Tempted by the Highland Warrior (18 page)

‘As I told you before, I need an heir and a wife. The Duc has
offered a generous dowry for you, one that will help me rebuild my estates.’

‘Any other woman could do that for you.’

‘No.’

She let go of his hands, holding herself around the waist. ‘I
am sorry, but I cannot give Callum up. I belong with him.’

‘We will marry in a few days, and I will bring you back to
England,’ Lord Penrith said. ‘There you will be lady of my estates and govern
them in my absence. The rest of my household will see a husband and wife who are
good friends. But I will not share your bed.’

She paled. ‘Why? If you seek an heir, then—’

His face took on a derisive smile. ‘My tastes do not run toward
women.’

Understanding dawned upon her. It explained why he had not once
tried to kiss her or seek her affections. The earl wanted her friendship, but
nothing else.

‘You see, then, why I do not mind if you keep a lover, so long
as you are discreet. No one need know of it.’

She closed her eyes, admitting, ‘Callum would never agree to
it. His family and home are in Scotland.’ She took a breath and faced him.
‘There must be another way.’

The earl took her hand again. ‘Your father has made his wishes
clear and so have I. If you wed me, you can have all that you want, Marguerite.
Or if you refuse, your lover will face the accusation of murder.’

Bitterness slashed through her at the thought. She knew how
angry Callum would be if she wed the earl, but she could see no other way of
saving his life.

‘What does my father intend to do?’

‘After our marriage, he will send the Scot back to his clan. In
the meantime, he will hold him for questioning.’

She closed her eyes, distrust washing over her. ‘Will you send
word to the MacKinlochs in Glen Arrin? His brothers might be able to help.’

‘I can, yes.’

She heard the unspoken words,
If you go
through with our marriage.
Though she didn’t know if she could make
that promise, she was grateful for the earl’s assistance.

‘I need to see Callum,’ she pleaded. ‘I need to know that he
hasn’t been harmed.’

The earl drew closer, his hand moving to her nape. ‘I can
arrange it.’ The look in his eyes haunted her and she didn’t understand it. ‘You
could be with him this very night, if you so desire.’

A shiver washed over her as his thumb edged her jaw.

‘Remember, Marguerite. I need a child from you.’

* * *

Dark bloodstains marred the stones and chains rested
upon the floor. Callum reached for one of the manacles and his lungs tightened.
Though the soldiers had not chained him, he was still a prisoner. He paced
across the small space, well aware of the man guarding him.

The Duc hadn’t come. Nor had anyone questioned him. He’d let
Callum remain in the darkness, knowing that the waiting would only bring him
closer to the madness captivity could bring.

Every hour, every moment that passed in darkness, made him lose
track of the days and nights. There were no other prisoners here and the
isolation brought him back to the darker times he’d endured.

Callum retreated to the far wall, sitting down upon the dirt
floor. How many times had he felt the lash upon his shoulders, the taunts of the
soldiers? He’d been broken apart so often, it was a wonder he was still
standing.

He closed his eyes, the past welling up inside him. The air
within the space was cool and musty, like the night he’d nearly died. They’d
separated him from Bram and brought him directly to Lord Cairnross.

Callum clenched the iron manacle, the weight heavy within his
palms. That night, they’d stripped him of his tunic, using rope to bind him to a
post. He’d stood with his back to Cairnross and the men laid the sharp blade of
a sword against his throat.

‘You are so young, boy,’ Cairnross had
said. ‘Barely eight and ten, aren’t you? You’ve grown up in chains. And your
brother has caused us more trouble. Tonight it ends.’

His teeth clamped together as he stared
down at the dirt.
Don’t speak
, he warned
himself. But when the lash struck him, he bit hard until he tasted blood in
his mouth.

‘Your brother will pay for his mistakes
with your life,’ Cairnross said. ‘The moment you cry out in pain, my men
will slit your throat. Or you’ll be beaten to death. The choice is
yours.’

Horror filled him at Cairnross’s
declaration. Callum fought to free himself from the post, but the ropes
abraded his wrists so tightly his skin burned. The lash struck, again and
again, and he bit his lip so hard, the pain mirrored that of his back. The
sword blade rested between his throat and the post, and fear consumed
him.

He didn’t want to die. He’d never had the
chance to live, or to escape the chains that had bound him in darkness. His
body trembled beneath the onslaught of the lash, his knees
weakening.

‘Cry out, damn you!’ Cairnross
shouted.

He refused to give the man the
satisfaction. Deep within his mind, Callum found a place of silence. A place
of strength where no one could touch him. Aye, he might die this night.
Likely would. But he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of making him
scream. He locked away the sounds, his knees folding. He expected the sword
to bite into his throat, but it didn’t. The soldier kept it pressed to his
throat, but didn’t break the skin.

As the minutes passed into an hour, the
blows slowed down. From deep inside, he fought against the punishing lash,
reaching for the place of peace within himself, a place where there was no
pain.

And still he made no sound.

The soldier holding the blade began
murmuring a prayer in Latin. Callum didn’t understand the words, but he
recognised the offering of mercy.

Would this be the moment when the sword
ended his life? No longer could he stand up. His body slumped against the
ropes, his back raw and bleeding. Cairnross had already left, granting him a
small victory, for Callum hadn’t voiced a single sound.

‘Leave him,’ the soldier holding the sword
ordered. ‘He’ll be dead, soon enough.’

Instead, Bram had found him. His brother had cradled his broken
body, openly weeping as he’d tended Callum’s wounds. He’d kept vigil and prayed
over the next few nights when a fever had struck hard, leaving him to fight for
his life.

But he’d survived it, at the cost of his voice.

* * *

The soft tread of footsteps drew him out of the vision.
Marguerite came down the stairs, a determined look on her face.

He was hardly aware of her orders to the guards or why she was
here now. The walls seemed to close in on him, heightening his discomfort. She’d
been right—he shouldn’t have returned. The intense need for freedom was rising
higher until it couldn’t be denied, but they wouldn’t let him go.

‘I tried to come sooner,’ she whispered. ‘I swear to you, I
did.’

He didn’t ask how, but when her arms came around him, he closed
his eyes and breathed in her scent. When she touched his back, he shuddered at
the phantom pain from his memory.

‘Are you all right? Did anyone harm you?’

‘No,’ he managed. He drew her into his lap, his back pressed
against the wall. With her in his arms, she pushed away the shadows, bringing
him back to the present.

‘You’re trembling,’ she whispered. ‘Let me warm you.’ Her arms
came around his neck, her body nestled as close as she could.

That she’d come this night, risking everything for him, was
more than anyone had ever done.

You’re going to
‘…marry him, aren’t
you?’ The words were harsh in his throat, and he couldn’t quite voice the full
sentence.

‘You’re speaking,’ she breathed, and he heard the surprise in
her voice. ‘I’ve never heard you say so many words before.’ She leaned in and
kissed his mouth softly.

Only because of her. Marguerite had somehow reached inside him,
unlocking the words. He didn’t question how or why, but he repeated the
question. ‘Are you…’
going to wed him
?

She seemed to sense what he was trying to say. ‘I’ll do
whatever I must to save your life.’

Frustration boiled within him, that she would sacrifice
herself. ‘Don’t,’ he commanded against her mouth. He kissed her hard, taking her
face within his hands. ‘You’re mine, Marguerite. Always were.’

‘If I refuse, my father will hurt you,’ she whispered. ‘I
couldn’t live with myself if I caused that.’ Her hands moved down to his back
and Callum cast a look at the door.

‘Do they…know…?’ The last few words caught, and he forced
himself to slow down. One word at a time.

‘…know you’re…here?’ he repeated. He could imagine the Duc’s
reaction if he learned Marguerite was with him at this moment.

She shook her head. ‘It’s the middle of the night, and nearly
everyone is asleep. Lord Penrith…’ a blush coloured her cheeks at the mention of
the earl ‘…he—he gave me the chance to say farewell to you.’

Farewell? As if she’d already made her decision to stay with
him? His anger intensified toward the earl, and not for a moment did he trust
that Penrith would want Marguerite left alone with a prisoner.

Callum tamped down the resentment and forced himself to
respond. ‘Did he?’

She reached out to his face and changed the course of their
conversation. ‘Who were the other men who killed the English soldiers that
night?’

Though he named the others, he had little interest in what
happened to them. It was the Duc’s task to seek justice. Even so, Marguerite
seemed to commit the names to memory. ‘I will tell my father.’

It would do no good at all. He took a breath and spoke. ‘…won’t
believe you. My word…against theirs.’

Callum touched her cheek, watching as she leaned in to his
palm. Regardless of whether or not the true guilty men were captured, he didn’t
doubt that the Duc would find some way of punishing him for the time he’d stolen
with Marguerite.

He didn’t care. His life had been worthless enough, but she had
been a precious gift. One he’d never deserved.

Around her throat, Marguerite toyed with the glass pendant he’d
given her. ‘I’ll try to get you out. I need to bribe more of the guards.’

It was a fruitless effort and he knew it. The only way he’d be
allowed to leave was if the Duc agreed to it. For now, he wanted this moment
with her.

‘Stay,’ he murmured against her throat. His mouth pressed
against the pulse that thrummed beneath her skin. ‘As long…as you can.’

She shifted upon his lap, straddling him. He hardened
instantly, remembering how he’d taken her that day on the sand. In the dim
torchlight, her eyes were luminous, her body arousing him.

‘Do you…remember?’ he murmured.

‘I remember when you were inside me.’ Her face transformed,
revealing her own needs. ‘It took my breath away.’

She moved against him and he drew his hands beneath her skirts,
touching her bare legs. Her mouth opened in shock as his hands drifted up her
calves, to the backs of her knees. A shiver broke over her and she drew her
palms beneath his tunic.

‘You’re the only man I want,’ she confessed, touching his
chest. ‘You’re the man I want to wake up with in the morning. Not someone
else.’

‘Then don’t,’ he demanded. His hand moved higher, touching the
curve of her hip, slipping between her thighs.
He’ll never
give you the same kind of pleasure I will.

Her eyes closed, a gasp escaping her mouth as he drew his
knuckles against her soft mound. She bit her lip, and he heard the clenched moan
within her throat.

‘Don’t speak, Marguerite,’ he whispered against her skin.
‘Not…a sound.’

* * *

Against his hand, she was wet, wanting him so badly. He
tormented her with the lightest touch, shifting his fingers intimately against
her. Her breasts ached for his touch and she reached up, struggling to loosen
the cote she wore. It was dangerous, being with him here, while the rest of the
castle slept. At any moment, someone could intrude upon them.

There was no time for slow, gentle lovemaking. No, this was a
desperate need, to take him into her body and savour the last time together. If
the earl ever chose to share her bed, she would hold this memory in her
heart.

Callum’s hands moved out from beneath her gown to touch her
shoulders. Marguerite sensed his hesitation and the fear that they would be
caught together.

‘Please,’ she whispered, moving her hands down to his trews.
Against her palm, she felt his heavy arousal and his breath inhaled sharply.

Silently, she touched him, exploring him through the rough
wool. ‘Be with me now,’ she begged.

His answer was to lower the gown, drawing it down one shoulder.
Her arms were trapped in the tight sleeves as he bared her breasts. Leaning
down, he teased her nipple with his tongue. Tasting her, awakening the bloom of
dark pleasure that he offered.

Against her hand, she felt his erection straining, growing
harder. As he suckled her, she curled her fingers around him, rubbing against
his shaft. He helped to free himself until she could feel the heat of his length
against her wetness.

‘No sound,’ he whispered again, guiding her hips up. His
thickness stretched at her entrance, but he entered her easily, as if he were
made to be joined with her.

Her arms were pinned at her sides, and he lifted her a fraction
higher, letting her slide upon him as his mouth kissed her bare skin.

Marguerite fought to keep from making noise as he started to
thrust with a gentle rhythm, now using his mouth to encircle her breasts, in a
nibbling warmth that he brought up to her throat and down her shoulder. His
hands lifted her bottom and he was so hard that she ached as he sheathed himself
within her. The torment of being unable to speak grew more intense, until he
withdrew from her body, standing up.