Tempted by the Highland Warrior (19 page)

She was about to protest, when suddenly he lifted her,
balancing her back against the wall. Her skirts hung down, but he bunched them
at her waist, holding her tight as he eased back inside. She was feverishly hot,
drowning with need for him.

Though his voice was rough and broken, he told her of the night
he’d lost his voice, and the horror of the sword against his throat. Her arms
tightened around him as he thrust inside, telling her of how he’d almost
died.

Tears welled up, but she let him release all the words, all the
horrors.

‘I survived,’ he said, still inside her as he lowered her to
stand. He guided her hip around his, and drew his fingers back between her legs.
‘But you gave…a reason to fight. Reason to live.’

He kissed away her tears as his hands stroked and caressed her.
With his body still sheathed within her, she felt as if she were being touched
by both his hands and his manhood. The sensations were magnified and she guided
his hands where she wanted them. His eyes burned into hers as he touched her
until she was trembling. She moved against him, feeling him penetrate as his
hands urged her closer to the edge.

‘I love you,’ she told him, locking her gaze with his.

The words transformed him and he stilled, their bodies joined
together. His voice was hoarse, but every word was clear. ‘Love
you…Marguerite.’

Her heart warmed to know it and his hands moved in a caress
while he entered her tenderly. He continued the deep penetration until the
rhythmic caresses of his hands sent her past the brink. She bit back a scream;
as she came apart, his mouth closed over her breast in a hot, wet suction.

‘Love you,’ he repeated. Then his movement changed from gentle
into a man starving for her. He quickened his pace, thrusting against her so
hard that she came again, half-crying at the intensity of pleasure.

No longer did she care where they were or that they might be
caught. She wanted him to feel the same release that she’d found and she met
him, her hips pushing in counterpoint to his. Gripping his hair, she wrapped her
legs around his waist and he backed her against the wall again, his body moving
in swift strokes. She saw the exertion on his face, welcomed the slick
penetration of his manhood inside her, and he kept up the harsh pace.

‘Don’t…wed him, Marguerite,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll…find a way for
us. I swear.’

But as he let out a groan and spilled his essence within her,
she could only hold him. Tears filled up her eyes, for there seemed no possible
means of being with this man.

And it broke her heart.

Chapter Thirteen

S
he left him an hour later. The darkness
enveloped him, leaving nothing but a memory. Her scent was upon him and Callum
closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

Today. He was going to speak with the Duc and make his way out
of the prison. He didn’t doubt that Marguerite’s father would leave him down
here to rot, if he could.

The sound of the guards returning interrupted his plans. A
man’s voice broke through the silence and a chained figure fell upon the ground,
only a few feet away. In the darkness, it was hard to tell who it was, but
Callum spied the tell-tale marks of a whiplash.

‘That you, MacKinloch?’ Sileas demanded. The older man’s hands
were chained together, but he managed to come closer.

Callum said nothing, letting the man believe that he still
lacked the ability to speak. The older man slumped against the wall beside him,
his head resting between his knees. ‘Hope ye said a prayer last night. For
today’s the day we die.’

He stared at Sileas, waiting for the man to continue.

‘I gave them names. Told them you were with us.’ A grimace
twisted his mouth. ‘We’ll be hanged for it.’

He didn’t doubt that the Duc would hold him accountable,
regardless that he’d done nothing wrong. If for no other reason than that he’d
dared to love Marguerite.

Through the next hour, he barely heard another word the old man
said, for his mind was turning over ways to escape. At this moment, his hands
were unbound and only the guards stood between him and freedom. He had to seize
the one chance he had.

Within the stone walls, there were no weapons. No stones, no
blades—nothing at all. Stealth and surprise were the only advantages.

The old man began mumbling prayers again and it was clear he’d
already given up. Callum stood, moving towards the stairs and out of Sileas’s
earshot. At the top, the two guards blocked his way.

‘I want…to speak with the Duc,’ he demanded, frustrated with
himself when his voice was still hoarse and the words stalled when he spoke.

The first guard seemed startled to realise that Callum could
make any sounds at all. But he shrugged, answering, ‘You will be taken before
him at noon this day.’

‘Why?’

The guard said nothing and Callum suspected that Sileas’s
claim, that they would be put to death, had truth in it. ‘Who else?’

The guard named a few of the men who had gone on the raid,
finishing with, ‘The old man, yourself and Iagar Campbell.’ His expression
turned grim. ‘You can’t escape it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

But Marguerite had sworn she would not go through with the
marriage if he was harmed. Therefore, it was not likely she would be present to
witness his death. Her father would invent an excuse.

‘He wants you gone, MacKinloch. Because of the lady.’

Callum didn’t doubt it. Guy de Montpierre wouldn’t hesitate to
punish him for touching Marguerite. Most men would be frightened to think of
dying within a few hours. But he’d faced his own death so many times, it didn’t
distract him from his purpose. He would find a way out, at a moment when they
least expected it.

He took a step backwards, as if he were returning, but stumbled
forward, bumping against the guard.

He muttered an apology, falling back into the shadows. And as
he retreated, he slipped the dagger he’d stolen beneath his tunic. The weapon
would serve him well, when it was needed.

* * *

The afternoon sun rose high, spreading its light across
fleecy clouds. Marguerite saw the prisoners gathered below, the same men whose
names she had given to her father. Justice would be done for the murders.

A light knock sounded upon her door and when she called for the
visitor to enter, she saw the Earl of Penrith standing. His expression appeared
strained. ‘You should come below, Marguerite.’

‘I have no wish to watch men being hanged. Even if it was for
murder.’

‘What of your lover? Will you not let him look upon your face
for the last time before he dies?’

His words startled her into numbness. ‘Callum is there? But my
father—’

‘One of the guards whom I sent away that night told the Duc
that you spent hours together.’ The earl’s gaze lowered to her waist. ‘Could you
have conceived a child?’

Her cheeks burned with shame. ‘I don’t know.’ She still
couldn’t grasp the earl’s willingness to accept a bastard as his own, if by some
mercy she had conceived a new life.

‘If you want him to live, his time grows short.’ The earl
waited and Marguerite gripped her skirts, hurrying outside her chamber.

She raced down the stairs and out of the Hall, down another
flight of stone stairs before she reached the area where the men were being
held. As Penrith had predicted, Callum was with the others. He stood behind
them, his arms bound behind his back. A row of seven nooses hung from a
scaffold, one for each man. Her father stood near the front, watching as the
charges were read. Marguerite fled to the Duc’s side.

‘The captain of my guard, Xavier, warned me that you had met
with the Scot. Is it true that you spent last night with him?’ her father
asked.

She couldn’t answer. There were no words that would make him
understand. Instead, she bolstered her courage and said, ‘Execute him and I will
not marry Penrith.’

‘I am your father,’ he whispered harshly. ‘All your life, I’ve
provided you with everything. And this is how you repay me? By giving yourself
to a man who has nothing at all? Who will never give you the life I’ve intended
for you?’

‘It is my life,’ she whispered. ‘And he would walk through
hellfire if I asked it of him. Don’t you know he could have left at any time? He
stayed for
me.
’

‘Then your face will be the last he sees when he dies.’

Her blood froze within her veins, her body numb at the thought
of Callum joining the other men. ‘Don’t do this. He was innocent that night. He
tried to stop the others.’

‘Marguerite.’ Her father’s voice held weariness. ‘Do you truly
believe this is about the murders at the garrison?’

It was about her daring to love a man who was not of the same
wealth or class. About her surrendering her virtue for love, instead of
duty.

‘If you kill him, I will never speak to you again,’ she warned.
‘You will have no part in my life.’

She started to walk towards Callum, while they led a prisoner
toward the gallows. Though Callum remained still, she saw his eyes searching. He
glanced at the row of archers standing a short distance behind him, then his
gaze fell upon her.

Her heart sank and she drank in the details of his strong face
and long dark hair. She didn’t care what she had to do, but she refused to stand
and watch him die.

It will be all right
, his eyes
seemed to say. She couldn’t understand how, for he was surrounded on all sides.
Even the Duc stood near the gallows to witness the executions.

But then, without warning, one of the prisoners broke free of
his ropes. Marguerite saw the man rushing towards her father and horror filled
her when she saw the flash of his knife.

The blade glinted as he raised it high to stab the Duc. Her
father flinched, holding him back with all his strength.

A moment later, an arrow shot across the inner bailey,
embedding into the prisoner’s back. A second followed and he dropped where he
stood.

The entire courtyard grew still and she saw the bow that Callum
had seized from a nearby archer. Somehow, he’d broken free of his own bindings
and saved her father’s life.

The Duc stared at him, but there was no gratefulness in his
eyes. Instead, he appeared furious that Callum had been the one to rescue him.
He crossed the space between them, stepping past the body of his would-be
assassin.

Their eyes locked and Marguerite hurried towards them.
Something made her stop, however, when she saw the rage in her father’s
eyes.

‘I don’t know what role you played in that attack,’ he began,
‘but others say you should be hanged for it.’

‘I killed…no one,’ Callum said. ‘Too late to stop them.’

The Duc eyed him with a hard stare before he turned his gaze
back upon his daughter with an unspoken accusation. Marguerite felt the
intensity of his frustration and hatred towards the man she loved.

‘So you can speak,’ he remarked. ‘I wonder what else you’ve
lied about.’

Callum gave no reply and Marguerite held her own silence. Both
of them realised that one wrong word would mean his death.

Instead, she moved to her father and took his hand. Kneeling
down, she lifted his hand to her forehead in a silent plea.
Let him live
, she prayed.

Guy’s fingers rested upon her veiled hair and she could feel
the trembling anger he held back. ‘Take him north, into the mountains,’ her
father ordered, ‘and leave him there.’

Shock flooded through her and she stood. The Duc moved away
from her without casting her a single glance. His soldiers moved in to surround
Callum, who made no attempt to escape their custody.

‘I’ll grant you your life, as compensation for mine,’ the Duc
acceded, ‘but do not show your face to me again. Or to my daughter.’

The statement was like an arrow through her heart, piercing her
hope. Marguerite never took her eyes from Callum, though they blurred with
tears. The soldiers dragged him away, and he fixed his gaze upon her.

Remember, you are mine.

I won’t forget you
, she swore, in
her own silence.
My heart is yours.

And when he’d gone, she sank to her knees, feeling utterly
lost.

* * *

They left him with nothing but the clothes on his back.
No food, no water. No shelter. It was the Duc’s way of offering a death sentence
without laying a hand upon him.

He’d been blindfolded throughout the journey, giving him no
means of knowing where he was. Callum could only estimate how far they’d brought
him, praying that he would find some familiar landscape or a clan nearby.

The land was a bright green with mountains rising all around
him. In this part of Scotland trees were less common, and with no horse, he had
to walk mile after mile, with no way to guide him.

Worst of all, he suspected that Marguerite must have gone
through with the marriage. Her father had spared his life, leaving her with
little choice. Enough time had passed that she was likely the earl’s wife
now.

Like a slow torture, it dug into his skin, the thought of
another man taking his place.

He stumbled to his knees beside a stream, drinking the cold
water while he tried to exorcise the image from his mind. Aye, they’d let him
live. And though he knew enough to survive off the land, every taste of food was
bitter in his mouth. The damned helpless feeling was driving him into madness.
He didn’t know where he was or how to find her again.

And if he did reveal himself, the Duc would kill him where he
stood.

You never deserved Marguerite
, the
voice inside him warned.
She was never yours to
have.

But for every day of the rest of his life, he would remember
the pain in her eyes when they’d taken him away. She’d loved him, just as he
loved her. She’d come to him in the darkness, bringing him into the light.

Callum climbed one of the hills, grasping at the silky grasses
for balance. With every step, his lungs burned, his body fighting the weakness
from hunger and lack of sleep. Doggedly, he continued on, until he reached the
apex.

From all around, he could see the land, rising and falling in a
sea of green. Tiny rivulets of water creased the hills, waterfalls that carved
silver ridges into the surface.

The temptation pulled at him to simply lie here and let go. He
would never have Marguerite, no matter how hard he fought for her. Even when
he’d asked her to leave everything behind, she hadn’t come. And her father would
never allow her that freedom.

Her life was too deeply woven into a world of nobility he’d
never belong to. But in those brief, stolen moments, she’d given him a taste of
heaven. He’d loved her with every breath, every part of his soul.

Upon the ridge, he watched the sun rise higher, spilling over
the land in rays of gold. The immensity of his isolation filled him with the
vision of years spent without her.

Sometimes he wondered if death would have been a gift, to be
with her until the last breath passed from his body. But he didn’t want to give
up on her, or let go of that dream. She’d wanted him as much as he wanted
her.

No longer would he wait for her to make a decision or try to
extricate herself from the tangled web of obligations. She was meant to be his,
whether or not anyone else believed it.

Callum stood up, his mind made up. This time, he wouldn’t ask.
He would simply take her with him and damn the consequences. She was worth dying
for.

From his vantage point, he studied the landscape, searching for
anything that would help him gain his bearings. His eyes narrowed upon a small
travelling group moving on horseback through the hills.

He began his descent, moving towards them at a brisk walk, and
then a light run when he reached the bottom of the hill. He would find his way
back to her, no matter how long it took.

* * *

The taste of the wine was bitter and Marguerite choked
upon it. Her Aunt Beatrice stared at her, a nod of satisfaction on her face.

A horrifying suspicion was confirmed when she tasted something
that shouldn’t have been in the wine.

‘What have you done?’ she demanded, casting the goblet aside.
Wine sloshed upon the ground and she couldn’t know how much she’d drunk. Had her
aunt poisoned her?

She saw the faint nod from her father and the look they
exchanged between them.