Charlie didn’t let herself think about all the reasons it was wrong to do what she was doing. The noble knight had given his wife the freedom to choose. Just as Patrick had done for her. That reason alone was enough to make it right.
She would give him a chaste kiss on the mouth and then gain her horse. Just a peck. She closed her eyes when her lips touched his. A…peck…
He brought his palms to her face and cupped her tenderly.
She went soft, falling closer, pressing deeper against his full lips.
Pulling her closer still, he caressed her face then broke their kiss to stare deep in her eyes. “What is this power ye have over me, lass?” He didn’t wait for an answer but dipped his mouth to hers again.
He tasted like sweet ale, his tongue sweeping into her like a hot brand. His arms came around the small of her back and drew her in tight against his hard curves and planes. She felt lost in his embrace, abandoned to his power. She’d wanted this, had waited all day for it since the henhouse. His lips wreaked havoc on her, molding her to him in an intimate dance that played across her tongue. His hands stretched over her back, learning and relishing the shape of her until she felt consumed in flames.
But she wasn’t ready to relinquish all control.
With a slow smile that made her own insides burn with the pleasure of teasing him, she took his full lower lip between her teeth.
His muscles grew more taught against her. She gasped at the movement of his stirring desire between them. His kiss deepened pulling from her unbidden thoughts of tearing at his clothes, of…
“Charlie?”
At the sound of Duff’s rigid voice, Charlie leaped away from Patrick and took a moment to plant her feet firmly in the grass before she faced her brother.
“What the hell is going on?” Duff asked, setting his cool silver gaze on Patrick and dragging his sword from its scabbard. “Campbell, you had better start talking.”
“Duff!” Charlie leaped between the two men. “Put away your sword! He hasn’t done anything wrong!”
Her brother’s eyes widened with disbelief. “If our father had seen this instead of me, Campbell would be your husband by morning.”
“But Father didn’t see. You did.” She wasn’t sure what he would do. She knew Hendry would tell had it been him who caught them. She knew Elsie would not. She suspected, in times like now, when she challenged her brother without losing her temper, that he liked who she’d become. “I don’t wish to be forced to marry so I ask you not to speak of this. It will not happen again.”
Duff offered her a doubtful look but then nodded, giving in to her. His eyes settled on Patrick next. “Nay, it will not. Campbell, I’ll give my father your apologies for not thanking him for his hospitality and leaving in the night.”
“I wouldna hear of it, Duff.” Patrick’s practiced smile shone forth, charming at least Charlie’s hose off—if she’d been wearing them. “I may look like a man who can fight off a bear, but I’m a Campbell, and Campbells are well mannered. I’ll ride back and see yer father m’self.”
“Verra well,” her brother allowed, “but you would do well to remember that I am not that bear.”
Patrick’s smile remained. “Thank ye fer the warnin’.”
All right, Charlie had had enough of this foolishness. She’d put an end to it now. “Duff, why are you out here looking for me? Didn’t Hendry tell you and Father our arrangement?”
“He did,” Duff told her as they began walking their horses back. “Which is why ’tis a good thing I found you before anyone else did.”
“Aye,” Charlie agreed, her eyes finding Patrick’s as he led his horse behind Duff. “A good thing.”
A good thing that Duff’s presence had interrupted their kiss else God only knew what she might have done next. Patrick tempted her to abandon her virtue, her fate, and her future, to him. He was dangerous to Elsie’s well-being because Charlie’s thoughts were too filled with him.
She tugged her horse forward.
As much as she enjoyed her day with Patrick, save for fainting at his feet, she should have returned to Cunningham House with Hendry.
Perhaps, giving her the freedom to make her own choices was not the best decision. She’d still be in full control of her emotions if she’d gone home.
No. She didn’t care what consequences came from her decisions. She was happy she’d made them. She loved being in control of her own life. Safety was precarious since Cameron Fergusson had accused her father of killing Kendrick when she was a young gel. She’d lost her mother at the hands of a madman who had lost his youngest son. After that day, she understood what fear and hatred could make a man capable of doing.
She didn’t need another man in her life. They didn’t understand her. They smiled at her with desire shining their eyes, but none of them could ever tame her. Not anymore. And they wanted to.
But…She glanced at Patrick again, walking beside her now. He didn’t seem interested in taming her. He laughed at her opinions of him. He didn’t appear to find fault in her manner of dress, and he not only offered her choices that defied her brothers and her father, but he encouraged her to make them.
When he turned to have a look at her, perhaps sensing her gaze, she smiled at him and then, just as quickly, scowled at her brother when he spoke her name with a sharp snap.
“Gain your horse and return home,” he commanded, turning fully to face her. “I know the short journey alone doesn’t frighten you, so be on your way. I wish to have words with Mr. Campbell.”
“Duff, I—”
“I will not argue with you on this, Charlotte,” he said, his gray eyes hard as twin swords on her. “Go home.”
“Lass, if ye’re worried aboot me…”
She turned to set the frosty gaze she’d offered her brother on Patrick. Did the man truly think everything had to do with him?
Ignoring her incredulous stare, his mouth curled in the subtlest of smiles. “…dinna be.”
Should she be? She looked at Duff again and bit her lip. What would he do to Patrick when she left? Would he turn up gone in the morning like Kendrick had? Had she been so infuriated over being dismissed that she didn’t recall what a threat her brothers were to someone she loved?
Did she love Patrick Campbell? She lifted her hand to her pounding heart and tried to swallow. It was difficult.
She felt ill. Over all of it.
“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” she told Patrick though her eyes remained on her brother.
“Charlie,” Duff said, all traces of anger gone from his voice, “it would seem that you also don’t know.”
She shook her head, barely hearing him. Nay, Duff wouldn’t kill him. Patrick wasn’t a Fergusson. He belonged to a powerful clan that extended over half of Scotland and England alike. Her father wanted a union with the Campbells. Was Duff going to demand Patrick marry her because they’d shared a kiss and a smile?
“If you want to prove I’m wrong, don’t demand a marriage of me, and let me stay.”
“I will do one and not the other,” her brother allowed. “Goodnight, Charlie.”
Och, but she wanted to kick him. Still, she wouldn’t be forced to wed. Although…She bit her tongue and nodded.
“Goodnight.” She leaped into her saddle and rode off before she said anything that would change Duff’s mind.
Besides, she had dozens of other things to think about, like being in Pinmore before midnight.
And the way Patrick’s hard body felt against hers.
“You told Hendry that you were considering Charlie as a wife,” Duff said eyeing him with a glint of menace in his dubious gaze when they were alone.
Patrick sighed. Was Duff going to try to force him to marry Charlie? He hoped not. He didn’t want to beat the senses back into his cousin.
“Yer sister didna want to return home with Hendry, so I told him what he wanted to hear.”
Duff chuckled moving into the moonlight. “An art you have no doubt perfected.”
His cousin was perceptive, Patrick noted—with a bit of a sting. Was that who he truly was? A man with no values or ideals? A man who used a deceptive tongue to gain him favor among the people? It was nothing to boast about, so he didn’t.
“The only art I’ve perfected is with m’ fists.” He punched the air ahead of him and then turned to smile at his cousin.
“Then you don’t want her as a wife?”
Patrick knew that if he wanted to stay at Cunningham House, at least for a little while longer, he shouldn’t make Duff his enemy. Nor did he want to fight with his cousin. He wanted to get to know Will MacGregor’s son. Was Duff anything like his father?
“I dinna know what I want,” Patrick answered. It wasn’t untrue.
“You kissed her. Do you mean to tell me that you won’t do so again?”
“That’s what I mean, aye,” he agreed. “But tell me, if yer faither wants her married, how could any interested man discover if she would be a suitable wife if he canna spend time with her?”
Duff’s gaze was all the more menacing by the glint of moonlight shooting across his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re interested?”
It wasn’t the path Patrick had wanted the conversation to take, but then, he had to remember this wasn’t Hendry. Charlie’s eldest brother wasn’t a fool so easily swayed. He also wasn’t as concerned with what his father wanted.
“I’m curious,” Patrick admitted. “Aye, m’ interest in her is piqued.” It wasn’t an untruth either, but Patrick would go no further than that. There wasn’t any further to go, was there? He wasn’t ready to give up his rakish way of life for her. He should leave. Hell, he should have left the instant his wrists were unbound.
But then he wouldn’t have known the taste of her lips. He missed it already and longed to kiss her again. Only one thing stood in his way. Duff.
Good thing Patrick had a knack for winning favor even with his enemies. Good thing also that Duff was Patrick’s cousin or what he was about to say would have tasted bitter.
“I’d like to remain here fer a few more days and get to know her a bit more, if ye’ll allow it.”
Duff looked at him. “Shouldn’t you be asking this to my father and not me?”
“But we know what yer faither’s answer would be,” Patrick told him, glancing back when he began walking toward the house. If they weren’t going to fight, there was no reason to stand here. “I’m a Campbell,” he told him, not ready yet to tell him his true name and have Charlie denied him for it by her father. “He’d toss Charlie into m’ arms while he hurried to fetch the priest. But ye care more aboot her than that. So ’tis yer approval I seek.”
Silence again while Duff considered him. Patrick had to grin turning away from him. He loved confounding others’ opinions about him, winning them over to his side. If that was a flaw, he didn’t give a damn.
“I do care for her,” Duff confessed and began walking the trek home. “She doesn’t want a husband.”
“Aye, she and I spoke of that.”
Duff glanced at him. “What else did you speak with her about?”
“Mostly Hendry. She had harsh words fer him.”
“And me?”
What did Duff care what his sister had to say about him? Few sisters had anything favorable to say. Why did Duff watch over her so carefully? Was he a protective brother or was there something more?
“Do ye love her?” He didn’t know why he asked. His mouth had a way of getting the best of him.
“Of course I love her, you fool. She’s my sister!”
“No’ by blood.”
Patrick barely saw him coming and when he did, it was too late to do anything but stay on his feet.
“She is my sister.” Duff shook his hand that had just punched Patrick in the jaw. “If you ever suggest anything other than that again, I’ll remove your head. Understand?”
Patrick felt his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken, and then nodded. He let the blow go unanswered. He deserved it, after all, asking such an insulting question. But he didn’t get hit in the face often and he intended on keeping it that way. If Duff ever tried it again, Patrick would lay him to the ground. Kin or not.
“M’ apologies,” he offered.
Duff nodded, then looked away. They walked their horses back in silence for a little while before Duff spoke, his voice lower, softer. “Our lives grew more difficult after the death of our mother. The duty of protecting my sisters fell to me, and I have never failed in it. I won’t begin now. I don’t care who you are.” He stopped and looked toward Cunningham House in the distance. “I have some questions to put to you, but presently I have business in a tavern not too far from here. Join me and we can discuss things over a tankard of whisky.”