Satisfied that he pulled a smile from her, Patrick reluctantly moved away. Not too far. Not yet. Hell, he was glad she returned to him. To all of them. Her father’s tenants needed her.
It had taken every ounce of control he possessed not to lean in and kiss her plump, parted lips. But stepping back gave him a fuller view of her, slumped in an oversized-overstuffed chair, a few strands of her black hair lifting softly off her shoulders in the slight breeze. He would be happy to stand here and gaze upon her for the next sennight.
“Who am I,” she asked with a spark of playfulness flickering in her dark eyes, “to keep you from ploughing any farm you desire?”
Aye, this lass possessed fire. It attracted him, captivated him, and made him want to play along. “Why would I want to go anywhere else, when I’m needed where I am?”
She tossed him a dry smirk. “What makes you think you’re needed?”
He laughed softly. “Balin’ hay? Have ye fergotten why we’re here?” His mirth turned into a smile of uncertainty. “Ye are speakin’ of the Wallaces’ farm, are ye no’?”
The flash of his dimple proved he knew exactly what she was referring to.
She kicked him in the knee. “You’re a fool if you think I need you.”
He caught her foot and held it. Boldly, he swept his fingers over her bare ankle and contradicted her with a lazy grin.
Her face flushed and he laughed and let her go before she fainted again.
“Who d’ye want to be, Charlie?” he asked growing serious again.
“No one special,” she answered softly.
He raised a skeptical brow upon studying her. Did she mean no one special to him, or to the world around her? “That will be a difficult endeavor, lass. Ye’ll always be noticed.”
“Such a silver tongue you possess, Patrick Campbell,” she said while he reached for a stool and set it before her. “Tell me, where did you learn to wield it so flawlessly?”
“Everywhere,” he told her as he sat, facing her. “The words are imbued in the wind at Camlochlin—”
“Camlochlin?”
He realized his error too late. If she already knew the name of the MacGregors of Skye’s homestead, then he’d just about admitted he was one of them. He waited an instant to see her reaction. When no fear came to her features, he decided to continue. “M’ home in the Highlands.”
Her eyes danced on him as she settled deeper into Robbie’s chair. “Tell me of it.”
He’d never spoken of Camlochlin with anyone who didn’t live there. Asking for a description made him ponder its grandeur and glorious history.
“’Twas built in the mists by a true chief, determined to keep his clan safe and hidden from the world.”
Mayhap, he could convince her in the telling that this clan wasn’t made up of savage killers bent on trouble. If she did find out who he was, mayhap she wouldn’t see him as a danger.
“He built a fortress of stone and resilience and brought the daughter of his enemy there to be his wife.”
Her eyes widened and shone with interest. “Did he take her against her will?”
“Nae,” Patrick assured her. “I’m told she almost reached the castle before he did, so eager was she to arrive there. She became a mother to many and a tutor to all. She taught a beast to be gallant and turned Highlanders into knights.”
“With dusty old ideals,” she teased gently.
He smiled. How could he not? She’d dragged him into the light again, made him look the careless, reckless rogue straight in the face.
He didn’t dislike who he saw. It was him—the man he was, the person he knew. He just didn’t know if he wanted to continue being that man. The idea of such change though, well, damn it, it scared the hell out of him.
“Everyone in Camlochlin was taught them. The ideals of honor were as deeply planted as love fer country or swordplay. Whether or no’ all her children practice them, they are impressed upon us all.”
At the sight of her curling her lips, he grinded his jaw to keep from cursing himself. She had the most damned delectable mouth. What the hell was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he there? Kissing her?
“You will have to prove that to me, Mr. Campbell.”
His smile warmed on her for a moment before he laughed and shook his head. “I know. I know I do.”
He didn’t shrink away from her challenge. She wasn’t going to be easy to win, and that made trying more exciting. That is, if he decided to try.
“You still have hay to bale.”
Nodding, he stood up. “I’ll get to it then.” He didn’t want to leave. The fever was obviously getting worse.
“Mr. Campbell?” she said, stopping him as he stepped around her chair. “Before you go, tell me a bit more of Camlochlin, where the wind is infused with virtuous poetry. Is it pleasing to the eye?”
He almost wished one of Camlochlin’s bards were present so that he could sing of its beauty. He could never do it, but his words would have to do. “It looks like God’s fury and splendor collided on earth. ’Tis like the crowning glory upon the world. ’Tis unforgettable once ’tis seen. That’s why so few have ever seen it.”
She stared up at him with a fanciful tilt to her smile and he never wanted to look away again. “Where is this soul-wrenching place?”
“Far into the clouds.”
“It doesn’t sound real.”
He felt the words bubbling to the surface. Before he thought about why he would utter them, they poured forth from his mouth. “’Tis. I can prove that to ye too, lass.”
Patrick left the cottage spilling quiet oaths before him. Did he just offer to bring her home? How could he have spoken such a thing when he had no intention of ever doing it? Bringing her home meant he was promising something to her—his devotion and his love.
What was wrong with that? a part of him asked. Charlie was different. Hell, she was so unlike any lass he’d ever known. She wound herself around him in strips of colored veils, some painted with compassion and wisdom, others in courage and confidence. She was delicacy draped in regal robes. Watching her with Robbie Wallace the night she supplied his rent was like being caught up in the radiance of a star—and in the light, he was revealed.
He felt neither pleased nor displeased with himself. He knew he could be a different kind of man if he was willing to work at it. He didn’t know if he was willing. And Charlie would make him work.
He was a selfish knave who thought only of his own happiness. Even now.
Damn it, that was hard to admit. He would have never done the like a few months ago, too caught up in the fulfillment of his desires to consider himself further. He’d known there was something different about him. He’d felt the change. The emptiness. But he hadn’t truly stopped to examine who he was until he met Charlie. And now that he had, he knew he wasn’t good enough for her. But could he be?
Why did she make him want to be? Another part of him argued as he reached the haystacks. Did he want to give up so much so soon? He’d just met the girl. What did he know of her, save that she had good aim and a kind heart? He’d help her mission as much as he could and then he’d be away from here with or without Duff, free of cares and duties, with no desire to change for anyone.
“Are you going to live here, Patrick?”
Torn from his thoughts, he looked down to find Nonie following him and smiled. Should he tell her what she wanted to hear, or the truth?
“I’ll stay until the bad dreams and the monsters in them go away.”
“You won’t leave?” she asked. Her large blue eyes stared up at him.
“No’ until ye let me.”
“You promise?”
“Aye, I promise.” He bent to her as if she held reign over him.
“Nonie,” her mother called, coming toward them. “Leave him to his work. What has your father told you about loitering around the pitchfork when work is being done?”
“To be away,” Nonie repeated somberly. She looked at Patrick one last time, returned his smile, and wandered off.
“She’s fond of you,” Mary told him, reaching him.
“As I am of her.”
“’Twill be difficult for her when you leave.”
Patrick dipped his gaze to his boots. He didn’t want to think about leaving Nonie, at least until her and her family were safe from Hendry Cunningham.
It didn’t bode well for him. He didn’t want to lose his heart to anyone, especially a lass. He didn’t want to live a predictable life or have a syrupy heart. If he didn’t leave soon, he might not ever want to. He should leave tonight. He lifted his gaze and looked over her shoulder at the cottage. The sooner he left, the easier it would be to forget Charlie.
“I canna stay—”
“She will likely be wed this time next year.”
“Who?” he asked, turning back to her.
“Charlie.”
Charlie would likely be wed this time next year? Aye, he realized, Mary was correct. Patrick knew firsthand how eager Allan Cunningham was to hand his daughter over in exchange for safety.
The thought of her with another man churned his guts. And she wouldn’t be happy about it either. Another man would try to tame her spirit. What a pity that would be.
“Last month,” Mary continued mercilessly, “her father offered her the Baron of Ardrossan when he passed through. I thank the Good Lord the baron didn’t find her to his liking. Of course, what man would when she drops a bowl of hot soup in his lap and then blames her poor strength on her illness?” Mary paused to giggle. “She confided in me that ’twas no accident and that she was in perfect health.”
Patrick found himself smiling. Clever lass, he thought, looking over Mary’s shoulder again. “Is she so determined to remain unwed then?” he asked before he could stop.
“For now,” Mary told him, bringing his gaze back to her. “But I suspect if the right man came along, her mind could be changed.”
“The right man,” he laughed without any trace of humor. Who was worthy of such a radiant prize? He shook his head and jabbed his fork into the hay. “A woman like Charlotte Cunningham deserves m’ grandmother’s Sir Lancelot. No’ me.”
Mary shrugged her slender shoulders and turned to leave him to his work. “I don’t know who Sir Lancelot is,” she called out, “but if he’s anything like Patrick, Protector of Dreams, then I think Nonie would disagree with you.”
Patrick carried his hay into the barn. He had protected Robbie today. He was helping Robbie with their work. He’d already decided to fight to earn some coin for the Wallaces’ rent next month. Mayhap, he wasn’t that terrible.
The rest of the day, baling hay and all, was quite pleasant.