Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(92)

She pulled her hand away as if she'd been scalded. “No!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “That's a vicious lie! How dare you make such an accusation!”

He didn't say anything, just stared at her—almost as if he felt sorry for her.

Lizzie was not naïve. She knew that men often violated women in the name of war—as a means to humiliate and attack the pride of their opponent. But the thought that her brother could do anything so vile—so cruel and despicable …

God, was it possible?

There had to be an explanation. She needed to see Jamie, he would clear things up.

Lizzie was reeling from what Patrick had told her. No wonder he'd changed his mind about marrying her. If even a small portion of it was true, he had every reason to hate her.

Instead, he'd saved her life and battled his brother to do so.

Her eyes flew to his, suddenly recalling Robbie's hastily spoken word. “My God. You are chief.”

“Aye, though it's clear that my brother means to challenge me.”

Patrick Murray, simple guardsman, was really chief of the once-proud clan of MacGregor. The irony would have been laughable if it hadn't been at her expense. He was every bit her equal in position and in another time might have been a suitable husband for her. “Can he do that?” she asked.

“If the clan thinks I am unfit.”

“But why would they … Oh.” Because of me.

“I didn't say they would, just that they could. Gregor will try, but I will be able to convince them otherwise.”

In her heart, she hoped Patrick succeeded. He would be a good chief. The qualities that had made him seem like a good husband also made a good leader: smart, strong, controlled, calm under pressure, and a fierce warrior. The type of man others looked to.

But she also knew the danger that position would put him in. It would also make him the most hunted man in Scotland.

He moved away from her toward the opening of the shelter. She noticed that it had stopped raining. “That's enough talking for tonight. Get some rest. You will have need of it.”

She lay down, using the plaid as a blanket, her head resting on a surprisingly pillowlike pile of moss. She closed her eyes, but they wouldn't stay shut. Her gaze kept drifting to the large solitary figure shadowed in the flames. Finally she asked, “Aren't you going to sleep?”

“Later, lass. Later.”

Later never came.

The sun had risen an hour ago, and still there was no sign of Gregor. Patrick wanted to be relieved—if his brother had picked up their trail, he should have been here by now—but the heavy sense of foreboding that had shadowed Patrick all night would not be so easily persuaded.

He'd kept watch by the fire all night, not simply because he feared an attack, but because he didn't trust himself. The shelter was barely big enough for both of them to fit under; he would be lying too close to her. And she was too damn tempting.

Now he stood just below the summit of Binnein, his gaze sweeping from east to west. The rain had cleared, leaving gray skies but a clear view of the surrounding area. If his brother was heading this way, Patrick would see him.

He'd woken Lizzie just before dawn and told her to tend to her needs and be ready in case they needed to leave quickly. He didn't like leaving her alone, but these slick, steep rocks were far more dangerous than anything she was likely to encounter in the forest.

The climb up the hill, normally done without thought, had been agonizing, taking far longer than he'd expected. At least he could be grateful that there were no signs of infection. So far. Little good he would be to Lizzie if infection set in.

He had to admit, she'd surprised him. She was holding up much better than he'd expected. She was tougher than she looked. Though tired and weary, she'd adapted to the situation, accepting what had to be done with fortitude and without complaint.

It almost made him wonder …

Nay. Even if she could forgive him, he was chief now. He had a duty to his clan. A duty that put him at odds with her family—he'd not ask her to choose.

He'd wanted to keep the details of her family's treachery from her—knowing it would be difficult for her to accept coming from him—but even if she didn't believe him, at least now she understood.

He watched the lochs, the pass, and the forest beneath him for any sign of unusual movement. A few fishermen were scattered on the water, but this was wild, inhospitable land, and inhabitants were few and far between.

Had Gregor decided not to pursue them? Had he lost their trail?

Though neither scenario sounded like his brother, Patrick knew that they needed to leave soon. If Campbells weren't already blanketing the area, they would be soon.

An eagle cried and soared overhead. It dipped, and Patrick's gaze lowered. And there, in a clearing in the trees below—two miles, maybe three, away—he saw a movement. Then another.

His instincts went on full alert, and he watched as a group of five men on foot followed the exact path he and Lizzie had taken yesterday. He couldn't see the men's faces or plaids from this distance away, but he knew: It was them.

Damn. There was only one road to Balquhidder open to them now—the high one through the hills. Lizzie was going to be seeing more of the Highlands than either of them had bargained for. He hoped to hell she was up to the challenge.

Skirting around the north side of Binnein to avoid being seen, he raced back to camp—the pain in his leg dulled by the knowledge that every second counted. They had a good lead, and they needed to keep it that way.