Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(74)
“You've told him how you feel?”
Lizzie nodded.
“Be patient, lass. The man loves you. He'll want to make you happy.”
Loves me? She wanted to hope so. Why was he being so stubborn?
The sound of laughter outside drew her away from her maudlin thoughts. A few moments later, Alys's five children came bursting through the door and Lizzie found herself enfolded in a multitude of excited embraces, from her tiny Sari at her knees to not so wee Robin around her neck. Bombarded by questions and laughter, she found it impossible not to feel her spirits lifting.
This was why she'd come. Not only for Alys's counsel, but to immerse herself in Alys's crowded and noisy home, which teemed with the life and happiness she yearned for— and hoped one day soon would be hers.
Rather than barge in as he wanted to, Patrick waited— impatiently—for Lizzie to finish her visit. Arms crossed, he leaned against a tree and watched the chaos through the door left open by the arrival of Alys and Donnan's pack of unruly bairns. At the eye of the storm was his Lizzie— laughing and giggling like a girl as the children climbed all over her in an effort to get whatever was inside her basket.
He sniffed as the faint toasty scent of browned butter and sugar wafted through the air. Cakes or tarts, by the smell of it. An all too poignant reminder of the honey sweet taste of her skin.
Still, even angry, he didn't have the heart to disturb her when she was clearly enjoying herself. Indeed, except for her fine clothing, she looked right at home in the comfortable— though decidedly rustic, compared with the luxury of Castle Campbell—cottage. Not just comfortable, but happy. Maybe …
He allowed himself to hope that maybe life without all the luxuries she was used to wouldn't be as unpleasant as he feared.
Alys caught sight of him first and whispered something to Elizabeth. Her gaze shot to his, and he felt a certain satisfaction at seeing her face drain of color.
Good. She should be scared. Very scared.
Turning her gaze, she said her good-byes—making no effort to rush on his account, he noted—lifted her chin, and strode purposefully to the door.
Patrick's eyes narrowed. Readying for a fight, was she? Well, she wouldn't be disappointed.
His expression betrayed none of the fury raging inside him when she stepped outside and walked toward him, but he knew she could feel it thick in the tension between them.
Let her think about it for a while and stew, he decided. Just as he'd done.
Without a word he took her arm, his fingers clamping like a vise, and started to walk her back to the castle. His men flared out behind them, wisely giving them a wide berth.
She made a sharp huffing sound and marched along beside him in the damp, mossy ground, mud spitting from under her feet. Winter was in the air. The rain last night lingered as a fine mist. Living in the wild for so long, Patrick was able to sense the changing seasons. They needed to leave. Needed to find shelter for the coming winter. Shelter that would undoubtedly make Alys's cottage look like a palace.
Where in Hades was his brother? Nothing more had reached them about his cousin's surrender. He wanted to think there was reason for hope, but until he heard from Gregor he had to proceed with caution.
After a few minutes, she spun on him. “Are you just going to glower or are you going to tell me why you are so angry?”
His eyes darkened. “I told you not to leave the castle by yourself.”
Her blue eyes sparked with defiance that at any other time might be adorable. Right now, however, he wasn't in the mood to admire her spirit.
“I wasn't aware you had any right to give me orders.”
His hands fisted into tight balls at his side, the haughty tone in her voice pushing him close to the edge. He wasn't one of her Lowland toadies. She didn't know how close he was to tossing her over his shoulder and showing her just exactly how far from civilized he could be. Hamish's method of wooing a bride was suddenly sounding very appealing.
“I have every right.” He lowered his voice menacingly, each word laden with warning. “You will be my damn wife.”
The stubborn lass didn't know when to retreat. She arched one delicate little brow. “Not if we never get married I won't.”
With an emphatic toss of her head that sent her flaxen tresses flying, she started to spin away, but he pulled her harshly against him. His eyes narrowed to slits. “We'll be married, Elizabeth, if I have to tie you up and carry you to the kirk myself. You are mine.” His gaze slid down to her belly. “Even now, you could be carrying my babe.” He felt a twinge of satisfaction when her eyes widened and her hands clasped her stomach instinctively. “Surely you are aware that is a natural consequence of our nighttime activity?”
And a child would make it harder for her to undo their marriage. He hated himself for even thinking it.
She swallowed hard. “Of course I am. I'm not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.” He gave her a hard look. “Next time you are angry with me, don't do something foolish and risk your life.”
She made a soft snorting sound that only enraged him further. “Don't be ridiculous. I don't need your protection to walk from the castle to the village. If there had been any danger, it is gone now that the MacGregor has surrendered. Do you intend to keep me locked up forever or just until we're married?”