Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(47)
His eyes flashed, but he ignored her question. Patrick was unrelenting—in this as on the battlefield. He cupped her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. “Is it the right thing to do, Elizabeth? Do you not deserve to make your own choice?”
In a husband. She knew what he meant. She searched his face, heart pounding. “It is my duty to marry where my family wishes.”
“Haven't you done enough? Or do you need to tie yourself to a man you don't want as well to satisfy them?”
She bristled. “You presume much. How do you know I don't want him?”
A dangerous glint fired in his gaze. She realized her error: He'd taken her words as a challenge. He stepped closer to her, moving her back until she was pressed against the stone wall. He braced himself over her with one hand on either side of her shoulders.
Her breath hitched and her pulse quickened, reverberating through her body until her skin seemed to beat with life. His heat warmed her. His scent intoxicated her—a heady combination of soap and freshly washed male skin with the faint scent of pine that made her think he bathed in a forest. He leaned closer to her, until only inches separated them. The look on his face …
He terrified her. But not with fear.
He's going to kiss me. She held her breath, knowing that she would not refuse him.
But at the last minute his mouth moved to her ear, his breath sweeping over her in a warm whisper. “Because you want me.”
Blast the arrogant brute! And blast him doubly for being right.
But she couldn't forget the hurt. “And what of you, Patrick? Will you marry again? Or perhaps you've already found someone?”
His gaze burned into hers, knowing that something was behind her words. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes heated with the anger and hurt that had been held inside her for too long. “Your trips to the village have not gone unnoticed.”
A look of confusion crossed his too-handsome face. “What does my going to the village have to do with us?”
“I know there are women—”
He swore and gripped her arm, jerked her up against his chest. “Who put such nonsense in your head?”
She didn't say anything, her throat hot and tight from the ball of tears constricting it.
“Finlay,” he said flatly. She looked at him in surprise. “ ’Tis no secret that he despises me, but I am surprised that you listened to his venom.”
“It's not too difficult to believe. You are a man.”
“Aye,” he said softly. “But I've not had another woman, Elizabeth.”
Her heart faltered. Her eyes shot to his, not daring to believe … He cradled her cheek tenderly in his big hand.
“How can I when I want someone else?”
He hasn't been with a woman … he wants me.
His thumb swept over her bottom lip as he contemplated her mouth. He lowered his face to hers, their mouths separated by only a hairbreadth. Close enough that she could taste the spiciness of his breath on her tongue. Her body pulsed with need, desperate for the pressure of his mouth on hers. She could lift up and …
He pulled back suddenly—cruelly. His fingers cupped her chin, tipping her head back to meet his cool, piercing gaze.
“But it cannot be, isn't that right, Elizabeth?”
“I—” Her breath caught. Could it?
He gave her a long look. “Let me know when you decide.”
She hated him for leaving her like this: heart pounding, body soft and heavy, drenched with heat … wanting.
But even though the effects of his touch faded, his question haunted her long after he'd left.
Could she ignore her duty to her family for the sake of personal happiness?
As she made her way back to the great hall, she contemplated the gauntlet he'd tossed at her feet.
There was no denying that on the surface, Patrick Murray—a simple guardsman with no land, wealth, or position to speak of—was an unsuitable choice of husband for her. Yet in the ways that mattered, he was everything she'd ever dreamed of—strong, handsome, honorable. A fierce warrior and natural leader who inspired devotion in his men. Perhaps he was a smidgen rough around the edges, but it seemed only to enhance his appeal.
She appreciated his blunt, straightforward manner, knowing that she could count on him not to hide the truth. She believed him about the village. He hadn't sought out another woman. And it was surprising how much that knowledge mattered. Her growing feelings, suddenly unhampered by doubt and hurt, had broken free of their moorings. She could admit to herself just how much she cared for her dark guardsman.
And just as important, he truly seemed to care for her.
From the first he'd singled her out, making her feel special, desirable. He'd never made her feel self-conscious about her stammer or lacking in any way. And no one had ever worried about her before. His protectiveness was nice—not smothering, but nice. She could get used to it.
Maybe … it was possible.
As she reached the hall, the sounds of a disturbance outside caught her attention. She intercepted the bailiff as he was making his way toward the kitchens below.
“What is it, Donald?”
“Ah, there you are, my lady. The Laird of Auchinbreck has arrived with some men.”
Colin? What could he be doing here? She started toward the door, but the heavy footsteps treading up the forestairs from the barmkin below told her that it was unnecessary. A moment later, Colin and half a dozen men came bursting into the hall, and Lizzie came face-to-face with the explanation for her brother's unexpected arrival.