The Campbell Trilogy Read online

  Patrick’s mind was racing as he realized that the chance he’d been waiting for might have just arrived. Not only would he have the personal satisfaction of seeing his land returned to his family, but it could also be a godsend to his clan. Without land, they’d been forced to steal and scavenge for food. But never had the situation been so dire as after Glenfruin. The people were starving, and he didn’t know whether they could survive another cold winter like the last.

  They couldn’t ignore the opportunity. If they didn’t do something, someone else would.

  “I’ll do it,” Gregor proclaimed boldly.

  “No!” Patrick boomed. The men were silenced by the forcefulness of his outburst. Hell, it had surprised even him. But the thought of his brother with that delicate lass … He moderated his tone. “I will.”

  Alasdair met his gaze. The chief did not look surprised by Patrick’s pronouncement. “You have a plan?”

  “Aye.” His mouth thinned to a hard line. “To get my land back.”

  Alasdair frowned. “You will take the lass?”

  It was his first instinct, and one that would exact further revenge, but Patrick shook his head. “Nay. ’Twould be too easy for Argyll to set aside.” And only cause them more problems. He needed Elizabeth Campbell to want to marry him—and stay married.

  “The Campbell devil will hardly allow a MacGregor near his precious cousin,” Duncan pointed out. “How do you intend to marry the lass if you do not take her?”

  “I’ll have to persuade her,” he said with grim determination.

  “And how do you intend to do that?” Alasdair asked.

  “Seduce her,” he replied flatly. “As old as she is, the lass is surely ripe for it.” Elizabeth Campbell was vulnerable. He knew it. Not just from the broken engagements and the fact that she was still unmarried, but because he’d seen it. He’d seen her disappointment, seen the heartbreak when Montgomery had hurt her. Almost as if she’d been expecting it. Patrick knew he could take advantage of it. A few kind words. Compliments. Shower her with attention.

  The lass was ripe for seduction, and he would be the one to do it. He felt it with an intensity that he could not explain. He recalled her pristine beauty, her fragility. The longing he’d felt for something beyond his reach, something he shouldn’t touch.

  He wanted her, and now he could have her.

  The chief didn’t look convinced. “If anyone discovers who you are …”

  “I know,” Patrick said. I’m a dead man. “It’s a risk. But my face is not as recognizable as yours.”

  “True,” Alasdair agreed. “But won’t the lass recognize you? Maybe Gregor should be the one. With my brother gone … you are my tanaiste.”

  “Temporarily,” Patrick said. He didn’t look at Gregor, but he could feel his simmering resentment. “The lass won’t know me. She didn’t see my face.”

  Alasdair grinned. “From what I hear, one look is enough for most lasses.”

  He didn’t bite. His cousin loved to prod him about his damn face. As if something so ridiculous mattered to a warrior. Not that he was very nice to look at right now. He’d have to “find” some new clothing, a bath, and a razor if he was to have a chance at deceiving her as to his identity. “Whatever it takes,” Patrick answered.

  He didn’t delude himself that it would be easy, but frankly, a chance in hell was better than none.

  The chief nodded. “If you are willing—”

  “I am. The risk is nothing compared to what we might gain.” Not only the land, but possibly influence with Argyll. Because of his success in charming King James into pardoning him a few years ago, Alasdair hoped to find it again with the king, but Elizabeth Campbell presented another possibility.

  “Godspeed, cousin,” Alasdair said soberly. But his somber expression was soon broken by a wide grin. “I wish I could see Argyll’s face when he discovers one of the barbarians he’s tearing apart the Highlands to find is hiding right under his nose.”

  Patrick returned the smile but knew Alasdair was offering him a subtle warning to be careful.

  The details of the plan had come later. It had been decided that Patrick, Gregor, and half of the men would head to the Lomond Hills, while Alasdair, Iain, Duncan, and the rest of the men went to the Isle of Bute to seek refuge with the Lamonts. The Lamont wouldn’t like harboring the outlaws, but Alasdair intended to call in an old debt.

  From the Lomond Hills, Patrick had organized scouting parties to see what they could discover of Elizabeth Campbell’s movements. Castle Campbell, with its position high in the hills of Ochil, surrounded by steep ravines and trees, was impenetrable. When they’d learned from a loose-lipped Campbell guardsman who liked to drink his ale in the nearby village of Dollar that she would be traveling to Dunoon Castle, Patrick knew it was their chance.

  Gregor, like Hamish, had wanted to take the lass, but Patrick had come up with another plan. Instead of attacking the coach to abduct her, they would use the attack—and his riding to the rescue—as a way of gaining her trust. No one would have been hurt had Gregor not taken matters into his own hands, attacking before he was supposed to.

  “The chief was right,” Robbie said, returning Patrick to the present. “The lass seems entranced by your pretty face.” He saw Patrick’s dark expression, but it didn’t deter him from adding, “I can’t say I see what all the fuss is about. Guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

  “Which is why someday a lass might look on you with favor.”

  Robbie grinned. “One lass? And break all those other hearts that teem with hope? Nay, unlike you, I’ll not be looking to wed for some time.”

  Marrying hadn’t been on Patrick’s mind either—but he would do what he had to do for his chief and clan. He wished it felt like more of a sacrifice.

  All of a sudden, Robbie’s expression changed.

  “What is it?” Patrick asked.

  The younger man frowned. “The Campbell lass. She isn’t how I thought she would be.”

  Patrick tensed. “What do you mean?”

  Robbie looked at him uncertainly. “She seems … well, kind. On the road she made sure we had enough to eat, sharing the beef and oatcakes she had for her guardsmen. Are you sure—”

  “Save your sympathy for our people, who will be starving and freezing this winter if we don’t do something to help them,” Patrick snapped.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “She’s a Campbell,” Patrick swore. “When you find yourself losing heart while staring at her pretty face, picture her brothers and cousin instead.”

  Robbie took a step back, staring at him with a peculiar expression on his face. “Aye, Captain. I’ll remember that.”

  Patrick felt the eruption of temper cool just as suddenly, realizing what had happened—and what he’d been reacting to. Robbie had done no more than voice Patrick’s own qualms—qualms that he hadn’t anticipated. “It’s better than the alternative,” he said, more to convince himself as Robbie walked away.

  Patrick yanked off his shirt, using the water brought by the maidservant to wipe away the sweat, blood, and grime from his body. He balled up the ruined shirt and tossed it in the fire, then pulled a fresh one from his bag, silently thanking the merchant he’d stolen the clothing from for being thoughtful enough to have a spare.

  Tucking in the shirt, he flinched as his fingers scraped the wound at his side. But he ignored the pain as he pulled on his cotun and strode out the door, heading to the great hall. He tried to blink, but could not clear the black spots in his vision. With some food and a good night’s rest, he would be good as new.

  He made it as far as the staircase.

  Chapter 5

  Lizzie lingered over her food, taking another piece of brown bread and slathering it with fresh, creamy butter, even though she’d had her fill. She sat at the dais beside the bailiff and the seannachie along with other high-ranking men of the clan, the room buzzing with the loud voices of the guardsmen who’d decided to drown the