The Campbell Trilogy Read online

  Campbell gave him one more long look before turning back to Lizzie, apparently satisfied by Patrick’s explanation. “Forgive me,” he said. “Of course I’ve not forgotten the debt we owe to Murray here. I’m most grateful for his skills.” A wry grin turned his mouth. “Even if it means I must lose a wager.”

  Lizzie, being Lizzie, immediately responded to his self-deprecating charm and moved to soothe his injured pride. “But you acquitted yourself quite impressively as well. I’ve never seen such exceptional shooting.”

  Bloody hell, Patrick thought with renewed irritation, staring at the hand she’d instinctively placed on the other man’s arm. Even when he lost, Campbell managed to come out ahead.

  The group of riders who made their way back to the castle was decidedly more subdued than the group that had set out a few hours ago. The dramatic conclusion to the archery contest seemed to have exhausted their excitement, and none more so than Lizzie. She couldn’t believe what Patrick had done. Two arrows fired at one time and both with exceptional accuracy. Never had she seen anything like it.

  He was magnificent. A champion to set any woman’s heart aflutter—and she was certainly not immune.

  From the first moment she’d met him, Patrick Murray had seemed an answer to her dreams. A romantic dark knight who’d ridden into her life slaying dragons. She wanted to believe in faerie tales, but her past had made her cautious. Part of her still couldn’t quite believe he wanted her. Really wanted her.

  But she knew that her time enjoying the attentions of two men was at an end; she had to make a decision before matters spun out of control. Next time, their confrontation might not be so civilized.

  A contest to decide a lady’s favor might make for a romantic story, but she had no intention of allowing her future to be decided by the vagaries of male pride. Just how she would decide, however, was equally unclear.

  She felt a sharp tug in her chest. There was something else she’d been avoiding, but she owed her future husband the truth. Would either man still want her when they learned that she was not a maid?

  She sighed, not looking forward to that conversation but knowing it must be had.

  Having satisfied her obligations as hostess by conversing with each of her guests, she slowed her mount a bit to fall back with Patrick and his guardsmen, who were bringing up the rear.

  Though he was often out of her sight, she knew the reverse was not true. No matter his brooding silence, he took his job as her protector seriously. The weight of his gaze followed her wherever she went.

  If only she knew what he was thinking. Unfortunately, trying to discern his feelings was like trying to penetrate granite.

  She drew up beside him. Robbie, who’d been riding on his other side, greeted her with a smile and then quickly fell back to talk with some of the other men, leaving them alone.

  They rode in silence for a while. She eyed him curiously. He certainly was not acting like a man who’d won. But there wasn’t much that made sense about his actions today.

  “Are you going to avoid talking to me all day?”

  He lifted one brow in a sardonic arch. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk to me, after last night.”

  Her cheeks pinkened at his bold reference to the intimacies they’d shared. “If that’s an apology—”

  “I wasn’t aware I had anything to apologize for. You didn’t seem to have any complaints at the time.”

  Pink deepened to scarlet. He was purposefully trying to embarrass and discombobulate her. But she refused to be so easily diverted.

  “That was quite a display today.” He gave no indication that he heard her. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Your skill is remarkable.” She pursed her lips together; his blank expression was infuriating. “That was a compliment if you didn’t realize it.”

  His mouth twitched. “Thank you.”

  “It’s strange, though …”

  He turned to look at her. “And now I suppose you are waiting for me to ask why?”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “It’s strange that with skill such as yours no one has ever heard of you. Do you not participate in the Highland games?”

  “As I told Campbell, skill is best determined on the battlefield. I have no use for contests.”

  “Hmm.” He was unusually modest for a warrior. Most men weren’t nearly so circumspect—particularly in the Highlands, where a warrior’s reputation was as powerful a weapon as his sword and bow. Was there another explanation for his reticence? She straightened her back and looked him full in the eye. “Why did you purposefully miss your second shot?”

  The dark slash of his brow cocked. “What makes you think I did?”

  “I saw the small adjustment you made right before you fired.”

  “It’s called aiming. Although I appreciate your confidence in my skills, I do occasionally miss the mark.” He met her gaze. “What reason could I have to do so?”

  She lifted her chin. “You tell me.”

  “There isn’t one, but I thought—since you seem to be doing such a good job of figuring everything out—that you might have something in mind.”

  His evasiveness left her even more convinced that he was hiding something. “Why would you want to conceal your skill?”

  His mouth curved into a crooked smile. “I can hardly be accused of that.”

  She ignored his attempt to deflect the question. “That’s just it. What I don’t understand is why, after going to all the trouble to lose, you changed your mind.”

  He met her gaze, his green eyes hot with intensity. “Maybe I decided that the prize was worth the price.”

  Me. A shiver ran down her spine. The look in his eyes sent heat pouring through her veins. It was a look of possession. Of pure masculine desire. It claimed her so thoroughly that it took her a moment to find her voice. “What price? What would you possibly lose by winning?”

  He didn’t answer right away, turning his gaze back toward the path that wove through the forest, choosing his words with care. “I deemed it prudent under the circumstances.”

  Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t understand.”

  His jaw flexed tight. He spoke through clenched teeth, extracting the words with difficulty. “Robert Campbell is a powerful man.”

  Lizzie tilted her head, studying the hard lines of his proud, handsome face. “And you thought besting him would bring retribution?” She shook her head. “You don’t know Robert.”

  His gaze could have cut stone. “Not, apparently, as well as you do.”

  Her cheeks heated, though she’d done nothing to be ashamed of. But clearly he didn’t like how readily she’d jumped to Robert’s defense. “All I meant is that Robert is not the kind of man to begrudge another for winning. Surely you can see that now?”

  He shrugged, his words pried reluctantly. “So it seems.”

  His explanation made sense but didn’t ring completely true—not from what she knew of him. Patrick Murray wasn’t the kind of man to back down from a challenge. “And that’s the only reason?”

  His gaze locked on hers. “I don’t think I need to point out the difference in our positions.”

  The accusation in his gaze made her cringe.

  She knew she should say something. She could see it in his eyes: He thought she was going to choose Robert.

  Her heart tugged and then lodged in her throat. She wanted to say something.

  But what could she say when he might very well be right?

  It was past noon by the time they arrived back at the keep. Lizzie hurried inside to see to the midday meal for the guests, carefully avoiding Patrick’s gaze.

  He watched her go, anger and frustration simmering inside him like molten lava ready to explode. He didn’t know whom to blame: Lizzie for her indecisiveness or himself for giving a damn.

  He might have proved himself the better man on the battlefield, but it wasn’t enough to change her mind. All he’d achieved was salving his own pride and making himself a target of unwant