Charlie stepped out of the house and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. She knew Patrick stood alone by the henhouse, for she had seen him in the moonlight from her window. What was he doing out here alone, staring up at the night sky? Was he thinking about her? About going home to Camlochlin?
Brushing away a lock of hair that had slipped free of her snood, she set her eyes on him and started off in his direction.
Coming closer, she realized that he wasn’t facing her. She stopped moving when she heard her brother’s voice on the other side of him, concealed by Patrick’s broad shoulders.
“You expect me to remember where I left his body five years ago?”
“Aye,” Patrick growled at him, “and ye’re goin’ to bring me to him.”
Charlie’s heart pounded so hard she was sure they heard it. They were speaking of Kendrick. Oh, why had Duff told Patrick? Why on earth did Patrick want his body? Was he truly talking about digging Kendrick up? Why? What could he possibly want with a dead boy’s bones? Dear God, was she truly thinking about Kendrick’s bones? She felt ill, and for a moment, slightly light-headed. Her eyes stung behind her lids. She’d somehow always kept herself from imagining her beloved’s still body. She’d always preferred to remember his bright, wide smile and sapphire-blue eyes shining in the sunlight, his messy curls alive with all the colors of autumn.
“Be ready to leave in the morn.” Patrick’s crisp voice broke through her thoughts.
“We won’t find him!” Hendry argued weakly.
“We better.”
When Patrick turned to leave him, Charlie didn’t run for cover but stepped into the moonlight. She wanted answers and she knew she wouldn’t get them if she didn’t catch them red-handed.
Patrick saw her first and went still.
She wanted to run to him, or never move again. Perched at the edge of a cliff, she looked out at an unfamiliar view. Did she want to risk it all and leap off into his open arms and carefree grins? She’d almost convinced herself, up until a few moments ago, that winning his heart might be possible, even worth the risk.
“Have ye been here long, lass?” he asked, looking at her in the soft moonlight as if she were the only one here with him.
“Long enough,” she told him softly. Long enough to step back from the edge.
“Then you heard this outlandish notion of his!” Hendry propelled himself at her. “He wants me to find Kendrick!”
She hated to admit it but Hendry was right. It was mad. She nodded, her gaze on Patrick was hard. “Why?”
Patrick finally acknowledged Hendry with a murderous glare and then returned his attention to her. “May we speak alone?”
“Tell him to cease this quest before he gets us all killed,” Hendry muttered as he passed her and headed back for the house.
Alone, she tilted her head to Patrick and waited. What could he possibly want with Kendrick’s body? What kind of wretchedness did he possess? She wanted to ask him. She had to know. “Please explain what your intentions are with Kendrick’s body.”
She could barely breathe. She didn’t want him to be like the rest, with secret, sometimes nefarious motives. She wanted the man she’d seen at Nonie’s and Elsie’s bedside. The one who might be even better than Kendrick.
“He was verra dear to me, Patrick,” she continued, trying to keep the swell of emotions this night had caused from erupting. “What could you possibly want with what remains of him? Why would you disturb his rest?”
Was it a play of the moonlight on his eyes that made them shimmer—or something else?
“He isna at rest, lass.”
“What?” Now her eyes filled with tears. “Why would you say that? I know what my brothers did to him, but surely the Lord—”
He nodded in agreement but held up his hand to stop her. “He needs to be returned to his father.”
She closed her mouth. His father? That was why Patrick wanted him? To return him to his father? She wanted to find relief in his explanation, but did he not understand who Kendrick’s father was?
“You intend to carry the body of Cameron Fergusson’s youngest son to his door?”
“Aye, lass.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek. God help her, who was he beneath his wicked smiles and gallantry that came so naturally he didn’t realize he possessed it?
“You’re correct,” she admitted. “He should be returned to his father. He should never have been taken. I fear…I fear though that when his father lays eyes on him, his hatred toward us will be rekindled. This time, he may not leave without killing all of us.”
“He willna return here.”
When had he come closer? His hand reached for hers. His fingers played across her knuckles like a sigh.
“How do you know?” she asked, looking up into his eyes, her fingers involuntarily closing around his.
“Charlie,” he said, his voice breaking on a silken breath. “I…I know that any man who had his son returned would be thankful, no’ vengeful. I will tell him yer kin helped me in m’ endeavor. Cameron Fergusson willna return.”
He sounded so certain. Did she dare trust him? It wasn’t just her life in jeopardy but Elsie’s, as well. If the Fergussons returned would Patrick help her family fight them? Did it matter? Kendrick should be returned to his family. She certainly wouldn’t stand in the way of that.
“M’ hope is to put an end to this feud.” His breath above her head was warm and close.
“Why?” she asked tilting her head. “Why do you concern yourself with it?”
His mouth slanted into a tender smile she wanted to kiss. “D’ye think so little of me then that ye dinna believe I would care about such things?”
No! No, she didn’t think little of him at all. She hadn’t understood why he wanted Kendrick, but now it made sense. He was that caring, concerned man she had seen with Nonie and Elsie. He was different from the others. After all he had already done, now he wanted to return her Kendrick to his rightful resting place and end the feud! Surely God had sent Patrick Campbell to her. She was glad she hadn’t killed him that day at the river. She didn’t know if she could love him the way she loved Kendrick. She was afraid she could love him even more. But she wanted time to find out. He made her want a family, a husband, a different life than the one she’d been planning for years. She didn’t want him to go, but she wouldn’t beg him to stay. Perhaps, with him, there was a better way to get what she wanted.
“You’re not so terrible, Mr. Campbell,” she said pushing up on the tips of her toes. She wanted to kiss him. To be devoured by a hunger in him only she could satisfy, but how different would she be from the others before her if she gave in to him so easily? She pressed her lips to his cheek instead. “Goodnight.” Smiling, she stepped away.
When he snatched her wrist and pulled her back, she nearly wilted in his arms. But she wasn’t like other lasses, and if she wanted him she had to stop behaving like them.
She watched his mouth descending on her, felt his breath, warm and shallow on her lips. She didn’t want to fight it. She wanted to kiss him like this for the next fifty years, not for only a few moments, like Bethany. If his heart could be won, she would win it.
She let his mouth cover hers, and let her body tremble against him for just a moment before she was completely swept away, and then she severed their contact and slapped the same cheek she’d kissed.
“If you’re leaving,” she told him while he rubbed his face, “or if you’re planning on marrying another before you take me and Elsie to Camlochlin, there can be no more kissing between us.”
“Are ye blackmailin’ me then?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting in an admiring grin.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She smiled and turned for home. “I’m just looking out for myself. You’re not going to be around much longer.”
He didn’t agree or dispute her claim. He remained silent while he picked up his steps and walked with her—long enough to make her worry a little.
“Ye’re clever,” he finally said, angling his head to aim a grin at her that sapped the strength from her knees.
She realized at that moment that one of her favorite things to do was walking with him. From that first night he’d followed her to Robbie Wallace’s, and all the strolls since then. He stirred her insides and he made her laugh. She liked him. That’s how he was winning her, whether he was trying to or not.
“But I’m no’ goin’ anywhere just yet, lass. And dinna ferget ye agreed on an outin’ tomorrow.”
“But what of Kendrick?” she asked him. Oh, but it felt so odd to speak of him to Patrick—to anyone. She hadn’t done so in five years. “You told Hendry to be ready in the morn.”
“Aye.” His humor faltered in his voice. “I did.”
“I had hoped to spend the day with you.” She looped her arm through his and snuggled just a bit closer. She liked the height of him, the breadth of him beside her. “But I will live through the day without you.”
He chuckled above her but then grew serious again. “’Twill be more like three or four days dependin’ on how hard we ride the horses. Kendrick is in Dumfries.”
She nodded her head, remembering her brothers being away about that long when the boy had gone missing. Four days might be a bit more difficult.
“I’ll leave fer Dumfries tomorrow night,” he announced. “Nothin’ will change in a day.”
She stopped and turned to him. “You would change your plan on my account?”
“M’ plan?” he asked, his tone, somewhere between startled and somber. “M’ plan hasna changed. The children should have a day away from their chores and I will need yer help with them.”
He could take them to the river any time. No, Charlie thought, working to conceal her smile, this quick turnaround had to do with her. He probably didn’t like what was happening to him where she was concerned. And she hoped something was indeed happening. He kissed her with meaning and looked at her with desire that was deeper than the purely physical. He liked her and he wanted to spend the day with her, as well. If he didn’t want to admit it—well, she’d just make him.
“If that’s all that bothers you,” she said, “I will ask Duff to take your place. I’m sure the children won’t mind with all the excitement. He took tender care of Elsie. You’ve nothing to worry about. Go bring Kendrick home.”
“As ideal as that sounds,” he countered with feigned regret. “Duff needs to come to Dumfries—in case Hendry has forgotten which way to go.”
Charlie abandoned trying to conceal her smile and aimed it at him. She’d expected him to fight—even to the death as she’d told him. If his reasons for wanting her with him tomorrow were of a more personal nature rather than needing her help with the children, he wasn’t going to admit it easily. His mind and his tongue were quick like his fists. He’d won. Tonight.
“Verra well then, Patrick.” She picked up her steps and leaned in close again. “A battle to the end it shall be.”