Campbell's brows drew together. He eyed Patrick warily, as if it were a trick question—which it was. “Aye.”
“Good.” Patrick slid two arrows from his quiver. “I'll be taking my third after all.” Carefully, he threaded both arrows on the string, aimed, and let them fly—two in one shot.
He heard the collective gasp, followed by a stunned silence.
“Jesu!” said one of the men, his voice tinged with awe.
God, it felt good. Too damn good.
The Laird of Dun rushed back toward the tree, the others trailing after him. Only Patrick, Lizzie, and his guardsmen stayed behind. His men didn't need to look—they knew what he'd done. And from the satisfied gleams in their eyes, he knew they were pleased with the result, no matter the increased risk to their safety. A MacGregor besting a Campbell was always a reason to celebrate.
Lizzie, however, was staring at him with a strange look on her face. Not surprised, but questioning—as if she were trying to put something together. He met her stare unflinchingly, part of him wanting her to know the truth. He was tired of deception. Tired of hiding, of being forced to live the life of an outlaw.
Would she understand? If it was only him to consider, he might be willing to take the chance. But his men's lives were in her hands as well.
The crowd had reached the tree. Loud cheers went up when they saw what he had done. Both arrows had pierced the piece of ribbon and landed on either side of his first.
He'd won.
But at what cost?
Chapter 12
Patrick was about to find out.
Robert Campbell strode toward him, one of Patrick's arrows in his hand. From the rigid set of his shoulders Patrick knew he was furious, but the assessing glint in his gaze bothered him far more. The other man stopped before him, studying his face for a long time before saying anything.
“A definitive win,” he conceded. Gracious, Patrick noted, even in defeat. Glenorchy's son was proving to be a difficult man to despise.Hell,the only mark against him that Patrick could find was that he was Glenorchy's son. A problem for a MacGregor, but not for a lass seeking a powerful alliance. “Next time I will have more care in choosing my words.” He tapped the arrow in the flat of his hand a few times, the dull thud an ominous tolling. “Quite remarkable. I've only seen something like it once before.”
Patrick held his body in check, though every instinct flared. He kept his voice politely questioning. “Aye?”
“Aye,” Campbell repeated. He stared right into Patrick's eyes. “A few years back I saw the outlawed MacGregor chief shoot down two men with one shot. The Arrow of Glenlyon is regaled not only for his skill with a bow, but also for his unusual trick shots.”
Patrick didn't betray a muscle at the mention of his cousin. “ 'Tis no trick, just hours of practice. I've seen the MacGregor's skill as well—'tis where I got the idea.”
Campbell's eyes turned hard and flat; perhaps there was a bit of his black-hearted father in him after all. “You know the outlaw, then?”
He was treading disturbingly close to danger. Patrick figured that it was better to appear forthright and admit some familiarity. “We've met. My laird provided caution for him and his clansmen a few years back.”
Campbell rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Aye, I remember. I also remember that Tullibardine sheltered the scourge the last time the MacGregors were put to the horn.”
“And was fined heavily for his actions,” Patrick reminded him. “ ’Tis not a mistake he will make again.”
“Hmm …” Campbell weighed the arrow back and forth in his hands, then held it up to examine the shaft and fletching.
The feathers. Hell.The distinctive fletching was identical to that of his cousin. Patrick forced himself to breathe evenly. He noticed that Finlay had come up behind them and was following their conversation with keen interest.
Finally, Campbell handed it back to him. “The MacGre-gor is also said to have the finest arrows—he makes them himself.”
“Is that so?” Patrick said with just the right amount of interest. His pulse raced, knowing the treacherous path this conversation was taking. “Then we have that in common. I make my own arrows as well.”
Lizzie's interruption came not a moment too soon. “What are you suggesting, Robert? You can't think Patrick has anything to do with those vile men.” She shuddered. “If not for Patrick and his warriors, I would not be standing here.”
Vile men.He had no right to blame her after what his brother had done, but the revulsion in her voice ate at him nonetheless. What would she do when she found out the truth?
Could she ever accept him for what he was? A MacGregor. An outlaw. It was a question he'd never dared ask himself before, too wary of the answer.
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.”
