“Excuse me,” he said with a short nod, heading immediately for the door.
Colin was studying him with a queer look on his face. “Who is that man? I don't recognize him, but he seems familiar.”
“Patrick, wait,” Lizzie said, stopping him just as he'd reached the door. He turned and looked at her, his face devoid of expression. “My brother the Laird of Auchinbreck has arrived.”
“So I see, my lady.” His gaze turned to Robert Campbell.
“And this is Robert Campbell,” she said softly, the hint of an apology in her voice. His gaze chilled, as hard and black as coal. Something painful squeezed in her chest, and she had to look away. “This is Patrick Murray,” she explained to Colin, “the man who rescued us from the attack. He and his men agreed to stay on for a while.”
“Is that so?” Colin said, stroking his chin. “It seems we owe you a debt of gratitude, Murray.”
“You owe me nothing, my laird. I was honored to offer the lady assistance.” Patrick's voice was polite but empty. His gaze when he looked at her was that of a stranger, giving no hint of what had passed between them only moments ago. “If you'll excuse me, I must return to myduties.”
She didn't miss his emphasis on the last word. A gauntlet indeed.
Chapter 10
To Patrick's mind there was no cause to celebrate, but the hall was filled to bursting with the sounds of the pipes and merrymaking as theceilidhgot under way. Highlanders welcomed any excuse to feast, and Campbells—Highlanders when it proved expedient—were no exception.
He kept his gaze fixed on the steaming pile of beef and vegetables in front of him and not on the laughing couple seated at the dais, but every inch of his body teemed with barely restrained fury. After a long week of being forced to stand in the shadows and watch his enemy woo the woman he wanted—and not being able to do a damn thing about it—Patrick was perilously close to losing control.
Every instinct clamored to storm over there and smash his fist through the too-damn-charming smile of his erstwhile cousin Robert Campbell, though to do so could be a disaster of deadly proportions. Patrick dared not do anything to draw any more attention to him and his men. They were treading on dangerous ground already.
The shock of walking into the great hall and seeing the Laird of Auchinbreck and Robert Campbell had yet to fade. Patrick knew he was damn lucky that neither of the men recognized him. He'd crossed paths with Elizabeth's brother a few times and Robert Campbell once or twice, but never close enough for careful study. Nonetheless, not even the knowledge of how close he'd come to discovery for the second time could temper the dangerous mix of emotions coiling inside him—anger, resentment, and what could only be described as jealousy—leaving him ready to strike at the barest provocation.
Indifferent? Hardly. No longer could he lay claim to that state, if he ever could. Discovery was not the only danger he faced; he was also in danger of becoming too attached. Something he'd carefully avoided.
Until now.
He glanced over at her again, but the picture hadn't changed.
As regal as any princess on a throne, she'd never looked more beautiful—or beyond his reach. She glittered like a diamond in the sun, her sky blue eyes sparkling and pale skin flushed pink in the candlelight. She wore an entrancing concoction of blue satin and some white gauzy material that floated around her like angel's wings. Her hair was arranged in a Grecian circle at the top of her head, secured by a wreath of diamonds and pearls. Long, silky strands of white blond curls cascaded around the creamy pale skin of her neck and shoulders.
She appeared as exactly what she was: the quintessential lady of the castle. A woman to be admired from afar.
Once again she'd worked her magic, turning the gloomy old hall into a glittering panorama of light and color that seemed to blaze with life—though he suspected that she would make a warm, comfortable home out of a hovel. He'd never seen so many candles—or so much silver to hold them. Evidence of the Campbell wealth was everywhere—from the colorful satin cloths dressing the tables to the precious metals and gemstones encrusting the tableware to the platters piled high with food and the overflowing casks of fine wine.
While his people were starving.
He should resent her, but it wasn't resentment that he felt when he looked at her laughing and smiling at Robert Campbell. It was something far more dangerous.
If only she didn't look so damn happy.
There was no denying that she had bloomed under the dueling attentions of two men. The new womanly confidence that mixed with her sweet vulnerability was irresistible—and he hadn't been the only one to notice. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't fault Robert Campbell for falling under her spell.
The other man leaned over and whispered something in her ear that caused her to toss her head back and laugh. The sweet, throaty sound drove like nails into his chest.
“Have a wee bit of pity on the utensils, Captain.”
“What?” he replied sharply, turning his anger from the laughing couple to the man who'd disturbed his self-inflicted torture.
As befitted their station, Patrick and his men had been seated at a table well removed from the dais, and with the music and loud voices they were in little danger of being overheard. Still, they spoke in low tones—out of habit more than anything else.
“Your knife,” Robbie said, indicating it with a gesture.
Patrick looked down at the piece of twisted metal in his hand, bent without him realizing it while he'd been watching the dais. He tossed it down in disgust and exchanged it for his goblet, downing the contents in one long swig.
He needed to relax, but he doubted there was enough wine in the castle stores to take the edge off what ailed him. But it wasn't just sexual frustration tying him in knots. His plan had also been frustrated by the arrival of Auchinbreck and Robert Campbell; the opportunity for private conversation— let alone seduction—had been virtually nonexistent. The very real possibility of failure loomed.
