He nodded for her to continue.
“I thought the MacGregor had agreed to surrender.”
Something in his gaze hardened. Or perhaps it was just the light from the fire?
“He did,” he said carefully.
“Then why did your brother attack my guardsmen, and why did you change your mind and decide to take me to Dunoon?”
He didn't say anything, the silence punctuated by the crackle and pop of the fire and the slowing plop of rain on the bows overhead.
“What is it? What won't you tell me?”
His jaw clenched. “You won't want to hear what I have to say.”
His forbidding tone gave her a moment's hesitation. “Yes, I do.”
He took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on hers. “You know that Alasdair MacGregor surrendered under a promise from Argyll to see him safe to English ground— the deal brokered by your brother Jamie. Well, your cousin kept his promise, transporting the chief to England and setting him down upon English soil, only to immediately arrest him and return him to Edinburgh. Alasdair was executed along with twenty-four other of my clansmen a fortnight past.”
Lizzie gasped with horrified disbelief. “You must be mistaken!” Her cousin wouldn't do something so dishonorable … would he? His hatred for the MacGregors made her pause. But even if Archie were so inclined, Jamie would never be a part of it.
Patrick's gaze was hard as steel. “I assure you, I am not mistaken. My cousin's and brother's heads sit over Dumbarton gate right now.”
Her heart plummeted. “Your cousin and brother?”
“Aye, Alasdair MacGregor was my cousin—twice over. Our fathers were brothers and our mothers were sisters. My youngest brother, Iain, died at his side.”
Lizzie felt ill. She could not doubt him—the ravaged sadness on his face couldn't be feigned—even if she couldn't believe the part he'd attributed to her family. “I'm sorry,” she said.
“I do not blame you.”
“But your brother does?”
“Aye. I erred in trusting Gregor, but always before I could convince him to see reason. I thought he'd understood. I was wrong.”
She could see something in his expression. “What are you not telling me?”
His gaze was flat as he stared into the fire. “There were risings after the executions. My sister …”
He had a sister. God, she knew nothing about him.
He stopped and cleared his throat. Lizzie felt her heart start to hammer with trepidation. “My sister, Annie, was rap—” His voice cracked, and she put her hand on his arm.
Her stomach turned. He didn't need to finish. “I'm so sorry.”
He gazed down at her hand and then back up at her face. His expression was as grim as she'd ever seen it. “At Auch-inbreck's orders.”
She pulled her hand away as if she'd been scalded. “No!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “That's a vicious lie! How dare you make such an accusation!”
He didn't say anything, just stared at her—almost as if he felt sorry for her.
Lizzie was not naïve. She knew that men often violated women in the name of war—as a means to humiliate and attack the pride of their opponent. But the thought that her brother could do anything so vile—so cruel and despicable …
God, was it possible?
There had to be an explanation. She needed to see Jamie, he would clear things up.
Lizzie was reeling from what Patrick had told her. No wonder he'd changed his mind about marrying her. If even a small portion of it was true, he had every reason to hate her.
