Tempted by the Highland Warrior (15 page)

The cold anger clenched beneath his skin, rising for a fight.
Were it a younger man who’d spoken, he might have unleashed his temper, proving
who the real half-wit was. Instead, he took slow steps towards the man, in a
silent threat.

Iagar intervened, placing himself between them. ‘I know the
MacKinlochs,’ he said. ‘They’re loyal to our cause.’

Doubt and distrust marred the mood, causing dissent among the
men. Iagar reminded them, ‘We could use an archer.’ He sent a questioning look
towards Callum. ‘If you’re willing.’

There was risk involved in this fight, for he didn’t know the
men or where they were going. Yet neither could he remain in the castle,
watching Marguerite with her intended husband. If he didn’t occupy himself
somehow, the jealousy and madness would consume him.

He inclined his head in agreement.

Before Iagar could speak again, another man intervened, ‘We
don’t even know him.’ Staring hard, he added, ‘He might tell the Duc about the
raid.’

‘He can’t speak,’ Iagar responded. ‘There is nothing to
fear.’

Sileas’s eyes gleamed, a thin smile spreading over his face.
‘Then he couldn’t betray us if he wanted to.’

Callum made no effort to prove him wrong. Though he’d spoken a
few words to Marguerite, each one had been a struggle. He didn’t know what was
preventing him from speaking, but the morning he’d spent as her lover had
somehow slashed through the barrier of his voice. He was fighting for every
word, hoping that somehow he would regain enough of his voice to convince her to
leave with him. Being around her was changing him inside, healing the scars of
his imprisonment.

As the men continued discussing their plans to raid a garrison
a few miles to the south, he thought of all the nights he’d spent, wishing
someone would save him. He’d been a captive since the age of twelve and the
years of imprisonment had changed him. He didn’t know how to live like a normal
man, or how to carve a life for himself.

The thought dug into his conscience like a dull blade, scraping
the heart of his frustration. He needed a purpose, a way to provide for the
woman he wanted. And the only thing he knew how to do was wield a bow and fight
alongside his brothers. It might not be enough.

‘He’s got a horse, hasn’t he?’

The unexpected words broke through Callum’s musing, snapping
him back to attention. Before the others could voice their opinions, he shook
his head in refusal. No one was going to take his horse from him.

‘We’ll get there faster with horses, MacKinloch,’ Iagar
protested. ‘We need yours.’

But the stallion was his only way to return to Glen Arrin, his
homeland. He wasn’t about to let them use his horse and possibly lose it in a
raid. Callum unsheathed his dirk in a dark warning. He shook his head in
refusal.

Iagar raised his hands in false surrender. ‘It was only a
suggestion. We’ll leave it here, if that’s your wish.’ But the words held a note
of anger, echoed by the men who looked irritated at his refusal.

Callum lowered the dirk and returned it to his belt, ignoring
their grumbling. The horse was safer left behind in the stables than with these
men.

He hung back while the others disappeared into the darkness.
Iagar moved to walk alongside him. ‘I’m glad you’ve joined us, MacKinloch. We’ve
a greater chance of succeeding with more men.’

His fist clenched around the bow he’d slung over one shoulder.
The lines in Iagar’s face relaxed, and when they had gone far enough away from
view of the castle, they stopped to build a fire and light torches.

This raid was a reckless effort, but if they freed even a few
prisoners, it was worth it to join them. Callum cast a look back at the castle,
hoping he wasn’t making a mistake.

Chapter Eleven

I
t took them over an hour to reach the
garrison. Callum wondered how any of them knew where they were going, but the
older man Sileas guided them there until they reached the river, where they
extinguished their torches. The wooden fortress was small, with perhaps a dozen
guards. Barely more than an outpost, it was no threat to anyone.

Uneasiness crawled through Callum’s stomach, making him wonder
why these men had chosen such a small target. And whether there were any
prisoners there at all.

He’d stopped Iagar, pointing to his scarred wrists and then to
the fortress.

‘If there are any prisoners there, we’ll free them. I promise
you.’ Iagar gripped his shoulder and added, ‘Stay here. We’ll need you to guard
our backs.’

Callum slowed his pace, taking his position behind them.

‘Let none of the English soldiers escape,’ the older man
warned. ‘Otherwise, they’ll bring reinforcements.’

Callum gave a nod, but inwardly, he didn’t like this. He
doubted if there could be more than one or two prisoners, not in an outpost this
small. But he had a greater range by staying outside the fortress with his
weapon. He fitted an arrow to the bowstring while Iagar, Sileas and two other
men crawled on their stomachs toward the gates.

The shadows shielded his presence as he waited. After several
minutes passed, he heard the battle cries of the men as they charged forward
with dirks and spears. One of the guards shouted, only to be cut off in the
middle of a word.

It was part of any raid, he knew. Even so, it didn’t diminish
the sense of unrest building within him. He’d expected a fortress the size of
Cairnross, where they would infiltrate the walls and break the prisoners free,
as best they could.

Instead, this felt wrong.

He held an arrow fitted to the bowstring, watching for any sign
of prisoners being freed. When none came, he wondered what had gone awry and
decided he should go in to help.

Callum kept his arrow taut, ready to defend himself. His eyes
blurred against the brightness of the torches when he first entered the
fortress.

After his eyes adjusted, he stared in disbelief at the bodies
littering the ground. There were no prisoners here at all. Only English soldiers
who had been murdered.

Callum saw Iagar raise a dirk and fury rose up inside of him.
He opened his mouth, a roar rising in his throat for them to stop and lay down
their weapons. But it came out as nothing but a breath of air. His mind was
raging, the words trapped. He couldn’t voice a single command.

The slaughter sickened him. Aye, he’d been taken prisoner as a
child by men like these, growing up in chains. But not all of the soldiers
deserved to die. The fury within him transformed into revulsion.

Iagar and the others began looting the bodies and Callum
retreated into the darkness. These men were nothing but murderers and
thieves.

His hand gripped the bow in a fight to control his anger. If he
could have found his way back to the castle alone, he’d have gone
immediately.

‘MacKinloch,’ he heard Sileas call out, ‘aren’t you going to
join us?’ The man stood with his back against a wooden wall, while he held a
sword from one of the fallen men.

His answer was to release one of the black-feathered arrows,
embedding it in the wood behind Sileas’s head.

Sileas raised the sword, his temper blazing. ‘What was that
for, ye son of a cur?’

But Callum fitted another arrow to his bow, aiming directly at
the old man’s heart.

Because you deserve to die for what you’ve
done.

Iagar stepped beside him. ‘Put down the bow, MacKinloch.’

Callum spun and aimed the weapon at the man he’d believed was
an ally. He’d been wrong. They’d come here to loot and to kill, not to save
men’s lives.

Backing away slowly, he let them know that he wanted nothing to
do with them. Especially because, as Sileas had predicted, he could tell no one
what had happened here.

* * *

The following day, Marguerite found Callum swimming in
the loch, north of the forest. The sky held streaks of rose and lavender and she
sat upon a large stone, watching him. His body tore through the water in long
strokes, at a punishing pace. His shoulders flexed and she waited for him to
finish, hoping to share the gift she’d brought. Around her neck, she wore the
pendant he’d given her. She touched the cool glass, feeling suddenly nervous
around him.

The last time she’d been with Callum, he’d asked her to leave
everything behind to be together. She wanted to, but despite her attempts to
speak with the Earl of Penrith in private again, her father wouldn’t allow it.
Perhaps he’d sensed what she was trying to do. Before she could voice a protest,
the betrothal agreement had been finalised, signed and witnessed.

You’re weak-willed and cowardly
,
she berated herself.
You don’t deserve your freedom, if you
aren’t able to speak for yourself.

Worry rooted inside her that she couldn’t break free at all.
Yes, she could have refused to sign the document. But the Duc would demand to
know why and somehow the truth would come out. He would seek retribution against
the MacKinlochs if she admitted she’d become Callum’s lover. It was a dangerous
game she’d begun, one she feared was impossible to win.

When at last Callum ceased his swimming, he stood up in the
water. His dark eyes caught hers and she saw the trouble brewing within him. He
looked angry, like a man returning from battle.

Emerging from the water, he didn’t seem to care as he walked to
her unclothed, the water rolling down his skin in droplets. His black hair hung
past his shoulders, wet and pushed back from his face.

Like a sleek predator, he watched her. Silently reminding her
of the way he’d run his hands over her skin, awakening feelings she didn’t
understand. Seeing him in the morning light, she wanted to touch where the sun
gleamed over his muscles, illuminating flesh.

‘I—I brought you something,’ she murmured, averting her gaze
from his body. But as she bent to retrieve the pouch, his powerful legs were so
close she could reach out and touch him.

Her lungs constricted with nervousness. When she stood up, his
manhood had grown thick and heavy, aroused by the sight of her. Marguerite
shivered, remembering the heat of his body moving over hers.

Keeping her eyes averted, she held out the pouch. ‘It’s a quill
and a bit of parchment. I thought you might like to try writing upon it.’

‘Marguerite,’ he said. In his voice, she heard the unspoken
questions. He took the pouch and tossed it back on the hillside, dragging her
close. His arms closed around her, gripping her in a tight embrace. Against her
hips, she felt the hard length of his arousal and the answering rush of desire
within herself.

His mouth moved to her lips, taking her in a kiss that insisted
she belonged in his arms. He was ruthless, demanding a response that pushed away
all of her fears, reminding her of why she needed him. Why she had to sever the
betrothal and face her father’s wrath.

When his hands moved to the laces upon her gown, he stared at
her in an unspoken question.

‘I can’t,’ she whispered. Not now. She didn’t deserve affection
or pleasure, when she’d failed to fight the betrothal. The lies she’d told her
father and the earl were encircling her, strangling her hold upon honour.

Callum took her face between his hands, staring into her eyes.
She saw the dark possession and a hidden frustration within them. He touched his
forehead to hers. In his eyes, she saw the future she wanted, the man she
desired.

‘I will find a way to free myself,’ she vowed. ‘And when I
have, I will come back with you. I swear it.’

Her hands moved to thread through his dark hair, stroking the
back of his head. She touched him, crossing her arms around his neck, letting
her hands slide down his naked back.

His lips pressed a light kiss against her jawbone. It sent a
shiver through her, reminding her of the time when he’d kissed her in other
secret places.

As he got dressed, Marguerite couldn’t escape the thought that
something else was bothering him, but he had no words to tell her. There was
tension in the way he held himself and a sense of trouble.

She retrieved the pouch and offered it to him. ‘Do you want me
to teach you more words?’ Inside the pouch, she showed him her gift of parchment
and a quill, as well as a container of ink.

He eyed them, but did not accept the pouch. Darkness shadowed
his mood and she couldn’t guess whether or not she was the cause of it.

‘Would you rather I hadn’t come?’ she asked. ‘If you’ve no wish
to learn more writing, I won’t force it upon you.’ She set them down on the
ground, wondering if she’d misunderstood him.

He was fighting against himself, struggling for the words. His
mouth moved, but no other sounds came out. The frustration built up higher until
he seized a stone and threw it hard into the water, where it splashed and
sank.

‘Callum, tell me what it is.’

It was the wrong choice of words. He spun on her, his rage
filling him up. She realised that he’d been trying to speak. In his stance, she
felt him tremble with anger and frustration.

It hurt to see him like this and she tried to console him in an
embrace. ‘It’s all right.’ As soon as she touched him, she realised that pity
was a mistake. He didn’t want her sympathy. She raised up on her tiptoes and
brought her mouth to his, hoping the kiss would ease him.

Callum kissed her back, the dark heat of his mouth seeking
absolution. When his tongue threaded with hers, she clung hard, tasting his
anger, meeting it with her own guilt. There was a wildness to him, like a man
trying to consume her. She shuddered beneath the onslaught and heat, offering
herself in solace.

His hands moved to the ties of her gown and she knew if she
remained silent, he would take her again. He would lay her back upon the grass,
filling her up and giving her unspeakable pleasure.

Callum bared the nape of her neck and shoulder, causing shivers
with the warmth of his mouth. His hands came up to touch her breasts and her
nipples hardened against the silk. She struggled to maintain her composure, but
the sweet torment made her hesitate. More than anything, she wanted to be with
him again.

You don’t deserve it. Not until you’ve
broken free of the earl.

Though it hurt to push him away, Marguerite reached back and
caught his hands, drawing them down to his side. ‘Last night, I signed the
betrothal agreement.’

The look of betrayal on Callum’s face made her feel like she’d
turned away from him. ‘I’m going to talk with both of them today,’ she said. ‘I
promise you.’

But within his brown eyes, she saw the doubt. He didn’t believe
her.

* * *

There were no words Callum could say. He’d believed that
she would refuse the betrothal and free herself. But it didn’t seem that she had
the will within her to stand up to them.

He saw her step back, watching him. Though he tried to keep his
face expressionless, she saw through the surface to the frustration beneath.

‘I blame myself for being too afraid.’ Her voice was anguished
and she turned away from him. ‘But if I make a false move and reveal my
feelings, my father will hunt you down and kill you. I can’t risk that.’

Though he wanted to move forward and touch her shoulders, he
forced himself to remain in place. Each day here was another moment in
purgatory. Heaven lay just within his reach…but until she broke the ties, he
could do nothing.

‘You’re angry with me, I know.’ Still she didn’t turn around to
face him, keeping her gaze downcast.

‘Not…’
with you.

He stared at her hollowed shoulders, the broken posture.

‘I wish I could have done something to stop the betrothal from
happening,’ she admitted. ‘But I was powerless.’

Aye, he understood that feeling. Her words conjured up the
harsh memories of last night and the dead soldiers. Innocent men had been slain
and he’d done nothing to stop it from happening. He’d ignored the premonitions
he should have heeded. Instead he had believed Iagar’s false words.

It had resulted in murder. The bleakness crept over him once
again, strangling him with the wish that he could go back and change it.

‘You must know that I don’t truly want this marriage to
Penrith,’ Marguerite said, risking a glance back at him. ‘But no one hears what
I’m trying to say.’

He knew exactly what that felt like. From deep inside, he
summoned the words, tearing them free.

‘Fight, Marguerite.’

Fight for us. If you can’t tell the Duc
what you want, then there’s no hope.

But the rest was too difficult, too far beyond him. He took a
breath and tried again.

‘You…’

She waited to hear him speak, her blue eyes filled with regret.
In his mind, a thousand words sprang forth, words he wanted to say. Words she
needed to hear.

You are the only woman I’ve ever wanted.
You kept me alive when I wanted to die. Without you, I was less than a man.
But neither of us can continue this way.

He could see that she felt as trapped as he did.

‘I what?’ she asked, hoping for more.

But his mouth moved without sound, his throat refusing to
relinquish the words. He tried again and the inability to communicate made him
fight even harder.

In the end, he stared hard at her, unable to voice more than a
single word. ‘Choose.’

* * *

‘Monsieur le Duc, the messenger you sent to the English
garrison returned a moment ago. He claims there was an attack last night. No
survivors are left.’

‘They’re going to blame us for the massacre,’ the Duc said,
pacing across the floor. He sent a dark look toward Xavier, the captain of his
guards. ‘We’re the closest to the outpost.’