Tempted by the Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘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

  ‘Good 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. ‘M
y 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.