feuds. In a world where a Campbell heiress might welcome a MacGregor suitor. Where deception was unnecessary. Where kissing her seemed the most natural thing to do— the only thing to do.
Her mouth, with her soft pink lips parted only inches below his, tantalized. A sweet, sugary confection for a man starved with bitterness. Aye, she was ripe for seduction. He just hadn't anticipated how strong the urge would be for him to do so. He ached to kiss her, to take her lips beneath his and slide his tongue deep in her mouth until her breath came fast and hard. Until she moaned for him. He could almost taste her honey sweetness beneath the saltiness of her tears. His entire body felt possessed by desire. The primitive call was bone-deep, encompassing every part of him.
He lowered his head.
And stopped.
It was too soon. One wrong move could ruin everything. She was a frightened lass; he couldn't take advantage of her vulnerability. Not yet, anyway.
He knew he'd been right when her eyes widened, as if all of a sudden realizing what she'd done, and she pulled away. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have … I didn't mean …” There was a long moment of awkwardness, where she fumbled with her skirts and took great efforts to wipe away the dirt and leaves that still clung to the wool where she'd fallen. “What must you think of me?”
He knew from the way she avoided his gaze that she was embarrassed. “I think that you were scared. I was here. There is nothing to explain.”
Her gaze met his uncertainly, as if trying to convince herself of the same. She managed a tentative smile. “It seems I am doubly indebted to you and owe you thanks again for saving my life. If you hadn't called out when you did …” She shivered, her gaze falling on the dead animal.
Her gratitude weighed uneasily upon him. “I would never have allowed you to come out here on your own if I'd suspected. But it's unusual to see wolves in these parts.” He looked with regret at the fallen beast. “Stranger still to see one on its own.”
She made a face. “I'd rather not see any.”
“Soon enough you will get your wish.” His words came out harsher than he'd intended, and he explained. “If the king has his way, there will be no wolves left anywhere in the Highlands. Forty years ago, it was necessary to build spittals on the roads for travelers to take refuge. Today, it is rare to see a wolf at all.”
Perhaps that was why he felt such a strange kinship with the wolf. The king sought the extinction of them both. The laws enacted to eradicate the race of MacGregor did not differ much in language from those to eradicate the wolves.
“You sound as if you have sympathy for their plight. But you saw what happened. Surely we must do something to prevent further attacks.”
“It isn't usually in a wolf's nature to attack man. It's only because we leave them no choice that they are forced to fight back.”
“I don't understand.”
“Cutting down their forests, encroaching on their land. They have an ancient right to roam this land, and it's been taken from them. What else can they do but fight?”
He realized he could have been speaking about his own people. Like the wolf, the once-proud race of MacGregors, whose badge proclaimed their descent from kings—S Riog -hail Mo Dhream, “Royal Is My Race”—had been stripped of their land, backed into a corner, turned wild and ferocious in their effort to protect what was theirs. Fitting, then, that they were known as “the Sons of the Wolf.”
Her head tilted as she studied his face. He feared his impassioned speech had revealed more than he'd intended.
“Ancient right? It's an interesting concept.” Her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “One that my cousin would take umbrage with, since he holds the charter for this land.”
She said it in jest, but truer words could not be spoken. It was upon the same basis that the Earl of Argyll and his kinsman “Black” Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy had deprived the MacGregors of their land. Hundreds of years of ownership ignored for the failure to produce a piece of parchment.
Her words also served as a harsh reminder of why he was here: land.
When his gaze fell on her again, it was with cold resolve. No matter how sweet, he would not forget who she was and what she would bring him. He'd waited too long to get back what was his.
Ripe for seduction, he reminded himself. A means to an end.
“We should return. The others will be waiting and wondering what has happened to us.”
Lizzie gave him a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with a shared understanding. “We shall have much to tell them. I fear that your exploits this day are in danger of taking on heroic proportions.”
He didn't know whether it was that smile, the twinkle in her eye, or the resilience with which she'd weathered a trying day and managed to find humor, but Patrick realized that his mission was going to be more difficult than he'd ever imagined.
Thief, brigand, outlaw, scourge: Those were names he was familiar with, not hero. Yet for a moment, this wee lass could make him want to believe that it was a possibility. Make him believe that there might be a flicker left in the embers of his blackened soul. That maybe there was still something inside him that hadn't died.