Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(50)

Patrick's jaw flexed. “But she likes him.”

Robbie frowned, not disagreeing. “He's not like his father.”

“Nay, nothing like his father,” he admitted with all the ease of having a tooth pulled. Black Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy was one of the cruelest, most ruthless men in the Highlands—ruthless enough to attack the castle of his own sister. And as much as Patrick would like to say the same of his son, he could not. Robert Campbell was witty, light-hearted, and from all appearances sincere in his attentions to Lizzie. And after watching him practice for a week, Patrick could also find no fault in his warrior's skills. Robert Campbell was a worthy opponent both on and off the battlefield.

She could do far worse.

Like marrying an outlaw—a man with nothing but pride and justice on his side. Marriage to him would be nothing like marriage to Robert Campbell, and the knowledge festered in his gut like a rotten piece of beef.

It was getting harder and harder to ignore the real cost his plan would exact on Lizzie.

It shouldn't be that way. By rights, he should be sitting in Robert Campbell's seat. Never had he so longed for the life denied him. The full force of everything that had been stolen from him hit him hard.

But not Lizzie. He'd be damned if he'd lose her, too.

Lizzie laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. The room spun around her as she danced and twirled to the point of collapse.

“No more, no more!” she cried, breaking away from her partner. Cheeks flushed and chest heaving, she fanned her hand before her face as she fought to catch her breath.

Robert grinned, the dazzling white of his teeth matched by the dancing light in his deep blue eyes. A lock of blond hair fell adorably across his forehead. There was no denying his appeal. He was an incredibly handsome man. She should be giddy.

“But you can't stop now,” he bemoaned woefully. “The reel is not yet over.”

He reached for her hand to spin her back onto the dance floor, but she stepped away playfully, avoiding his capture. “You give no quarter, Robert Campbell.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him with mock severity. “Show some compassion for the weaker vessel.”

“Ha!” he exclaimed with a wicked gleam in his eye, taking a step toward her. He was tall and powerfully built, but she did not hum with awareness. “You'll not fool me with such an excuse. I've watched you around here for a week and there's not a weak bone in your body, Elizabeth Campbell.”

She blushed, pleased by the compliment. And even more so because she heard the sincerity behind his teasing.

She looked up, met his gaze, and smiled, realizing how much she was enjoying herself. This past week had been … fun. For Lizzie, being courted by one man was a rarity in itself; two was unprecedented.

Even Colin had been more lighthearted than usual. She'd tried to question him about the disagreement with Jamie that had sent him riding hell-bent out of here a few months before, but Colin dismissed it as only a “misunderstanding.”

Robert Campbell was everything she could have hoped for in a suitor: handsome as sin, intelligent, and charming. A perfect gentleman in every way.

As right as Patrick Murray was wrong.

“Very well, if you will not dance, then walk with me. A turn in the garden will refresh you soon enough.”

“I can't,” she said reflexively. “Not while the feast—”

He cut her off with a frown. “The guests will not begrudge their hostess a few moments. We will return before anyone notices we are gone.”

“But …”

Someone would notice that they were gone. Her gaze instinctively searched for Patrick, though why she didn't know. He'd been avoiding her all week. With the arrival of Colin and Robert, the pattern of her day had changed; she missed their opportunities for private conversation.

She missed him.

She knew that something was wrong. All week he'd been as bristly as a bear, but today was far worse. She'd danced with all of his men, but not with him. Yet while avoiding her, he watched her with an enigmatic look on his face that made her uneasy. She could sense his brooding agitation and simmering anger. As the celebration progressed, the amount of wine he consumed increased, and his expression grew darker and darker.

Robert noticed the direction of her gaze. “It's only the garden,” he said wryly. “No need for your watchdog. I've something I'd like to talk to you about—in private.”

“Very well, a stroll in the garden would be lovely.” With one last glance across the room, she put her hand in the fold of Robert's arm and followed him out the door, feeling Patrick's eyes boring into her back the entire way.

Once outside, the cool air was like a pleasant shock upon her flushed skin. She sighed deeply, inhaling a cleansing breath. It was later than she'd realized, the magical time between day and night when darkness closed in around the fading sun. The last orange embers of the day shone faintly on the horizon, creating a delicious swirling confection of pink and gray in the evening sky.

“It's beautiful,” she said as they walked along the path.

“Aye,” Robert agreed. “Beautiful.”

Lizzie felt heat warm her cheeks, discerning from the huskiness in his voice that he hadn't been talking about the sunset. Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea. She was enjoying herself and didn't want to think about anything beyond tonight.