For a moment, Arabella stared at the fallen soldier. Her trembling hands clenched tight around her bow. The unsettling truth that she’d taken another’s life with such ease stabbed at her conscience. Mercifully, her brother’s words from one of their training sessions sifted to the forefront of her stuttering mind.
“In matters of life and death, your sole duty is to survive. ’Tis no time for doubt.”
She exhaled a shaky breath and recited Iain’s words over and over in her head. Once the trembling in her arms lessened, she reached for another arrow. Fitting the wood into its notch, she raised her arms. The soft fletching tickled her cheek as she waited for a clear shot. At the sight of an enemy advancing on Calum’s unguarded back, she released without a moment’s delay. With a faint whistle, the wooden shaft pierced the soldier’s throat just as Calum spun to face the threat.
Shock flared in his wide eyes before his gaze locked on her. Blistering fury swirled in his firm stare. The thunderous look he pinned her with promised he’d deal with her later. Tossing his head back, he released a loud bellow over the sounds of clanging steel and shouts.
Not in the least bothered by his display of temper, Arabella rolled her eyes as he rejoined the fight. As she reached for another arrow, she caught sight of Liam and Symon cutting a path straight for her.
“Damn it, woman,” Liam snarled. “Get back to safety.”
She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but the vexing man swung around in time to deflect a blow. As Liam and Symon fended off their attackers, she chose to continue picking off Longford’s men.
Two felled soldiers later, the opposition evened and she awaited a clear target. She searched the crowd over, seeking an opportunity. On the edge of camp, a lone Highlander took a sword to the side while fighting off two English. The young warrior evaded further injury but dropped to his knees, leaving himself defenseless.
Gripping an arrow between her fingers, she pulled her bow taut, aimed, and released. The slender rod hurtled through the air, the sharp tip embedding deep in a weak spot of armor beneath one of the soldiers’ arms. The blade dropped from his hands and he wavered on his feet before falling to the ground. Despite his wound, the Highlander hoisted himself to his feet, winked at her, and rushed to engage his second attacker.
Astounded, Arabella gaped at the madman and briefly wondered if he was a bit touched in the head. Shaking her head, she glanced around the clearing, thankful to find the skirmish nearing an end. In front of her, Liam and Symon finished off their opponents. Without a clear shot any longer, she bent to replace her bow along Devlin’s flank. A sharp jerk to the back of her tunic caught her unaware and pulled her sideways from the saddle.
She landed flat on her back. The fall jarred her entire body and knocked the wind from her lungs. Rolling onto her hands and knees, she struggled to drag air into her greedy lungs. Rough hands wrenched her upright, tearing a loud gasp from her. Hauled against a mail-clad chest, she twisted and kicked to free herself, but to no avail. The sharp bite of cold steel at her neck ceased her efforts.
*
LIAM’S BATTLE CRY rent the blood-tinged air and Calum’s heart constricted. Certain the call to arms boded ill, he pulled his sword from the belly of a dead soldier and coolly turned. Just as suddenly, his blood ran cold.
One of the English restrained Arabella against his chest, pressing the point of his dagger to her throat. A second soldier flanked the man holding her.
For a fleeting moment, dread held Calum immobile. ’Twas a mercy his fear swiftly abated and fury consumed him—an all-consuming wrath that moved throughout his frame in a blinding rush. Over his cold, lifeless body would he allow these whoresons to take Arabella from him.
He sucked in a harsh breath to soothe his anger before he attempted a foolish move that might endanger the lass. Such as charging across the clearing and lopping the arse’s head off. He cast a quick glimpse around camp, considering his men’s positions. Braced in battle stances, Liam and Symon stood a few yards ahead. Weapons drawn, the pair merely awaited his signal to attack.
With measured steps, Calum strode forward, pausing in front of Liam and Symon. Not removing his gaze from the enemy, he stretched his arm behind him to pass his sword off to Liam.
“Release the woman.” The even tone belied the force of his words.
The Englishman’s lips twisted with a sneer. “My lord’s paying well for this one’s return.”
Arabella struggled to free herself, but the fool pressed the point of his blade into her flesh and she stilled. A low growl slipped from Calum’s throat. He repressed the impulse to lunge at the man. For the first time since he crossed the clearing, he spared Arabella a glance.
A mix of fear and indignation darkened her eyes, while her cheeks flushed a deep shade of scarlet. She slid her free hand to a dagger sheathed along her waist and tapped the hilt. Her raised brows and searching gaze silently beseeched him to follow along.
Was the woman addled in the head?
He directed his fiercest glare at her, but the blasted female closed her eyes, dismissing his mute warning. Moments later, she reopened them with a look of fierce determination.
Blast the woman!
He unclenched his fists and forced his hands to remain lax at his sides. In one swift motion, she grasped the dagger and arced her arm upward, embedding the small knife in the Englishman’s throat. She ripped free from his hold and threw herself to the ground, out of harm’s way. Calum snatched the dirk sheathed along his inner arm and sent the weapon hurtling through the air. The blade found its mark, buried deep in the second Englishman’s neck. Eyes wide, the soldier clawed at his throat, gasping for air, before crumpling into a heap in the dirt.
The breath Calum held hissed out of him. The pounding in his head matched the drumming in his chest. Coiled tight, his body shook with raw, unspent rage. Locked in his anger, he merely blinked as the madwoman in front of him retrieved her dagger from the dead soldier’s neck, wiped the blood from her blade on the slain man’s tabard, and then returned the small knife to a sheath along her belt. Heedless of the violent storm fuming inside him, she met his gaze and bestowed a brilliant smile.
His patience splintered in two. “Damn it! What the devil’s the matter with you? You could’ve been killed, you foolish, daft woman.”
Arabella flinched, her smile fading in a flash. Her brows pinched together and a flood of color rushed to her cheeks. Her features twisted with a scowl and she marched forward, until she planted herself directly in his path.
With both hands propped on her hips, she glared up at him. “I knew what I was doing.”
A hushed snort from one of the horses pierced the rigid silence.
Calum gritted his teeth. “You’re not to take such a damned, foolish risk again, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” She poked him in the chest. “I’m not a fool, nor do I take foolish risks. And I do not have to answer to you. You’re not my keeper!”
’Twas the sheer grace of God alone that kept him from wringing her lovely neck. Saints alive, he could not do this with her. Not now. Not when he itched to inflict bodily harm to someone or something. He slapped her finger from his chest, turned his back on her, and grabbed his sword from Liam.
“See to Tomas, then we’re leaving.”
Distance—he needed it desperately. Otherwise, he’d bellow at her until she wept like a bairn. Seething in anger, he stomped into the forest, desperate to regain his waning composure. He slashed his sword at offending branches and undergrowth as he stalked through the dense wood.
What the devil was the matter with her? The blasted lass was a hazard to her own health, placing herself directly in the path of danger. Christ, he could not endure much more of her recklessness. Just the thought of that impudent cur holding a dagger to her throat incited his anger all over again, and his temper bubbled over.
Growling out his rage, he gripped the hilt of his sword in both hands and lashed out at a tree stump blocking his path.
With vicious strokes, he hacked at the innocent stub of wood, removing several large chucks. A flurry of tree bark flew through the air, pelting him in the face, but he continued to chop and slash, desperate to destroy something—anything.
When hardly anything remained of the stump, he ceased his assault and dropped his strained arms, letting the sword rest lax against his leg. As his chest heaved from his labors, he surveyed the damage and shook his head in disgust.
Hell, he couldn’t decide which was more pitiful—the hunk of wood or him?
Annoyed with the childish display, he dragged his feet to a nearby tree, propped his arm against the rough surface, and lowered his forehead onto the coarse bark in defeat. His once-prized composure had deserted him, and damned if he did not blame Arabella for the loss.
How had Iain possessed the patience to deal with her? By God, if she were his…
The unfinished thought hit him like a blow to the chest. She could be. If he accepted Fraser’s request. But could he handle a lifetime of her, or would she drive him to an early grave?
Truth be told, a part of him was livid for her lack of care, but another admired her spirit and cunning. He rode a fine line between turning her over his knee and offering her praise. Christ, what was he to do with the brave, reckless woman?
Over his shoulder, leaves rustled as someone approached.
Arabella.
He knew it as sure as he’d draw his next breath. Sending up a quick prayer, he beseeched the heavens to lend him strength. In his present state of mind, he dared not trust his sour mood.
“Calum?”
When he did not respond, she moved close enough he felt the heat of her body. She placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes.
“I’m truly sorry for my behavior, but I do not regret my actions. Please understand. I could not stomach you or your men coming to harm because of me. I just…I cannot be helpless any longer, Calum. Please, do not be wroth with me.”
Saints, he did not wish to forgive her. He wanted to hang on to his anger, to rail at her for her recklessness, but his ire crumbled into a fine dust, whether he wished it or not. He lifted his head and stared out at the forest. How could one small woman unman him with a slight touch and soft-spoken words? Was this how life would always be with her?
Calum shifted to lean his back against the tree and searched her solemn features. Spying the blade’s mark on her neck, he raised his hand to her throat and brushed his thumb over the angry scratch. A comely shade of pink stained her cheeks, but she did not flinch away at his touch.
He confessed, “I hated seeing that arse hurt you.”
“I hated it, too.” She bit her bottom lip. “Thank you, Calum.”
“For what?”
“For saving me. Again.”
He snorted. “You keep saving yourself, lass.”
Arabella flashed him a playful grin. “Or getting myself in more trouble, you mean?”
His gaze drifted from her vibrant eyes to the curve of her mouth. He itched to feel the press of those full lips to his. Unable to bear her nearness any longer, he hooked his other arm around her waist and hauled her flush against his chest. Her sharp intake of breath gave him pause. As he stared into her wide eyes, he permitted her a chance to reject him but, to his utter relief, she relaxed in his arms.
Reassured, he moved his thumb from her throat to sweep over her plump, bottom lip. Finally, he yielded to the urge that had plagued him since he’d first set eyes on her. He leaned forward and captured her mouth with a chaste kiss.
Arabella trembled in his arms. She gathered the material of his tunic in her small fists. He released her lips and shifted to pull away, but she tugged at the material.
“Do not stop,” she breathed against his mouth. “Please.”
The blood in his head rushed straight to his groin at her innocent plea. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“You never have to beg me for a thing, Arabella.” He would gladly give anything she asked of him. He tipped her head closer. “Open for me, Sweetness.”
She timidly parted her lips and he eased his tongue inside to explore her mouth. At his leisure, he deepened the kiss, sampling her taste. A rich, spiced honey, the unique flavor slipped into his senses.
Christ, she was sweet.
As soon as her shy tongue moved with his, he sank deeper in her lush warmth, drinking her in. Desperate for more, he drew her closer until the curve of her belly cushioned his hardened length. A low moan rose from the back of her throat, sending a tremor of white-hot lust through his frame. ’Twas a mercy his good sense nudged at him before he surrendered to his male urges. He had to stop before he continued with something Arabella might come to regret.
Calum bit back a groan and forced himself to withdraw. He licked his lips, savoring the lingering spice of her, and gazed down at her flushed face. Passion darkened her eyes a deep emerald, while her kiss-swollen lips tempted him to steal another taste. Unable to resist, he bent forward and gave her a quick but thorough kiss. Holding her tight in his arms, he rested his chin atop her head and soaked up the feel of her lithe body tucked against his.
Once their breathing evened out, he set her away from him. He caressed her soft cheek. “We’ve tarried too long, Sweetness. We should return before the men come looking for us.”
Arabella nodded absently and fingered her lips, lost in her own thoughts. Barely suppressing a satisfied grin, he placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her through the wood. Despite his apprehension and fears, Calum arrived at a decision on the short walk back to camp. As soon as they returned home, Fraser would have his answer.
Chapter Nine
ARABELLA PATTED DEVLIN’S NECK, thankful the end of their journey drew near. For days, she’d followed the steady pace Calum set. Even after they passed the Scots border, the men remained vigilant, always on their guards, keeping one eye forward and one at their backs. Left with little else to distract her, she rode along in silence which was just as well since her thoughts were otherwise occupied. A jumbled mess was more apt.
In spite of everything—Iain’s death, losing Penswyck, leaving Maggie and Dougal behind, the attack on their camp—’twas Calum’s kiss that’d left her wading in a sea of doubt. Perhaps not entirely the kiss, but most assuredly his manner afterward.
Her first kiss.
Arabella lifted her hand and brushed her fingers over her lips. She’d no notion a man’s touch could awaken such feelings inside her. Pleasure had hummed through her, sparking some foreign, restless ache deep in her belly. For the first time in her life, she experienced desire. Briefly, she floated in a state of bliss. That is, until she and Calum returned to camp and he dumped her astride her mount without another word.
Since then, the blasted man remained remote and brooding, barely sparing her a glance. All manner of speech between them had ceased. For the duration of the journey, Liam and Tomas, the Highlander who’d taken a sword to his side, stuck close to her. Calum’s orders, she guessed. She huffed a frustrated sigh, perplexed by the man’s behavior.
Why? The question burned in her mind. Was he still furious with her? Or did he regret kissing her? Why hold her close one moment, then cast her aside the next? Weary and travel-worn, she lacked the courage to confront him with the matter. One thing was certain though, his actions stung. Not that she would ever admit such to him.
“Ah, ’tis good to be home.”
Liam’s exclamation pulled her from her idle thoughts. She tugged Devlin to a halt and took in her surroundings.
In the distance, white clouds dotted an expanse of blue sky. A modest stone keep rose from the peak of a knoll. From the outer curtain walls, a small village of thatch-roofed cottages stretched into the valley below. To the east, farmers labored in fields, gathering the last of the season’s harvest. Specks of grazing cattle and sheep in the meadows lined their stomachs with the last bits of green pasture before winter’s approach. To the west, a dark, stagnant
loch reflected a thick patch of adjoining forest. Faint scents of heather hung in the frigid air. The charming view nearly lulled her into a state of relief until one significant detail struck her.
She glanced at Liam. “This is not my uncle’s keep.”
“I should think not.” His laughter rang out in the valley as they nudged their mounts onward. “This has been MacGregor land for generations.”
“Liam.” She shot him a dark scowl. “I thought I was to be taken to my uncle’s?”
He shrugged. “Calum decided we should stop here to rest. He sent Anthony and Symon ahead to inform the clan and Fraser. So he’ll be along soon.”
Irritated, Arabella sought out Calum among the riders. Sitting proud atop his stallion, he faced ahead, ignorant of the hard look she aimed at him. The big-headed giant had the wretched habit of forcing her to do his bidding, as if she should bow to his every command without question. He glanced in her direction as though he sensed her glare, and she narrowed her eyes in displeasure. Rather than pay him any more attention, she lifted her chin in the air and diverted her gaze.
As they rode through the village, clansmen and women paused in their daily chores, stepping out of cottages or work areas to welcome their laird and his men’s return. Smiles fastened on their faces, the villagers raised hands or called out in greeting. As the procession of horses passed, curious stares lingered on her. Uncomfortable with the notice, she clenched Devlin’s reins in a white-knuckled grip.
Once their group stopped near the stables in the outer courtyard, Arabella moved to dismount but Calum was at her side, plucking her from the saddle. Without a word, he placed her on the ground, wrapped his arm around her middle, and guided her toward his clan.
There he went again, expecting her to submit to his commands, spoken or not. Her earlier annoyance unraveled and she slammed to a halt, refusing to take another step forward. Determined to speak her peace, she lifted her gaze to his and opened her mouth, but the words hung in her throat.
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