Something was wrong. She was even more certain of it when he glanced in her direction, something he'd avoided most of the day. His eyes flickered with … regret? But why?
He lifted the bow and took steady aim. Right before he let the arrow fly, he made an almost imperceptible adjustment.
Her breath caught and her pulse raced. It felt as if she were standing in a dark tunnel where all she could hear was the sound of the arrow ripping through the air before it landed with a resounding thud.
She didn't want to look. She knew.
“You missed!” Robert shouted, unable to hide his glee.
And Robert had won.
“Aye,” Patrick said, lowering his bow.
Disappointment washed over her. She was unable to escape the feeling that he had just made some kind of choice. The pang in her heart throbbed. It didn't make sense.
She cast a surreptitious glance at him, but he'd already turned away, conceding defeat.
Whether it was just the contest or her, she didn't know.
Patrick hadn't missed a shot like that in years. But skill like his did not go unnoticed, and the last thing he needed was for Robert Campbell to start asking questions.
He'd sworn not to let himself be goaded by Campbell today, but he'd been unable to ignore the outright challenge. If Campbell wanted to let a contest determine the better man for Lizzie, so be it—he would damn well find out.
Patrick had wanted to win so badly, he could taste it. He'd allowed the thought of the satisfaction he would feel to wash over him—but only for a minute.
It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he'd forced himself to stand down. To do otherwise would invite too many questions.
But losing did not sit well. Pride warred with discretion. It was one thing to lose and another to do so purposefully. He told himself that it was only a simple challenge, that Lizzie had nothing to do with it, but he couldn't escape the feeling that he'd let her down. That in conceding the contest, he'd conceded much more.
That Robert Campbell was the better man.
Every instinct cried out to prove otherwise.
He dared not look at her. Weathering the wounded look in her eyes following his cold withdrawal last night was hard enough; disappointment would cut him to the quick.
He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. He should have made love to her and had it be done. In allowing it to become personal, he'd lost focus on his goal. His moment of nobility had served only to give her the opportunity to reject him, making today's events even more difficult to swallow.
But he would have done just that if Campbell hadn't chosen that moment to bring up the one subject Patrick could not ignore.
The group had started to disperse after the anticlimactic end to the contest, but Robert, buoyed by his victory, had taken Lizzie by the arm and drawn her to the edge of the loch. Patrick was in no mood to hear the other man's subtle wooing and started to walk away, but one word stopped him in his tracks.
“Edinample is situated much on a loch like this.”
Patrick's blood ran cold.Edinample.The castle built on the ashes of his family's old keep. His entire body drew tight with rage. Rage that boiled inside him with nowhere to go. He could feel it consume him. Hot and furious, it pounded in his head and roared in his ears.
Robert's voice carried toward him, every word fanning the flames. “I would like to take you there one day. My father only finished building the castle a few years ago, and it's quite beautiful. Though it could use a lady's touch.”
Patrick snapped. The image of Lizzie making a home with Robert Campbell on Patrick's lands—the place where his parents had been murdered—was too much to withstand.
If Campbell wanted a damn contest, by Hades, he would have one.
Possessed by a recklessness more characteristic of his brother and rage born of resentment so deep that it seemed to penetrate his bones, Patrick pulled out his bow and walked back over to the line etched in the dirt.
“Campbell.” His voice rang out like a thunderclap, drawing all eyes to him.
The other man turned, a puzzled expression on his face.
Patrick's mouth drew back in a feral smile. “You did say three shots, didn't you?”
