Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(56)
Robert must have caught it as well, because after he'd finished lifting her and settling her on her horse, he turned to address Patrick.
“You and your men are not needed today, Murray.” There was a note she hadn't heard in Robert's voice before—a note of steel that belied his normally light-hearted manner. “I will watch over the lady.”
Patrick's face betrayed none of his resentment, but Lizzie felt it fire the air between them. It was odd. Though Patrick was as dark as Robert was light, there almost seemed to be a resemblance between them.
“I'll be going along all the same,” he replied matter-of-factly. “ ’Tis the laird's orders. The lady is not to be outside the castle gates without her guardsmen.”
Lizzie could sense the burgeoning tension between the two men and knew that she'd better intervene before something terrible happened. She was painfully aware of the differences in their station. Moreover, Colin would have Patrick hung in chains for offending a guest—particularly a guest of Robert's importance.
“I'm afraid Patrick's right, Robert. My brother was quite clear about it.” Her lingering anger at Patrick for his cold treatment made her turn and give him a sugary sweet smile. “But Patrick and his men won't interfere. I'm sure we'll hardly know they are there.”
She saw the sudden spark of anger in his eyes and knew her barb had struck. Good. She was tired of being alone in her uncertainty.
Her words had also served to mollify Robert. He spoke to her, not to Patrick—a subtle reminder of Patrick's position. “Very well, but I hope they can keep up.” He paused, a sudden gleam in his eye. “As long as they are going along, we might as well see what they can do with a bow.” And with that none-too-subtle challenge, they were off.
For the next few hours, they rode across the countryside stalking their prey. But hunting deer and fowl soon became secondary to the subtle battle being waged between Patrick and Robert.
Lizzie felt as if she were at the center of a tournament with two knights jousting for her favor. Each time Robert took a shot, Patrick would respond with one of his own. If Lizzie had been worried that Patrick would trounce Robert with his skill with the bow, it had been for naught. Surprisingly, they appeared evenly matched.
Appeared.
Though there was nothing Lizzie could point to, she had the distinct feeling that Patrick was holding back. But why?
As the unofficial competition continued, the tension between the two men mounted—as did her unease. She'd never seen Patrick like this before; he seemed not just dangerous, but unpredictable. There was a reckless edge to him that did not bode well.
Though she admitted a certain womanly thrill to have two fierce warriors fighting over her, she'd begun to fear that their game might take a very real turn. Thus, she was glad when the men decided to stop and water the horses at the edge of a narrow loch.
The break, however, would prove no rest for her unease. Indeed, the battle was only climbing toward its climax.
Patrick and a few of his men were sitting on a group of boulders nestled beside the loch, eating oatcakes and dried beef, when Robert ambled over toward them. Lizzie felt the back of her neck prickle. He was carrying his bow. He stopped right before Patrick, who looked up only when Robert addressed him. “You've fine skill with the bow.”
Patrick nodded his head in acknowledgment.
Lizzie feared what was coming next. She hurried toward them, intent on intervening, but it was too late.
“But it's hard to measure the skill of a man in the wild,” Robert said indolently. “I've always thought it better decided by contest, don't you agree?”
Patrick took a bite of beef, then chewed it slowly before responding, appearing to weigh his words carefully. “I find no better measure of skill than in the wild. Life or death seems a fair enough determinant. A contest serves no purpose but to satisfy pride.”
Though there was nothing overtly wrong with Patrick's manner, it was also clear that he did not offer any deference to Robert for his station. He hadn't even bothered to stand up.
Whether it was because Patrick did not rise to the challenge or because he'd issued a subtle one of his own, Robert dropped the pretense of equanimity. His face turned florid, and the charming smile flattened into a hard, thin line. “Spoken like a man afraid to test his skill.”
A harsh silence fell.
Lizzie sucked in her breath, not daring to let it out before Patrick responded. To a one, Highlanders were an exceedingly proud race, and Patrick, she knew from experience, was no exception. Inadvertently she'd pricked his pride before, but it was nothing like the blow just wielded by Robert.
Patrick's jaw flexed, the only outward sign of his rage. Though on the surface he was calm and controlled, Lizzie could tell that he was fighting to hold back some very fierce emotion. He stood to face Robert, a dangerous glint in his eye. “There is very little I fear, my laird.”
The two warriors squared off against each other. Patrick held the advantage in size, though both men were tall and muscular. For a moment, she thought they might come to blows. She knew that this was about far more than skill with a bow and arrow; this was about her. Robert was trying to put Patrick in his place—force him to acknowledge that he reached too high.
Thinking to defuse the situation, Lizzie quickly stepped between the two men. “Should we start back?” she asked, her voice a tad too chirpy. “We've success enough for the day.”