‘I’ll grant you your life, as compensation for mine,’ the Duc acceded, ‘but do not show your face to me again. Or to my daughter.’
The statement was like an arrow through her heart, piercing her hope. Marguerite never took her eyes from Callum, though they blurred with tears. The soldiers dragged him away, and he fixed his gaze upon her.
Remember, you are mine.
I won’t forget you, she swore, in her own silence. My heart is yours.
And when he’d gone, she sank to her knees, feeling utterly lost.
* * *
They left him with nothing but the clothes on his back. No food, no water. No shelter. It was the Duc’s way of offering a death sentence without laying a hand upon him.
He’d been blindfolded throughout the journey, giving him no means of knowing where he was. Callum could only estimate how far they’d brought him, praying that he would find some familiar landscape or a clan nearby.
The land was a bright green with mountains rising all around him. In this part of Scotland trees were less common, and with no horse, he had to walk mile after mile, with no way to guide him.
Worst of all, he suspected that Marguerite must have gone through with the marriage. Her father had spared his life, leaving her with little choice. Enough time had passed that she was likely the earl’s wife now.
Like a slow torture, it dug into his skin, the thought of another man taking his place.
He stumbled to his knees beside a stream, drinking the cold water while he tried to exorcise the image from his mind. Aye, they’d let him live. And though he knew enough to survive off the land, every taste of food was bitter in his mouth. The damned helpless feeling was driving him into madness. He didn’t know where he was or how to find her again.
And if he did reveal himself, the Duc would kill him where he stood.
You never deserved Marguerite, the voice inside him warned. She was never yours to have.
But for every day of the rest of his life, he would remember the pain in her eyes when they’d taken him away. She’d loved him, just as he loved her. She’d come to him in the darkness, bringing him into the light.
Callum climbed one of the hills, grasping at the silky grasses for balance. With every step, his lungs burned, his body fighting the weakness from hunger and lack of sleep. Doggedly, he continued on, until he reached the apex.
From all around, he could see the land, rising and falling in a sea of green. Tiny rivulets of water creased the hills, waterfalls that carved silver ridges into the surface.
The temptation pulled at him to simply lie here and let go. He would never have Marguerite, no matter how hard he fought for her. Even when he’d asked her to leave everything behind, she hadn’t come. And her father would never allow her that freedom.
Her life was too deeply woven into a world of nobility he’d never belong to. But in those brief, stolen moments, she’d given him a taste of heaven. He’d loved her with every breath, every part of his soul.
Upon the ridge, he watched the sun rise higher, spilling over the land in rays of gold. The immensity of his isolation filled him with the vision of years spent without her.
Sometimes he wondered if death would have been a gift, to be with her until the last breath passed from his body. But he didn’t want to give up on her, or let go of that dream. She’d wanted him as much as he wanted her.
No longer would he wait for her to make a decision or try to extricate herself from the tangled web of obligations. She was meant to be his, whether or not anyone else believed it.
Callum stood up, his mind made up. This time, he wouldn’t ask. He would simply take her with him and damn the consequences. She was worth dying for.
From his vantage point, he studied the landscape, searching for anything that would help him gain his bearings. His eyes narrowed upon a small travelling group moving on horseback through the hills.
He began his descent, moving towards them at a brisk walk, and then a light run when he reached the bottom of the hill. He would find his way back to her, no matter how long it took.
* * *
The taste of the wine was bitter and Marguerite choked upon it. Her Aunt Beatrice stared at her, a nod of satisfaction on her face.
A horrifying suspicion was confirmed when she tasted something that shouldn’t have been in the wine.
‘What have you done?’ she demanded, casting the goblet aside. Wine sloshed upon the ground and she couldn’t know how much she’d drunk. Had her aunt poisoned her?
She saw the faint nod from her father and the look they exchanged between them.
‘It will start within the hour,’ Beatrice said, gesturing for a servant to remove the fallen cup.
‘What will start?’ Marguerite touched her mouth, the aftertaste of the herbal brew making her wonder what they were talking about.
‘Come,’ her father said, rising from his seat at the dais. The earl sat at her left, looking mystified at what was happening. To her betrothed husband, the Duc said simply, ‘It is naught to concern you, Penrith.’
Marguerite felt the fear sliding deeper inside, as her father took her hand and led her above stairs. Behind her, Aunt Beatrice followed. He led her into her chamber and dismissed the maid who was inside, mending a gown.
Once the door closed behind the maid, her father spoke. ‘Beatrice gave you a blend of herbs that will cast out any child you might have conceived with MacKinloch.’
Marguerite sank down upon her bed, her insides iced with terror. Though she didn’t believe there was any child, their actions went beyond imagining. The idea that they would kill any unborn babe horrified her. Her hands went to her middle, and though she felt no effects from the herbs yet, she saw the look of grim determination on her father’s face.
‘Do you truly hate him that much?’ she asked her father, while her aunt sat down in a chair.
‘Oui,’ he answered. ‘He will gain no part of your dowry, nor will I let him take advantage of you. There is nothing at all he can give, Marguerite.’
Except love. She was shattering apart inside for her father would never understand the way she felt about Callum. When she looked into his face, she saw the blend of anger and worry. Once again, he was treating her like a little girl who had disobeyed him and had to be punished. In his eyes, she was incapable of making decisions for herself.
It bruised her heart to know that the father she’d loved all these years was more interested in his ambitions than his daughter’s happiness. The brutal reality crashed upon her as the first cramps seized within her womb.
She huddled upon her bed, the pain swallowing her whole. How naïve she’d been to hope that, in time, he would come to accept her decision. He wouldn’t. Never would he believe that Callum MacKinloch was good enough for her. Choosing a life with the man she loved meant breaking away from her family for ever.
Another pain struck and she doubled over, feeling as if a part of her were being ripped away. Over the next few hours, she lay upon her bed in misery, staring at the wall while her body responded to the herbal poison.
But she didn’t cry. The hurt within her could not be released with tears. It went all the way into her heart, severing a little girl’s adoration for her father. It cauterised any sense of obedience or loyalty she had once given him.
No longer was he the man who had pulled her upon his knee, telling stories. No longer the man who tucked her head beneath his chin, holding her close whi
le she played with the gold ring upon his finger. Nor the man who’d sworn to keep her safe at all costs.
He’d now become the man who had slashed apart her hopes, leaving her with nothing at all. And for that, she would never forgive him.
* * *
‘Callum!’ came the voice of his brother Bram.
Callum quickened his pace, startled to see his three brothers on horseback. An unexpected smile broke over his face at the sight of them. When they drew their horses to a stop, his brothers gripped him hard, all talking at once.
‘We received word several days ago from Marguerite—’
‘What are you doing here? And where’s your horse?’
‘—that you needed our help.’
Callum raised his hands and regarded them. ‘Much has…happened. We’ll talk over food.’
The sound of his voice seemed to stun them into silence. Alex was the first to recover and his smile was blinding. ‘Your voice is back. Thank God.’
Bram let out a rush of breath. He raked a hand through his dark hair and managed, ‘Aye. We’ve much to be thankful for.’
His youngest brother Dougal looked startled, but as he cared for the horses, he added, ‘What about Marguerite?’
‘I’m going back for her.’ Callum explained what had happened and what his intentions were. Though sometimes his voice faltered, it was gaining strength. He gave them enough to make himself understood.
They made camp and his brothers offered food and mead to satisfy his hunger and thirst. In their presence, he felt their quiet support. They’d come to help him and it meant more than he could say.
* * *
Later that night, his brother Bram joined him while Alex and Dougal slept. They lay back on the grass, staring at the stars that dotted a darkened sky.
‘It’s dangerous, what you’re about to do.’
Callum didn’t deny it. ‘You would do the same, were it Nairna.’
‘I’d kill any man alive who tried to take her from me.’
‘Then you know.’ He reached into the pouch at his waist, fingering the frayed ribbon Marguerite had given back to him. ‘Her father will never let her go. But I can’t…let her marry the earl. Not now.’
‘The Duc knows where we live. If you take her, he’ll only bring an army after her.’
Callum leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. ‘He wanted me to die here. If I stay hidden, he might believe it.’
‘Is she worth the risk?’ Bram asked.
‘She gave me back my voice.’ He didn’t mention that Marguerite had also given her innocence. The physical connection had gone deeper than he’d ever expected. When he’d joined with her, he’d found the other half of himself.
And he wasn’t about to live without her again.
Chapter Fourteen
The ship awaited them, miles away on the coast, where it would take her south along the western coast of Scotland toward Wales. They would then continue the inland journey to the earl’s estates in England.
Marguerite stared at her packed belongings, feeling lost and alone. Her father had agreed to the earl’s proposition, that she wed him in England instead of here. After all the unrest and the bitter memories, it would be a better start for them. Not to mention it would take her far away from the MacKinlochs.
The bleakness went deeper than her skin, filling up her veins. She’d suffered over the past few days with pain and bleeding, until the herbs’ effects had passed. Her body was weak while her mind felt blurred and uncertain. Marguerite forced herself to eat a small meal this morn, but barely noticed the food.
Had Callum survived? Though her father had ordered him bound and taken away, she didn’t know if they’d abandoned him in the wilderness or murdered him. They’d given him no weapons, no food—nothing at all to survive in the harsh northern lands. And there was no way to know if his brothers would find him.
The thought of Callum’s death had shifted her own desire to live. What reason was there to go on, enduring a marriage she didn’t want, to a man who would never love her? It was as if her father were moulding her life out of clay, shaping and destroying her own efforts.
She was like an empty vessel, fired from her father’s ambitions, with no power of her own. The cool anger was transforming her, making her wonder what reckless act would finally achieve her freedom.
Her maids dressed her in a rose surcoat and cream-colored coat, before braiding her hair and gathering it within a golden net. A white barbette covered her head, winding around her throat. Marguerite studied her reflection in a polished silver mirror. Although the woman before her appeared calm and serene, inwardly, the worry consumed her mind.
Before she departed her chamber, she went to one of the trunks and withdrew a bow and a quiver filled with black-feathered arrows. She’d taken them back from the guards after Callum’s release.
‘My lady?’ one of her maids questioned, but Marguerite gave no answer. She kept the weapons at her side, walking slowly down the winding stone stairs.
Outside, her horse awaited her and she tied the bow and quiver to her saddle. Beyond the first wall, Lord Penrith was supervising the dowry goods being loaded into wagons. Marguerite kept her distance, watching over him. Of all the men her father could have chosen, there was nothing wrong with the earl. Were it not for her love of Callum, she would find no hardship at all in marrying the handsome, kindly man.
But her love belonged to the silent warrior who had captured her heart with a single look. He’d given her passion, making her feel alive. She might have given her promise to go through with this marriage, yet it would never change her feelings for Callum.
Right now, she felt as though she were being suffocated, her life pulled in directions it wasn’t meant to go. She wanted an hour to herself, a time to grieve for her loss.
After the stable master assisted her on to the horse, she drew the animal forward to speak with the earl.
‘I would like to go riding,’ she said to him. ‘Just for an hour or so, before we depart.’
His expression narrowed when he spied the bow and quiver upon the saddle, ‘You cannot go alone.’ There was a warning in his expression, as if he feared she would try to run away.
The truth was, she couldn’t survive on her own if she wanted to. She knew nothing about how to find food or shelter and likely she’d die within a day if she tried.
‘I promise I’ll return.’
‘Are you planning to search for him?’ Penrith’s expression remained neutral, though she saw the unrest in his eyes.
‘He was taken four days ago,’ she said. ‘I’m not so foolish as to believe I could find him in an hour.’
‘We’ll board our ship soon,’ he reminded her. He took her hand within his and his grip turned firm.
‘Will you not give me the chance to grieve?’ she responded. ‘I—I need the time.’ Even if she did nothing but wander through the trees or go to the loch where Callum had first taught her to swim, it would help her to close off the memories.
He stared at her, not at all understanding. ‘There is much to do here, Marguerite, before we go. And I won’t allow you to back out on our agreement. The Duc left MacKinloch alive. Now you must fulfil your part of the bargain by wedding me.’
Marguerite lowered her gaze to the ground. The energy to protest simply wasn’t in her. She felt so lost, so unwilling to give herself to another, she didn’t know what to do any more. Her gaze fixed upon the forest,
remembering the days she’d spent with Callum and what it had been like to fall asleep in his arms.
The earl released a sigh, raising her hand to his lips. ‘I am likely the greatest fool on this earth. Go, then, if it means so much to you. I’ll see to it that you have an hour. But no longer.’
A smile broke free and she squeezed his hand in return. ‘You’re a good man, my lord.’
‘Your dowry will help repair my estates,’ was his pragmatic response. ‘And your father has offered to pay me a great deal, for turning a blind eye towards your actions.’ He crossed his arms and eyed her with distrust. ‘But if you do not return—’
‘I will,’ she promised.
He accompanied her to the gate and within another few minutes, she was riding alone towards the forest. The trees surrounded her, blotting out the sunlight in filtered shadows. Marguerite turned her horse in the direction of the loch, letting her mind wander. As she continued deeper into the woods, she felt a sense of uneasiness, as though she were being watched. But there was no one at all, only imagined sounds.
When she reached the shores of the loch, she picked up a handful of small stones and cast them into the water, watching the surface break.
God, let him be safe, she prayed. Let him be alive.
The vast loneliness closed over her, until she no longer knew how she would go through with this marriage. The idea of living each day with a man who did not desire her, or worse, having to endure his touch in order to conceive a child that he wanted, was like drowning. She didn’t know if she could do it.
She returned to her mare and removed Callum’s bow and quiver. The weight of the weapon was balanced and as her fingers curved across the wood, she could sense his presence and strength. When she tried to pull back the bowstring, it was so taut, she couldn’t draw it further than a few inches. She fitted one of his arrows to the bowstring, wondering if she could manage a shot.
‘Were you wanting a lesson?’ came a deep voice from behind her.
Tempted by the Highland Warrior Page 20
