Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(62)

He would give anything to be able to deny it. But it was the truth—partially, at least—no matter how ugly. “I care for her,” Patrick said, unable to completely mask his bitterness. But it filled his mouth, his soul.

“Then don't make her choose,” Campbell said softly, wielding his sword with deadly finesse.

“You're so sure she'll choose me?”

“Nay. But I'm not sure she won't, either.” Campbell gave him a hard look. “Do what's right. Walk away.”

“And what makes you so bloody sure that's the right thing to do?”

Campbell smiled, and it wasn't without sympathy. Pat rick almost hated him for it. “I think you know it as well. It's what made you miss that second shot, isn't it?”

He turned and walked away. Campbell didn't say another word. He didn't need to. He'd said enough.

Patrick clenched his fists, his body tense with rage. He wanted to lash out. To strike at the truth that Campbell had forced him to confront.

He'd been living in a fantasy world. If he proceeded with his plan, not only would he be using her for his own ends, but in doing so, he would destroy her. If she married him, she would have nothing.

Part of him still didn't want to let her go.

Robert Campbell had everything that belonged to him. The injustice ate at him, but he wouldn't ruin Lizzie's life to save his own. She deserved better than to be the innocent instrument of his revenge. She deserved to be happy, in a warm, comfortable home, surrounded by the loving family she'd always wanted.

Innocent.

Like my mother.

The realization filled him with shame. His mother would be horrified to know what he was doing in her name.

Was he the kind of man to make war on women and children?

Do what's right. Walk away.

Patrick had made his decision. Campbell might have lost their battle, but he'd won the war. Patrick would leave. He cared for Lizzie enough to do what was right. He could not destroy her happiness for his own. His fight to restore his family's lands wouldn't end, but it would have to be won another way.

Though he'd known his plan was a gamble from the beginning, failure in any guise was difficult to swallow. But it was nothing to the pain that knifed through him at the thought of leaving Lizzie, forsaking the only woman he'd ever wanted for his own.

He felt as though he were being ripped apart. In giving Lizzie a chance at a happy future, he knew he was destroying his own and failing his clan. Doing what was right wouldn't put food on his people's plates or keep them warm in the dark of winter.

Was the happiness of one lass worth such a cost? He sure as hell hoped so or he would live with the consequences.

Chapter 13

Alys removed a dark sapphire gown from the ambry and held it up to Lizzie, who was standing barefoot in her sark in the middle of her bedchamber, feeling quite superfluous. Making a face, the older woman tossed it atop the growing pile of discarded velvet and satin on Lizzie's bed—not that you could tell there was a bed under there right now.

Lizzie groaned, rolling her eyes with nonexaggerated hardship. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Too dark,” Alys murmured, her head already burrowed deep in the ambry as she rifled through Lizzie's quickly depleting wardrobe. “All these deep jewel tones are harsh with your pale coloring.”

“Perhaps you mean insipid?”

Alys's eyes sparked. “I mean pale. It is not the same, but you do need to be careful when choosing colors.”

Apparently. Lizzie watched with bemusement as gown after gown was tossed out behind Alys, until she finally emerged holding a shiny satin gown of such pale blue, it looked almost like quicksilver. “Ah, let's try this one. It will be perfect with your luminous pale skin and eyes.”

Lizzie shook her head and folded her arms defiantly— already anticipating the argument that was sure to follow. “I can't wear that. It was made for a masque at court a few years ago. I was supposed to be Demeter.” The gown was cut in a simple Grecian style, with little embellishment and no ruff or lace to speak of. “It doesn't even have a farthingale.”

“Bah. What care do Highlanders have for courtly fashion?”

Lizzie smothered a grin, observing the look of disgust on Alys's face. “In case you've forgotten … we aren't in the Highlands. Andit's barely decent.”

Alys stared at Lizzie with a devious smile on her face. “Not decent? Wonderful. Your braw laddies won't be able to take their eyes off of you.”

Off quite a bit of her, if Lizzie recalled the tight, low-cut bodice correctly. She arched her brow. “Is that what this is all about?”

The older woman looked at her as if she were addled. “Of course that is what this is about. Time is a-wasting, my wee lassie. You'll not be able to keep those two dangling after you forever. Like two snarling wolves, they are. I heard what happened earlier on the hunt.”

Lizzie blushed and quickly turned away to avoid the maidservant's eagle-eyed gaze. Instead she made a great show of yanking a brush through her damp hair. “They aren't dangling and nothing happened.”

“Don't you play coy with me, Lizzie lass. Imagine,” she said, sighing dreamily, “two handsome, strapping warriors like that fighting over you. It's so romantic.”