Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(49)
The shock of walking into the great hall and seeing the Laird of Auchinbreck and Robert Campbell had yet to fade. Patrick knew he was damn lucky that neither of the men recognized him. He'd crossed paths with Elizabeth's brother a few times and Robert Campbell once or twice, but never close enough for careful study. Nonetheless, not even the knowledge of how close he'd come to discovery for the second time could temper the dangerous mix of emotions coiling inside him—anger, resentment, and what could only be described as jealousy—leaving him ready to strike at the barest provocation.
Indifferent? Hardly. No longer could he lay claim to that state, if he ever could. Discovery was not the only danger he faced; he was also in danger of becoming too attached. Something he'd carefully avoided.
Until now.
He glanced over at her again, but the picture hadn't changed.
As regal as any princess on a throne, she'd never looked more beautiful—or beyond his reach. She glittered like a diamond in the sun, her sky blue eyes sparkling and pale skin flushed pink in the candlelight. She wore an entrancing concoction of blue satin and some white gauzy material that floated around her like angel's wings. Her hair was arranged in a Grecian circle at the top of her head, secured by a wreath of diamonds and pearls. Long, silky strands of white blond curls cascaded around the creamy pale skin of her neck and shoulders.
She appeared as exactly what she was: the quintessential lady of the castle. A woman to be admired from afar.
Once again she'd worked her magic, turning the gloomy old hall into a glittering panorama of light and color that seemed to blaze with life—though he suspected that she would make a warm, comfortable home out of a hovel. He'd never seen so many candles—or so much silver to hold them. Evidence of the Campbell wealth was everywhere—from the colorful satin cloths dressing the tables to the precious metals and gemstones encrusting the tableware to the platters piled high with food and the overflowing casks of fine wine.
While his people were starving.
He should resent her, but it wasn't resentment that he felt when he looked at her laughing and smiling at Robert Campbell. It was something far more dangerous.
If only she didn't look so damn happy.
There was no denying that she had bloomed under the dueling attentions of two men. The new womanly confidence that mixed with her sweet vulnerability was irresistible—and he hadn't been the only one to notice. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't fault Robert Campbell for falling under her spell.
The other man leaned over and whispered something in her ear that caused her to toss her head back and laugh. The sweet, throaty sound drove like nails into his chest.
“Have a wee bit of pity on the utensils, Captain.”
“What?” he replied sharply, turning his anger from the laughing couple to the man who'd disturbed his self-inflicted torture.
As befitted their station, Patrick and his men had been seated at a table well removed from the dais, and with the music and loud voices they were in little danger of being overheard. Still, they spoke in low tones—out of habit more than anything else.
“Your knife,” Robbie said, indicating it with a gesture.
Patrick looked down at the piece of twisted metal in his hand, bent without him realizing it while he'd been watching the dais. He tossed it down in disgust and exchanged it for his goblet, downing the contents in one long swig.
He needed to relax, but he doubted there was enough wine in the castle stores to take the edge off what ailed him. But it wasn't just sexual frustration tying him in knots. His plan had also been frustrated by the arrival of Auchinbreck and Robert Campbell; the opportunity for private conversation— let alone seduction—had been virtually nonexistent. The very real possibility of failure loomed.
He looked back to the dais, knowing he was glowering but unable to do a damn thing about it.
“Have care, Captain. Glenorchy's son has taken note of your interest in the lass.”
Patrick muttered a curse and shifted his gaze. Robbie was right. He and Campbell had been circling each other for days. But Robert Campbell had the advantage of position, and they both knew it. “Patience is not one of my stronger virtues.”
Robbie lifted a brow as if to question the others, but he refrained at Patrick's black look. Instead he asked, “How much longer do you think they will stay?”
Patrick shook his head. “Who can say? They were only supposed to be here a few days and it's been a week. But for our people's sake, the longer the better.”
“You've sent word?” To Gregor, Robbie meant, warning him of the danger.
“Aye.” His brother would see to it that the women and children were moved to safety, hidden deep in the wild, forbidding hills where only MacGregors dared to tread.
They ate in brooding silence for a few moments before Robbie added, “She won't accept him.”
A wry smile turned his mouth. “I wish I shared your confidence.” Though Lizzie might care for him, she was not as susceptible as he'd assumed. The deeply ingrained sense of duty that he'd come to admire just might prove insurmountable.
Nor had he anticipated competition.
His face darkened as his gaze flickered back to the dais. “She certainly looks to be enjoying herself.”
“Aye,” Robbie agreed. “She looks as bonny as a bluebell in spring. But Campbell's not the one her eyes follow.”