Patrick stared at his brother for a long moment but didn't say anything. He didn't need to. His anger was palpable.
To his credit, Gregor didn't back down or look repentant, trusting that the bonds of brotherhood would once again protect him from the full force of Patrick's wrath.
It would, but barely. Over the past few years, those bonds had frayed, and after the attack last week, they now hung by mere threads.
“I should cut your damn throat for what you did,” Patrick said.
“You lookwell,brother.”
Patrick gave him a sharp glare of warning, both for his recklessness in calling him brother and for the snide bite underlying his words. He reached across the table and grabbed his brother by the throat, hard enough to cut off his breath. “Don't fuck with me, Gregor. I'm of no mind for your subtle poison. If you've something to say, say it.”
Gregor's eyes darkened and he jerked away, rubbing his throat until his breathing returned to normal. “You've lost none of your manners, Patrick. I was merely observing that you look well. Castle life agrees with you.”
“What agrees with me is that my blood is runninginmy body and not out of it. For the first time in weeks I'm no longer plagued by an open wound.” His eyes slid over his brother. “You don't appear to be suffering any from your … accident.”
Gregor's face grew red with anger. “The bitch is lucky her blade did no lasting harm. But I'll bear a scar and the memory of the pain to remind me.”
Patrick didn't like what he saw in his brother's eyes. He held his gaze with a look that brooked no argument. “Stay away from her, Gregor. Our fight is not with the lass.”
“It's not? Then who is it with? She's a Campbell—or have you forgotten?”
“Leave it, I said. You've caused enough trouble as it is. You were supposed to wait until we were in position.” He leaned across the table menacingly, daring his brother to ignore the ramifications of what he'd done. Of the men they'd lost. “No one was supposed to die.”
“The men wanted a little fun. All those Campbells …” He shrugged. “It was too good an opportunity to waste.”
“It wasn't your decision to make. I'd expect this from our uncle and from Iain—God knows not even our cousin can keep them in control—but not from you.”
Gregor finally had the good sense to appear shamefaced. Even without land, Patrick was his chieftain. He also knew that Patrick would not allow his authority to be challenged. “I didn't think you'd mind.”
“Not mind that you were trying to abscond with the lass I intend to wed?”
Gregor's face hardened. “It's not as if she means anything to you. The bitch made me angry. The way she looked at me. As if I were no better than a dog.”
Had the situation been reversed, would she have looked at him like that as well? The thought was sobering.
Gregor might have deserved it, but it didn't mean that Patrick did not understand the source of his anger. Anger that he, in fact, shared. The king and his Campbell minions had stripped them of everything. Land. Family. Wealth. Position.
When Patrick looked at his younger brother, he saw himself untempered by responsibility, left to wallow in anger. After so many years as an outlaw, Patrick's sense of duty had been whittled away, but in Gregor it had all but disappeared. All pretense of civility had faded under the brutal existence of an outlaw.
He felt a strange urge to defend her, but he didn't think Gregor would welcome hearing Lizzie's finer points. “Leave the lass to me, and if you ever pull anything like that again …” He looked him straight in the eye. “Mark my words, kin or no, you will not live long enough to regret it.” Gregor flinched, but it was clear that he understood. “Stick to the plan,” Patrick cautioned him.
“It's working, then? The lass is taking the bait?”
Patrick thought about it. “Aye.” Though she was fighting her attraction, Lizzie was far from immune to him.
“The pathetic little mouse played right into your hands, eh?” Gregor laughed. “She's itching for you, I'd wager. Or perhaps you've already given her a good scratching with your prick?”
Patrick gave no hint of the spark of anger that flared inside him from Gregor's coarseness. Usually it wouldn't bother him, but he didn't want to talk about the details of his seduction with his brother, and he sure as hell didn't want Gregor talking about Lizzie like that. But he knew Gregor would hang on to any sign that Patrick wasn't ruthlessly pursuing their objective.
“It's only been a week. This will take some time. The lass has been raised from infancy to do her duty. She'll not run off with the first man she fancies.”
“I thought you said the gel was desperate.”
Patrick bit back a grimace. Had he really said that? She wasn't desperate at all. She was sweet and kind and vulnerable, perhaps, but not desperate.
Still, it did not change the crux of what Gregor was asking. Though she might put up more of a fight than he'd anticipated, Patrick was confident that in the end Elizabeth Campbell would succumb. He could be just as ruthless as her black-hearted kin when it came to getting what he wanted. “Give it time, Gregor.” He took a long drink ofcuirm.“What news have you from our cousin?”
“They arrived safely at their destination.”
