Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(65)
Robert might be the “better” choice, but there was something about Patrick that could not be measured by objective criteria, it simply was. He might have been born a guardsman, but he had the makings of a fine chieftain. Leadership ran in his veins, and it was up to her to unlock it with opportunity.
Alys was right. She would never regret marrying the man she loved. Her family would understand. They would have to.
The unexpected news she'd received this evening gave her even more cause to hope. Jamie had written to tell her of his impending marriage to Caitrina Lamont. Though by the time she received the letter they would already be married, her cousin demanded her presence at Dunoon as soon as possible.
She still couldn't believe it—her brother … married. Colin had been furious. From what she could tell, the Lam-onts had recently been accused of harboring MacGregors, and the poor girl had lost her entire family and been left virtually penniless. From Jamie's note, it appeared that he felt some sort of responsibility. But it also meant that she would not be the first in her family to make an inopportune match.
Now that she'd made her decision, she thought of all she might have unknowingly forsaken. This was what Meg and Flora talked about. Love so strong you would die for it—or without it.
Whether destiny or fortune, she didn't know, but she thanked God for having Patrick Murray appear on the road that day.
Even as the truth of her feelings became clear, however, she could not savor the moment, not while he was trying to push her away.
She straightened her back and looked him square in the face. “So just like that, you are going to leave? No explanation. Nothing.”
He stood stone still, but every inch of his body seemed set on edge. She crossed the room, stopping only when she stood right before him. Close enough to inhale the spicy masculine scent of him. He wouldn't look at her, but she could feel the tension radiate from him, hot and heavy. The air between them seemed charged, ready to fire.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. His chiseled features seemed even sharper, harder. The tic below his jaw pulsed. His fists clenched and unclenched, as if he were fighting for control. Danger swept over her skin in a prickly sheen of awareness. He looked every inch the fearsome warrior pushed to the edge.
But she did not heed the warning and leaned closer, allowing her br**sts to brush his chest. “I thought you wanted to marry me?”
Every muscle tensed at her intimate touch. His eyes flashed shards of green fire. “What the hell do you want from me?” he growled through clenched teeth. “I'll not sit here and watch you marry another man. God's blood, Elizabeth, I'm not made of stone.”
His very ferocity gave her courage. He did care. Boldly, she put her hand on his chest and felt him flinch beneath the soft leather of his jerkin. “You're not?” she asked, skimming her hands over the heavy slabs and sharply defined muscle that felt as unyielding as stone. “You feel like it.” When she reached the opening, she slipped her hand beneath the leather to the thin linen of his shirt, breathing in the hard, warm skin underneath.
He practically hissed.
She peeked at him from under her lashes, wanting to press tiny kisses along the rigid lines of his jaw until his resistance softened. As she leaned against him to whisper in his ear, damp tendrils of slick dark hair brushed against her nose and mouth. The faint scent of soap and warm male cascaded through her in a heady rush. “I'm not marrying another man,” she said softly.
His muscles flexed under her fingertips. She could feel the hard pounding of his chest, but he made no move to enfold her in his arms.
Lizzie felt a moment of uncertainty. She'd just as good as told him that she'd chosen him. Shouldn't he be holding her tight against his chest and pressing kisses on her head? On her mouth?
Instead, he clasped his hand around her wrist and forcibly set her away from him. “You should.”
The look in his eyes pierced her newfound confidence. Stricken, she felt the happiness seep out of her. “What do you mean?” Her voice wobbled. Please, don't stammer. She took a deep, ragged breath. “Don't you wish to marry me?”
He swore, and the tiny lines etched around his mouth turned stark white. “God damn it, Elizabeth. You're not making it easy. I'm trying to do the right thing here.”
“Right thing?” Her eyes raked his face. She could feel her chance at happiness slipping away. The prospect of unrequited love loomed like a dark cloud. “Why is it right that I marry Robert?”
He turned from her, taking a few steps away as if to clear his mind. “There are things … there are things about me that you don't know.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Then tell me. I want to know everything about you.”
He wanted to. She could see the turmoil on his face, but he shook his head. “I can't.”
She dropped her hand. “Or won't,” she said tonelessly.
“Or won't,” he agreed.
Disappointment fisted in her belly at his rejection. But she heard the sadness in his voice and knew that even if he would not tell her its source, she could not just walk away.
“It doesn't matter. I know all I need to know. All that is important. I know the kind of man you are: strong, kind, and honorable to the core.”
A bark of pained laughter shot from him. “You don't know me at all. Would that I were half the man you think me.” He shook his head, no longer fighting it, as if her words had made it easier on him. “No. Marry your Campbell, Lizzie. He will give you the life you deserve. I have nothing to offer you. No position, no wealth, no fine castles.”