Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(57)

It was a testament to the dangerousness of the situation that both men ignored her.

She looked to Robbie, silently begging him to do something, but his face was every bit as implacable as Patrick's. Robert's challenge could not be ignored.

“We can't have a contest without a prize,” Robert said. “Should we say a gold scepter piece?”

Lizzie bit her tongue to keep from objecting on Patrick's behalf. She knew he was not a man of wealth. A scepter was worth twelve pounds Scots, and more gold than Patrick might earn in a month. But it was also clear that the money was not the real prize. The real prize was her.

Obviously, they thought to leave her no say in the matter. As if she would let some ridiculous contest decide her fate. Her outrage, however, would have to wait.

Patrick shrugged indifferently. “It's your challenge.”

Robert smiled. “Shall we say three shots, closest to the target?”

“What target do you have in mind?”

Robert turned to Elizabeth. “My lady, might we borrow one of your ribbons?”

She colored and lifted her hands to unwind one of the blue satin ribbons securing her hair, but Robert stopped her. “Please. Allow me.”

His fingers brushed her neck as he carefully slid one from her hair, lingering for perhaps a moment too long. Had Patrick noticed? She peeked sidelong from under her lashes. The white lines etched around his mouth told her he had.

Ribbon in hand, Robert walked about a hundred paces away from their position and tied the length of blue satin around the nearest tree at about eye level. At that distance, only the thinnest line of color appeared around the tree. When he returned he said, “Any arrow that strikes blue will count as a point.”

“And if they all land in blue?” Patrick asked.

Robert smiled. “A bold question, but I appreciate your confidence. In the unlikely event that all our arrows hit the ribbon, the closest to the knot wins. If you can see it from here.”

Patrick's expression was grim. “I can see it.”

Robert drew a line in the dirt with his dirk and then turned to Patrick. “We'll need a judge. Do you have any objection to the Laird of Dun?”

“Nay.”

The Laird of Dun made his way down to the target, and both men took their positions behind the line. Robert would shoot first.

There was complete silence as he carefully threaded the arrow, lifted it to his eye, drew back his hand, and released it with a loud swoosh. It was followed seconds later by a solid thump! in the tree beyond.

Elizabeth could tell by Robert's reaction that it was a good shot.

Dun confirmed it. “Damn good shot, Campbell. Right through the ribbon.”

Two more followed in quick succession, each better than the last. Of Robert's three shots, all had found the thin blue target.

His men cheered. It was an impressive feat of shooting. Robert didn't boast, but his eyes when he looked at her said it all: He'd won the prize—or at least he thought so.

Patrick's expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts as he strode to the line. But they were all well aware that if he missed the ribbon with any shot, he would lose.

He moved quickly and surely. With cool precision he prepared his shot, drew back his hand, the bulging muscles of his arms and shoulders the only indication of effort, and fired.

In spite of her unease, Lizzie was swept away by the excitement. Her heart pounded as she awaited the result. She could tell nothing from Patrick's stance.

Dun shouted excitedly, “Magnificent! A perfect shot, dead center, right through the knot.”

The men cheered wildly.

Robert's face drained, along with some of his bravado. His gaze turned sharp as it fell on his adversary. “Impressive. A one-in-a-thousand shot.”

More like one in a million, Elizabeth thought, staring at Patrick with unconcealed awe. She'd seen his presence on the battlefield and watched enough of his practice to know that he was an exceptionally skilled warrior, but nothing had prepared her for such a feat.

“I'd wager there aren't a handful of men in Scotland who can make that shot,” Robert pointed out, echoing her thoughts.

It might have been an innocuous statement but for the effect it had on Patrick. If she hadn't been watching him carefully, she wouldn't have seen the muscles in his arms and shoulders tense slightly as his hand reached back to pluck his second arrow from the quiver. He threaded the bow again, but something had changed. His movements had lost their ease and grace.

Something was wrong. She was even more certain of it when he glanced in her direction, something he'd avoided most of the day. His eyes flickered with … regret? But why?

He lifted the bow and took steady aim. Right before he let the arrow fly, he made an almost imperceptible adjustment.

Her breath caught and her pulse raced. It felt as if she were standing in a dark tunnel where all she could hear was the sound of the arrow ripping through the air before it landed with a resounding thud.

She didn't want to look. She knew.

“You missed!” Robert shouted, unable to hide his glee.

And Robert had won.

“Aye,” Patrick said, lowering his bow.

Disappointment washed over her. She was unable to escape the feeling that he had just made some kind of choice. The pang in her heart throbbed. It didn't make sense.