The Campbell Trilogy Read online

  He told himself it was because of his plan. She might not be as easy a mark as he’d thought. Experience would make her less likely to fall into his seductive trap and perhaps even make her wary.

  But the intensity of his reaction told him that it was more complicated than that.

  Never had a kiss ignited into passion so quickly. He’d been a few minutes away from tossing her down on the grass and taking her right here—like some damn animal. Elizabeth Campbell was far more desirable than he’d ever anticipated.

  Patrick’s blood had cooled, but his body still teemed with restless energy, his lust far from sated. Lust that would make him lose focus if he didn’t do something. Hell, he was already losing focus.

  He needed to keep his mind on his goal, not on his rock-hard erection. This wasn’t about bedding the lass, it was about getting his land back.

  He needed to clear the haze, and there was only one way to do it.

  Chapter 8

  It was only a kiss.

  A lapse in judgment. No reason to keep punishing herself for it.

  But when Lizzie returned to the castle, the turmoil had not lessened. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing, her mind was going in a thousand directions, and she felt perilously close to tears. She’d never felt more confused, more uncertain, in her life. All she wanted to do was forget about Patrick Murray and how incredible it felt to be in his arms. Forget the way his mouth felt on hers, the hot, spicy taste of him, the imprint of his big swordsman’s hand on her breast.

  Forget that it had ever happened.

  But what if I can’t?

  She quieted the voice in her head the only way she knew how, by attacking the duties for the day with even more than her usual zeal. The remainder of the morning she spent changing the bed linens in each chamber, and fluffing and airing the pillows and hangings. Not hungry, she skipped the midday meal to polish the silver candelabra, and then the furniture. In the afternoon, she swept and mopped the floors until they sparkled. Usually the maids performed such tasks under her supervision, but Lizzie needed the distraction. It worked. The physical labor finally succeeded in clearing her mind.

  Only when every muscle in her neck and back ached and she could no longer move her arms did she stop, collapsing in her room in an exhausted heap. So tired that had she not been covered in dirt, she would have simply gone to bed. But when her bath was brought up, she roused herself sufficiently to sink into the warm water of the deep copper tub.

  She closed her eyes, wanting to drift away into nothingness, but the memories found her. The more she tried to push them away, the harder they came.

  Even bone-deep exhaustion, it seemed, could not cure what ailed her: the knowledge that she’d acted disgracefully. Not just in allowing him to kiss her, but in her reaction afterward. It wasn’t Patrick Murray’s fault that she lived in fear of repeating her past mistakes. She’d welcomed his kiss, even encouraged him, and then when he’d taken her up on her wanton offer, she’d lashed out.

  Though he’d covered it quickly, she’d seen it in his eyes—her cold rebuff had hurt him. He thought she’d rejected him because of his station. But it was much more complicated than that.

  Patrick Murray was confident, powerful, decisive—a rock even in the most precarious of circumstances. The ultimate warrior. How could he ever understand what it was like not to trust yourself? To no longer have faith in your own judgment? To know how it feels when every instinct tells you something is right and then to later discover that it was wrong—terribly wrong?

  She’d never told another living soul about the sheer depths of her stupidity with John Montgomery.

  In the weeks following their engagement, he’d stolen kisses, a chaste peck here, a slightly longer kiss there. But one day—a few days before the gathering—she’d accidentally stumbled upon him in the middle of the night on her way back from the garderobe. He’d been drinking in the hall below and had only just come upstairs for the night. He’d kissed her. At first she’d giggled nervously and swatted him away. But then the kiss had turned more insistent, and she’d realized that she no longer wanted to stop. He’d pulled her into a mural chamber inset into the stone wall and down onto a cushioned bench. His hands stroked her body, touching her, awakening wicked sensations that she’d never imagined.

  Your skin is like velvet.

  He’d nuzzled his face in her chest.

  Your breasts are so soft and round.

  The things he’d whispered in her ear had excited her. She liked the way he made her feel. Loved. Protected.

  Feel what you do to me.

  He’d slipped her hand around his manhood, and she’d wondered at the solid strength of it.

  Let me love you.

  He’d told her it would be all right. That they were to be married. Told her that if she loved him, she would want to bring him pleasure.

  Like a fool, she’d believed him. And truth be told, after an initial moment of pain, he hadn’t been alone in his pleasure. She’d liked the weight of him on top of her, liked the way his hands caressed her breasts, the way he’d moved inside her. Except for the mess when he’d released himself on her stomach, it had been quite pleasant.

  That night she’d given John her virginity, and two days later he’d broken her heart.

  He’d found her after the fiasco at the gathering and apologized. Said he hadn’t meant his cruel words—his laughter. She’d even believed him. A little. But by then it didn’t matter. Her illusions of this handsome man loving her were gone, and in their place she saw the man he was—not the man she wanted him to be.

  “Please, Elizabeth, you must reconsider. Think of the contracts. Of what this will mean to our families.”

  To his family. Hers did not need her tocher or his cousin’s influence in a feud with the Cunninghams. “Nothing would compel me to marry you.”

  His handsome face turned as petulant as that of a spoiled child. “But you’re ruined.”

  She despised that word. She wasn’t ruined. She was different. Changed. No longer naïve. “I’d suggest you keep that fact to yourself,” she said coolly. “You’ll sign your own death warrant if either of my brothers discovers what you’ve done.”

  He paled. She didn’t blame him. Jamie was well-known for his ruthlessness, and Colin, if not as skilled a fighter, possessed an edge of cruelty that made him equally terrifying. “Someone will find out eventually,” he pointed out.

  A husband. Her chest squeezed as she thought of all she’d wasted on a man who didn’t care about her at all. Who didn’t love her—not the way she deserved to be loved. The pleasure she’d shared with him should have belonged to her husband. She clenched her jaw. “That will be my problem.”

  Then, she’d still thought she would find a husband to love her. A man who would be able to overlook a foolish girl’s mistake.

  But time had run out. When she married, love would not be part of the bargain. She would have to tell her cousin what she’d done, and if Robert Campbell could not look past her loss of maidenhood, she was confident that her tocher would blind many an eye.

  Crude, perhaps, but none the less true for it.

  She dipped her head under the water and plunged her face through the glassy surface one more time, then stepped from the tub. Despite the steamy air, her teeth chattered as the young maidservant rubbed the gooseflesh from her skin with the swathe of linen warmed by a pan of stones heated in the fire. The soft scent of lavender, made more pungent from the steam, filled her nose. It was her favorite scent, and Lizzie saw to it that all the linens were stored with the dried flowers.

  The maid started the long process of combing out her hair, hitting a few painful snags along the way. In between the poor girl’s horrified apologies, Lizzie thought how much she missed Alys. Donnan was recovering from his wound, but it would be some time before the older woman would chance to leave his side. Lizzie visited their cottage in the village when she could. With five children it was more than a bit chaotic, but she loved every