The Campbell Trilogy Read online

  Patrick cursed his blasted brother once again. “You defended yourself well. Very well. Where did you learn to throw a blade like that?”

  “My brothers. I was about twelve or thirteen when they taught me. They said one day I might have need of it.” He saw the small shudder that racked her. “I guess they were right.”

  He stanched the reflexive spark of anger at the reminder of his enemies and instead focused on the lass. On his mission. “You were very brave.”

  The observation surprised her. She tilted her head and studied his face as if she weren’t quite sure whether he was jesting. “Do you really think so?” Her voice dropped. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “That’s precisely why you were brave.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He tried to think of a way to explain. “A lad will train for years to become a warrior, learning to use his weapons, training, becoming stronger. But it isn’t until he goes into battle for the first time that you can know what kind of warrior he will be. Bravery and courage are easy to find on the training field, it’s not until you are tested in battle that your true character emerges. It’s not that you were scared that matters, but how you reacted to that fear.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’d say you have the heart of a warrior.”

  Her smile started out slow and tentative, then spread to her cheeks and eyes with brilliant intensity. It took his breath away. It felt as if the sun had just broken through the clouds and shone a ray of sunlight on a place inside him that had been buried in darkness for a very long time.

  “I think that is the nicest praise that anyone has ever given me.”

  The way she was looking at him was dangerous. A man could get used to being looked at like that. He shifted uncomfortably, turning his gaze back to the guardsmen readying the horses. “My men and I will escort you back to Castle Campbell and see that you are safe.”

  She shook her head. “No, you’ve done so much already. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t, I offered.”

  “But what about your journey to Glasgow?”

  A shadow fell over him at the reminder of the deception. “It can wait.”

  He wasn’t Elizabeth Campbell’s hero and would do best to remember it.

  Lizzie peeked out from under her lashes at the man riding beside her, more relieved than she wanted to admit that he’d agreed to accompany her and her guardsmen back to Castle Campbell. Night was falling, and the realization of what had nearly happened had only just begun to hit her. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the MacGregor scourge’s face. His cold, bleak eyes devoid of humanity. She’d seen more compassion in a snake. But Patrick Murray’s presence helped. He made her feel safe. She couldn’t explain it, but he did.

  More than once she’d found herself studying him, not knowing quite what to make of the formidable warrior. Undoubtedly, he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. The kind of handsome that made your belly flutter and your knees weak. The kind of handsome that inspired allusions to Greek gods and dark angels.

  Her first impressions had only improved on closer study. On the battlefield, she’d noticed the thick black hair cut short to frame perfectly chiseled features, but it was only up close that the full magic of the combination was revealed. And his eyes … surely the most brilliant green eyes she’d ever seen. A dark, mossy green that made her think of pine trees in the afternoon. Of glens rich with grass. Of the Highlands.

  Physically, he was impressive as well. Broad in the chest and shoulders, with powerfully wrought legs and the thick-muscled arms of a man who lived with a sword in his hands. She was used to tall, muscular men—her brothers certainly qualified. But never had she been so deeply aware of a man’s strength. His raw masculinity made her feel her own femininity in a way that she never had before.

  He surely must have his pick of beautiful women falling at his feet. But Lizzie could have sworn she detected something beyond politeness in his gaze—something hot and intense. Something that made her pulse race and her skin feel too tight.

  It was probably just her imagination. She was hardly the type of woman whose countenance inspired anything beyond a polite smile. It didn’t bother her. What she lacked in beauty she made up for in other ways—she’d had the benefit most women didn’t of an education, and had made good use of it. She was admired, but that admiration usually came with time and acquaintance, not with first glances.

  She ventured another peek. There was something about him that she just couldn’t put her finger on. An air of danger and mystery. It was as if he were a puzzle she could not quite figure out. But it intrigued her … he intrigued her.

  He seemed so hard and remote, every inch the fearsome warrior. A Highlander to the core. Not at all like the smooth, polished men she was used to speaking with at court. Yet their brief conversation had touched her unexpectedly. His simple praise was more meaningful than the hundreds of practiced compliments she’d heard before. One minute he was terrifying in his intensity, the next more gallant than a practiced courtier.

  Who was this man?

  From the serviceable but plain leather cotun and trews he wore, she could tell he wasn’t a man of wealth. But his sword was fine and his horse exceptional. He was outfitted as a typical man-at-arms, but he fought like a champion. He appeared to be the leader of the half dozen men he’d arrived with, but he had not identified himself as a laird or a chieftain. Yet there was no disguising the pride and authority of his manner.

  Though she’d been around guardsmen—the warriors charged with defending her cousin—she had surprisingly little interaction with them. Truth be told, she’d always found them a bit rough and a lot intimidating. Patrick Murray certainly qualified on all counts, but she’d never realized how attractive such raw physicality could be.

  He’d saved her life; it was only natural that she was fascinated by him.

  His voice gave her a start. The easy, husky lilt was so unexpectedly sensual and at odds with his hard-edged appearance. “Are you feeling all right? There is a place up ahead where we will stop and water the horses if you need to rest.”

  Had he noticed her watching him? A hot blush crawled up her cheeks, and she was grateful for the semidarkness. “I’m fine,” she assured him quickly. Eager to change the subject, she said, “It’s been some time since I’ve seen Sir John and Lady Catherine.”

  He gave her a hard look. “Do you know the Laird of Tullibardine and his lady well?”

  She frowned. His question was odd given her frequent visits over the years. Then again, she wasn’t all that memorable. “Fairly well, though I haven’t seen them in some time. The earl, countess, and I were guests at Balvaird Castle about three years ago.” She tilted her head. “Were you not there?”

  “I must have been away at the time.”

  She smiled. “How old is young John now? I don’t think I’ve ever seen the arrival of a child so celebrated.” Her smile fell. Except for her cousin’s son last year, but that was marred by death.

  Lizzie felt the tears gather behind her eyes; she still missed the woman who hadn’t been much older but had become almost a mother to her. The earl, too, had taken the countess’s death hard.

  His face darkened. “Five, I believe.”

  Lizzie counted back. “That sounds about right, although I thought he was a year younger.”

  “He’ll be sent to be fostered soon.”

  She nodded matter-of-factly. “I imagine it will be hard on his mother.”

  “I should think it would be difficult for both of his parents.”

  She eyed him a bit more intently. Once again, he’d surprised her. Most men wouldn’t think twice about sending their child away to be fostered. It was the way of things. Patrick Murray might be hard on the outside, but there was unexpected depth to him. “Are you traveling to Glasgow on business for your laird?”

  “No.”

  The abruptness of his response took her aback. “I’m s