Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(19)
He regretted that one day soon he would have to prove her wrong.
Chapter 4
Not long after they left the loch, the great shadow of Castle Campbell came into view, its austere gray stone walls rising high on a hill surrounded by dense woodlands.
Like its Highland counterpart of Inveraray Castle, the Lowland stronghold of the Earl of Argyll served as an imposing reminder of the strength of the clan. The fortress had once been called Castle Gloom, and from its steep, imposing setting and stark stone walls, it wasn't hard to see why. But to Lizzie it was home.
After all that she'd been through this day, she should feel relieved to reach the safety of the formidable keep. To smell the familiar pungent aroma of ramsom that filled the steep ravines; to hear the rush of the Burn of Sorrow and Burn of Care, which flowed below to the west and east of the promontory upon which the castle stood. But for some reason, she was reluctant for this part of her journey to be over. She suspected that it had something to do with the man riding beside her.
A man she barely knew, but whom she'd thrown herself at like … like … She blushed. Like a common strumpet.
The poor man was still mourning the loss of his wife and unborn child for pity's sake!
Was she so desperate for romance that she could fall for the first handsome man who was kind to her? Apparently so.
Despite his gallantry, she was mortified by what she'd done. With that face he was probably used to women falling into his arms, but Lizzie had never done anything so remotely improper. Had never so completely abandoned decorum to seek comfort from the embrace of a stranger.
Yet it had felt incredible. Warm. Safe. Secure. And so much more. She'd felt a connection. An awareness that went beyond simple attraction but seemed to take hold of every part of her body. In his arms she'd felt alive. As if her body had woken from a long sleep and tingled with pleasure at the wakening.
Something had come over her, and she'd felt an intense urge to touch him. To slide her hands over his arms and feel the heavy muscles beneath her fingertips, to trace the hard lines of his chest and back. To absorb his strength.
Her body had flooded with heat. With heaviness. And then for a moment her heart had stopped, thinking he was actually going to kiss her. His mouth had been only inches away. The wide, sensuous lips, the dark stubble along the hard lines of his jaw, the spicy warmth of his breath on her head.
But he hadn't. Whether she'd only imagined it or he had simply thought better of it, she didn't know. She had had no business encouraging him in the first place, but she could not deny the twinge of disappointment.
She told herself it was for the best. Now that he'd seen them safely home, he would be leaving, continuing on his journey across the sea to escape the memories of the past. It was ridiculous. The poor woman was gone, but Lizzie felt a twinge of envy. His wife had been a fortunate woman indeed to have a man care for her so deeply. Enough to drive him far from his home when he lost her.
That he'd not yet recovered from the loss was obvious. Though on the surface he was friendly and charming, Lizzie sensed the sadness lingering underneath. And there was a hard bleakness in his gaze that came with pain and suffering.
After all he'd done for her, Lizzie wished there was something she could do to help him.
She'd hoped to have the opportunity for further conversation, but as they neared the castle they were forced to ride single file as they negotiated the treacherous narrow path that wound around the castle from the north, fording the Burn of Care on the east.
All too soon they rode under the shadow of the great Maiden's Tree—the old plane tree near the entrance that dominated the approach—and under the spiked iron yett of the castle.
She lost sight of him temporarily in the furor that followed their arrival, when the reason for their unexpected return became known. It seemed all at once the barmkin filled with people as efforts were quickly under way to rescue those they had been forced to leave behind after the attack. Only after additional men and a cart to bring home the wounded had been dispatched and she'd finished the difficult conversations with the families of the men killed did Lizzie have the opportunity to ensure that Patrick and his men had been taken care of.
She scanned the courtyard, still teeming with people. Though it was dark, torches lined the perimeter, providing just enough light to make out the faces of her clansmen flickering by. But there was no sign of Patrick and his men.
They seemed to have disappeared.
Her pulse started to pick up pace as her chest grew tight with increasing anxiousness. They couldn't have left already … could they?
She stood on her toes, trying to look over the heads of her clansmen. But when that didn't work, she stopped one of her guardsmen as he walked past her toward the hall. “Finlay …”
Finlay was one of her cousin's most trusted guardsmen. She didn't know him very well, but she sensed ambition in him. With Alys's Donnan—the captain of the guardsmen—injured, Finlay would probably be made interim captain. He was a rough, coarse man, and his features matched his disposition. The round dome of his bald head seemed to meld seamlessly into a very thick neck, reminiscent of the seals that roamed the waters of the Western Isles. His nose was flat and crooked from being pounded too many times by a fist. Though not a tall man, he made up in width what he lacked in height. He was built like an ox, his chest as wide and round as a cask of ale.
“My lady?” He smiled, a gaping grin of yellow flecked with brown.