‘Do they…know…?’ The last few words caught, and he forced himself to slow down. One word at a time.
‘…know you’re…here?’ he repeated. He could imagine the Duc’s reaction if he learned Marguerite was with him at this moment.
She shook her head. ‘It’s the middle of the night, and nearly everyone is asleep. Lord Penrith…’ a blush coloured her cheeks at the mention of the earl ‘…he—he gave me the chance to say farewell to you.’
Farewell? As if she’d already made her decision to stay with him? His anger intensified toward the earl, and not for a moment did he trust that Penrith would want Marguerite left alone with a prisoner.
Callum tamped down the resentment and forced himself to respond. ‘Did he?’
She reached out to his face and changed the course of their conversation. ‘Who were the other men who killed the English soldiers that night?’
Though he named the others, he had little interest in what happened to them. It was the Duc’s task to seek justice. Even so, Marguerite seemed to commit the names to memory. ‘I will tell my father.’
It would do no good at all. He took a breath and spoke. ‘…won’t believe you. My word…against theirs.’
Callum touched her cheek, watching as she leaned in to his palm. Regardless of whether or not the true guilty men were captured, he didn’t doubt that the Duc would find some way of punishing him for the time he’d stolen with Marguerite.
He didn’t care. His life had been worthless enough, but she had been a precious gift. One he’d never deserved.
Around her throat, Marguerite toyed with the glass pendant he’d given her. ‘I’ll try to get you out. I need to bribe more of the guards.’
It was a fruitless effort and he knew it. The only way he’d be allowed to leave was if the Duc agreed to it. For now, he wanted this moment with her.
‘Stay,’ he murmured against her throat. His mouth pressed against the pulse that thrummed beneath her skin. ‘As long…as you can.’
She shifted upon his lap, straddling him. He hardened instantly, remembering how he’d taken her that day on the sand. In the dim torchlight, her eyes were luminous, her body arousing him.
‘Do you…remember?’ he murmured.
‘I remember when you were inside me.’ Her face transformed, revealing her own needs. ‘It took my breath away.’
She moved against him and he drew his hands beneath her skirts, touching her bare legs. Her mouth opened in shock as his hands drifted up her calves, to the backs of her knees. A shiver broke over her and she drew her palms beneath his tunic.
‘You’re the only man I want,’ she confessed, touching his chest. ‘You’re the man I want to wake up with in the morning. Not someone else.’
‘Then don’t,’ he demanded. His hand moved higher, touching the curve of her hip, slipping between her thighs. He’ll never give you the same kind of pleasure I will.
Her eyes closed, a gasp escaping her mouth as he drew his knuckles against her soft mound. She bit her lip, and he heard the clenched moan within her throat.
‘Don’t speak, Marguerite,’ he whispered against her skin. ‘Not…a sound.’
* * *
Against his hand, she was wet, wanting him so badly. He tormented her with the lightest touch, shifting his fingers intimately against her. Her breasts ached for his touch and she reached up, struggling to loosen the cote she wore. It was dangerous, being with him here, while the rest of the castle slept. At any moment, someone could intrude upon them.
There was no time for slow, gentle lovemaking. No, this was a desperate need, to take him into her body and savour the last time together. If the earl ever chose to share her bed, she would hold this memory in her heart.
Callum’s hands moved out from beneath her gown to touch her shoulders. Marguerite sensed his hesitation and the fear that they would be caught together.
‘Please,’ she whispered, moving her hands down to his trews. Against her palm, she felt his heavy arousal and his breath inhaled sharply.
Silently, she touched him, exploring him through the rough wool. ‘Be with me now,’ she begged.
His answer was to lower the gown, drawing it down one shoulder. Her arms were trapped in the tight sleeves as he bared her breasts. Leaning down, he teased her nipple with his tongue. Tasting her, awakening the bloom of dark pleasure that he offered.
Against her hand, she felt his erection straining, growing harder. As he suckled her, she curled her fingers around him, rubbing against his shaft. He helped to free himself until she could feel the heat of his length against her wetness.
‘No sound,’ he whispered again, guiding her hips up. His thickness stretched at her entrance, but he entered her easily, as if he were made to be joined with her.
Her arms were pinned at her sides, and he lifted her a fraction higher, letting her slide upon him as his mouth kissed her bare skin.
Marguerite fought to keep from making noise as he started to thrust with a gentle rhythm, now using his mouth to encircle her breasts, in a nibbling warmth that he brought up to her throat and down her shoulder. His hands lifted her bottom and he was so hard that she ached as he sheathed himself within her. The torment of being unable to speak grew more intense, until he withdrew from her body, standing up.
She was about to protest, when suddenly he lifted her, balancing her back against the wall. Her skirts hung down, but he bunched them at her waist, holding her tight as he eased back inside. She was feverishly hot, drowning with need for him.
Though his voice was rough and broken, he told her of the night he’d lost his voice, and the horror of the sword against his throat. Her arms tightened around him as he thrust inside, telling her of how he’d almost died.
Tears welled up, but she let him release all the words, all the horrors.
‘I survived,’ he said, still inside her as he lowered her to stand. He guided her hip around his, and drew his fingers back between her legs. ‘But you gave…a reason to fight. Reason to live.’
He kissed away her tears as his hands stroked and caressed her. With his body still sheathed within her, she felt as if she were being touched by both his hands and his manhood. The sensations were magnified and she guided his hands where she wanted them. His eyes burned into hers as he touched her until she was trembling. She moved against him, feeling him penetrate as his hands urged her closer to the edge.
‘I love you,’ she told him, locking her gaze with his.
The words transformed him and he stilled, their bodies joined together. His voice was hoarse, but every word was clear. ‘Love you…Marguerite.’
Her heart warmed to know it and his hands moved in a caress while he entered her tenderly. He continued the deep penetration until the rhythmic caresses of his hands sent her past the brink. She bit back a scream; as she came apart, his mouth closed over her breast in a hot, wet suction.
‘Love you,’ he repeated. Then his movement changed from gentle into a man starving for her. He quickened his pace, thrusting against her so hard that she came again, half-crying at the intensity of pleasure.
No longer did she care where they were or that they might be caught. She wanted him to feel the same release that she’d found and she met him, her hips pushing in counterpoint to his. Gripping his hair, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he backed her against the wall again, his body moving in swift strokes. She saw the exertion on his face, welcomed the slick penetration of his manhood inside
her, and he kept up the harsh pace.
‘Don’t…wed him, Marguerite,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll…find a way for us. I swear.’
But as he let out a groan and spilled his essence within her, she could only hold him. Tears filled up her eyes, for there seemed no possible means of being with this man.
And it broke her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
She left him an hour later. The darkness enveloped him, leaving nothing but a memory. Her scent was upon him and Callum closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall.
Today. He was going to speak with the Duc and make his way out of the prison. He didn’t doubt that Marguerite’s father would leave him down here to rot, if he could.
The sound of the guards returning interrupted his plans. A man’s voice broke through the silence and a chained figure fell upon the ground, only a few feet away. In the darkness, it was hard to tell who it was, but Callum spied the tell-tale marks of a whiplash.
‘That you, MacKinloch?’ Sileas demanded. The older man’s hands were chained together, but he managed to come closer.
Callum said nothing, letting the man believe that he still lacked the ability to speak. The older man slumped against the wall beside him, his head resting between his knees. ‘Hope ye said a prayer last night. For today’s the day we die.’
He stared at Sileas, waiting for the man to continue.
‘I gave them names. Told them you were with us.’ A grimace twisted his mouth. ‘We’ll be hanged for it.’
He didn’t doubt that the Duc would hold him accountable, regardless that he’d done nothing wrong. If for no other reason than that he’d dared to love Marguerite.
Through the next hour, he barely heard another word the old man said, for his mind was turning over ways to escape. At this moment, his hands were unbound and only the guards stood between him and freedom. He had to seize the one chance he had.
Within the stone walls, there were no weapons. No stones, no blades—nothing at all. Stealth and surprise were the only advantages.
The old man began mumbling prayers again and it was clear he’d already given up. Callum stood, moving towards the stairs and out of Sileas’s earshot. At the top, the two guards blocked his way.
‘I want…to speak with the Duc,’ he demanded, frustrated with himself when his voice was still hoarse and the words stalled when he spoke.
The first guard seemed startled to realise that Callum could make any sounds at all. But he shrugged, answering, ‘You will be taken before him at noon this day.’
‘Why?’
The guard said nothing and Callum suspected that Sileas’s claim, that they would be put to death, had truth in it. ‘Who else?’
The guard named a few of the men who had gone on the raid, finishing with, ‘The old man, yourself and Iagar Campbell.’ His expression turned grim. ‘You can’t escape it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
But Marguerite had sworn she would not go through with the marriage if he was harmed. Therefore, it was not likely she would be present to witness his death. Her father would invent an excuse.
‘He wants you gone, MacKinloch. Because of the lady.’
Callum didn’t doubt it. Guy de Montpierre wouldn’t hesitate to punish him for touching Marguerite. Most men would be frightened to think of dying within a few hours. But he’d faced his own death so many times, it didn’t distract him from his purpose. He would find a way out, at a moment when they least expected it.
He took a step backwards, as if he were returning, but stumbled forward, bumping against the guard.
He muttered an apology, falling back into the shadows. And as he retreated, he slipped the dagger he’d stolen beneath his tunic. The weapon would serve him well, when it was needed.
* * *
The afternoon sun rose high, spreading its light across fleecy clouds. Marguerite saw the prisoners gathered below, the same men whose names she had given to her father. Justice would be done for the murders.
A light knock sounded upon her door and when she called for the visitor to enter, she saw the Earl of Penrith standing. His expression appeared strained. ‘You should come below, Marguerite.’
‘I have no wish to watch men being hanged. Even if it was for murder.’
‘What of your lover? Will you not let him look upon your face for the last time before he dies?’
His words startled her into numbness. ‘Callum is there? But my father—’
‘One of the guards whom I sent away that night told the Duc that you spent hours together.’ The earl’s gaze lowered to her waist. ‘Could you have conceived a child?’
Her cheeks burned with shame. ‘I don’t know.’ She still couldn’t grasp the earl’s willingness to accept a bastard as his own, if by some mercy she had conceived a new life.
‘If you want him to live, his time grows short.’ The earl waited and Marguerite gripped her skirts, hurrying outside her chamber.
She raced down the stairs and out of the Hall, down another flight of stone stairs before she reached the area where the men were being held. As Penrith had predicted, Callum was with the others. He stood behind them, his arms bound behind his back. A row of seven nooses hung from a scaffold, one for each man. Her father stood near the front, watching as the charges were read. Marguerite fled to the Duc’s side.
‘The captain of my guard, Xavier, warned me that you had met with the Scot. Is it true that you spent last night with him?’ her father asked.
She couldn’t answer. There were no words that would make him understand. Instead, she bolstered her courage and said, ‘Execute him and I will not marry Penrith.’
‘I am your father,’ he whispered harshly. ‘All your life, I’ve provided you with everything. And this is how you repay me? By giving yourself to a man who has nothing at all? Who will never give you the life I’ve intended for you?’
‘It is my life,’ she whispered. ‘And he would walk through hellfire if I asked it of him. Don’t you know he could have left at any time? He stayed for me.’
‘Then your face will be the last he sees when he dies.’
Her blood froze within her veins, her body numb at the thought of Callum joining the other men. ‘Don’t do this. He was innocent that night. He tried to stop the others.’
‘Marguerite.’ Her father’s voice held weariness. ‘Do you truly believe this is about the murders at the garrison?’
It was about her daring to love a man who was not of the same wealth or class. About her surrendering her virtue for love, instead of duty.
‘If you kill him, I will never speak to you again,’ she warned. ‘You will have no part in my life.’
She started to walk towards Callum, while they led a prisoner toward the gallows. Though Callum remained still, she saw his eyes searching. He glanced at the row of archers standing a short distance behind him, then his gaze fell upon her.
Her heart sank and she drank in the details of his strong face and long dark hair. She didn’t care what she had to do, but she refused to stand and watch him die.
It will be all right, his eyes seemed to say. She couldn’t understand how, for he was surrounded on all sides. Even the Duc stood near the gallows to witness the executions.
But then, without warning, one of the prisoners broke free of his ropes. Marguerite saw the man rushing towards her father and horror filled her when she saw the flash of his knife.
The blade glinted as he raised it high to st
ab the Duc. Her father flinched, holding him back with all his strength.
A moment later, an arrow shot across the inner bailey, embedding into the prisoner’s back. A second followed and he dropped where he stood.
The entire courtyard grew still and she saw the bow that Callum had seized from a nearby archer. Somehow, he’d broken free of his own bindings and saved her father’s life.
The Duc stared at him, but there was no gratefulness in his eyes. Instead, he appeared furious that Callum had been the one to rescue him. He crossed the space between them, stepping past the body of his would-be assassin.
Their eyes locked and Marguerite hurried towards them. Something made her stop, however, when she saw the rage in her father’s eyes.
‘I don’t know what role you played in that attack,’ he began, ‘but others say you should be hanged for it.’
‘I killed…no one,’ Callum said. ‘Too late to stop them.’
The Duc eyed him with a hard stare before he turned his gaze back upon his daughter with an unspoken accusation. Marguerite felt the intensity of his frustration and hatred towards the man she loved.
‘So you can speak,’ he remarked. ‘I wonder what else you’ve lied about.’
Callum gave no reply and Marguerite held her own silence. Both of them realised that one wrong word would mean his death.
Instead, she moved to her father and took his hand. Kneeling down, she lifted his hand to her forehead in a silent plea. Let him live, she prayed.
Guy’s fingers rested upon her veiled hair and she could feel the trembling anger he held back. ‘Take him north, into the mountains,’ her father ordered, ‘and leave him there.’
Shock flooded through her and she stood. The Duc moved away from her without casting her a single glance. His soldiers moved in to surround Callum, who made no attempt to escape their custody.
Tempted by the Highland Warrior Page 19
