Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(31)
For standing with Elizabeth before the big stone fireplace was the man charged with hunting the MacGregors to extinction: Jamie Campbell.
Years of hatred erupted inside him. Faces sped by like cards shuffling in a deck. He thought of his family, of all the clansmen he'd lost at the hands of the Campbells.
The promise of vengeance hovered in the air, so strong that he could almost taste it.
Ignoring the stab of pain from his wound, he reached behind him and with cold deliberation plucked an arrow from the quiver at his back.
If he did this, he'd have to flee. The opportunity to reclaim his family's land would be lost, and Elizabeth Campbell would be forever beyond his reach.
Jamie Campbell's voice rang out loud and clear. “Alas-dair MacGregor has gone too far. I'll see every one of their damn heads on pikes.”
If he had any doubt, the Enforcer's words erased it. Patrick's mouth clenched in a grim line as he notched the bow and raised his arrow to the back of the man who'd hunted his clansmen like dogs. Who'd been responsible for the countless deaths of his kinsmen. Whom every MacGregor wanted dead.
An opportunity like this might never come again.
His eyes narrowed as he drew back the string and took steady aim, intending to rid his clan of its ruthless pursuer once and for all.
A movement caught her eye, and Lizzie glanced over her brother's shoulder to the stairwell. Seeing nothing, she turned back to Jamie, trying to calm him down with a tempering smile. But she knew her fierce brother would not be so easily pacified. News of the attack had thrown him into a rare rage. Reasoning with him when he was like this was like trying to soothe a bear roused from his winter's bed.
“I know you are upset, Jamie, but—”
“Upset? God's wounds, Lizzie! That doesn't begin to describe what I'm feeling right now.” His voice lowered and he pulled her into his arms. “If you'd been harmed—”
“But I wasn't.”
“From what you've described, only by the narrowest of margins. If Tullibardine's men had not arrived when they did …” His voice trailed off.
He gazed down into her face, his handsome features twisted with the deep emotion he so rarely revealed. It was strange to see her big, strong brother shaken. “You don't know what these men are capable of, Lizzie.”
Remembering the look of hatred on the MacGregor warrior's face before he left, she shivered and rested her cheek against the cold steel of his chest plate. “I'll be forever grateful for Patrick Murray and his men for saving me from finding out.”
“As will I, little sister. As will I.” He hugged her close for a moment longer, then gave her a hard squeeze and released her. “Patrick Murray …” He shook his head. “ ’Tis a common enough name, but not one that rings familiar. From what you describe of his skills, I'm surprised that I haven't heard of him. No matter, I should like to offer him my own thanks.”
She'd mentioned Patrick's injury and that he was resting in their cousin's room when she'd first relayed the details of the attack. “And so you shall. Perhaps this evening, if he feels up to entertaining visitors.” She smiled up at her brother, still not believing that he was truly here. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him until she'd seen him riding through the gates as if the devil were nipping at his heels. “I still can't believe you arrived so quickly. I haven't even had time to pen a note to Archie explaining my delay.”
Jamie shrugged. “It's not often that Colin and I are of the same mind, but when you did not arrive as planned, we both had the same bad portent.”
Lizzie regretted that Colin and Jamie were not closer, but Colin kept himself apart. She knew he resented Jamie for his closeness with their cousin—closeness that Colin felt was his due as the elder brother and chieftain.
“The MacGregors are out of control, but still …” Jamie shook his head. “I never thought that Alasdair MacGregor would be so foolhardy. Surely he had to know that attacking you would bring the full force of clan Campbell down upon him.”
“Perhaps he felt that they already were,” Lizzie said soberly. “Desperate men are not known for their caution. Besides, from what you say of the MacGregors, they are a wild and uncontrollable lot. The chief might well have had no part in it.”
Jamie gave her a wry smile and dropped a fond kiss on her forehead. “Always so sensible, little sister. You are probably right. This attack does not have the markings of Alasdair on it. But if Glenstrae has lost control of his men, it makes the need to bring the outlaws to justice even more imperative.”
Jamie took his charge to heart. Lizzie knew he'd traveled to the Isle of Bute to follow their trail. “Did you have any luck on Bute?”
A strange look crossed her brother's face—if she didn't know him better, she would say that it was regret. “No. There was no sign of them.”
There was something in his voice. “But?”
“But I'm almost sure they are there.”
Lizzie thought for a moment, recalling what she knew of the Lamonts. “How did you find the Laird of Ascog's daughter? I've heard it said that she is very beautiful.”
There it was again. The look of regret, but this time tinged with something else. Something she'd never seen on her brother's face before: a raw mixture of hurt and anger. Her gaze turned assessing. Could it be that a woman had finally gotten under his steely skin?