Tempted by the Highland Warrior (10 page)

* * *

‘Where were you?’ Lady Beatrice demanded, when
Marguerite returned to the castle. There was no answer she could give. Her hair
was still wet, and she knew her gown was bedraggled and damp. Instead, she
offered no explanation, walking through the Hall and up the winding stairs to
her chamber.

Inside her room, she found pieces of silk cut out and laid upon
her bed. Seeing the physical reminder of her impending wedding made her stomach
twist. She didn’t want to be given to a man like an offering. She didn’t want to
lie meekly upon her wedding bed, letting a stranger take her virginity.

‘You left the castle,’ Beatrice accused, closing the door
behind her. ‘Against your father’s orders.’

Marguerite took a comb and struggled to free the tangles from
her hair, allowing her aunt grumble as much as she liked.

‘You seem to believe that you can do as you please,’ the matron
remarked, lowering the bar across the door. ‘But you are greatly mistaken. While
your father is away, he left
me
in command of this
castle.’ Her eyes glittered with fury. ‘You have no right to defy me,
Marguerite.’ A tight smile edged her aunt’s face. ‘And there will be a
punishment for your behaviour.’

The comb caught in a snarl of her hair, and Marguerite said
quietly, ‘You cannot have me beaten. My father would never permit it.’

‘No,’ Beatrice acknowledged, ‘but there are other ways to gain
your submission. The Duc has been entirely too yielding when it comes to
discipline. You left the safety of Cairnross to go and live with the Scots.’
Disgust filled the woman’s face, as if Marguerite had dwelled amongst rats. ‘He
should have punished you for that. But his heart was always too soft. You will
not find the same leniency with me.’

Marguerite rested her hands in her lap, meeting her aunt’s fury
with a passive look. She’d never witnessed such a temper from her mother’s
sister, and half-wondered if there was another reason for it.

‘Your door will be guarded,’ Beatrice informed her. ‘You will
spend the rest of this day and all day tomorrow sewing. If you try to leave,
your guards will receive fifty lashes.’

‘Why would you threaten innocent men for my actions?’ She
couldn’t possibly understand why Beatrice would do such a thing.

‘Nothing at all will happen, so long as you remain in your
chamber.’

Marguerite stared at the matron and a chill faltered within her
skin. She didn’t care about her own punishment, but she couldn’t let another man
suffer on her behalf. It was clear that her aunt had guessed as much.

‘Furthermore, you will not eat for the next day. Your hunger
will serve to remind you of your duty.’

It was too much. Marguerite stood up and confronted the woman.
‘What gives you the right to deny me food? My father will hear of this, if you
dare.’

‘He may not agree with my methods but by then, it will be too
late, won’t it?’ With a dark smile, her aunt departed.

Marguerite ran to the door and opened it, only to find two men
armed with spears. They barred her path and she saw that one of the soldiers was
an older man. He wouldn’t survive fifty lashes.

With great reluctance, she closed the door again. And wondered
how she would ever get out.

Chapter Six

A
day had passed and there was no sign of
Marguerite. Callum had explored every inch of the forest, wondering if she’d
remained absent by choice or by necessity. He watched over the castle gates, but
as the morning went on, there no sign of her.

When the second day had passed and she didn’t come, his
suspicions went on alert. If she hadn’t come, then there was a reason.

Idly, he reached down and picked up a twig from the ground,
trying to hold it in his hand like a quill. He’d spent most of the night
practising, trying to memorise the patterns of lines and curves that formed her
name.

He needed her to show him more. He had not been able to speak
for almost two years, and he was impatient to find a way of communicating.
Although none of his brothers could read, they could learn.

This was a way of breaking through the cursed silence. If he
could tell Marguerite what he wanted…if he could somehow convey it in written
words, it might bridge the distance between them.

It also gave him a reason to seek her out. A reason to be with
her each day. She held the power to break through his silence. The power to give
him back his voice.

In his mind, he conjured up the soft lines of her face and her
vivid blue eyes. He couldn’t explain what drew him to her side, binding him in
invisible chains. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her if she asked it of
him.

He watched the castle for the next few hours, as afternoon
evolved into twilight. The urge to see her, to know that she was all right,
could not be denied. In her father’s absence, there was no way to know what
prevented her from leaving.

They watch me
, she’d warned. Was
that why she hadn’t come?

In his mind, he considered a hundred different ways to get
inside the castle, but most involved the risk of discovery. He didn’t know how
large the Duc’s retinue was or whether they would notice him. On the first night
when he’d slipped inside the grounds, there had been a large crowd to hide
among. Tonight, he would be exposed.

But then his luck changed.

He spied a man driving a cart filled with casks of wine. Callum
moved swiftly from the trees and caught the edge of the cart, swinging his feet
underneath. He used his strength to pull himself out of view beneath the cart,
as the wheels rolled forward. The merchant greeted the soldiers at the gate and
received permission to enter the castle.

Callum gripped the underside of the platform as the cart drove
towards the kitchens. It was a strain to hold himself beneath it, but at last
the merchant stopped the cart. When he began unloading the wine, Callum seized
his chance, dropping to the ground. As men took casks and brought them within
the kitchen, he waited for the right moment and joined them, hoisting a small
barrel over one shoulder to keep his face hidden.

The men were stacking the casks in the cellar and when they
left, he secured a hiding place behind them. Time was his ally now.

* * *

Gradually the hours passed until Callum guessed the
others were sleeping.

He ascended the stairs and made his way towards the Hall.
Inside, the trestle tables were pushed against the wall and men were sleeping
upon the floor. Callum found a bit of leftover bread and meat on one of the
tables and hid it within his tunic for later.

Inch by inch, he kept his back to the wall as he neared the
staircase on the far side. He moved soundlessly past the others and trod quietly
on the steps, listening for anything that would help him find Marguerite. She
would be sleeping within her own chamber, away from the others.

In the darkness, he kept his back to the stone wall, searching
for any threat. In his hand, he gripped a dirk.

Ahead, he spied two men guarding one of the chambers. He
studied them, wondering if Marguerite was inside. The problem was how to get
past the guards. Even if he did manage to distract them, there was no way to
know if she was there.

But he had to try.

* * *

Her door flew open and Marguerite sat up from her bed,
stifling the urge to scream. Standing before her was Callum, while her guards
lay unconscious upon the ground. They weren’t dead, thank God, for one of them
moaned, clutching his head.

She threw back the coverlet and ran across the room into his
arms. ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t come to you. I have been locked in my room the
past two days.’ She held him tightly, breathing in his scent. Oddly enough, he
smelled of bread. Her stomach roared with hunger, for Aunt Beatrice had given
her nothing this day, except a bowl of pottage and sour wine. She’d continued
her punishment beyond the first day and the lack of food had made Marguerite
dizzy.

Callum’s face hardened with anger, and his embrace tightened.
When he eyed her attire, Marguerite realised she was still wearing only her
chemise. She opened her trunk and chose a crimson cote, but Callum shook his
head, pointing to a darker blue gown. He helped her to pull it on, then took her
by the hand, leading her out of her room.

Marguerite hesitated. Though she wanted to be free of her
imprisonment, she was afraid of what would happen to the guards. Would Beatrice
have them flogged, as she’d threatened? But then it was clear that the guards
had not willingly let her go. It might be an idle threat, nothing more. Either
way, she wasn’t about to remain her aunt’s prisoner any longer.

Callum led her down the steps, into the darkened Hall. One of
the dogs lifted his head and whimpered. Marguerite moved forward, touching the
animal’s head so he would know her scent. The dog licked her wrist and started
to follow, but she pressed him back, whispering for him to stay.

Her heart beat faster, her veins thrumming with fear as she
followed Callum outside.

‘We’ll be seen,’ she murmured against his ear. ‘I don’t think
there’s any way for us to get out.’

He didn’t seem concerned at all. Taking her hand, he walked
past the first wall, then motioned toward the soldiers. She didn’t understand
what he meant, but all she could do was let him take the lead. He waited a
moment while a few guards strode past the entrance. Marguerite held her breath,
running with him toward the open gate.

He was simply planning to walk out, wasn’t he? When she eyed
the guards at the top of the gatehouse, she suddenly realised why. All of their
attention rested upon the forest ahead, seeking potential invaders. They weren’t
at all aware of what was happening behind them.

Callum wrapped one arm around her shoulders. He guided her to
the side of the outer wall and Marguerite pressed her shoulders against the
stone, keeping tightly to the shadows. Callum inched his way all along the wall
until they reached the far corner. Then he got down upon his stomach, crawling
through the darkness toward the ditch.

This is madness
, Marguerite
thought, as she followed him. Her long gown made it difficult to crawl and she
heard the sounds of insects buzzing around her face as she crept along the
ground, following him. When Callum reached the ditch, he waded into the water,
up to his thighs. Strong arms reached for her, lifting her on to the opposite
side.

Marguerite continued on her knees until she reached the edge of
the forest. Once they were inside, Callum led her deeper, making her walk within
a stream, presumably so that dogs could not track her scent.

It was miserable, being wet, cold, and hungry, but she forced
herself to follow. She walked until the exhaustion heightened her dizziness.
Voices of doubt reminded her that this was a grave mistake. Aunt Beatrice would
search for her and when they found her, Callum would suffer.

You should go back, while you can
,
her conscience ordered. But she was so weak from hunger and the despair of the
past two days, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

When at last they reached Callum’s sleeping space, he built a
fire for her. She huddled close, trying to hide the tears of exhaustion and
fear. He came up beside her, first removing one shoe, then the other. He dried
her feet with his own tunic and placed them across his lap, letting her warm
them near the flames.

A thickness rose up in her throat and she swallowed back the
tears. Why had she left? It was foolish, dangerous, and such a mistake. So many
people would be harmed by her desire to leave. What right did she have to
disobey her family? Defiance would bring nothing except suffering.

The fire crackled in the evening stillness, the only sound to
break the silence. Callum touched her bare feet and massaged the soreness, as if
in silent apology for the nightmare of trying to escape the castle. The
sensation of his hands on her was heart wrenching, for she was torn between the
desire to touch him and the worry of being caught.

When he offered her bread and meat from a fold of his cloak,
she nearly attacked him like a savage. She savoured the soft bread and firm
crust, so hungry was she. Callum eyed her strangely and she admitted, ‘My aunt
punished me for leaving the castle by taking away my food. I’ve had little to
eat these past two days.’

His expression turned so fierce, she didn’t know what thoughts
were raging inside him. He stood, searching through his bundle of supplies
before bringing out a cloth-wrapped hunk of meat. Marguerite wanted to weep at
the sight of it, but forced herself to eat slowly. He fed her until she could
eat no more, and then she closed her eyes, drawing up her knees.

Callum arranged a sleeping place for her and gestured for her
to come and lie down upon the blanket he’d set out. She stretched out and he
came up behind her, pulling her body against his. His body was warm and she felt
safe against him, as though he would do anything to take care of her. He drew
his cloak around her, covering them both.

For now, she let herself fall into sleep, pushing back her
fears of what would happen in the morning when her disappearance was
discovered.

* * *

Having Marguerite in his arms was the sweetest torment
Callum had ever endured and a gift he’d never expected. Her slender body rested
against his, her tangled hair tucked under his chin.

There would be an uproar in the castle when they discovered her
gone. Even now, they were likely searching for her. But when he’d learned that
they’d locked her away, he’d lost sight of reason, needing to get her out. Had
he known at the time that they were denying her food, he might have committed a
more unthinkable crime.

How anyone could mistreat this woman was impossible to believe.
In her sleep, she burrowed beneath his cloak and her backside nestled against
the arousal he’d tried to hold back. He wanted her with a fierce, instinctive
need, but he couldn’t dishonour her by surrendering to the desires rising
within.

Only in his mind could he lower her gown, baring her
skin…cupping her breasts in his palm while he kissed her. His pulse quickened as
he remembered the sight of the puckered nipples when he’d taken her swimming a
few days ago. The white linen chemise had clung to her curves, revealing her
naked beauty to him.

He imagined kissing those breasts, touching her everywhere. The
way a husband would.

The knife of reality slashed through his dreams. Another man
would share her bed, filling her with children. Giving Marguerite the life he
couldn’t.

Unless he convinced her to leave everything behind. He had no
idea if she would ever consider it.

Callum sat up, adjusting his cloak so she could continue to
sleep with it. He covered her and reached for his bow and quiver. The need to
hunt came over him, to pour his frustration into physical exertion.

He moved quietly through the forest, searching for game. As he
crept among the trees, he thought of what to do now. No one knew he was here,
save Marguerite. He could take her back to Glen Arrin if she wanted to go.

But then, why would she? He could give her nothing. A life with
him made her little better than an outlaw. She didn’t deserve to live that way,
hiding from her family. The sobering reality made him question what to do.

The wilder side of him wanted to ignore the consequences and
steal her. She’d come with him this far, hadn’t she?

But if he spent his nights with her, he wouldn’t last long. The
scent of her skin, the softness of her body pressed against him, had ignited his
lust until he’d had to walk away. If she stayed, he would claim her as a lover
would, learning her body, filling her with himself.

He clenched his bow, trying to calm the rising storm of lust.
When he heard footsteps behind him, he spun, an arrow fitted to the
bowstring.

‘Don’t shoot,’ Marguerite murmured and he lowered the bow. A
lock of her hair hung over one shoulder, tendrils of gold framing her face. Her
blue eyes captivated him, but he held his ground. ‘Are you all right?’

He gave a single nod. She looked as if she wanted to say so
many things to him and didn’t know how to begin. But worst of all, he saw the
defeat in her eyes.

Without allowing her to speak, he shouldered his bow and closed
the distance. He took her face between his hands and kissed her, reminding her
of the night they’d shared together. Her lips were soft, yielding to him as he
tried to convince her without words to spend the rest of her nights with
him.

But she lowered her head at last, confessing, ‘I didn’t sleep
well. I kept worrying about what will happen when we’re caught together.’

Not if.
When
, she’d said. As if she
were already giving up.

‘I have to go back, or too many people will be hurt.’

He’d suspected she would say this, but neither did he want her
to return to a place where she was held prisoner. Words of argument were locked
away inside of him and though he tried to move his mouth, nothing came
forth.