Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(83)

Her stammer made something in his chest twist. She's scared of me. “I won't hurt you.”

She gave a sharp cry of disbelief. The hurt swimming in her eyes made his heart wrench. “God, how can you say that?”

Patrick was so focused on soothing her, he didn't notice the movement until it was too late. He heard Robbie's cry of warning behind him and looked up just in time to see the barrel of a pistol pointed directly at him.

The Campbell dragged from his horse was not dead.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He heard the blast. Saw the smoke. Then the force of the shot knocked him back. White hot fire seared through his thigh.

Robbie rode by and with the MacGregor battle cry ended the Campbell's life, this time for good. But the damage had been done. Only ill aim had saved Patrick's life.

His head cleared and the impact of his injury hit him hard—not just the lead ball, but the import. In showing his brother mercy, he'd allowed him an opportunity. One that Gregor would not hesitate to use. Patrick could not risk Lizzie's life on his brother's honor.

With a bullet lodged in his thigh, he would be no match for Gregor. And with only four of his own men against Gregor's ten ruffians, they would not be able to defend Lizzie should he die.

Gritting his teeth to bite back the cry of pain, he got to his feet.

“Hold them off,” he said to Robbie, mounting his horse. The pain that shot through his leg almost made him keel over—only the knowledge of the ugly death that awaited Lizzie kept him seated.

Robbie nodded. “Aye, Chief.”

“The cave,” Patrick answered the silent question. “If you can get there tonight without being followed. Otherwise rally the men at Balquhidder Kirk as planned.”

Robbie gave him a short nod, and before the others realized what he was going to do, Patrick snatched Lizzie off her horse, set her before him, and plunged into the trees.

Chapter 17

Lizzie thrashed wildly against him as they raced through the trees in the darkness, the horror of the day finally catching up with her.

Patrick's arm jerked hard under her ribs, cinching her tight against him. The familiar muscled wall of his chest felt as yielding as granite.

“Damn it, Lizzie, stop,” he said harshly in her ear, his voice rough with pain. “I'm trying to save both our lives, but if you keep hitting my leg like that, we're going to fall.”

She stilled. His leg. God, he'd been shot. The moment of bloodcurdling panic when the ball had exploded was still etched on her foolish heart. Even after he'd discarded and betrayed her, she didn't want him to die. Not yet, at least. Not until she knew the truth. Then she might do the foul deed herself.

She remembered the shock, the hard slam in her chest, when he'd lifted his sword against her clansmen, preventing him from shooting the very MacGregor who'd attacked her. He'd joined the MacGregor against her clansmen and then turned around and fought him. It didn't make sense.

It was obvious that they knew each other—more than knew. Looking back and forth between them as they battled—there was something … She closed her eyes, fighting the sour taste that rose in the back of her throat. No! She didn't want to see it. Didn't want to even acknowledge the possibility. “Why should I go anywhere with you?”

“Would you rather I had left you back there with them?”

“So you are the better of two evils?”

He barked a sound like a laugh, but it was too filled with pain. “In this case, yes.”

Though she wanted nothing more than to rail against him, to confront him and demand an explanation, the pre-cariousness of their circumstances proved a temporary deterrent. One thing Patrick had said earlier she did not doubt: The MacGregor scourge meant to hurt her. And like it or not, all that stood between her and the vile beast was Patrick. A wounded Patrick. She bit back a wave of panic.

She fell silent as they careened through the forest, the pounding of her heart every bit as fast and furious as the clopping of the horse, until Patrick suddenly reined in the massive destrier, bringing them to a stop near a large rock.

“Why are we stopping?”

“We'll never outrun them on horses. We need to try to lose them, and I need to get somewhere safe to get this ball out of my leg.”

“Where are we going?”

“North.”

She froze. Dunoon was to the south. “But—”

“Going to Dunoon is no longer possible, Lizzie. Not now, at least. I'll get you there, but I can't do it alone. Not with them following us. We'd never make it.”

He dismounted, careful to land on the rock so as to leave no footprints, and quickly lifted her down beside him. After removing the packs and plaid from the horse and tossing them over his shoulders, which were already laden with his bow and claidbeambmór, he slapped the horse on the flanks, shouting a command in the Highland tongue. The horse took off like a bullet, disappearing through the trees and darkness before Lizzie even had a chance to react.

It suddenly felt very quiet and very dark. The sliver of light from the moon was not strong enough to penetrate the heavy canopy of trees.

“With any luck, it will be some time before they catch up with the horse,” he whispered near her ear, then he dropped to the other side of the rock and held his hand up to her. “Careful where you step. They'll be tracking us.”