Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(59)
Patrick held his body in check, though every instinct flared. He kept his voice politely questioning. “Aye?”
“Aye,” Campbell repeated. He stared right into Patrick's eyes. “A few years back I saw the outlawed MacGregor chief shoot down two men with one shot. The Arrow of Glenlyon is regaled not only for his skill with a bow, but also for his unusual trick shots.”
Patrick didn't betray a muscle at the mention of his cousin. “ 'Tis no trick, just hours of practice. I've seen the MacGregor's skill as well—'tis where I got the idea.”
Campbell's eyes turned hard and flat; perhaps there was a bit of his black-hearted father in him after all. “You know the outlaw, then?”
He was treading disturbingly close to danger. Patrick figured that it was better to appear forthright and admit some familiarity. “We've met. My laird provided caution for him and his clansmen a few years back.”
Campbell rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Aye, I remember. I also remember that Tullibardine sheltered the scourge the last time the MacGregors were put to the horn.”
“And was fined heavily for his actions,” Patrick reminded him. “ ’Tis not a mistake he will make again.”
“Hmm …” Campbell weighed the arrow back and forth in his hands, then held it up to examine the shaft and fletching.
The feathers. Hell. The distinctive fletching was identical to that of his cousin. Patrick forced himself to breathe evenly. He noticed that Finlay had come up behind them and was following their conversation with keen interest.
Finally, Campbell handed it back to him. “The MacGre-gor is also said to have the finest arrows—he makes them himself.”
“Is that so?” Patrick said with just the right amount of interest. His pulse raced, knowing the treacherous path this conversation was taking. “Then we have that in common. I make my own arrows as well.”
Lizzie's interruption came not a moment too soon. “What are you suggesting, Robert? You can't think Patrick has anything to do with those vile men.” She shuddered. “If not for Patrick and his warriors, I would not be standing here.”
Vile men. He had no right to blame her after what his brother had done, but the revulsion in her voice ate at him nonetheless. What would she do when she found out the truth?
Could she ever accept him for what he was? A MacGregor. An outlaw. It was a question he'd never dared ask himself before, too wary of the answer.
Campbell gave him one more long look before turning back to Lizzie, apparently satisfied by Patrick's explanation. “Forgive me,” he said. “Of course I've not forgotten the debt we owe to Murray here. I'm most grateful for his skills.” A wry grin turned his mouth. “Even if it means I must lose a wager.”
Lizzie, being Lizzie, immediately responded to his self-deprecating charm and moved to soothe his injured pride. “But you acquitted yourself quite impressively as well. I've never seen such exceptional shooting.”
Bloody hell, Patrick thought with renewed irritation, staring at the hand she'd instinctively placed on the other man's arm. Even when he lost, Campbell managed to come out ahead.
The group of riders who made their way back to the castle was decidedly more subdued than the group that had set out a few hours ago. The dramatic conclusion to the archery contest seemed to have exhausted their excitement, and none more so than Lizzie. She couldn't believe what Patrick had done. Two arrows fired at one time and both with exceptional accuracy. Never had she seen anything like it.
He was magnificent. A champion to set any woman's heart aflutter—and she was certainly not immune.
From the first moment she'd met him, Patrick Murray had seemed an answer to her dreams. A romantic dark knight who'd ridden into her life slaying dragons. She wanted to believe in faerie tales, but her past had made her cautious. Part of her still couldn't quite believe he wanted her. Really wanted her.
But she knew that her time enjoying the attentions of two men was at an end; she had to make a decision before matters spun out of control. Next time, their confrontation might not be so civilized.
A contest to decide a lady's favor might make for a romantic story, but she had no intention of allowing her future to be decided by the vagaries of male pride. Just how she would decide, however, was equally unclear.
She felt a sharp tug in her chest. There was something else she'd been avoiding, but she owed her future husband the truth. Would either man still want her when they learned that she was not a maid?
She sighed, not looking forward to that conversation but knowing it must be had.
Having satisfied her obligations as hostess by conversing with each of her guests, she slowed her mount a bit to fall back with Patrick and his guardsmen, who were bringing up the rear.
Though he was often out of her sight, she knew the reverse was not true. No matter his brooding silence, he took his job as her protector seriously. The weight of his gaze followed her wherever she went.
If only she knew what he was thinking. Unfortunately, trying to discern his feelings was like trying to penetrate granite.
She drew up beside him. Robbie, who'd been riding on his other side, greeted her with a smile and then quickly fell back to talk with some of the other men, leaving them alone.
They rode in silence for a while. She eyed him curiously. He certainly was not acting like a man who'd won. But there wasn't much that made sense about his actions today.