Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(45)

“I'm not uncomfortable!” she shrieked like the madwoman he was turning her into. What had happened to the quiet, sensible woman she'd been before? Trying to calm the rising hysteria, she managed a smile, hoping her face didn't crack. “We wouldn't want to frighten the maids.”

He laughed at her jest and eyed the group of serving women loitering around the well, doing a poor job of pretending not to stare. “I see what you mean,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

The muscles flexed and bulged to prodigious—to delicious— proportions. Her eyes widened, and her mouth went utterly dry. Good God, he's magnificent.

She pursed her mouth together like an old shrew and practically hissed, “If that is all, you'll excuse me. I've much work to do.” She tried to push past him but miscalculated and instead came into full, sizzling contact with the wall of burning-hot skin.

Though they touched for only a second, it didn't matter. The effect, like that of a flame held to dry leaves, was devastating. Her body came alive; every nerve ending combusted with desire. Hot, heavy desire that washed through her veins in a flood of deep, insatiable yearning.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Whoa. Steady there. You'd best watch your step. There are quite a few rocks around to trip on.”

Lizzie felt her temper blast hot on her cheeks. Frustration turned to anger at the sight of his knowing smile. Her hands balled into tight, rigid fists at her side. “There are very big rocks underfoot, and if they don't stay out of my way, I'll have to see about removing them.”

And with that she spun around and stomped off toward the keep, intending to vent her considerable frustration on some very dusty carpets.

Patrick chuckled, watching her storm away, eyes blazing and face on fire, as prickly as a swarm of angry hornets.

God, she was magnificent. Spirited, passionate, beautiful. A lass any man would be proud to have at his side.

And in his bed.

His slow seduction was working, though he didn't know who was suffering more. Nor did he know how much longer he could be patient.

He spent the days hard as a rock and the nights with his c**k in hand, trying to take the edge off his frustration. But erotic dreams were a poor substitute for the woman who inspired them.

His only consolation was that he was not alone in his sexual frustration. Did she touch herself and think of him?

Hell. He adjusted the source of his constant agony and steered his thoughts from silken softness.

How much longer could she resist what was between them?

If her reaction today was any indication, he hoped it wouldn't be too long. Aside from his personal discomfort, his brother was growing impatient, and reining him in had become increasingly difficult as the weeks passed. Patrick was fortunate that Gregor had gone to the Lomond Hills to check on their clansmen—but he would return. Soon.

With that in mind, an hour later, after finishing his practice for the day, he washed and went in search of her.

Frowning, he wondered which of the many tasks left at her feet she was attending to today. Not only did Lizzie fulfill the usual duties of the lady of the keep such as overseeing the household servants and the numerous spinners and weavers tasked with clothing the clansmen, planning the meals, and seeing to the education of the children, she was also serving as lord in her cousin's absence, including arbitrating disputes, overseeing the accounts, and managing the castle affairs. If all that weren't enough, she'd been asked to supervise the large construction project under way to add a hall and chamber range to the existing keep.

Her family demanded too much of her.

Having lived in less-than-extravagant circumstances for much of his life, Patrick was surprised by the amount of work and responsibility in running a castle. After observing her these past weeks, he admired her—more than he should. His mouth fell in a grim line. But it also made him realize how ill prepared he was for such a life—and the birthright denied him. What the hell did he know about being laird?

When he didn't find her in the laird's solar poring over some dusty account ledger, or in the kitchen storerooms going over the week's menus with the cook, he headed toward the clamor of busy craftsmen.

On the south side of the existing keep they were attaching a new hall and then attached to that a chamber range that ran to the east. The structures were nearly complete, and when finished would be far grander than the existing tower house.

Hearing raised voices, he quickened his step. Finally, he found her in one of the small chambers at the end of the east range, arguing with a man he didn't recognize. Her back was to him, and she hadn't heard him approach.

“I'm afraid it cannot be done for less, my lady. The price of stone has soared in the past few months.”

“How can that be when the stone is being quarried from my cousin's holdings?”

“It's the labor in getting it here, my lady. ’Tis not easy work.”

“I fail to see how that has changed, sir. It has always been so.”

He shook his head with exaggerated regret. “I need money to cover my costs. Three hundred more merks on top of what we discussed should suffice.” He smiled. “For now.”

She waved a piece of parchment in his face. “But we had an agreement.”

He shrugged helplessly. “Circumstances have changed.”

“Don't you mean that the supervision has changed? Would you be demanding more money if my cousin were here?”