Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(91)

“I'm greatly reassured,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. “I don't mean to make light of your fears, lass, but it's not the wild animals we need to worry about. They're just as scared of you as you are of them.”

“I doubt that.”

He laughed again. “I won't let anything harm you, Lizzie.”

She peered up at him, gazing at the hard angles of his handsome face flickering in the firelight, and could almost believe him. There was very little, she suspected, that this man could not do. His strength had always impressed her, but she was only now beginning to learn of its depths. She'd never met a man like him—tough to the bone, resilient, and resourceful. He would protect her with his last breath. Even against his own brother.

She'd been too angry to think about it at first, but she was glad Patrick hadn't killed him. The thought of him killing his brother for her … She shuddered.

“How is your leg?” she asked.

He shrugged. “A bit stiff.”

An understatement if there ever was one, she would wager. “That's right, I forgot. Hamish said that you don't feel pain.”

He gave her a long look. “I feel pain, Lizzie. I've just learned not to show it.”

Their eyes held, and she wondered if maybe he wasn't as unaffected by what had happened between them as she had thought. It was some time before she looked away.

The smell of roasting meat a short while later was surpassed only by the first succulent bite. It was the first real meal she'd had in almost two days, and not knowing when she would have another, she ate her fill. It was some time before she stopped eating long enough to speak.

“Good?” Patrick asked, a wry smile on his face.

“Delicious,” she said enthusiastically.

He handed her the skin of water. “If we had something to boil water in, I could make you a hot drink with pine needles.”

“Hmmm. I didn't realize you were such a talented chef.”

“Necessity breeds many talents.”

She heard the underlying truth behind his jest, a reference to his life as an outlaw, she realized. What must it be like? A little like this, she'd wager. Hunted, living on the run, forced to find shelter in the wild. She felt a moment of compassion before she shook it off with the memory of how he'd gotten that way.

But now that the initial sting of his betrayal had dulled, she was left with many questions. “There's something I don't understand.”

He nodded for her to continue.

“I thought the MacGregor had agreed to surrender.”

Something in his gaze hardened. Or perhaps it was just the light from the fire?

“He did,” he said carefully.

“Then why did your brother attack my guardsmen, and why did you change your mind and decide to take me to Dunoon?”

He didn't say anything, the silence punctuated by the crackle and pop of the fire and the slowing plop of rain on the bows overhead.

“What is it? What won't you tell me?”

His jaw clenched. “You won't want to hear what I have to say.”

His forbidding tone gave her a moment's hesitation. “Yes, I do.”

He took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on hers. “You know that Alasdair MacGregor surrendered under a promise from Argyll to see him safe to English ground— the deal brokered by your brother Jamie. Well, your cousin kept his promise, transporting the chief to England and setting him down upon English soil, only to immediately arrest him and return him to Edinburgh. Alasdair was executed along with twenty-four other of my clansmen a fortnight past.”

Lizzie gasped with horrified disbelief. “You must be mistaken!” Her cousin wouldn't do something so dishonorable … would he? His hatred for the MacGregors made her pause. But even if Archie were so inclined, Jamie would never be a part of it.

Patrick's gaze was hard as steel. “I assure you, I am not mistaken. My cousin's and brother's heads sit over Dumbarton gate right now.”

Her heart plummeted. “Your cousin and brother?”

“Aye, Alasdair MacGregor was my cousin—twice over. Our fathers were brothers and our mothers were sisters. My youngest brother, Iain, died at his side.”

Lizzie felt ill. She could not doubt him—the ravaged sadness on his face couldn't be feigned—even if she couldn't believe the part he'd attributed to her family. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“I do not blame you.”

“But your brother does?”

“Aye. I erred in trusting Gregor, but always before I could convince him to see reason. I thought he'd understood. I was wrong.”

She could see something in his expression. “What are you not telling me?”

His gaze was flat as he stared into the fire. “There were risings after the executions. My sister …”

He had a sister. God, she knew nothing about him.

He stopped and cleared his throat. Lizzie felt her heart start to hammer with trepidation. “My sister, Annie, was rap—” His voice cracked, and she put her hand on his arm.

Her stomach turned. He didn't need to finish. “I'm so sorry.”

He gazed down at her hand and then back up at her face. His expression was as grim as she'd ever seen it. “At Auch-inbreck's orders.”