Tempted by the Highland Warrior (8 page)

The Duc led her along the perimeter of the forest, toward the
open fields. When she drew her mare alongside his, he suggested, ‘Shall we race?
I’ll grant you a small lead.’

She suspected that he intended to let her win, as he’d done
when she was a young girl. Though she returned his smile, she guessed that he
had other news to impart that she would not like.

‘I don’t need an advantage,’ she countered, adjusting her
skirts. ‘I can win without it.’

The challenge brought a smile to her father’s face. ‘What shall
we wager? A length of silk or a golden chain with a jewel to match your eyes?
Perhaps a fur-lined cloak to keep you warm in winter?’

She shook her head. There was no need for luxuries, not when
he’d granted all of that in the past. ‘A favour to be granted at a time of my
choosing.’ With the reins in her hand, she added, ‘What do you want, if you
win?’

His face softened. ‘A visit, from time to time. Your sisters
hardly ever come to see me any more.’ For a fleeting moment, she spied the
loneliness in his expression. He’d lost her mother years ago and had not
remarried, though she was not naïve enough to believe he’d been without female
companionship in that time.

‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘Say the word and we’ll ride.’

‘To the edge of the shore,’ he said, pointing to the coastline
in the distance. The Duc lifted his hand, eyeing her to ensure she was ready.
Then, when he lowered his palm, they both rode hard across the countryside.
Marguerite leaned into the wind, watching as her father kept his horse in check,
giving her the lead. Though he loved to ride as much as she, he’d always been
indulgent, wanting her to win.

Just as he’d given her everything she’d ever desired, whether
it was a silk gown or a purse filled with gold. She’d adored him as a young
girl, believing that it was her purpose in life to comply with his every
dictate. But the past few months had unsettled her, regarding the decisions he’d
made. No longer was he the benevolent ruler whom she obeyed without
question.

Suddenly she felt the urge to defy his intentions again. At the
last moment, just before she won the race, Marguerite pulled her horse to a hard
stop, letting her father ride past.

The Duc turned the horse and sent her a surprised look. ‘You
cheated.’

‘
Oui
, I did.’ She sent a
mischievous smile, adding, ‘Don’t deny you were about to do the same.’

He shrugged and came to join at her side. ‘A father is allowed
to grant favours to a beloved daughter, is he not?’

She reached out and took his hand. ‘I suppose I’ll have to come
and visit you in France, after I wed.’

‘I’ll hold you to that vow.’ But in his face she could see the
shadow of concern.

‘What is it you haven’t told me?’ Marguerite asked him. ‘You’re
hiding something.’

He let out a sigh and guided her back toward the castle to join
the others. ‘Nothing of any import, I suppose. The Earl of Penrith is a good
friend of the king’s. I am certain he will grant every wish you could have.’ But
his smile lacked sincerity, setting her mood on edge.

She followed her father back to join the hunting party awaiting
them, her mind distracted. What wasn’t he telling her? As they rode out into the
forest in search of game, she fought the anxiety that edged her spirits.

The woods blurred in a golden haze of sunlight filtering
through the trees. Though she continued with the others, her mind was distracted
and not at all interested in the hunt.

‘A boar!’ one of the men shouted, pointing toward the forest.
The riders quickened their pace and Marguerite held back, letting her father
take the lead. Although she didn’t doubt that the hunters would prevail, she
wasn’t about to get in the way of a boar. The aggressive beasts had vicious
tusks and more than a few men had been gored by them.

Along with her father, a dozen men and women rode past, while
Marguerite remained on the outskirts. The others were so intent, no one seemed
to notice her absence.

Then she heard a scuffling sound. Marguerite turned her horse
around, only to see a second boar racing towards her.

Mon Dieu.
She urged the horse
faster, trying to get away from the animal. No one else noticed and she turned
her mare deeper into the woods, trying to escape. Her horse reared up and she
struggled to hold her seat.

Arrows sliced through the air, embedding within the boar.
Marguerite stared at them, her heart racing when she saw the black feathers.
Then, suddenly, someone dropped from the tree behind her, landing on her horse.
The man’s arms came around her, and he forced the horse into a gallop, leading
her away from the others. The instinct to scream died down in her throat, for
she knew, without a doubt, the identity of the hooded silent man.

When the woods grew so thick her horse could no longer make it
through, he dismounted and lifted her down. Beneath the shadowed hood, she saw
the dark eyes of the man she’d dreamed of over the past few months.

‘Callum,’ she whispered, unable to believe it was he.

He said nothing, but took her hand, guiding her through the
woods for what seemed like a mile. Marguerite didn’t care that the others might
miss her presence. She could think of nothing but the man who was with her
now.

When at last he stopped, she spied the remains of a camp site
and the ashes of a fire. Before Callum could stoop to rekindle it, Marguerite
threw her arms around him. He gripped her hard, his face buried in her hair. She
melted against the planes of his body, unable to believe he was here at
last.

‘It’s been so long,’ she breathed. ‘Are you well? How is your
family?’

His eyes stared into hers, but gave no reply. She understood,
then, that his speech had not returned.

But he had his own way of speaking, in a manner that captivated
her.

Callum removed her veil, sliding his hands into her hair. She
caught her breath as he moved his palms down to her shoulders, resting them upon
her hips. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver of longing through her.

‘Why have you come?’ she whispered.

He didn’t have to answer for her to know. Despite the months
that had been lost between them, it was as if nothing had changed. She touched
his smooth cheek, marvelling at the difference in him. No longer did he have the
starving look about him; his face had filled out. There was no doubting the
strength in his arms or the quiet assurance he exuded. He’d kept his hair long
and the dark strands grew past his shoulders, like the wild Scot that he
was.

The stirrings of interest caught at her, forbidden thoughts of
the time they’d spent together months ago. She remembered his mouth upon hers
and the shocking desires he’d evoked.

Feeling suddenly shy, she stepped back and he took a moment to
rebuild the fire. Though she couldn’t stay with him for too long, she would
steal whatever moments she could.

When the fire burned brighter, she sat down on a fallen log and
told him of the months they’d travelled from northern Scotland down to the
Southwest.

‘My father has arranged a new marriage,’ she admitted. ‘I’m to
wed the Earl of Penrith.’

She needed him to know it, to be fully honest with him about
the way her life had shifted in the past few months. At her confession, Callum’s
expression tensed. He picked up a dry piece of wood and tossed it on the fire.
Marguerite didn’t know what else to say, but she offered, ‘I’m glad you came.
I—I thought of you often.’

His silence only intensified the awkwardness between them.
Without a voice, he could tell her nothing of the past or what he was thinking
now.

She tried to think of something else, but could only ask, ‘Has
your back healed?’

Callum sent her a curious look, but set down his quiver beside
the bow and removed his tunic.

When he turned his back, she saw that the scars still held a
red tint, but they had fully healed. She reached out to touch the skin and he
flinched.

‘Did I hurt you?’

He shook his head, lifting her hand to touch him again. The
warm skin was rough from the scarred gouges, but the lines of suffering had only
strengthened him. When she traced his flesh with her fingertips, he leaned into
the touch, as if her palms were healing him.

She moved her fingers over his shoulders, down to his ribs. A
sudden deep laugh escaped him, as if he were ticklish. Shocked, Marguerite
murmured, ‘I didn’t know you could make any sounds at all.’ It made her wonder
if he would one day speak again. And if he did, what he would say.

Callum took her hand and brought it to his throat, his eyes
watching her. The intimate touch of her fingers upon his skin made her feel
awkward and she sensed that he wanted something from her.

Abruptly, his expression grew stoic and he put his tunic on
again, reaching into a pouch of his belongings. He retrieved a silver chain
holding a pendant of sapphire-coloured glass. Marguerite held it in her palm,
captivated by the shifting colours in the blue necklace. He lifted it over her
neck and the pendant settled upon her bosom.

‘It’s beautiful.’ She ventured, ‘Laren made this glass, didn’t
she?’ At his nod, she offered, ‘Thank you.’

She touched the pendant, not knowing what else to say. A
sinking sensation pulled at her gut and she dared to ask again, ‘Callum, why
have you come?’

Dark brown eyes fastened upon her, with the intensity of a man
who wanted more than she could give. He took her hand in his, holding it gently.
Then he opened his palm, letting her pull away if she would.

Marguerite saw the question in his eyes. He would let her go,
here and now, if that was her choice. She simply had to walk away.

In her mind, she thought of the night he’d kissed her and the
shaken longing he’d provoked. She’d been unable to forget the way he’d made her
feel or the tremulous emotions within herself.

Your father has already decided upon your
marriage. Callum MacKinloch has no place in your life
, the voice of
logic demanded.

She knew that, just as she knew the rest of her life would be
commanded by others. Though she longed to speak up, to tell her father she
wanted to make her own decisions, he never listened to her opinions. He simply
reminded her that he wanted what was best for her life. It was hard to argue
when he’d given her so much.

‘I have to go back,’ she murmured at last. ‘They’ll be
searching for me.’ The words were leaden and she suspected that Callum would be
gone in the morning. Loneliness stretched out within her at the thought.

He lowered his hand, his face devoid of any emotion. She wanted
to say something, to make him understand how little power she held. But instead,
she locked away the words, afraid of hurting him with the truth.

* * *

Callum escorted her back and with every step, he felt
her slipping further away. Though she’d been glad to see him, both of them knew
he didn’t belong here. Still, he’d hoped for a chance.

Inside him, he closed off the numbness, accepting her decision.
Just having these moments with her had been more than he’d hoped for. Of course
her father would have chosen someone else for her to marry, someone with noble
blood.

Not a prisoner, locked away from the rest of the world. Not a
man with hardly a penny to call his own.

The dark tension warred with his instincts, but pride forced
him to release her hand. No matter how many miles he’d travelled, if she’d made
her decision, there was nothing more he could do.

She curled her palm around the pendant, her blue eyes holding
back tears. He turned away, the ache burning a hole inside of him. Perhaps it
was best to let her go.

‘Wait.’ Her voice held a quaver that he didn’t understand.
Before he could take another step, Marguerite closed the space between them.

His pulse faltered at her plea, but he shielded his thoughts
and waited for her to speak.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ she whispered.

Hope roared through him, that she might give him this chance.
He touched her face and Marguerite stood on her tiptoes, winding her arms around
him.

He held her so tight, their bodies merged into one. There was
so much he needed to say to her and he struggled again to speak. But the words
would not come.

For a breathless moment, he drew back to study her. His mouth
hovered above hers, waiting for her consent. She lifted her mouth to his and the
physical hunger consumed him. Her kiss evoked every moment that they’d spent
apart, the empty loneliness that had made each day interminable.

He put his desires and feelings into the kiss, not caring about
anything else but this moment. The woman he’d dreamed of was standing before
him, and he intended to savour the forbidden moment.

‘Will I see you again?’ she murmured.

He nodded and pointed toward the fire, where he’d set up camp.
She could come to him at any moment, though he knew better than to seek her
within her father’s castle.

‘My father is leaving for England at dawn,’ she told him. ‘I’ll
try to come after he’s gone.’

As she spoke the promise, Callum saw the hint of worry in her
eyes, as if she were afraid of someone discovering their secret. He didn’t care
at all, for she’d given him a shred of hope.

And for that, he’d risk everything.

Chapter Five

‘G
ood morn to you, Marguerite.’ Her
mother’s sister, Lady Beatrice, opened the shutters, revealing the morning
sunlight. The matron was plump with blonde hair the same colour as her own. A
silver cross nestled between her large breasts, likely to draw attention to
them. ‘You’d best hurry to say farewell to your father. He’ll be leaving for
England within the hour.’

Marguerite sat up, murmuring a polite response, while her mind
wandered back to the nightmare from last night. Beneath the coverlet, her hands
were clenched, her heartbeat unsteady. Although it was only a dream, there was
enough reality in it to frighten her. In her vision, she’d been with Callum,
kissing him deeply. He’d laid her back upon the grass and she’d welcomed him
into her arms.

Only to have him seized by her father’s men and killed for
touching her.

Fear took command of her, for she knew it could easily happen
if she were not careful. It was dangerous to meet with him or to let her
defences weaken. Callum was a man her father would never approve of. Wild and
fierce, he was a fighter who had survived a torturous life. Yet she could not
deny the desire he’d awakened inside her. She wanted desperately to see him
again, but now she questioned whether or not to go.

‘I’ve brought the silk and samite for you, along with the
earl’s measurements,’ her aunt continued. ‘You can begin sewing this
afternoon.’

‘Sewing?’ She’d missed the first part of the conversation and
frowned at the sight of the blue material.

‘For his wedding tunic,’ Lady Beatrice reminded her. ‘Your
father wishes your husband to see your accomplishments. What better way than to
make the earl new garments, embroidered by your hand?’

The matron sent her a bright smile. ‘He’ll be proud to wear
something made by his bride.’ She began setting out lengths of silk upon the
small table near the window. ‘If you work each day, you’ll finish by the time he
arrives from England. The Duc did not wish you to be bored in his absence.’

Normally, spending several hours sewing would have been a
pleasant way to spend the day. Today, however, it made her want to cry out with
frustration. She suspected her father had done this in an attempt to keep her
locked away in her room.

But she had other plans for this morn.

Marguerite allowed Lady Beatrice to help her get dressed, while
she eyed the outside sun with longing. ‘I will do as my father commands, of
course,’ she lied. ‘But after he leaves, I was planning to ride.’

‘That will not be permitted,’ Beatrice said, shaking her head.
‘We have our orders that you are to be kept safely inside the castle.’

‘Like a prisoner?’ Marguerite mused.

Her aunt’s face clouded with confusion. ‘It’s for your safety,
Marguerite. We wouldn’t want you to be lost or, worse, to be abducted by a
Scot.’ She shivered, gripping her arms. ‘I can only imagine what you must have
endured with them.’

Marguerite said nothing, recognising that Beatrice would never
understand. She moved to touch the fabric, examining the tight weave. The price
of the silk might have fed the MacKinloch clan for a year, which was
sobering.

She’d never stopped to think of how her father’s wealth
surrounded every part of her life, whereas Callum’s family struggled for their
food and shelter. During the battle a few months ago, their fortress at Glen
Arrin had burned. Had they managed to rebuild their homes? How many had
died?

Though she had dwelled with them for only a short time before
Cairnross and Harkirk had attacked, she’d been accepted as one of them. Nairna
and Laren had worked alongside her, almost like sisters. And the freedom was
like nothing she had ever experienced. Here, she could hardly walk below stairs
without a man guarding her. It was stifling, living this way.

Her aunt began chattering once again, but Marguerite didn’t
hear the words. Her mind was consumed with how to find a way out of the castle
for a few hours, in order to meet with Callum. Her best opportunity would come,
as soon as the Duc departed.

‘Come, Marguerite,’ her aunt insisted. ‘Your father will be
waiting below stairs. He’ll want you to wish him safe journey.’

She took Beatrice’s hand and followed her, casting another look
at the blue silk and samite. Somehow, she had to make her escape.

* * *

She came on foot. Through the trees, Marguerite’s
saffron gown bloomed like a golden flower caught within the forest. Callum stood
waiting for her, near his tethered horse, Goliath. Upon his shoulder, he carried
his bow and quiver of arrows to protect them from any harm.

The sight of her made his pulse quicken. He was torn between
wanting to steal her away and discovering how to win her heart. She’d kept her
promise to return, but he hardly knew what she thought of him.

Ever since the first moment he’d seen her, an invisible pull
had bound him to her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Marguerite if it kept
her safe and made her happy.

Though her fine gown marked her as a duke’s daughter, when he
looked upon her face, he saw the woman who had saved him from death. She was a
quiet beauty that he couldn’t relinquish.

When she reached his side, he repressed the urge to pull her
into an embrace. His hand clenched around the bow and he nodded in greeting.

Marguerite offered a hesitant smile. ‘Good morn to you.’

Callum gestured towards his fire, motioning the question of
whether she had broken her fast. She saw the remains of the boar meat he’d taken
and shook her head. ‘I’ve eaten already.’

She twisted her hands together, reaching for the silver chain
around her throat. When she pulled it free, he saw the pendant hidden beneath
the silk gown. She’d kept it.

Her eyes held nervousness, but he made an effort not to
frighten her. After so many months, they were strangers again. It would take
time before she learned to trust him.

He beckoned to her to come closer and introduced her to his
black stallion. Marguerite reached to touch Goliath and the horse nuzzled her
hand. ‘He’s a handsome creature.’ Her eyes met his and a flush of shyness came
over her cheeks. Murmuring to the animal, she stroked his head and distracted
herself with getting acquainted.

She looked flustered, as if she didn’t know what to say or do.
Moving between them, he took her hand in his. She was scared and it wasn’t
surprising. He’d removed her from the castle, bringing her out here alone. He
had to do something to make her relax, to understand that nothing had changed
between them.

Taking her hand, he lifted it to his own hair and drew it
downwards in a petting motion. A smile flickered at her mouth. ‘You’re not a
horse, Callum.’ But the tension evaporated and she let out a half-laugh when he
nuzzled her hand. With his hands upon her waist, he lifted her on to the horse,
swinging up behind her.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

He pointed beyond the trees, north of the castle. Far away
where none of her father’s men could find them.

Marguerite started to protest, but he ignored her, urging the
animal through the trees to the meadow beyond. He held her securely against him
as he quickened the pace, letting the animal take them away.

In the open clearing, he urged the horse faster, holding her
tight as he let Goliath run. The stallion loved nothing better than to go fast,
the landscape blurring around them. He guided them over the hills, until they
reached a small, silvery loch. His horse was glad to stop for a drink and Callum
lifted Marguerite down while Goliath took his fill.

‘For a moment, I was afraid you were trying to steal me away to
Glen Arrin,’ she breathed, a furtive smile upon her lips.

Would you want me to
? he
wondered.

Unlike most men, he could not speak words of flattery or tell
her his thoughts. He had to rely on his actions to show her what he wanted.

With his hands resting upon her waist, he tried to let her see
the thoughts within him.

If I could, I’d bring you back with
me.

His hands moved up her arms, like a lover’s. Her skin prickled
with goose flesh, but she remained utterly motionless, her blue eyes caught up
in his. ‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ she whispered.

His answer was to touch a finger to her lips.
Say nothing at all.
He took her hands and brought them
to his chest. Furtively, she rested her fingers upon his heartbeat.

‘I think your heart is beating as fast as mine is,’ she
admitted, raising her hands to his shoulders. Her touch explored him, moving
down his arms, and then up again. He didn’t move at all, thankful that she’d
read his thoughts. Only he wanted her hands upon his bare skin.

‘I shouldn’t be here right now,’ she murmured, ‘but I don’t
care.’

Neither did he. Her father was gone and they had a few hours
before the others would come to search for her. By then, he would bring her
safely home again.

Marguerite’s hands moved up his neck, then her hands threaded
into his hair. The sensation of her touch brought him closer to temptation. He
wanted to kiss her again, to taste the sweetness of her mouth and give in to his
own desires. The blinding pleasure of her hands was pushing him closer to the
edge. But then, with a mischievous smile, she petted him, as she had done
earlier to his horse.

His answer was to seize her wrists and capture the kiss he
wanted. He took command of her mouth, stealing her breath, and giving her no
chance to escape him. She didn’t understand the power she held over him. His
hands moved into her hair, tearing the veil aside until he could slide his
fingers into the silken length.

Don’t play games with me.

Her lips were swollen, her breathing tremulous. But she
understood now that he wasn’t one of her father’s men who would defer to
flirtation or small touches.

Her face was pale, but there was no fear—only an answering
desire. He hadn’t brought her here for teasing, but neither would he harm
her.

Taking her hand in his, he led Marguerite to sit upon a boulder
overlooking the loch. The late morning sun had risen higher, casting its warmth.
‘It’s beautiful here,’ she offered. Drawing her knees beneath her gown, she
stared out at the silvery water. ‘There was a lake near my father’s castle in
Avignois,’ she admitted. ‘When I was a little girl, I used to watch my sisters
swim. I was too frightened to join them.’

He sent her a questioning look, and she added, ‘I never learned
how.’

But he saw the interest in her eyes. Bending down, she removed
her shoes and dangled her bare feet into the water. ‘It’s not as cold as I
thought it would be.’

Callum watched her, wondering if she would trust him. They were
alone, with no one to intrude. Stripping off his tunic, he waded into the water,
never minding that his trews would get wet. He came before her, the water
reaching just above his knees, and held out his hand.

‘I can’t go into the water,’ she said. ‘My gown would be
soaked.’

He didn’t pressure her, but tilted his head in an invitation to
join him. Wariness lined her face, as if she didn’t trust him.

‘I’m not certain it would be a good idea. I really am a
terrible coward.’ She tried to smile, but beneath it he saw a hint of fear.
Possibly fear of the water, but it might be a fear of getting closer to him.
Especially after the kiss he’d stolen.

He sent her a slow, sinful smile.
Come to
me, Marguerite. If you dare.

She gathered her skirts and stood up, eyeing him with wariness.
Callum dipped his hand in the water and flicked a splash of water at her.
Marguerite let out a light shriek, laughing as the cold droplets rolled down her
throat beneath her gown. ‘Don’t. Really, I shouldn’t.’

He reached into the water and cupped both hands full. Eyeing
her with wickedness, he led the threat hover between them.

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

In answer, he sloshed the water toward her, angling it so that
it just missed her gown.

She leaped back with her skirts still clutched in her hands.
‘Enough. I surrender.’ But her eyes were laughing.

He emerged from the loch, dripping wet, and came to stand
before her. Her gaze moved over his bare skin and there was interest in her
eyes. She’d seen him unclothed before and sensual memories invaded his mind,
recalling how she had bathed him.

He brought his wet hands to the jewelled girdle at her waist.
She stared at him, covering his hands with her own while he unfastened it.

Trust me.

Her face paled, but he dropped the girdle upon the grass,
waiting for her to make the choice.

‘If I were still a little girl, it wouldn’t matter, would it? I
could try to swim if I wanted to.’

Callum nodded in reply, moving his hands to loosen the surcoat
she wore.

‘M-my father never allowed me to try swimming. He told me I
wasn’t strong enough, that I might drown.’ In her eyes, he saw the war of
feelings, as if she were torn with indecision. He drew his hands up her nape and
she shivered before him. With his thumb, he brushed gently against her mouth, as
if to tempt her.

‘He will be gone for the next fortnight,’ she continued,
turning her back to him. ‘To bring back the man who will be my husband.’

Her confession fired up Callum’s jealousy, darkening his mood.
He’d come here to fight for her, to show her another fate if she wanted it. He
wasn’t about to stand aside and let her wed someone else. Not if he could
convince her otherwise.

She drew her hair over one shoulder, baring her throat to him.
‘Will you help me take this gown off?’

His answer was to rest his hands upon her skin, letting her
feel the warmth of him. Slowly he unlaced the saffron surcoat and helped her
lift it away. The gown beneath it was tightly fitted to her arms. He rested his
hands upon her shoulders, awaiting permission. Goose flesh rose upon her nape
and she murmured, ‘May I borrow your blade?’