Perhaps that was why he felt such a strange kinship with the wolf. The king sought the extinction of them both. The laws enacted to eradicate the race of MacGregor did not differ much in language from those to eradicate the wolves.
“You sound as if you have sympathy for their plight. But you saw what happened. Surely we must do something to prevent further attacks.”
“It isn't usually in a wolf's nature to attack man. It's only because we leave them no choice that they are forced to fight back.”
“I don't understand.”
“Cutting down their forests, encroaching on their land. They have an ancient right to roam this land, and it's been taken from them. What else can they do but fight?”
He realized he could have been speaking about his own people. Like the wolf, the once-proud race of MacGregors, whose badge proclaimed their descent from kings—S Riog -hail Mo Dhream,“Royal Is My Race”—had been stripped of their land, backed into a corner, turned wild and ferocious in their effort to protect what was theirs. Fitting, then, that they were known as “the Sons of the Wolf.”
Her head tilted as she studied his face. He feared his impassioned speech had revealed more than he'd intended.
“Ancient right? It's an interesting concept.” Her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “One that my cousin would take umbrage with, since he holds the charter for this land.”
She said it in jest, but truer words could not be spoken. It was upon the same basis that the Earl of Argyll and his kinsman “Black” Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy had deprived the MacGregors of their land. Hundreds of years of ownership ignored for the failure to produce a piece of parchment.
Her words also served as a harsh reminder of why he was here: land.
When his gaze fell on her again, it was with cold resolve. No matter how sweet, he would not forget who she was and what she would bring him. He'd waited too long to get back what was his.
Ripe for seduction,he reminded himself.A means to an end.
“We should return. The others will be waiting and wondering what has happened to us.”
Lizzie gave him a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with a shared understanding. “We shall have much to tell them. I fear that your exploits this day are in danger of taking on heroic proportions.”
He didn't know whether it was that smile, the twinkle in her eye, or the resilience with which she'd weathered a trying day and managed to find humor, but Patrick realized that his mission was going to be more difficult than he'd ever imagined.
Thief, brigand, outlaw, scourge: Those were names he was familiar with, not hero. Yet for a moment, this wee lass could make him want to believe that it was a possibility. Make him believe that there might be a flicker left in the embers of his blackened soul. That maybe there was still something inside him that hadn't died.
He regretted that one day soon he would have to prove her wrong.
Chapter 4
Not long after they left the loch, the great shadow of Castle Campbell came into view, its austere gray stone walls rising high on a hill surrounded by dense woodlands.
Like its Highland counterpart of Inveraray Castle, the Lowland stronghold of the Earl of Argyll served as an imposing reminder of the strength of the clan. The fortress had once been called Castle Gloom, and from its steep, imposing setting and stark stone walls, it wasn't hard to see why. But to Lizzie it was home.
After all that she'd been through this day, she should feel relieved to reach the safety of the formidable keep. To smell the familiar pungent aroma of ramsom that filled the steep ravines; to hear the rush of the Burn of Sorrow and Burn of Care, which flowed below to the west and east of the promontory upon which the castle stood. But for some reason, she was reluctant for this part of her journey to be over. She suspected that it had something to do with the man riding beside her.
A man she barely knew, but whom she'd thrown herself at like … like … She blushed. Like a common strumpet.
The poor man was still mourning the loss of his wife and unborn child for pity's sake!
Was she so desperate for romance that she could fall for the first handsome man who was kind to her? Apparently so.
Despite his gallantry, she was mortified by what she'd done. With that face he was probably used to women falling into his arms, but Lizzie had never done anything so remotely improper. Had never so completely abandoned decorum to seek comfort from the embrace of a stranger.
Yet it had felt incredible. Warm. Safe. Secure. And so much more. She'd felt a connection. An awareness that went beyond simple attraction but seemed to take hold of every part of her body. In his arms she'd felt alive. As if her body had woken from a long sleep and tingled with pleasure at the wakening.
Something had come over her, and she'd felt an intense urge to touch him. To slide her hands over his arms and feel the heavy muscles beneath her fingertips, to trace the hard lines of his chest and back. To absorb his strength.
Her body had flooded with heat. With heaviness. And then for a moment her heart had stopped, thinking he was actually going to kiss her. His mouth had been only inches away. The wide, sensuous lips, the dark stubble along the hard lines of his jaw, the spicy warmth of his breath on her head.
But he hadn't. Whether she'd only imagined it or he had simply thought better of it, she didn't know. She had had no business encouraging him in the first place, but she could not deny the twinge of disappointment.
She told herself it was for the best. Now that he'd seen them safely home, he would be leaving, continuing on his journey across the sea to escape the memories of the past. It was ridiculous. The poor woman was gone, but Lizzie felt a twinge of envy. His wife had been a fortunate woman indeed to have a man care for her so deeply. Enough to drive him far from his home when he lost her.
