Tempted by the Highland Warrior (7 page)

Bram and Alex split off on either side to meet the men, their
shields and weapons ready. Callum kept firing at the enemy archers, dropping as
many as he could, until he had only a single arrow left. Alex handed him a
shield, but he refused it, needing both hands to wield the bow. They were
completely outnumbered by the enemy and he saw no way out.

Nairna held fast to Bram while their enemy awaited the order to
kill. Callum held his bow steady, hoping he could take out Cairnross or Harkirk
with his last arrow.

Even if he did, there was one unavoidable truth. Today he was
going to die.

* * *

Marguerite clenched her hands together, her heart
racing. Though she’d made it into the forest, away from the battle, she couldn’t
stop herself from returning to watch. She chose an isolated place near the edge
of the trees, her heart numb with fear as Lord Cairnross and Lord Harkirk closed
in.

Through a haze of tears, she sat, wondering if she could plead
with Cairnross for their lives. Was it possible that he might spare them, on her
behalf?

No. She’d fled with the MacKinlochs, betraying their betrothal.
Though the earl might still want her for his wife, she didn’t trust him to free
the others. Especially Callum.

She stood, resting her hand against a tree, her heart sick with
terror. Because of her, Cairnross had come. If she’d remained behind, none of
these men would have died.

Marguerite took a step towards Callum, but before she could
emerge from the trees, she saw Bram explode in fury. His claymore flashed as he
brought down man after man and Alex stood at his back to defend him.

They fought for their lives and in the midst of the battle,
Callum seized a quiver of arrows from a dead archer. As he released the arrows,
one after the other, he moved into the forest, moving straight towards her.

Marguerite didn’t move, not understanding why he was leaving
his brothers behind. When he reached her side, he pulled her veil free and
dropped it, pulling her to higher ground. She suddenly realised that the white
colour had made her visible from below. And she was still in range of their
arrows, where she’d been standing.

‘You can’t leave them behind,’ she pleaded, looking back at
Bram, Alex and Nairna. ‘They need you.’

Callum’s face hardened and he climbed atop a large boulder,
drawing back his bow. He released another stream of arrows toward the enemy,
bringing down one man after another.

Shame reddened her cheeks when Marguerite realised she’d
accused him of cowardice. That wasn’t it at all. He’d been moving into a
position where he could better defend them.

‘I misunderstood,’ she apologised. ‘I’m sorry for what I said.’
By leaving his brothers and hiding within the trees, he’d gained a more
strategic position, fighting where the enemy couldn’t see him.

Callum pointed to the top of the ridge, in a wordless order for
her to join the other women. She understood, but hesitated, not wanting to leave
him behind. ‘Thank you for protecting me,’ she whispered.

He lowered his bow for a moment. His brown eyes held a steady
reassurance, as if he would never allow anyone to harm her. The look on his face
was of a man prepared to die.

Marguerite reached down to the fallen veil and brought it to
him, binding it slowly around his left forearm. ‘Take this,’ she said. ‘It will
protect your arm from the bowstring.’

It was all she could give him. Callum remained motionless while
she tied it off, then he covered her hand with his. The warmth of his palm
reassured her, and he squeezed her hand in silent farewell. She didn’t know what
would happen to either of them now, but she squeezed it back.

The rumble of horsemen approaching caught Marguerite’s
attention. She saw two armies of men and, at the sight of the tall man leading
the group, her heart soared. The Duc D’Avignois had come at last.

She started to move downhill, but Callum caught her by the arm.
‘It’s my father,’ she explained. ‘I have to see him.’ If she could reach the Duc
in time, she might convince him to save the MacKinlochs.

She started to pull free, when something made her stop and turn
around. Callum held his bow over one shoulder, his gaze shielded. He gave her a
signal to leave, that he wouldn’t stop her. But she realised the truth of what
was happening.

The moment she reached her father’s side, everything would
return to the way it had been. She would be safe with her family, and likely she
wouldn’t see Callum again.

Regret pulled at her, even though she’d known the moments
between them were never going to last. They would fade into bittersweet
memories.

‘I’ll never forget you,’ she whispered, touching his cheek in
farewell.

* * *

Callum drew his bow as soon as Marguerite left the
trees, intending to shoot any man who came near her. Two of her father’s guards
escorted her to safety and she spoke to them, gesturing toward the MacKinlochs
as if to intervene.

He kept low, crouching with his bow as he watched the men.
Harkirk was still alive, but the body of Cairnross lay upon the ground,
slaughtered by his brother Bram.

He should have been relieved that Marguerite would never marry
the earl. Instead, angry resentment filled him up, that Bram had wrought justice
instead of himself. He’d wanted to be the one to set her free.

More, he wanted to take the earl’s place as Marguerite’s
husband. He touched the veil she’d bound around his arm as a makeshift guard and
the softness reminded him of her.

I’ll never forget you.

He didn’t believe that. As soon as she returned to France, her
father would arrange another marriage to a nobleman. She would wed the man, bear
him children and forge a different life for herself. One that didn’t include
him.

Callum watched as they brought a horse for her. He saw his
brothers negotiating a truce while Harkirk’s men withdrew and Nairna spoke to
the Duc. And just as he’d expected, Lady Marguerite rode away with her father.
The evening sunset glinted upon her hair like a fading band of gold.

And he knew he would never see her again.

Chapter Four

Summer—1306

T
he blue ribbon was so faded it had turned
to grey, the edges frayed with time.

‘You’re hurting by being apart from
Marguerite, aren’t you?’ his brother’s wife Laren had said to him, only
months ago. ‘Surely, she would find it romantic if you were to steal her
away, taking her back with you.’

Romantic? Callum didn’t know where she’d
come up with that idea, but he had nothing to offer a duke’s daughter. The
Duc would murder him where he stood. To prove his point, he nodded to Laren
and drew a line across his throat.

‘Aye, her father might kill you.’ She
smiled and ventured, ‘But you’d die a happy man.’

Without warning, a laugh broke forth from
him. The unexpected sound shocked him and he touched his throat in
disbelief.

‘You’ll speak again,’ Laren predicted.
‘And I think you’ll have a stronger reason to, if you find her.’

* * *

The past few months had been frustrating, for he’d not
regained his speech, regardless of the time he’d had to heal and train. He’d
done everything he could, but the harder he tried, the more the words remained
trapped within him. Worse, the other clan members avoided him, treating him as
if he were somehow malformed.

And so he was. Aye, he’d been tortured and brought to the brink
of death time and again, but by now the nightmares should have stopped. Instead,
they’d grown worse, until he could hardly bring himself to close his eyes at
night.

His mind was splintering apart and the more he fought the
memories, the greater his anger festered inside. He hated his life and the way
he lacked purpose. Captivity had ruled his days for so long, he didn’t know what
to do with his freedom or how he would ever adapt to a life with no way to
speak.

With every day that passed, he isolated himself more from his
family, for he couldn’t communicate with them. The anger seethed inside him, the
frustration dominating every second of the day.

Nairna took it upon herself to confront him. Cool-headed and
firm, she’d taken him aside. ‘Vengeance hasn’t given you peace, has it?’

He stared back at her and she reached for an arrow from his
quiver. ‘You’ve fought at our side over the past few months. You helped save
Laren’s daughter when she was taken. But I see the anger in you. It’s growing
stronger every day.’

Pity filled up her green eyes and she softened her voice. ‘You
miss Marguerite, don’t you?’

The words were like a spear thrust into his heart. Marguerite
was the one person who had never treated him as if he were weak-minded or less
than whole. In her eyes, he had been the warrior he wanted to be.

But she’d returned to the life she had known before him. The
life she deserved.

‘Marguerite worried about you all the time you were held
captive,’ Nairna continued, never ceasing her assault. ‘If you’re too blind to
see the way she felt about you, and you won’t fight to win her heart, then you
deserve to lose her.’

She handed him the arrow and ordered, ‘Either go after her or
stop sulking.’ A smile warmed her expression, a blend of sisterly love and her
own frustration.

She was right. He’d stood back and let Marguerite go, without
raising a single protest. It was the mark of a coward, and God knew he wasn’t
that.

But how would he ever convince a duke’s daughter to come away
with him? It was like trying to bring down the moon.

Laren’s earlier suggestion, that he steal her away, resonated
as a definite possibility. But would Marguerite want to leave her family and the
vast wealth she had known all her life? He couldn’t imagine it.

Yet, Nairna’s suggestion gave him a purpose. He could stop
pacing around Glen Arrin, feeling caged by his lack of speech. No matter how
impossible a task, the thought of seeing Marguerite again eased the anger within
him.

And so he’d begun the quest.

* * *

Callum shielded his eyes from the sunlight, staring down
at the forest below. It stretched for miles, curling around Duncraig Castle,
which lay tucked within the hills.

He’d never travelled to this part of Scotland before, but he’d
heard from other clansmen that these lands belonged to the Duc D’Avignois,
inherited from Norman ancestors. Tall square towers stood atop the hill, the
imposing battlements ridged with machicolations.

At the sight of the duke’s holdings, a cold emptiness cast its
shadow over him. He didn’t belong here and the fist of doubt squeezed at his
courage.

It had taken weeks of sending Dougal to ask questions of the
neighbouring clans, but thankfully it wasn’t too difficult to track a French
duke with over a hundred retainers.

Callum led his horse Goliath down into the woods, planning to
set up his camp within the forest where no one would find him. Thus far, he had
no idea how long he would stay. It depended on whether or not Marguerite was
here and if she wanted to see him.

The darker part of his soul wanted to abduct her now, taking
her away from her father’s wealth and claiming her as his own. As tempting as it
was, he owed her the right to choose. The time they’d spent apart might have
changed everything.

Callum studied the pathway, skirting the main stretch so as to
avoid the castle inhabitants. The trees were thicker now, making it more
difficult for the horse to get through. As the shadows lengthened and sunlight
gleamed from the west, he found a small stream to water the horse and set up
camp for the night.

Uneasiness gnawed upon him as he delayed going to see her. His
presence might not be welcome here. It might be best to spend a day watching
over her, observing the castle to ensure that she was safe and happy. Besides,
even if he did approach her, he couldn’t speak or give any explanation for his
presence. She wouldn’t understand, that for the past few months, she’d haunted
his mind, tormenting him with memories.

* * *

At nightfall, he moved to the outer edges of the trees,
studying the castle and its defences. A moat encircled the structure and thick
stone walls stood taller than the height of a man. Two square towers stood on
each side with both gates were heavily guarded. He listened and heard the sound
of…was it music?

Callum hadn’t heard music in so long, the sound seemed to wend
its way through the forest, drawing him closer. He kept low to the ground,
hiding within the darkness, until he reached a place in the wall with a crevice
small enough to see through. Inside the castle, men and women celebrated with
tankards of ale, laughing amid the lilting song. Callum rested his cheek against
the cool stone, taking in the sight.

It had been years since he’d had anything at all to celebrate.
Watching the people with their smiling faces made him yearn to be a part of
it.

Especially when he spied the familiar figure he’d been
searching for the past few weeks.

Marguerite’s long golden hair was veiled, but it spun out as
she whirled in a dance with the others. Callum saw the men watching her and a
possessive air came over him.

Seeing her again after so many months was like a balm to his
broken spirits. He needed to go inside, to satisfy the need that had tormented
him since the last time he’d watched her walk away.

Fate intervened when a group of men and women approached the
drawbridge. Callum moved from his hiding place by the wall and drew his hood
over his head. Disguised among the villagers, he entered the gates.

Marguerite danced with the other women, but her movements held
less energy, as though she didn’t want to be there. He drank in the sight of
her, memorising her beautiful face and the way she moved.

The music shifted again, to a softer, more plaintive tone.
Marguerite stepped away from the dancing, her face flushed. As the others
gathered around the musicians, she leaned back against the wall.

Callum never took his eyes from her as he moved through the
crowd, keeping out of the torchlights. And when he was an arm’s length from her,
the sweetness of her scent pressed a dark aching through his chest. If he could
stand in her shadow for the rest of his life, it would be enough.

She turned toward him, her eyes narrowed. He saw the moment she
realised she wasn’t alone. Though he could have lowered his hood, revealing
himself, he spied the Duc watching over her.

She clutched her waist, taking a step back towards the people.
His opportunity was disappearing and Callum could say nothing to stop her. But
he needed to tell her that he was here.

When the sound of laughter resonated from the crowd,
Marguerite’s attention flickered for a moment. It was all he needed.

As he left the castle, he pressed a single, frayed ribbon into
the palm of her hand.

* * *

He was here. He’d come back to see
her.

All night long, Marguerite had held on to the ribbon, like a
faded memory. She didn’t know why Callum had travelled to Duncraig, but the
unexpected surge of anticipation broke through her disconsolate mood.

Ever since she’d left Glen Arrin, she’d been unable to forget
Callum MacKinloch. The fierce, silent Scot had invaded her dreams, leaving her
with memories of his kiss. At night, she imagined his mouth moving down her jaw,
down to her throat. She remembered the hardened lines of his body, the taut warm
skin that had invited her to touch.

‘Marguerite.’ Her father interrupted her idle thoughts the next
morning, setting his silver cup upon the table beside her. ‘I am leaving for
England on the morrow. I’ll be escorting the Earl of Penrith here for your
wedding.’

She nodded her head, trying not to betray the disappointment
inside. Even so, her father noticed her unhappiness. ‘I know these past few
months have been difficult for you. But be assured, this will be a better
marriage for you,
ma petite
,’ he continued. ‘The
earl has estates here, as well as in England and Ireland. He is favoured by the
English king, and I have it in good faith that he is a nobleman worthy of being
your husband. You should be well pleased with him.’

But what if I’m not pleased
? she
wanted to ask.
What if he’s as terrible as Lord
Cairnross?
Although she’d known her father would arrange another
match, the shadow of restlessness haunted her.

Months ago, the idea of questioning her father’s orders had
never occurred to her. As the head of the family, it was the Duc’s
responsibility to choose her husband, selecting a nobleman who would best
provide for her. None of her personal desires mattered. Yet now it seemed that
the invisible bands of obedience stretched over her, strangling her into
submission.

‘How long will you be gone?’

‘A fortnight or so.’ He reached out and took her hand. His
heavy gold ring pressed against her fingers as he squeezed his reassurance.
‘There are plenty of my men to keep you safe. And soon enough, you’ll live in
England as lady of your own castle.’ He sent her a warm smile, believing that
was all she’d ever wanted.

He had no reason to think otherwise. Only months ago, she’d
wanted to rule over her own demesne, with a strong husband at her side. She had
planned to be his obedient wife, creating a comfortable home for him and bearing
children.

But everything had changed since she’d spent time with the
MacKinlochs. Despite the danger and the terrifying battle, she’d shattered the
glass of her protected life. Another woman lived inside her skin, someone with
courage. A woman who had seized her own escape from Cairnross.

When her father had brought her to Duncraig, she’d expected to
resume her old life, like a familiar shadow. Instead, the past haunted her,
making her dream of a silent warrior who had torn apart her defences, awakening
her.

And now he’d come back.

She knew little of Callum MacKinloch, nor could she guess what
he thought of her. Yet the need to see him again overwhelmed her, filling her
mind with impossible thoughts.

‘We’ll hunt this morning,’ her father said. A warm smile
crinkled the edges of his eyes. ‘I want a little more time with my youngest
daughter before she leaves me as a wedded woman.’ He summoned a servant and
ordered their horses to be readied. ‘While I’m away, you are not to leave these
grounds. Is that understood?’

You are not to think for yourself or make
any decisions that contradict mine
, she thought bitterly. But she
gave the expected response,
‘Oui, mon père.’

‘You will also spend your time sewing or in prayer,’ he added.
‘Do not trouble yourself with the needs of the household. I have appointed Lady
Beatrice to oversee the servants and to guide you in my absence.’

Marguerite suppressed a groan. Though outwardly kind, her
mother’s sister Beatrice had a thin air of superiority that didn’t sit well with
her. The next fortnight would, no doubt, be an exercise in patience.

‘Obey her, Marguerite,’ he insisted.

In spite of her nineteen years, he still treated her as if she
were only seven years old. Marguerite veiled her frustration and rose from the
table, ignoring the rest of her food. At his enquiring look, she gave the
expected response, ‘If that is your will, Papa.’

Approval settled into his expression and he dismissed her with
a hand. ‘Go now, and we’ll ride out together in an hour.’

* * *

She found her father waiting for her near the stables.
He sent her a welcoming smile while she mounted her horse. ‘The others are not
yet ready to join us on the hunt. If you’re willing, we’ll go out for a short
ride together.’

It meant that he wanted to speak with her in private, she
guessed. With a nod, she followed him outside the gates.

Within her bodice, she’d tucked the frail ribbon Callum had
given her last eve. Her skin tightened with the desire to see him again. Why had
he come back? Knowing that he was here had opened up the Pandora’s box of her
forbidden wishes. Marguerite stared at the trees around them, wondering if he
was nearby.