Tempted by the Highland Warrior (22 page)

Yet the sight of his home didn’t alleviate his fear.
Marguerite’s skin was burning hot and she’d slipped into a fever since
yesterday. He didn’t know what to do for her; never had he felt so defenceless.
He could fight against any enemy, but this unseen foe might take her from
him.

Nairna and Laren were there to greet them, but their smiles
faded as soon as they saw Marguerite in his arms.

‘Is she—?’ Laren whispered. Her face looked desolate and she
held on to her swollen pregnancy, as if to guard against the possibility.

‘She’s not dead.’ Callum walked past them towards the fortress.
But the fear of losing Marguerite had wound him up so tightly, he couldn’t
manage more than that.

Nairna, who was also heavily pregnant, struggled to catch up to
him. ‘Bring her inside. We’ll move Adaira in with Laren and Alex.’

She led the way and Callum shifted Marguerite in his arms to
get past the narrow winding staircase.

‘It’s good to hear you talking again, Callum,’ Nairna said
quietly. ‘I always knew you would.’ She opened the door leading to a tiny
chamber with a single bed within it. A slight smile pulled at her mouth. ‘If
anyone could help you, I always thought Marguerite would manage it.’

He cradled her in his arms and stared at his brother’s wife.
‘She can’t die.’ Gently, he laid Marguerite upon the bed, drawing a blanket over
her. ‘Is there anyone who can heal her?’

‘Your mother may have some remedies to help.’ She rested
against the wall, drawing her palm against her womb. At his look of concern, she
confessed, ‘I get dizzy sometimes. It passes.’

‘But you and Laren are well?’

She nodded. ‘Our children will come in the autumn.’ Eyeing
Marguerite, she asked, ‘Callum, does the Duc know she is here?’

‘She threw herself off the ship. I think her father believes
she’s dead.’ He sat down beside Marguerite, touching her hair. ‘It was the only
way he would ever let her go. She broke her betrothal to come back to me.’

Nairna’s eyes filled up with tears. The chamber door opened
slightly and Bram held out a tray with a bowl of a watery liquid. ‘I have broth,
if you think she can drink it.’

Callum pointed for his brother to set it down on a table. ‘Send
for our mother and I’ll stay with her.’

‘You’re what she needs most right now, Callum.’ Nairna touched
his shoulder and returned to her husband, closing the door behind her.

When they were gone, he sat down again at Marguerite’s side.
Though she had finally overcome the effects of being too cold, the fever worried
him. Perspiration dampened her brow and she was so pale that he didn’t know if
he’d done enough to save her.

Months ago, she had come to him. She’d bathed him and tended
his wounds, letting him rest his head upon her lap. Her compassion had reached
past his shadowed mind, granting him peace for the first time.

It felt awkward, speaking to her when she was unconscious, but
Callum sensed that she was there, somehow. That she would hear him.

He moved beside her in the bed, pulling her close. She was so
hot, he didn’t think it was wise for her to be wearing so many heavy clothes.
With the greatest care, he undressed her, easing the cote off until she wore
only her chemise. The linen clung to her skin and he brought her head to rest
upon his chest.

‘I won’t let you go, Marguerite. Not in life. Not in death.’ He
pressed his mouth against her temple, stroking her hair again. ‘I’ve fought too
hard for you.’

The weariness of the nights he’d spent keeping vigil were
starting to press against his resolve. ‘You’re going to wed me, when you’re
better. I’ll build you a house, anywhere you like.’

A seed of regret pulled inside him that he could never give her
a castle like this one. ‘It won’t be very big, but it will do well enough for
us.’

Around her neck, he spied the chain holding the glass pendant
he’d given her. She’d worn it, even when she was leaving him.

He lifted up the chain, the slight weight resting in his palm.
Formed of glass, it should have been fragile, yet it remained strong. Like
her.

Callum took a breath and began speaking again. He filled her
ears with stories, talking to her until his voice grew hoarse. The memory of her
had pulled him out of the greatest darkness, when he’d suffered beneath the
lash. If his voice would somehow do the same for her, he’d speak for as long as
he could.

When at last he was too tired to say another word, he stretched
out beside her, holding her in his arms. As if he could bind her to him, forcing
her to stay.

* * *

When his mother Grizel arrived the next morning, she
brought a foul-smelling tea.

‘They told me you’re speaking again.’ She eyed Callum with a
curt nod, as if it mattered not at all to her. ‘It’s about time, isn’t it?’

He ignored her brusque manner. His mother could never be
accused of soft-heartedness. ‘Can you save Marguerite?’

‘I’ve a tea that will help bring down the fever. But you
shouldn’t have moved her. When a body grows too cold, it’s better to warm her
slowly. You might have killed her by journeying this far.’

Grizel’s abrasive manner made him bristle. ‘I was trying to
save her.’ He guided Marguerite to a seated position, supporting her in his
arms.

His mother set down the tea and studied them both. ‘How long
has it been since she opened her eyes?’

‘Four days.’ He didn’t miss the look of resignation on Grizel’s
face. She likely didn’t believe Marguerite would live much longer. Even so, she
continued her questioning.

‘And how have you managed to give her food and water? I presume
she can’t drink on her own.’

Colour rose to his cheeks, but he admitted, ‘I put my mouth
upon hers and forced her to drink.’

Grizel lifted the tea to him, her expression discerning. ‘Keep
doing the same, to make her drink the tea. And if she awakens, send for me.’

If. Not when. The worry gnawed at his composure, but he forced
himself to nod.

His mother’s gaze moved from him back to Marguerite. ‘She was
always too fine for a man like you, but I’ll grant that she had courage.’

He had no reply for her framed insult, for it was true. He
could only hope that if Marguerite regained her strength, his poverty wouldn’t
matter to her.

Before Grizel closed the door, she added, ‘I am glad you
returned, Callum.’ With a faltering smile, she departed.

He rested his cheek against Marguerite’s, apologising for his
mother, in case she had overheard any of it. As time passed, he fed her the
foul-smelling tea, his lips upon hers to ensure that she drank it.

* * *

He continued talking, all through the day and into the
night, telling her about the years he’d spent imprisoned. Of how he’d regained
his skill with a bow and arrows, and the nights he’d dreamed of her.

‘If I could fight this battle for you, I would,’ he swore.
She’d done everything in her power to come back to him. The thought of losing
her now was like a dull knife within him. He held her feverish body close,
feeling the desolation wash over him. Her heartbeat was so frail, her breathing
laboured.

She might not live to see the morning. The thought was worse
than any torture. He’d faced his own death, time and again, until it no longer
held any threat over him. Death was inevitable for every man. But nothing
frightened him more than losing Marguerite.

‘You’re everything to me,’ he told her. ‘Don’t let go.’

And when at last he could stay awake no longer, he slept with
her cradled against his heart.

Chapter Sixteen

H
er eyes wouldn’t open. Marguerite felt a
man’s body against hers and she snuggled instinctively into his warm skin.
Inside, her stomach was aching from lack of food, but she had not the strength
to speak.

She’d glimpsed the peaceful Heaven that awaited her and the
temptation to leave behind the pain and suffering was strong. But a man kept
talking to her, telling her stories about his boyhood. The familiar voice was
chaining her to him, pulling her away from Death’s arms.

‘Marguerite.’ The voice of Callum broke through her reverie,
reaching towards her. She felt his lips against hers and a cool liquid entered
her mouth. Was it water? She tried to taste it and when she moved her lips, she
heard his encouragement.

‘Drink,’ he urged. ‘That’s it.’

The sweetness of the water reminded her of the waterfalls from
the mountains. Clear and pure, it quenched her thirst. Though she couldn’t yet
open her eyes, the touch of Callum’s mouth captivated her.

Something else moved against her mouth and she tasted a broth.
This time, she drank too fast and choked. She coughed to clear her throat and he
rubbed her back, trying to help.

At last she opened her eyes and saw him holding her. Callum’s
face held weariness and his long black hair hung against his shoulders.

‘You look terrible,’ she managed. As if he’d been imprisoned
once more, his face was gaunt, the sleeplessness etched in the shadows beneath
his eyes. ‘You ought to bathe.’

The thankfulness eased across his face in a relieved smile.
‘I’ll let you bathe me, when you’ve regained your strength.’

With that, he gathered her in his arms and held her tight. In
his embrace, she felt the fierce love and she tried to lift her arms around his
neck. ‘I’m sorry to have been so much trouble,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember what
happened after I jumped from the ship.’

‘You spent hours without shelter,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t find
you until morning and you nearly died.’

‘I remember…how cold I was.’ The exertion of speaking was
starting to hurt and she rested her head against him.

‘You’re safe now. We brought you back to Glen Arrin.’ There was
a gruffness in his voice and a moment later, he sat up, tucking her into the
bed. ‘When you’ve recovered, you’re going to wed me.’

‘I am?’ Her voice was weak, but his proclamation amused her.
‘You’re not going to ask me?’

‘No.’ He rested both hands on her shoulders. ‘If I have to
chain you to my side, I’ll be wedding you. You won’t have a choice in this,
Marguerite.’ His expression had darkened, and she saw the suffering he’d endured
over the past few days.

‘I love you,’ he said. The words washed over her, filling her
with light that pushed away the shadows of the past. Callum’s eyes held the look
of a man who would worship her for the rest of her life. And it was enough.

Lifting her hands to his face, she drew him down to kiss her.
It was a kiss of welcome, of a promise to stay with him.

‘I will marry you,’ she promised. ‘Nothing would give me
greater happiness.’

* * *

The wedding was delayed by the early birth of Laren’s
twins. Marguerite was enchanted by the tiny infants, but when Alex handed her
his newborn daughter to hold, she felt awkward and clumsy.

The girl’s head was no larger than her palm. When she tucked
the sleeping infant beneath her chin, she marvelled at the soft skin. Callum
came up behind her and drew his arms around her waist. ‘She’s a wee one, isn’t
she?’

‘She’s beautiful. I’m half-afraid I’ll drop her.’

‘If you’re wanting me to, I could give you one of those,’ he
offered against her ear. ‘Tonight, after we wed.’

At the reminder, Marguerite’s face flushed. It had been some
time since she’d lain with him and she sensed that he would be insatiable once
they were together again. She kissed the babe upon her forehead and passed her
back to Laren.

To Callum, she murmured, ‘I wouldn’t mind having a child.’
Standing on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear, ‘I cannot wait until this
night.’

She deliberately let her lips graze against his ear and Callum
took her hand, starting to lead her away. Marguerite laughed at his eagerness.
‘Not now,’ she protested. ‘I want to go and visit with Nairna.’

‘She can wait.’ Callum continued walking, ignoring his brother
and Laren. A flush came over Marguerite’s face, for she’d only just regained her
strength a few days ago. He wasn’t planning to…seduce her, was he? In spite of
her attempt to remain calm, she wanted to feel his hands upon her, to surrender
her body beneath his.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, trying to sound more
dispassionate than she felt.

‘To see the house I built for you.’ Callum led her outside the
fortress, into the hills. The sun was shining, and it would only be hours until
the visiting priest arrived and they could marry and enjoy feasting with the
rest of the clan.

He led her past the small gathering of huts, toward the pathway
that went into the forest. About a mile into the woods, she saw a small clearing
with a newly finished thatched house. The smell of fresh wood shavings made her
smile, and he led her inside, showing her the hearth and the bed against the far
wall.

‘When we have children, we’ll make it larger,’ he promised.
‘But for now…’ In his expression, she saw the shadow of regret, as if he’d
wanted to give her more.

‘It’s perfect,’ she said, moving into his arms. And it was. She
didn’t care that it was nothing but a simple home with four walls and a roof.
Within the forest, it reminded her of the forbidden days they’d spent together.
She could be happy here, with him.

But though she drew her arms around Callum to kiss him, she
couldn’t let go of the sense of unrest. She’d fought hard to love this man and
to share her life with him, yet the shadow of fear lurked within her.

His mouth came over her lips in a fierce kiss, his hands moving
down her spine. ‘Tonight you won’t sleep, Marguerite. For I’ll be inside you,
showing you all the ways I love you.’

She couldn’t catch her breath as his tongue invaded, stroking
hers with sensual promise. Her body seemed to melt into his, wanting more.

‘I’m going to touch you all the ways I’ve been dreaming about,
these past few weeks,’ he swore.

He rose hard against her, pressing at the juncture of her
thighs. She lifted her leg against him, her heart pounding faster as his hand
moved under her skirts, feeling for the bare flesh. His rough palms moved over
her bottom and when he reached between her legs, she felt two of his fingers
pushing inside her.

A ragged curse came from him as he rubbed her intimately.
‘You’re wet for me, Marguerite. God above, I could sheathe myself in you right
now.’

In answer, she reached for his trews, stroking the thick heat
of him through the wool. He withdrew and entered his fingers in a slow rhythm,
making her close her eyes as the sweet torment claimed her.

‘Look at me,’ he commanded. ‘Look into my eyes while I touch
you. I want to see you come apart.’

She clung to his shoulders for balance, a sigh escaping as her
body strained against his touch. Over and over, he moved his hand, his fingers
caressing deep within. The ecstasy was making her tremble, her breathing coming
in short pants as he thrust again and again.

She moved against him, seeking the pleasure he was trying to
give, until finally, his hand moved in a faster rhythm, shattering her apart.
Her release was a shimmering ecstasy that convulsed within her. She reached for
him, wanting desperately to give him the same fulfilment.

‘Callum!’ came a shout.

The dangerous look in her lover’s eyes made her lower her leg.
‘I may have to murder my younger brother, sweet. Stay here while I go and kill
him for interrupting us.’

Marguerite straightened her skirts and sat down on the bed,
hardly able to stand. ‘Quickly, then,’ she answered with a smile. Inside, her
body was molten, aching for him. She tried to calm herself when she heard the
voices outside, wondering what this was about. A moment later, Callum returned
to her and retrieved his bow and a quiver of arrows.

The look upon his face was harsh and unforgiving. The
foreboding within her stomach took root and swelled. ‘What is it?’ she
whispered.

‘Soldiers gathering from the west.’

Her heart sank and the tremulous fear rose up so hard, she
couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. ‘English?’ she ventured.

He shook his head slowly. ‘It’s your father’s men, come to
invade Glen Arrin. Stay here, Marguerite. Whatever happens, don’t leave this
house.’

* * *

Callum rode out with his brothers, cold rage cloaking
his mood. He didn’t know what had prompted the Duc to make this journey, but he
intended to face down the man and make him leave.

Better if he believed Marguerite was dead. No doubt he’d come
to make sure of it.

He joined with Alex and Bram, while Dougal stayed with the
women. The other clansmen armed themselves, positioned on every side of the
fortress. There had been time to evacuate the rest of the women and children to
Bram’s house at the top of the hillside.

‘Do they know she’s here?’ Alex asked.

Callum could only shake his head. ‘Let them believe that she’s
dead. It’s her only hope of gaining her freedom.’

‘Where is Marguerite now?’

‘She’s hidden in the forest, in our house.’ He drew his horse
forward, riding toward the army of men. It infuriated him that the Duc would
come this night, the night they were meant to marry. Was there no way the man
would ever let them be?

‘Steady your temper, Brother,’ Alex warned.

Bram came along the opposite side, his expression grim. ‘The
priest is with them.’

Callum let out a curse. If they’d found the priest, then the
man might have confessed the truth, that Marguerite was here and they would
marry tonight.

‘Somehow, I don’t believe the Duc came to witness our
marriage,’ he said. More likely to prevent it.

But still he kept moving forward until the army spread out. He
reached into his quiver for a black-feathered arrow and nocked it to his
bowstring. Let them come, if they would.

‘What do you want to do?’ Alex asked.

‘Allow them to make the first move.’ Callum kept the arrow
fitted, waiting for the Duc to make his decision. ‘We’ll make no assumptions
until we know why they’re here.’

The soldiers behind him were dressed for a battle. They wore
chainmail armour and all had spears, bows and other weapons. A second row of
horsemen stood, prepared for a fight.

Neither army moved and time slowed as they stared at one
another. Callum realised that the Duc would not believe him if he claimed
Marguerite was not here. He would turn over every stone, searching every house
until they found her.

He didn’t want to kill Marguerite’s father, or be placed in a
position where he had no choice but to take the Duc’s life. The silence weighed
upon both sides, but a quarter of an hour later, movement attracted their
attention.

Callum saw a group of women walking in the space between the
two sides. Nairna had changed into a loose-fitting gown of silk, struggling to
walk with her swollen belly. Her hair was braided back, with flowers woven into
the strands. Beside her walked Laren, carrying both babies. Though Alex’s wife
had her arms full, she, too, was clad in wedding finery. Behind them, he could
see nothing but the glint of golden hair.

And his heart sank, not knowing why Marguerite had ignored his
command.

* * *

She walked slowly, each step filled with purpose. Nairna
and Laren had helped her prepare herself, and Marguerite wore her hair down
around her shoulders. They had combed it for her, crowning her with a wreath of
heather and gorse. Around her throat she wore the blue pendant and her gown was
the same shade of sapphire. A golden girdle hung against her hips and her feet
were barefoot on the summer grass.

She’d told Nairna and Laren of her plan and despite the risk,
it was all she had. Something had to be done before fighting broke out. And
though she had made her decision to stay with Callum, no matter what happened,
she would do everything in her power to prevent bloodshed.

‘They look as if they’re going to kill each other,’ Laren
murmured, clutching her children tightly to her breast.

‘They won’t dare attack, with us between them,’ Marguerite
said.

When her father caught sight of her, his visage transformed.
There was immense relief, followed by anger and renewed determination.

She continued walking until she stood before his horse. Then
she held out her hands as if to greet him. ‘Will you come and accept my kiss of
welcome, Father?’

Her father did not dismount. Instead, he stared at her. ‘I
thought you were dead.’

‘I almost died,’ she agreed. ‘Callum found me and brought me
back here.’ She turned her attention to the priest, who was approaching. ‘I hope
that you have come to join in our wedding celebration.’

‘I will not celebrate your marriage to a common Scot.’

Callum rode up at that moment. The look of vengeance that
passed between him and her father made her uneasy, so she offered, ‘Will you
accept our hospitality and continue our discussion in private?’

The Duc said nothing and his silence stood as a refusal.
Marguerite wondered if she would ever break through to him. She reached up and
took Callum’s hand. When her father still did not speak, she added, ‘Your men
may wish to refresh themselves in the castle. If that is agreeable to you,
Laren?’ she asked the Lady of Glen Arrin.

Alex’s wife held on to her babies and nodded. ‘So long as they
leave their weapons behind.’

Her father looked as if he wanted to openly attack the
fortress, but Callum met his unspoken threat with a promise of his own.