by Paula Quinn
He broke their kiss, letting his mouth hover over hers. “I am the MacGregor,” he whispered on a growl that sounded harsh to his own ears. “The most feared enemy of yer clan. Dinna ferget it, Kate.”
With every ounce of control he possessed, he released her and leaned back in the water. He was a murderer, aye, not a violator of women. “D’ye want to know why I saved ye?”
She shook her head no. But he saw the new spark of fear in her eyes even before he gave her his reason. He forced a thin smile. She deserved to know what a ruthless bastard he was, though at present he hated himself more than when he was Liam Campbell’s prisoner. “Ye are more valuable to me alive than dead.”
Kate’s arm stung, along with her heart. She felt tears slowly rising to the rims of her lashes and grew angry with herself for letting him see the effect of his words.
“I want yer uncle’s head,” he continued, “and when he comes fer ye, I will take it with nae mercy—his and those of any others who come with him.”
Kate’s heart lurched. Terror washed over her, as frigid as the water beginning to numb her limbs. Her uncle had already proven her value to him when he fled against the McColls. He would not come for her. But her brother would. Robert would search for her. “You said Robert was your friend.”
“Nae, I never said I was friend to any Campbell.”
He was going to kill her brother! She had to do something. She could not allow Robert to die for her.
“I fear you’ve made a terrible error,” she said, doing her best not to weep. It would do no good against his hardened heart. “My uncle will not come for me.”
“Aye, he will.” Slowly, Callum treaded toward her again. When he reached her, he lifted his fingers to a tear spilling down her cheek. “I know he will, because I would come fer ye.” She broke away from his touch and swam back to the shore. He watched her snatch her kirtle from the ground and then flee, satisfied that he crushed any hope she had placed in him.
“Aye, Kate, if ye were mine and someone took ye, I would follow him to the ends of the Earth until I got ye back.”
Chapter Eleven
KATE BURST INTO THE CAMP, clutching her kirtle to her chest. She stopped for a moment to look at the four faces staring up at her from their pouches of dried mutton and bread, then rushed to Callum’s horse. She had to find Robert before he found her. Her chest burned. Her muscles felt frozen, save for the throbbing in her arm. She tried to pull herself up into the saddle, but a bolt of pain shot through her and almost made her retch.
A large pair of hands caught her by the waist and steadied her.
“Now, where do ye think ye’re going, lass?” When Graham turned Kate around to have a look at her, his expression changed to concern. “Hell, yer wound is bleeding. What in blazes did ye do?”
“She looks like she had a bath,” Angus offered, coming up behind Graham to see what the fuss was about.
“Did Callum toss ye into the water, then?” Jamie passed the others and rushed to her side.
“Jamie, why the hell would he toss her into the water, ye lackwit?” Brodie smacked the younger warrior on the side of the head, hoping to knock some sense into him.
Jamie glared at him. “Because she’s a Campbell, why else?”
Kate shook Graham to gain his attention from the others. “You knew I was bait to bring my uncle to Callum. I must go to Kildun!” Her teeth began to chatter, and Jamie near barreled over Brodie to retrieve a plaid from the ground to cover her.
“We cannot let ye do that, lass,” Graham said gently.
“But he is a loathsome coward,” she argued, trying desperately to make them understand. “My brother will be the one to die!” She leaned against Callum’s horse when another wave of pain washed over her.
“Who is a loathsome coward?” Jamie asked, thoroughly confused.
“Callum is,” Brodie answered.
Jamie’s shoulders straightened. “I take offense to that.”
Angus snickered, then guzzled some brew from another pouch he had hidden beneath his plaid.
“Kate.” She heard Graham speak her name. She dabbed her head with the back of her hand, wondering when the air had turned so warm. “Yer wound has opened, lass.”
“Hell, she’s bleedin’ all over m’ plaid,” Brodie complained, sincerely upset.
Angus belched, then swiped his hand across his mouth. “Since when d’ye mind someone else’s blood on yer plaid?”
“Please!” Kate shouted at the men. “You do not understand. My brother . . . he will look for me. You must let me go! I will not let him die because of me!”
Callum was securing his plaid over his shoulder when he stepped out from within the trees. He stopped as her plea reached him and pierced him like an arrow. He’d meant to frighten her, to open her eyes to the truth, but her desperation to save her brother’s life was too familiar to his own. Despite the darkness that consumed him, he clung to one love. That of his sister. He defied the law in honor of his name, but he had given up his soul in exchange for Maggie’s life. He would not force Kate to do the same. He was glad he had listened to Graham and not killed Robert Campbell.
Callum called her name. She turned, along with the others, as he picked up his steps again and moved slowly toward her.
“I willna harm yer brother.” Aye, ’twas his voice he heard promising to spare the young Campbell’s life yet again. His voice that sounded uncommonly gentle to his ears. “I willna kill him. I swear it,” he repeated, reaching her.
“Even if he comes to fight you?” Kate questioned, needing to be certain.
“I vow he will walk away unscathed.” His gaze dropped to the blood seeping through her shift. “Come.” He pressed his hand to hers, thankful that she did not pull away. Her confidence in his word produced a warm smile he could not resist giving her. “Yer wound needs tendin’.”
Her expression went from appreciative to terrified in an instant. “You will not attempt to burn it, will you?”
Callum bit down on his words. He would not lie to her. He closed his fingers around hers instead. “I’ll no’ do anything that’ll pain ye overmuch.”
He turned to Angus. “Give me yer brew.”
The hulking warrior gaped at him. “All of it?”
A seething glare from his laird stilled the remainder of Angus’s protests, and he handed the pouch over.
Callum cut a quick glance to Graham next. The commander nodded, knowing what needed to be done. He pulled a small dagger from his belt and headed for the cooled campfire, motioning for Jamie to gather more leaves.
“She needs to come oot o’ her undergarment. She’ll catch a wicked fever soaked through like that,” Brodie muttered with a tight smirk when Callum walked past him.
His cousin spoke true. She needed to change into her dry kirtle before she was unable to do it herself. Of course, Callum was not opposed to undressing her. But his control was already on the brink of shattering from just looking at her in her wet shift, her dark waves clinging to her fluid curves.
“I would know what you mean to do,” Kate demanded weakly while he led her toward the trees.
He knew exactly what she meant. She was worried about how he was going to tend to her arm. He did not think it wise to tell her just yet. Best to keep her mind off the blade, mayhap even rile her a bit. “I mean to offer ye the privacy ye denied me while ye get oot of that shift.”
“You did not seem too bothered by my watching,” Kate couldn’t help but parry, as ill as she felt.
“Aye,” he conceded with a long, repentant sigh while he placed her behind the nearest tree. “Devils have nae honor.”
“But knights who offer a lady her privacy do.”
He stared after her, unable to look away as he had promised. Knights. He almost laughed. What did he know of them? Those noble heroes who brandished their swords against injustice. His blade was stained only with vengeance. The lass was daft. But hell, he felt more human around her. More like a man than a monster.
“You’re looking!” Kate shrieked at him from her hiding place.
Grinding his jaw, he turned swiftly away. He was enjoying very manly thoughts when she came up behind him a few moments later and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and looked down at her pale face with the residue of longing still heavy in his gaze.
“Drink this. It’ll keep ye warm.” He pushed Angus’s pouch between them before he was tempted to drag her into his embrace and do the like himself.
She accepted the whiskey and drank. Immediately a crimson blush streaked across her cheeks, just before the color changed to a greenish hue.
“Ye’ve fergotten to apply yer ointment,” he stated firmly, taking hold of her shoulder.
“I—och hell . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut and trembled all the way down to her toes. “I could not apply it to my back.” She swayed on her feet, but Callum caught her and sat her down gently on the ground.
He eased her kirtle off her shoulder with careful fingers. “’Tis no’ so bad,” he said, squatting over her and examining the wound. When she tried to look, he cupped her hand in his and brought the pouch to her lips for another drink. When he returned to his ministrations, his hands shook and he cursed himself. He’d tended to hundreds of wounds to keep his men alive. This was no different. But it was. Kate’s skin was cool silk, milky white, and no matter how hard he tried, his littlest finger kept brushing against the swell of her breast while he tried as gently as he could to remove the packing Mae Stewart had used on her.
Kate remained still until she saw Graham approaching with a glowing dagger pointing straight at her. “Nae!” She struggled to gain her feet, but Callum’s hold on her remained firm.
He lowered his lips to her ear, closing his eyes when her intoxicating scent wafted through his nostrils. “Come, Katie lass,” he whispered. “Ye have faced doun the Devil. Ye willna turn Campbell on me now, will ye?”
She clutched fistfuls of his plaid and smothered her face into his chest when Graham came closer. “Do not burn me!”
Warding off Graham momentarily, Callum held her, knowing firsthand how badly this was going to hurt. “Another drink, Kate. It needs be done. I willna have ye die on me.”
“Aye, I’m of more value to you alive.” She pushed away from him, glared at Graham, then squeezed her eyes shut.
She did not remember Graham leaving, or if she screamed. Just Callum’s arm around her, cradling her while he sealed her wound shut with Graham’s blade. She was certain he asked her forgiveness a time or two while the hot metal seared her flesh. She was also acutely aware of the warmth of his muscles and the controlled strength he used to hold her still. So close, she took in the angle of his jaw tightening beneath a dark dusting of facial hair. His mouth, so firm and decadently shaped.
“You kissed me in the water.”
“Aye.”
“Think you might ever do it again?”
He stopped tending to her arm and looked down into her drowsy gaze, wanting to kiss her now. “I’m afraid I might.”
“Will you make certain you are dressed next time?”
Her words were slurred enough to make Callum smile as he went about finishing his task. “If I must.”
“You really should smile more.”
When his brilliant blue eyes settled on hers again, she tried to show him how it was done, slanting her lips just before she belched loudly enough to rival Angus on his drunkest day.
“There, you see? Just like that.” Her eyelids drifted closed, but she fought to stay awake. “Aye, you are quite a handsome man when you smile. Though you are handsome when you frown, as well, Clalum MacKreglor. Damn it, that hurts.” She cried out softly when he poured some of Angus’s brew over her shoulder, as she had done to his leg.
“I’m done, Kate.” Tenderly, he adjusted her kirtle so that the fabric did not touch her flesh. His fingers grazed her face and then paused when she moved closer to his touch.
“Thank you for not killing my brother.”
Callum did not move his hand away but stroked her temple with the backs of his fingers.
She opened her eyes, addling him thoroughly. “I see two of you.” She smiled again but then grew serious.
“Clalum?”
“Aye, lass?”
“If you did not kill my father, then who did?”
Chapter Twelve
KATE WOKE UP many hours later, propped against Callum’s chest while he kept his horse at a slow pace and his arms closed loosely around her. Her head ached from front to back. The bouncing up and down did not help, and she silently cursed his horse and every other horse in creation while they trotted along a rocky incline. She was trying to find a more comfortable position when she remembered that her knight was her captor and she was nothing more to him than bait to catch a jackal. She tried to sit up, but her head felt like it was going to teeter off her shoulders and careen to the ground.
“How do ye fare, Kate?”
The deep voice behind her ears boomed through her head and made her cringe.
“Must you shout?”
“I’m whisperin’.”
“Do not whisper so loudly, then,” she groaned. “I feel like I’m dying.”
Behind her, Callum nodded sympathetically, familiar with the agonizing aftereffects of Gillis’s brew. He laid his hand on top of her head and eased her back against his chest. “Just be still.”
Kate knew he did not like her, but once again, he was comforting her. His hand, one that had killed more Campbells than she cared to ponder, was so achingly gentle when he touched her that it almost made her doubt the conviction of his hatred. She did as her captor ordered and leaned against him, squinting in the daylight at the land around her.
Slopes were fast becoming mountains that rose like great granite curtains around her. When she inhaled, her nostrils tingled. The air was getting thinner. She had never traveled outside of Glen Orchy before, and she began to realize just how much she had missed. The Highlands were an uncharted place, vast and wild with untouched foliage and men who hid atop jagged cliffs, unseen in the mist. It was an untamed land of bursting color. The heather grew here in lush splendor, decorating the braes in rich purple majesty. But there was something more. ’Twas gray. The color of strength. An endless line of mountains rose boldly toward a vast blue sky that hovered so close one would wager his best horse that he merely need lift his hand to the sky to touch it. It was as if the very heavens descended upon this land. Kate decided the Highlands were the most breathtaking, soul-stirring place in creation.
Somewhere overhead, a hawk released a cry that echoed for leagues through deep glens and over rolling moorlands. Kate closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into Callum’s body.
Hard, tight muscles caressed her back. The weight of his shoulders slowly relaxed over hers, enfolding her. Thighs nestled and caressed her now instead of feeling like stones against her hips.
Callum sighed when Kate let out a wee snore under his chin. He had always considered himself hard, not pillow soft or cushioned with clouds. But hell, he was fast becoming this woman’s bed! She was a Campbell. And a nuisance. He tightened his arm around her and stroked her belly with the pad of his thumb. Acts of both protection and possession, he realized, praying for God to grant him strength to keep his wits about him. Protecting her was one thing, but possessing her would be deadly. Deadly for them both. Still, when the wind blew her curls against his face, he closed his eyes and inhaled. He had always thought nothing in the world could ever smell better than the Highlands. He was wrong.
He accepted a wedge of cheese from Brodie, who rode up beside him. They chewed in silence for a few moments before Callum turned toward him. “Brodie, stop starin’ at me and speak yer mind.”
Brodie shrugged his shoulders and tossed back the strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. “I was just thinkin’ how even-tempered ye have become since takin’ the lass.” He let his eyes rove over her form. “’Tis plain to see that she pleases ye,” he continued, even though Callum glared at him. “I was wantin’ to know if ye are thinkin’ o’ claimin’ her.”
“I’ll claim nae Campbell,” Callum answered him, tight-lipped.
“She fancies ye, laird,” Brodie went on. “Listen how she purrs like a kitten all wrapped up in yer arms.” The way Callum tightened his hold on her did not go unnoticed by Brodie. “Have ye no’ considered a way to torture the Earl of Argyll before killin’ him?”
“Nae, but I’m sure ye have thought of naught else,” Callum replied. Brodie was a most ruthless warrior, loyal in battle, but a bit overly bloodthirsty.
“The lass.” Brodie smiled, pointing his chin at her.
“What aboot her?”
“Bed her, and bed her thoroughly. What could be worse fer The Campbell than to have a MacGregor growin’ in his niece’s belly?”
Callum went still on his mount. He hadn’t thought of anything but bedding her for the past se’nnight. ’Twas true, ’twould be satisfying to tell Argyll that MacGregor seed grew in his niece, before Callum killed him. And if he took her to his bed, there would be no marriage between her and the English lord of Newbury. Aye, that thought pleased him well enough. But there was something more to consider.
“And what would become of her when she’s returned to her brother carryin’ my bairn? Ye saw what was done to Rhona MacGregor just fer bearin’ our name.”
“Aye, there is nae mercy fer sympathizers,” Brodie agreed quietly, then eyed Kate pressed so intimately against his laird. “Mayhap, then, ’tis best ye dinna give her back. Fer I fear it may be too late.”
Since she had slept most of the day, Kate was wide awake when Callum and his men settled into their plaids that night. Lying down was fruitless. She blamed the stars for keeping her eyes open, the sound of the leaves rustling for keeping her ears alert. But it was the man sleeping across the campfire who made her heart feel restless. No matter how she tried, she could not stop thinking about his kiss. Lord, but he was dangerous. She hadn’t been able to move in his iron embrace while he touched her so intimately, as if he owned her. And then she didn’t want him to let her go. He’d ravished her, all right, but she couldn’t seem to muster even the slightest bit of anger over it. His mouth took her with ruthless mastery. His hot tongue sliding over hers made her so weak and willing, it frightened her thinking how far she would have let him go had he not stopped on his own.
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