The Campbell Trilogy Read online

  He hurried away, brushing past Patrick with nary a glance in his eagerness to leave.

  As soon as he’d gone, Lizzie sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging with weariness. Something inside him snapped.

  Why was she doing this to herself? She was too young to be locked away in this grim castle, weighed down with responsibility that was not hers to shoulder. She should be at parties, being feted, dancing, and enjoying herself.

  Or be surrounded by bairns. My bairns, he thought fiercely.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  She started at the sound of his voice. He hated the way her shoulders stiffened instinctively, as if to ward off attack. From me. The realization struck him cold. She turned her head just enough for him to catch her face unprotected and see the look of exhaustion on her face. It roused every protective instinct inside him.

  “What are you doing here?” She looked at him imploringly. “Please, I’ve not the strength to do battle with you right now.”

  Her accusation was well aimed, and Patrick felt a hard stab of guilt. He’d wanted to press her, but not like this—not when she was vulnerable. Right now all he wanted to do was ease the worry from her mind.

  He stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed but relaxed as his fingers began to knead the tension from her neck. Her skin was warm and velvety, the tiny hairs at the back of her neck as downy soft as the top of a babe’s head. She smelled like flowers, and if he dipped his head into her silky blond hair …

  He straightened, reminding himself that he’d only meant to soothe her.

  “They ask too much of you,” he said in a low voice. He felt her stiffen. Before she could argue, he spun her around to look into her eyes. “You are doing the work of lord and lady with none of the reward. Does your family realize how much you’ve sacrificed for them?”

  “You’re wrong. ’Tis no sacrifice. They ask nothing of me that I do not wish to give.”

  He gave her a hard look. “I do not doubt that, Elizabeth. That’s what you do: give and give.”

  She bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you take care of everyone else before thinking of yourself. You think I don’t see what you’ve done around here. Yet when is the last time you received even a word of thanks?”

  Her mouth clamped together. He read the answer in her defiant gaze. “I do not need thanks. I’m happy to help my brothers and cousin where I can.”

  “They are taking advantage of you,” he said bluntly. Though he admired her capability and the way she quietly attended to the needs of everyone around her, it was time someone looked out for her. “Of your kindness, of your skills, and of your strong sense of duty and responsibility. When is the last time you went to court or visited any of your friends?”

  She bit her lip, looking troubled. “It’s been some time, but the countess was ill.”

  “And after that? You’ve been locked away, taking care of your cousins and brothers when you should be enjoying yourself.” He took her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Meeting people.”

  She turned away. “You make it sound much worse than it is.”

  Seeing her hurt, he softened his tone. “I’m sure they don’t mean to, but it does not change the fact that they have taken advantage of you.” He paused. “Haven’t you sacrificed yourself on the altar of duty long enough?”

  Lizzie’s head was spinning. He was confusing her, making her see ambiguity where there was none. She enjoyed her duties. It was only sometimes, when she was tired, that everything suddenly felt so overwhelming.

  “You act as if duty is a foul word,” she said. “But it’s not all about sacrifice, it’s something you do for the greater good or because it’s the right thing to do. My family is important to me. Is there nothing that matters to you?”

  His eyes flashed, but he ignored her question. Patrick was unrelenting—in this as on the battlefield. He cupped her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. “Is it the right thing to do, Elizabeth? Do you not deserve to make your own choice?”

  In a husband. She knew what he meant. She searched his face, heart pounding. “It is my duty to marry where my family wishes.”

  “Haven’t you done enough? Or do you need to tie yourself to a man you don’t want as well to satisfy them?”

  She bristled. “You presume much. How do you know I don’t want him?”

  A dangerous glint fired in his gaze. She realized her error: He’d taken her words as a challenge. He stepped closer to her, moving her back until she was pressed against the stone wall. He braced himself over her with one hand on either side of her shoulders.

  Her breath hitched and her pulse quickened, reverberating through her body until her skin seemed to beat with life. His heat warmed her. His scent intoxicated her—a heady combination of soap and freshly washed male skin with the faint scent of pine that made her think he bathed in a forest. He leaned closer to her, until only inches separated them. The look on his face …

  He terrified her. But not with fear.

  He’s going to kiss me. She held her breath, knowing that she would not refuse him.

  But at the last minute his mouth moved to her ear, his breath sweeping over her in a warm whisper. “Because you want me.”

  Blast the arrogant brute! And blast him doubly for being right.

  But she couldn’t forget the hurt. “And what of you, Patrick? Will you marry again? Or perhaps you’ve already found someone?”

  His gaze burned into hers, knowing that something was behind her words. “What do you mean?”

  Her eyes heated with the anger and hurt that had been held inside her for too long. “Your trips to the village have not gone unnoticed.”

  A look of confusion crossed his too-handsome face. “What does my going to the village have to do with us?”

  “I know there are women—”

  He swore and gripped her arm, jerked her up against his chest. “Who put such nonsense in your head?”

  She didn’t say anything, her throat hot and tight from the ball of tears constricting it.

  “Finlay,” he said flatly. She looked at him in surprise. “ ’Tis no secret that he despises me, but I am surprised that you listened to his venom.”

  “It’s not too difficult to believe. You are a man.”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “But I’ve not had another woman, Elizabeth.”

  Her heart faltered. Her eyes shot to his, not daring to believe … He cradled her cheek tenderly in his big hand.

  “How can I when I want someone else?”

  He hasn’t been with a woman … he wants me.

  His thumb swept over her bottom lip as he contemplated her mouth. He lowered his face to hers, their mouths separated by only a hairbreadth. Close enough that she could taste the spiciness of his breath on her tongue. Her body pulsed with need, desperate for the pressure of his mouth on hers. She could lift up and …

  He pulled back suddenly—cruelly. His fingers cupped her chin, tipping her head back to meet his cool, piercing gaze.

  “But it cannot be, isn’t that right, Elizabeth?”

  “I—” Her breath caught. Could it?

  He gave her a long look. “Let me know when you decide.”

  She hated him for leaving her like this: heart pounding, body soft and heavy, drenched with heat … wanting.

  But even though the effects of his touch faded, his question haunted her long after he’d left.

  Could she ignore her duty to her family for the sake of personal happiness?

  As she made her way back to the great hall, she contemplated the gauntlet he’d tossed at her feet.

  There was no denying that on the surface, Patrick Murray—a simple guardsman with no land, wealth, or position to speak of—was an unsuitable choice of husband for her. Yet in the ways that mattered, he was everything she’d ever dreamed of—strong, handsome, honorable. A fierce warrior and natural leader who inspired devotion in his men. Perhaps he