Laird of the Mist

by Paula Quinn

  He took her hand in his as understanding washed over him. Understanding he would have fought to deny, even now, if he had never seen something other than a monster in Kate’s eyes. “I am a fool.” He smiled, then cleared his throat when his eyes stung.

  “Now will ye bring Kate back?”

  “She hasna left yet, Maggie. But I canna—”

  “She has so left!” she insisted, yanking her hand from his so she could slap her thigh. “She took Ahern and bade me call to the guards to allow her departure. I think Graham should have gone with her.”

  Callum tried to calm the fierce pounding in his chest but failed as he leaped to his feet. “Nae! She could no’ have left. No’ alone!”

  “I tell ye, she did,” Maggie said adamantly while she rose.

  “Christ!” He raked his fingers through his hair as if he meant to yank out every strand. His eyes searched toward Elgol. “When did she go?” He whirled around, dropped to one knee, and gripped his sister’s shoulders. “Maggie, think hard. How long ago did Kate leave?”

  “Och, ’twas long ago, Callum. ’Twas before I fed Matilda.”

  Since he had no idea when that was, he groaned, released his sister, then took off toward the stable, calling over his shoulder that she return to the castle. He was grateful to find Maggie finally doing what he asked when he flew past her on his mount.

  Callum cursed on the wind that tore his hair away from his face while he thundered out of the glen. Why the hell would Kate do such a foolish thing? He snapped the reins, driving his steed faster. He was to blame. He had pushed her so hard she could not wait another day to be away from him. Driven by fear of what might become of her, he kicked his mount’s flanks harder, urging the horse to fly.

  He plundered toward Elgol just as the sky tore open above him. His eyes scanned the darkened cliffs and countryside, searching. She could not have been gone from the castle for any length of time without him noticing, he told himself, trying to remain calm—to contain his rawest emotions. Surely she could not have gone far with old Ahern beneath her. Praying she had not already reached the treacherous cliffs, Callum gritted his teeth to keep from crying out the name that had somehow become more important to him than his own.

  Kate reached Elgol just before the heavens darkened and poured out their wrath upon the land. She was sure it was wrath, for the rain battered her flesh, saturating her bones until the cold numbed her limbs. The torrent obscured her vision and she slowed Ahern’s pace, fearing she might lead them blindly over the cliffs. A few feet up ahead, a shadowy figure crossed her path. She pulled the old horse to a halt and swiped the rain from her eyes. The hair along her neck rose. A warning sounded in her head. Someone was watching her. She cursed herself for not bringing a sword, or at least a dagger, for protection on her journey. She heard the sound of feet pounding the muddy ground and turned, panic accelerating her heartbeat.

  The man was upon her almost instantly. His fist caught her in the ribs, doubling her over. He yanked on her hair, pulling her off Ahern’s back. She was too shocked by the sudden assault and too cold to fight back while she was dragged off the path and hurled against a wall of rock that separated the minty fragrance of forest from the briny scent of the sea.

  Kate reeled backward and fell hard against a large boulder, one sharp edge barely missing the back of her head. Red, searing pain flared across her shoulder and then sent a numbing tingle down her arm, to her fingertips. She gasped back the breath that was knocked out of her and pushed herself to her feet to face two men, their dark hair plastered to their satisfied faces. She clawed the rain from her eyes, trying to gain some control over her trembling fingers. The whitecaps behind her pitched and crashed hard against the rocks that lined the shore. Above her, the vast heavens deepened to charcoal gray and the rolling roar of thunder resonated through her bones.

  “She’s a bonny wench, Clyde. Are ye certain she’s a MacGregor?” the first one said, sweeping his eyes over the length of her body. So lewd was his gaze, Kate almost looked away. These two would not kill her right away.

  “Aye, she comes from the path to Camlochlin,” Clyde sneered. “I dinna know if m’ stomach can stand ruttin’ a MacGregor.”

  Kate’s fear faded into rage. She tossed each man a glare that would have made Callum proud, had he been there to see it. “Touch me and I’ll rake your eyes out and toss them into the sea, you filthy son of a—”

  Clyde took a step forward and cracked her hard across the mouth. She fell backward again, landing on her backside against the rock. “I see we’re goin’ to have to beat some courtesy into ye before we sell ye.”

  “What think ye we’ll get fer her? She’s bonny, she is.” The other stared at the blood dripping over her bottom lip and licked his own mouth.

  “No’ much, Ewan. The barons dinna pay much fer MacGregor women, and even less if she be wi’ child.”

  “Mayhap she’s a MacLeod. Should we no’ be certain first?”

  Kate listened on in horror. They spoke of her as if she was naught more than a cesspit rat. This was what it meant to be a MacGregor. No honor, no dignity. No place was safe, not even here in Callum’s own kingdom. Her life was worth nothing simply because they believed her name to be MacGregor.

  “Ye’ll tell me who yer laird is before I have m’ way with ye, wench.” Clyde grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her forward.

  How difficult would it be to tell them who her uncle was? To simply deny a name?

  It wasn’t difficult at all.

  It was impossible.

  She was not a MacGregor, but it did not matter to her. Here was the noble fight of heroes. Would she cower to Callum’s enemies by denouncing everything he fought to keep alive?

  “Will I be defilin’ m’ body by touchin’ ye?” Clyde demanded.

  To do so meant more than just forgetting Callum’s bravery and Maggie’s suffering. It meant stripping away the existence of an entire clan. A clan that belonged to Scotland. And Kate was sure now that each time a MacGregor was killed or denied the right to bear his name, the very hills screamed out at the injustice of it. Yet the heather still grew in all its glory, the mists still lingered over the mountaintops, exploding into golden brilliance with the setting of the sun, as if reminding her children to never give up.

  Kate lifted her gaze to her captors and wiped her mouth. “It is you who defile the name MacGregor when it falls from your loathsome lips.”

  Clyde raised his hand to strike her again, but Kate ducked low, picked up a rock, and smashed it against his temple. Clyde swayed on his feet, then staggered backward. A look of astonishment animated his face at being wounded by this waif of a gel who now stood ready to fight.

  His companion charged her like a wild boar and caught her square on the jaw with his fist. Kate crumbled to the ground, unconscious even before she reached her destination.

  A peal of thunder bellowed its rage, quaking the earth and its foundations. But ’twas the sound that followed that caused Clyde and Ewan to turn. ’Twas the sound of death. Ewan wanted to run, but sheer terror rooted his feet to the ground. Blindly, for he could not tear his terrified gaze from the direction of the unholy wail just beyond the fog, he reached out to where Clyde stood equally still, and clutched his companion’s sleeve.

  “Good God in heaven, ’tis him.” Clyde’s voice rattled with the certain knowledge of his imminent death. Many had heard of the fiend, MacGregor, but not so many had actually ever seen him. Tales were told about the laird of the mist around bonfires when the moon hung low in the sky and the wind howled like the souls of his victims. As elusive as a nimbus mist, he had been hunted for years but never caught. ’Twas whispered his was the blackest soul ever to walk the Earth. But Clyde swore by his poor mother’s grave that the Earth itself lent to the beast’s foul existence. For the heavens blackened, and out of a rising mist he rode like a demon ascending from the sooty vapors of hell.

  He did not cut them down instantly, but leaped from the heaving crea
ture snorting beneath him. For an instant he did naught but stare at the woman lying in the sand while the rain washed blood from her face into a thin rivulet beside her.

  He groaned. The sound tore the last meager fibers of courage from her attackers. Their death was swift. Both heads fell to the ground with one mighty blow.

  Callum sank to his knees beside Kate, biting back another forceful groan. Reaching his hand out, he closed his eyes and touched her throat to discover if she lived. He sighed with such relief his shoulders sagged to his chest. He scooped her up into his arms and held her close before he kissed her cherished brow. She shivered, unconscious in his embrace, and he cursed the rain for soaking her so. Ahern was nowhere to be found, but had the old horse been standing beside him, it would have made no difference. Kate was freezing, and Camlochlin was leagues away.

  The cave was easy to find. There were many carved into the jagged cliff walls of Elgol. Callum built a roaring fire out of dry driftwood found deeper within the rocky crevice and some dried seaweed, which he used to cushion the cold ground before he laid Kate upon it. He undressed her, getting her out of her dripping clothes, and then he, too, stripped naked and lay down beside her. Her teeth chattered, but still she did not awaken, making Callum pray the bastards had not struck her with anything more serious than their fists.

  “Nae, ye just find it pleasin’ to sleep aroond me, dinna ye, Katie, my love,” he whispered while he soaked his vision with her. Now that she was back safely in his arms, he knew he had to have been daft to ever let her go. He wrapped one long leg over her hips and dragged her closer against his warmth. Facing her, he used his large hands to rub the cold from each limb. He did not stop until her flesh grew warm. She moaned and nuzzled closer to him. He closed his eyes to stop the wave of emotion aching to be released, and the rush of silken heat that having her naked body against his made him feel. “Och, lass, what have ye done to this poor fool of a man? I shouldna keep ye with me, and ’tis makin’ me so daft I canna think straight.” He smoothed wet curls over her forehead, watching her—watching her until he knew that not being able to do so would be worse than being shackled to any dungeon wall. “God have mercy on ye, Katie, but I love ye.”

  Kate’s eyes drifted open an hour later. Thick cobwebs settled over her like a warm woolen blanket. A very warm blanket. She snuggled deeper beneath it and faded back to sleep. She dreamed of Callum’s handsome face so close to hers, sleeping beside her, his strong arms clinging to her as if his survival depended on her. Somewhere deep within her, her heart told her it did.

  Chapter Thirty

  KATE OPENED HER EYES. For a moment she thought she was still dreaming. But, and God help her, that face was real. The warm, spicy breath falling on her cheek was real. He had come for her, saved her from . . . She lifted her hand off Callum’s chest and brought it to her swollen lip. An instant later, her gaze slipped back to him.

  His bare chest.

  She looked down and squeaked. She was naked! He was naked! Instinct made her jerk away from him, but his arm curled around her more firmly and then hauled her into an embrace that snatched the breath from her body. She gasped. He snored. Her bones went pliant against him. What was this? How had he found her? Why had he found her?

  She would ask him why later; right now she was too occupied with the task of trying to still her beating heart, for it rejoiced with such a loud thumping she was sure it was what had awakened him. For when she looked at his face again, his gentle gaze made her tingle all the way down to her toenails. She smiled and then blushed.

  Callum was sure his poor heart would never recover.

  “Where are our clothes?” she whispered, lowering her gaze modestly.

  “Dryin’. Ye were freezin’ and I had to keep ye warm.”

  He still had not released her, and she did not want him to. Not ever again. “Why did you come for me?”

  He pulled her closer into the steel of his arms. “I didna want to send ye away, Katie.”

  “They were going to sell me.” She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest. “And all I could think of was you.”

  Callum’s jaw danced beneath his flesh. God help him, how could he ever live without her? “Dinna fear, lass. They’ll no’ be comin’ back.”

  Kate did not hear the terrible beast in his voice, only the hollowed guilt of a man who knew killing was the sole way to survive and wished it wasn’t.

  She stared up into the flames of his eyes, blue-gold kilns where his passion for life, for hope, for revenge, and for redemption burned. He had killed many. He had become something detestable, and his cause had ceased to be an honorable one in his own eyes. But nowhere in that powerful gaze was there hatred. She smiled, suddenly understanding why he had sent her away. He became a monster to save what he loved.

  “You rescued me again.”

  God’s mercy, would she always look at him as if he were a hero? Callum wondered. Even when he tried to enlighten her about his black heart, she refused to see it. “Kate.” he almost didn’t want to utter it. Damn it, he had to admit to himself that he quite honestly loved being a hero to her. But he was not a knight. He was not a hero. “I’m naught but a coldhearted bastard. I—”

  She shook her head. “You are more than I ever dreamed of. What you do, you have been forced to do to protect those you love, to save your clan from extinction. Sometimes I can do naught more than ask the Lord what I have done to deserve meeting a man such as you, my laird MacGregor.”

  His gaze ravaged her with a need so profound she felt her heart stall. He brought his fingertips to her lips and angled his head toward hers. “Yer bruised.” The husky warmth of his voice singed her nerve endings. “Does it pain ye?”

  “Aye,” she barely whispered.

  He kissed her mouth softly. “Still?” When she nodded, he kissed her again, gentle, meaningful kisses that made her head spin. “How aboot now?”

  “I fear it is bruised mightily, my laird.” Her long lashes fluttered against his cheek. She parted her lips, waiting.

  He did not make her wait, but rose up over her and watched her surrender beneath him. His breath was heavy, ragged. He looked like he wanted to say something—something that might rip his heart from his chest. He grazed his lips over hers and kissed each one with worshipful appreciation. The length and breadth of him descended full upon her. He parted her lips with his fingertips and then licked the seam of her mouth. ’Twas not the powerful control he possessed that made him so exquisitely thorough in the claiming of her mouth, but the need to savor every moment of touching her.

  She opened easily to his plunging tongue and moaned into his mouth as he tasted her. She felt his rigid flesh against her untried body, but it did not frighten her. He was her knight. A savage in his own right, but his hands moved over her like silken flames, so utterly tender she thought she might go mad. When those hands found her breasts, a low sob of need escaped her. She arched her back to meet his hungry mouth sooner, and the wondrous agony of his warm lips caressing hers sent a titillating explosion of fire down her belly and between her legs.

  When he broke their kiss to stare into her eyes, she smiled at him, loving him and wanting to be with him this way. “Kate,” he whispered, and the desire in his eyes changed into something more pleading. “If we do this, ye’ll be a MacGregor and nothin’ will be able to change it.”

  She heard the fear for her well-being in his voice and stroked her fingers along his tight jaw. “I am already one, and nothing can change it. Nothing.” She pulled him down, without having to use much force, and kissed him until he felt her whole heart in it.

  He molded her breasts with delicate mastery, suckling and nibbling until he had her writhing beneath him. “Ye taste fine.” Closing his lips around her sensitive crest, he sucked and brushed his tongue hard across her nipple.

  Kate tunneled her fingers through his hair and held him to her. She wanted him never to stop, but the heated ache in her loins demanded to be satisfied. When he laved
his tongue down her belly, Kate pushed herself up on her elbows to see just what he was going to do. His tongue fluttered over her skin, revealing his intentions. She had the urge to pull away, but the thought of his mouth there was too arousing to deny. Just when she thought she might swoon if she didn’t feel him soon, he looked up at her from beneath his dark brows and the sexual fire blazing his eyes was enough to make Kate’s legs spread wider. He dipped his face. Kate held her breath. His kiss was like a flame that spread out of control through her blood. He took his time laving, feasting on her fully. Then, taking both her ankles, he lifted her legs and opened her wider, exposing her fully to his hungry mouth.

  Kate groaned and licked her lips as searing jolts of ecstasy wracked her body. She felt wicked clutching fistfuls of his hair while he pleasured her beyond endurance. Craving release, she cried out his name and watched him rise up on his knees, still holding her legs apart. Her vision drank in the full glory of him above her, so powerful, so acutely male.

  She watched him enter her slowly, sensually. She was sleek enough from his mouth and her passion for him to glide halfway into her, despite her body’s tight resistance. His thighs flexed on the verge of burying him into her fully. He was going to take her, and she was helpless to stop him.

  She lifted her arms over her head and undulated her hips, snapping his control. The initial pain was naught in comparison to the sizzling friction of his powerful shaft dipping in and then out of her. He grew still and asked her not to move, not to speak. The muscles along his arms shuddered as passion’s talons gripped him and he resisted. He released her legs and bent his head to kiss her, then lowered his weight to hers. He angled his hips and surged against her hard, hot crux.

  He made love to her slowly, and with such tenderness, Kate felt as if time slowed just for them, so they could both relish every moment, every touch. Taking her fill, she slid her fingertips across the breadth of his scarred shoulders, down the dip of his spine. She looked at him to find his eyes already on her face, taking her in as if the very sight of her gave him breath. She basked in him, as he did in her with every long, deep thrust.