Patrick formulated his plan on his way back to the castle. Tonight he would send a few of his men to follow his brother and ensure his return to the Highlands, and then tomorrow morning Lizzie would get her wish.
She must have been waiting for him, because as soon as he passed through the gate she ran toward him. “What happened? Why did you send me away like that?” She stopped in her tracks a few feet away when she saw his expression. “Patrick, what's wrong?”
Everything. He forced himself to look at her, wanting to see her for what she was—a Campbell, his enemy, the sister of the man who'd ordered the rape of Annie, and the cousin of the fiend who'd sent his brother and chief to their deaths.
He wanted to hate her.
But all he could see was guileless blue eyes set in a pale face fraught with concern. For him.
His chest twisted. Did she have to be so damn sweet? He wanted to grab her and shake her, lash out until she hated him. It would make leaving her so much easier.
He squared his jaw. “Go. Pack your things and be ready to leave at sunrise.”
“Go?” she repeated, startled. “Where?”
He met her gaze, giving no hint of the turmoil raging inside. Heaven help him, he still wanted her. But he would see her safely to her cousin and be done. With the removal of him and his men and the conscription by Auchinbreck of half its already depleted fighting force, Castle Campbell would be left woefully undefended. He might despise Argyll, but he knew Lizzie would be safe with her powerful cousin, and he had no choice but to take her there himself.
“Dunoon,” he said flatly. “Isn't that what you wanted?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you shall have your wish.”
And without another word, he turned on his heel and left her standing there, unable to look at her another minute.
He'd thought he was dead inside, thought that he'd lost the ability to feel.
He was wrong.
Letting her go would be like cutting himself in two, and he feared what would be left of himself when she was gone.
His brother's face flashed before his eyes, giving him his answer.
Chapter 16
After a sleepless night waiting for Patrick to come to her room and explain his sudden change of heart, only to be disappointed, Lizzie stood in thebarmkinin the semidark-ness of dawn, shivering, watching a stranger ready their horses to leave.
Her heart squeezed as she wrestled with confusion. This should be the happiest moment of her life, but he wouldn't even look at her. She'd gotten what she wanted, but she would run away with him right now if only he would stop acting like this. Too late, she realized that it didn't matter how they married just as long as they were together.
Never had she seen him like this. Patrick seemed a cold, angry shell of the man she loved. His expression was hard and implacable, his eyes flat. All attempts to question him were rebuffed with stony curtness.
What had happened on their way back to the castle yesterday? Was he angry because of her refusal to run away with him or was there some other reason?
Nothing made sense.
She listened as he gave orders to his men and the handful of Campbell guardsmen who would accompany them, and before the sun had crested the horizon, they were on their way to Dunoon.
They rode along the edge of the Ochil hills, then crossed the bridge over the Forth at Stirling. Instead of taking the main road to Lennox, they kept north of the river, following narrow paths across the moors and through woodlands that were at times difficult to make out.
For a man who hadn't wanted to go in the first place, he couldn't seem to get there fast enough. But he was being careful—wary, it seemed, of another attack. She sensed his vigilance in the intensity of his gaze and the way he reacted to every sound distant or near. He had men scouting ahead and behind them as an added precaution.
He pushed them at a brutal pace, traveling for hours— with only short water breaks for the horses—before finally stopping to rest. Though it was only a few hours past noon, with winter creeping ever closer the sun was almost gone.
It wasn't only the horses that were exhausted. Lizzie was a good rider under normal circumstances, but she wasn't accustomed to riding at this gait over difficult terrain for so long. Her legs, not used to such abuse, shook as she tried to dismount. She would have fallen if Patrick hadn't caught her.
Just the sensation of his strong hands around her waist was enough to make her heart clench—and then drop when he released her all too suddenly.
Dear God, what was wrong? He wouldn't even touch her.
