The Scot's Bride Page 10

  She’d admit that watching him take control over Hendry, having to insist only once that she be allowed to accompany them to the village, made her want to smile. Hendry had never allowed her to ride with him when he collected rent. She wondered if her brother’s acquiescence had anything to do with Patrick’s bloody knuckles from his sparring with Duff earlier.

  She didn’t care why. She was going. Her heart beat hard and fast over the excursion. She loved unexpected adventures—even if she was going only to help keep the wee ones silent and away from the men. Though she would love to allow Nonie a glimpse of her fearless defender, ready and able to defeat the gel’s monster, Charlie couldn’t chance the child calling out to him and rousing Hendry’s suspicions. She doubted there would be any trouble with Hendry this time, thanks to Patrick’s presence, so it really wasn’t too dangerous.

  She realized that the last thing she should be doing was spending more time with Patrick Campbell. He was finding a way around her defenses. She didn’t want to end up like Duff’s mother, but her heart still thumped because she was going with him.

  She cast him an appreciative smile when he turned to her and flicked his reins to go. His wink thrilled the breath right out of her.

  For the first time since she met Patrick Campbell, she didn’t want him to leave.

  She trotted her horse a bit closer to Patrick’s as they rode at a leisurely pace. He turned to her, blocking Hendry’s view of his face on the other side, and smiled.

  Could he see her thoughts in her eyes? In the involuntary curl of her lips? She suspected he was a better man than he led her to believe. She wanted to believe it.

  But her mind fought to deny it lest she become the kind of fool she detested. There were no better men. Mr. Campbell likely had something to gain by coming. She thought about the first night she saw him—dragging a serving wench into his lap and dipping his mouth to her neck. How many women had he seduced with the facets of his emerald eyes, the devilish slant of his smile? Or was it his polished prose that beguiled them?

  She despised the thought that she could be so easily misled, and worse, distracted. When his gaze fell to her soft skirts blowing over her thighs, she suspected she’d been correct all along.

  “Have ye given any more thought to m’ inquiry?” he asked her in a hushed voice.

  Pity he didn’t know that Hendry had perfected the art of eavesdropping during his many hours hiding behind curtains.

  “What inquiry is that?” her brother asked, a snide lilt tainting his tone.

  “I asked her fer the name of Duff’s faither.”

  He surprised her again by answering honestly.

  “’Twas Will MacGregor who sired him,” Hendry supplied without so much as a shred of loyalty to their brother.

  “Hendry!” Charlie kept her voice down though the struggle to do so clenched her teeth. “He never told you. How do you know that?”

  “Duff’s voice resonates through the halls, dear sister. He’s easy to hear if you aim your ear in the right direction.”

  Eavesdropping, irritating little weasel, Charlie thought, while Patrick drew her attention.

  She couldn’t be certain, but he fidgeted around in his saddle as it were on fire. It was no mystery that Campbells and MacGregors were enemies. Every Campbell knew about the proscription against the Highland clan. What would he do with this knowledge? Would he turn Duff in as an outlaw to collect a reward?

  “Why are you curious about Duff’s father?” Hendry put to him, dragging the Highlander’s gaze to him.

  “I have met many men in m’ travels. He bears a strong resemblance to a man I met in Argyll last month. But my acquaintance went by the name of Alex MacLachlan.”

  Charlie peeked around Patrick’s shoulder to see Hendry. He looked to be mulling over the explanation, then shrugged and set his blue eyes on the road. “Whether you know him or not, Duff still remains a bastard.”

  Charlie wanted to sling a stone at his chest, but best not put him in a foul mood before he reached Robbie Wallace’s house.

  Patrick must not have given a damn about her brother’s mood. Why should he? He’d already compelled Hendry to give up authority over her, not to mention the family secrets. He wasn’t afraid of what Hendry might do. Patrick would simply stop him.

  “Better to be a bastard than the tyrant son of a liege lord.”

  Hendry smirked. “If you think to come at me with your self-righteous indignation, don’t bother. I would rather be the tyrant.”

  “I surmised that much the moment I met ye.”

  “And,” Hendry braved another sneer turning to Mr. Campbell, “you remember my fist in your mouth during that same meeting.”

  “Aye,” Patrick laughed. “And m’ hands were bound. I’m no’ bound now. Want to give it another go? I warn ye,” he said, his smiling fading, “fer the next few months, mayhap a year dependin’ on how hard I hit ye, ye willna be able speak or eat withoot aid.”

  Behind Patrick Campbell’s broad shoulder, Charlie smiled. No one had ever dared speak so to Hendry. She’d wished so many times that someone would. People feared her brother almost as much as they feared her father.

  When it became apparent that Hendry had nothing to further to say, Mr. Campbell turned his attention back to her, his easy smile returning.

  She was careful to conceal what she thought of him at this moment. God help her, he was so handsome just looking at him made her doubt all her convictions. Did she truly want to spend her life trusting no man? Could Patrick ever be loyal only to her the way Kendrick was? Would living alone with Elsie be enough?

  She looked away and spread her gaze over the cottages coming up over the hill.

  He said nothing. Good, she didn’t want him to speak to her. What would he think of her gushing all over him the way Bethany had after one smile tossed her way? She had higher goals to aim for than being in this man’s bed.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  But she liked what he did to Hendry. She wouldn’t lie.

  Chapter Eleven

  She was pleased.

  Patrick hoped she wouldn’t be angry with him for threatening to beat her brother senseless. He wished he didn’t care. But he did. It hadn’t stopped him from threatening to do it though. He didn’t like Hendry Cunningham for more reasons than he could list.

  He would ponder Charlotte Cunningham’s effect on him later—and how bonnie she looked with her raven tresses bouncing around her shoulders—shoulders she squared now as if bracing herself before she turned her fading smile away.

  Will was Duff’s father! Will MacGregor! Truly, Patrick wasn’t surprised. Now that he knew it was Will, their resemblance was so much stronger, the similarities more apparent, and the differences, as well. Will was often found filling Camlochlin’s hall with laughter. Duff barely smiled. Hell, Duff was his cousin. How would Patrick tell him? The lad had a right to know his father. Patrick could even take him back to Camlochlin.

  They reached Robbie Wallace’s cottage, giving Patrick no more time to think on what to do. He was here to protect Robbie and his family from any more tyranny…or nightmares.

  He hadn’t considered what the children’s reaction to seeing him would implicate. Charlie was wise in joining them.

  He watched her spring off her horse and hurry to the door as it opened.

  Patrick inhaled a steadying breath. He noted the quickening of his heart, the rush of blood through his veins, the world moving slower. What the hell was happening to him? He’d faced three MacPhersons coming at him with their muscles bulging and he hadn’t felt this kind of apprehension.

  But this wasn’t a fight between willing opponents.

  Robbie Wallace limped forward, his affliction brought on by the man saddled beside Patrick.

  “Do you have your lord’s rent?” Hendry called out over his lifted nose.

  “I do,” Robbie called back, his eyes slipping briefly to Patrick. He reached for the pouch at his belt.

&nb
sp; Hendry looked surprised and a bit defeated, causing Patrick’s heart to warm on the lass who’d just entered the house for what she’d done.

  Eyes squinted and lips pinched, Hendry asked, “How did you come by it?”

  “What does it matter to ye?” Patrick turned to him on his horse. “’Tis paid. Let’s be on our way.”

  “He likely robbed it,” Hendry argued.

  Well, he had it half right. The coin had been stolen…

  “And my father wouldn’t take kindly to thieves on his land.”

  “Nor would I take kindly,” Patrick told him, keeping his voice evenly toned, despite his desire to knock Hendry’s teeth out, “to any harm coming to this man.”

  “What concern is this of yours?” Hendry snarled at him. “When you asked to accompany me, you claimed you were interested in holding competitions here so you could rob the village men blindfolded.”

  “I never said blindfolded,” Patrick corrected lightly. “With an arm secured behind m’ back ’twas what I said.”

  “Then go about your task, Campbell.”

  “Come with me,” Patrick said in a low voice, bringing his mount closer to Hendry’s, “or I shall drag ye away, tied to m’ horse.” He blinked, turned to Robbie, and gleamed a smile at him. “Just a moment and we’ll be off.”

  Robbie nodded and looked back. His family was not there.

  Patrick returned his gaze to Hendry. He didn’t care how many times he had to threaten this grunting boar, sooner or later Hendry would no longer be warned.

  “Another moment and I might insist that ye thank him fer payin’ ye fer the verra little ye provide him and his family.”

  Hendry wanted to challenge him. Patrick could see the signs of it in his shadowy eyes, his still smirk. But he didn’t have the heart.

  “Next month don’t be late,” he warned Robbie instead then tugged on his reins and moved off.

  Patrick would make certain Hendry was paid next month.

  “Good day to ye.” Patrick tossed Robbie one last smile before following his host. When they passed the front of the house, Patrick shouted, “Miss Cunningham!”

  They lingered a moment longer waiting for Charlie to return to them. Patrick wasn’t sure who hid their smile best when he and the lass set their gazes on each other. He suspected he’d failed, since he’d never had a reason to conceal his pleasure before.

  “I’m going back to the house. I have things to discuss with my father,” Hendry declared with an eye on Patrick while Charlie gained her saddle. “Come, Charlotte.”

  She shot a glance at Patrick. “Are you not returning?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve something to see to first.”

  “Oh?” she asked, slinging the full potency of her gaze on him.

  He hesitated giving her a more thorough explanation only because the sight of her was so distracting. Hendry seized the opportunity to answer for him.

  “He wants to pick fights with the villagers.”

  Patrick cast him a frown but then returned his smile to her. “Inaccurate. Why dinna ye accompany me and see fer yerself?”

  A moment of indecision passed over her elegantly spun features and then disappeared. “I think I shall.”

  “I think not!” her brother demanded, breaking the spell she weaved over her admirer.

  Patrick turned his horse around to face Hendry head-on. Hell, but he’d had enough of this little worm. Normally, Cunningham’s nose, at least, would have been broken by now, but he didn’t want to worsen the feud any further. And if he did what he wanted, the feud would get worse. The trick was in concealing his true hesitation and making Hendry believe his threats.

  Luckily for Patrick, he was as good with his words as he was with his fists.

  “She’ll be safe with me. If not, and she accuses me of layin’ a hand on her, I’ll take her as m’ wife, giving yer faither what he wants, a Campbell alliance. Is that an opportunity in which ye truly want to get in the way? What will yer faither think when I tell him yer distrust has sent me on m’ way?”

  He didn’t think it would be over so quickly but Hendry left without another word. Pleased with his work, Patrick turned back to Charlie—and her hand flying toward his face.

  He could have ducked and avoided it. He was fast enough, but he stood his ground. Her palm cracked across his cheek, stinging like the edge of a blade.

  “A chance to molest me is an opportunity?”

  “Is it no’?” he asked her, rubbing the side of his face with his palm. “Yer faither wants a union between us. What harm is there in danglin’ that possibility before his face?”

  “To get what you want,” she accused.

  “And to get what ye want, as well,” he countered. “Did ye want to return home with Hendry or come with me?”

  She dipped her head and veiled her eyes behind her long lashes, but he could hear in her voice the smile she tried to deny him. “I chose what I wanted, did I not?”

  “Aye, lass, ye did.” He ached to kiss her. His muscles twitched with longing to seize her in his arms and tell her how braw and beautiful she was to him.

  “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

  He wanted to ask her where she wanted to go. He would have taken her anywhere. He recognized that he was in danger. He felt his resolve falter every time he looked at her, spoke to her. He felt himself molding to become more…worthy of her. It was a condition he should worry over. But he hated worrying.

  “I want to earn some coin,” he said, flicking his reins and trotting his horse away.

  “Why?” she called out, bringing him back. “Are you leaving?”

  Was that disappointment he heard in her voice? So what if it was? He couldn’t stay indefinitely, just long enough to earn enough coin to keep the Wallaces safe for a time. With enough fights, he could make the required coin in two or three nights. “Soon, most likely.”

  “You’re verra clever.”

  He quirked his brow at her. “How so?”

  “You know I don’t want a husband. You believe if you manhandle me, I won’t tell my father.”

  His gaze on her softened. “I willna manhandle ye, lass.”

  “Good, because I would tell him without fear of a marriage,” she said, tilting up her chin and looking away. “He would not force me to marry a corpse.”

  He thought nothing was more splendid than her face but when she turned her profile to him, he grew entranced. How could she be so delicate, yet so strong? Like the winter heather that lined the braes around Camlochlin.

  “Why did ye no’ stab me last night then?” Last night when he’d tasted the sweet desire in her kiss.

  Her knuckles tightened around her reins. Was her memory of it as pleasurable? To hell with the future. He wanted to taste more of her, kiss her until her defenses fell around his arms.

  “You caught me off guard,” she said, turning to stare right back at him.

  He saw the flash of warning in her eyes. If he tried kissing her again there would be consequences. They would be worth it. Hell, she was a delight to his senses, his soul.

  “And now ye’d fight me?” he asked with a fierce smile. “And win?”

  “Aye,” she told him confidently. “I’d win.”

  Something in her declaration made his blood sizzle in his veins, made him want to leap from his horse and drag her from hers. The thought of taking her down and straddling her between his thighs excited him. “I’d like a demonstration of yer skill later.”

  “You shall have it.”

  “Good, now tell me, where is the nearest pub?”

  She turned to him. Her face was pale.

  “The pub?” Charlie asked him, trying to swallow. Why did he want to go there? People knew her there.

  “Where else am I to find men willing to fight me?”

  “Is that how you intend to earn coin? By fighting?”

  “Dinna worry,” he assured her. “I willna fight anyone a few years older than me.”

 
No! They couldn’t go to the pub. If he discovered that she’d been there often and alone, he might remember seeing her in Pinmore. He might tell her father. He certainly won’t let her out of his sight again.

  “There’s a pub in the village, aye, Charlie?”

  She nodded and wiped her brow. He’d want to know how she knew all the patrons. He’d want to know everything. What she was doing was extremely dangerous. He would try to stop her.

  What did he need to fight for anyway? If he wanted to leave so badly, why couldn’t he earn his coin building or repairing, by doing something useful? She looked him over, set upon his horse, drenched in the spring afternoon sun. The man was powerfully built for certain. His strength and stamina could see to more than just fighting.

  “You will find no worthy opponent in the pub, or in this village,” she told him. “More are sickly than strong. You would be better off visiting farms. In fact, why not begin with the Wallaces?”

  “I wouldna fight Robbie,” he insisted with the sting of insult in his voice. Did she truly think so little of him?

  “I know that.” Her lips curled like a silky veil in a breeze. “His hay hasn’t been baled in a fortnight. He could use your brawn.”

  “Balin’ hay?” He looked utterly disappointed.

  “Aye.” Her smile deepened as she dismounted and tied her horse to the post in front of the Wallaces’ small cottage. “Shall I knock, or will you?”

  “How can I gain a purse by balin’ hay?” he said, dismounting and tying his horse as well. “I dinna want payment from men who have nothin’.”

  She paused to consider how she should take what he just said. She was glad he wouldn’t take from the poor, but was gaining a purse so he could leave all he thought about? If so, what would it make her to fawn over him? And, if that wasn’t bad enough, he hadn’t even considered what she was asking him to do. She turned away and started toward the front door. “You’ll be helping,” she called to him over her shoulder.