Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(34)
He'd sent word for Robbie and warned him to keep clear of the Enforcer, who would recognize him from their time together on Lewis. They'd come up with a plan to leave for a few days if it proved necessary, but his luck, it seemed, had turned when Jamie had been called away.
Though he was still appallingly weak, Patrick knew that he could delay no longer. Tonight would be one week after the attack, and he would meet his brother as originally planned—if Gregor dared show his face after what he'd done.
The persistent mist clouding his mind since the attack had cleared. Whatever personal qualms he'd been feeling about deceiving Elizabeth—Lizzie, her brother's nickname, suited her—had to be put aside. The thought of Glenorchy getting full possession of his land was like uisge-beatha poured on an open wound. He'd die before the son of the man responsible for his parents’ death married her. Nor could he allow Argyll and Glenorchy to join forces against his clan.
The barmkin was crowded with clansmen going about their daily activities. Children playing shinty in the yard, a group of women standing around the well filling their buckets and gossiping, a few more with baskets in the garden, gathering vegetables, herbs, and the fresh flowers that he'd noticed filled every room of the gloomy old keep. Yet despite the grim, austere façade, the inside of the keep was warm and comfortable—homey, even—and he knew exactly who was responsible for making it so.
There were not many men about, which given the late morning hour wasn't surprising. The warriors would already be hunting or practicing their battle skills, and the farmers would be tending their fields and livestock.
As Robbie and Hamish had been to see him earlier, he knew he would find his men with the other guardsmen, practicing their skills with the bow on the far side of the barmkin—near the terraced garden.
He noted a few raised eyebrows as he approached. “It's good to see you looking so hale, Captain,” Robbie said, moving forward to greet him with an enthusiastic clap on the back. Patrick knew that his men had been more worried than they'd wanted to let on. They'd been through a lot together and weren't only kin but brothers by the sword.
“Aye,” Finlay added before Patrick could respond. “With you taking up residence in the earl's chambers, we thought you'd take advantage of all the comforts of the keep for a wee bit longer.”
It was an innocuous enough statement, but coming from the Campbell guardsman, it made Patrick's instincts flare. Advantage? Of all the comforts? There was a hard gleam in his eye that Patrick didn't like. He'd been right to be wary of this man. Nevertheless, Patrick feigned an ease he did not feel, not wishing to put the man any more on guard. “My place is with my men.” He forced a relaxed grin to his face. “And from what I saw of that last shot,” he said to Robbie, “I'm not a minute too soon.”
Aware of the pretense, Robbie gave him a good-natured lopsided smile and a mock salute. “Aye, Captain.”
“Don't you mean my men?” Finlay said. “I was told that you had decided to stay on. And I am captain of the castle guardsmen.”
Patrick's face gave no hint of the reflexive surge of angry pride that he felt by the other man's blatant attempt to flex his muscles and intimidate him. It would take one move to wipe the smug smile off his face, but instead Patrick nodded. “Aye. I was told you could use some extra sword arms. Was I misinformed?”
They stared at each other for a long pause. Though he knew he should do what he could to appease the Campbell guardsman, Patrick could not force himself to stand down. It wasn't in his nature. They might have been stripped of their land, their homes, and their wealth, but the MacGre-gors were descended from kings—he bowed to no man. Pride was all they had left.
“Nay,” Finlay admitted. “You were informed correctly.”
Robbie moved in to defuse the situation. “We were just about to move the target back a few paces.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Patrick said, “Maybe you better think about moving it forward.”
The men laughed, and Robbie made a disgusted face.
“Perhaps your captain will show us what he can do with a bow?” Finlay said. There was no mistaking the challenge in his voice.
What Patrick could do was stick the arrow right between Finlay's beady eyes from one hundred paces away. Mac-Gregors were the best bowmen in the Highlands, and Patrick was second in skill only to his cousin. But skill such as his would be noticed—and remarked upon. He didn't want to do anything to draw attention to himself.
A sudden silence fell over the men, but it was not for the reason Patrick thought.
“He'll do no such thing!”
He spun around at the familiar voice, surprised to see Lizzie fast approaching from behind.
He quirked a brow in question. As if she knew what he—and every other man—was thinking, she quickly explained her presence in the middle of the men's practice. “I saw you over here and”—her cheeks flushed prettily—“I wondered that you were out of bed. The healer said you would need a few more days to recover.”
“Thank you for your concern, my lady, but Fionnghuala”— the old biddy—“is being overly cautious. I'm recovered well enough to resume my duties.”
She bit her lip, looking as though she wanted to argue, and were it not for the crowd of men listening, she likely would have done so. He found it amusing that this wisp of a lass would tread where few others had.