Approval settled into his expression and he dismissed her with a hand. ‘Go now, and we’ll ride out together in an hour.’
* * *
She found her father waiting for her near the stables. He sent her a welcoming smile while she mounted her horse. ‘The others are not yet ready to join us on the hunt. If you’re willing, we’ll go out for a short ride together.’
It meant that he wanted to speak with her in private, she guessed. With a nod, she followed him outside the gates.
Within her bodice, she’d tucked the frail ribbon Callum had given her last eve. Her skin tightened with the desire to see him again. Why had he come back? Knowing that he was here had opened up the Pandora’s box of her forbidden wishes. Marguerite stared at the trees around them, wondering if he was nearby.
The Duc led her along the perimeter of the forest, toward the open fields. When she drew her mare alongside his, he suggested, ‘Shall we race? I’ll grant you a small lead.’
She suspected that he intended to let her win, as he’d done when she was a young girl. Though she returned his smile, she guessed that he had other news to impart that she would not like.
‘I don’t need an advantage,’ she countered, adjusting her skirts. ‘I can win without it.’
The challenge brought a smile to her father’s face. ‘What shall we wager? A length of silk or a golden chain with a jewel to match your eyes? Perhaps a fur-lined cloak to keep you warm in winter?’
She shook her head. There was no need for luxuries, not when he’d granted all of that in the past. ‘A favour to be granted at a time of my choosing.’ With the reins in her hand, she added, ‘What do you want, if you win?’
His face softened. ‘A visit, from time to time. Your sisters hardly ever come to see me any more.’ For a fleeting moment, she spied the loneliness in his expression. He’d lost her mother years ago and had not remarried, though she was not naïve enough to believe he’d been without female companionship in that time.
‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘Say the word and we’ll ride.’
‘To the edge of the shore,’ he said, pointing to the coastline in the distance. The Duc lifted his hand, eyeing her to ensure she was ready. Then, when he lowered his palm, they both rode hard across the countryside. Marguerite leaned into the wind, watching as her father kept his horse in check, giving her the lead. Though he loved to ride as much as she, he’d always been indulgent, wanting her to win.
Just as he’d given her everything she’d ever desired, whether it was a silk gown or a purse filled with gold. She’d adored him as a young girl, believing that it was her purpose in life to comply with his every dictate. But the past few months had unsettled her, regarding the decisions he’d made. No longer was he the benevolent ruler whom she obeyed without question.
Suddenly she felt the urge to defy his intentions again. At the last moment, just before she won the race, Marguerite pulled her horse to a hard stop, letting her father ride past.
The Duc turned the horse and sent her a surprised look. ‘You cheated.’
‘Oui, I did.’ She sent a mischievous smile, adding, ‘Don’t deny you were about to do the same.’
He shrugged and came to join at her side. ‘A father is allowed to grant favours to a beloved daughter, is he not?’
She reached out and took his hand. ‘I suppose I’ll have to come and visit you in France, after I wed.’
‘I’ll hold you to that vow.’ But in his face she could see the shadow of concern.
‘What is it you haven’t told me?’ Marguerite asked him. ‘You’re hiding something.’
He let out a sigh and guided her back toward the castle to join the others. ‘Nothing of any import, I suppose. The Earl of Penrith is a good friend of the king’s. I am certain he will grant every wish you could have.’ But his smile lacked sincerity, setting her mood on edge.
She followed her father back to join the hunting party awaiting them, her mind distracted. What wasn’t he telling her? As they rode out into the forest in search of game, she fought the anxiety that edged her spirits.
The woods blurred in a golden haze of sunlight filtering through the trees. Though she continued with the others, her mind was distracted and not at all interested in the hunt.
‘A boar!’ one of the men shouted, pointing toward the forest. The riders quickened their pace and Marguerite held back, letting her father take the lead. Although she didn’t doubt that the hunters would prevail, she wasn’t about to get in the way of a boar. The aggressive beasts had vicious tusks and more than a few men had been gored by them.
Along with her father, a dozen men and women rode past, while Marguerite remained on the outskirts. The others were so intent, no one seemed to notice her absence.
Then she heard a scuffling sound. Marguerite turned her horse around, only to see a second boar racing towards her.
Mon Dieu. She urged the horse faster, trying to get away from the animal. No one else noticed and she turned her mare deeper into the woods, trying to escape. Her horse reared up and she struggled to hold her seat.
Arrows sliced through the air, embedding within the boar. Marguerite stared at them, her heart racing when she saw the black feathers. Then, suddenly, someone dropped from the tree behind her, landing on her horse. The man’s arms came around her, and he forced the horse into a gallop, leading her away from the others. The instinct to scream died down in her throat, for she knew, without a doubt, the identity of the hooded silent man.
When the woods grew so thick her horse could no longer make it through, he dismounted and lifted her down. Beneath the shadowed hood, she saw the dark eyes of the man she’d dreamed of over the past few months.
‘Callum,’ she whispered, unable to believe it was he.
He said nothing, but took her hand, guiding her through the woods for what seemed like a mile. Marguerite didn’t care that the others might miss her presence. She could think of nothing but the man who was with her now.
When at last he stopped, she spied the remains of a camp site and the ashes of a fire. Before Callum could stoop to rekindle it, Marguerite threw her arms around him. He gripped her hard, his face buried in her hair. She melted against the planes of his body, unable to believe he was here at last.
‘It’s been so long,’ she breathed. ‘Are you well? How is your family?’
His eyes stared into hers, but gave no reply. She understood, then, that his speech had not returned.
But he had his own way of speaking, in a manner that captivated her.
Callum removed her veil, sliding his hands into her hair. She caught her breath as he moved his palms down to her shoulders, resting them upon her hips. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver of longing through her.
‘Why have you come?’ she whispered.
He didn’t have to answer for her to know. Despite the months that had been lost between them, it was as if nothing had changed. She touched his smooth cheek, marvelling at the difference in him. No longer did he have the starving look about him; his face had filled out. There was no doubting the strength in his arms or the quiet assurance he exuded. He’d kept his hair long and the dark strands grew past his shoulders, like the wild Scot that he was.
The stirrings of interest caught at her, forbidden thoughts of the time they’d spent together months ago. She remembered his mouth upon hers and the shocking desires he’d evoked.
Feeling suddenly shy, she stepped back and he took a moment to rebuild the fire. Though she couldn’t stay with him for too long, she would steal whatever moments she could.
When the fire burned brighter, she sat down on a fallen log and told him of the months they’d travelled from northern Scotland down to the Southwest.
‘My father has arranged a new marriage,’ she admitted. ‘I’m to wed the Earl of Penrith.’
She needed him to know it, to be fully honest with him about the way her life had shifted in the past few months. At her confession, Callum’s expression tensed. He picked up a dry piece of wood
and tossed it on the fire. Marguerite didn’t know what else to say, but she offered, ‘I’m glad you came. I—I thought of you often.’
His silence only intensified the awkwardness between them. Without a voice, he could tell her nothing of the past or what he was thinking now.
She tried to think of something else, but could only ask, ‘Has your back healed?’
Callum sent her a curious look, but set down his quiver beside the bow and removed his tunic.
When he turned his back, she saw that the scars still held a red tint, but they had fully healed. She reached out to touch the skin and he flinched.
‘Did I hurt you?’
He shook his head, lifting her hand to touch him again. The warm skin was rough from the scarred gouges, but the lines of suffering had only strengthened him. When she traced his flesh with her fingertips, he leaned into the touch, as if her palms were healing him.
She moved her fingers over his shoulders, down to his ribs. A sudden deep laugh escaped him, as if he were ticklish. Shocked, Marguerite murmured, ‘I didn’t know you could make any sounds at all.’ It made her wonder if he would one day speak again. And if he did, what he would say.
Callum took her hand and brought it to his throat, his eyes watching her. The intimate touch of her fingers upon his skin made her feel awkward and she sensed that he wanted something from her.
Abruptly, his expression grew stoic and he put his tunic on again, reaching into a pouch of his belongings. He retrieved a silver chain holding a pendant of sapphire-coloured glass. Marguerite held it in her palm, captivated by the shifting colours in the blue necklace. He lifted it over her neck and the pendant settled upon her bosom.
‘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 frustratio
n. 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.
MacKinloch 03 - Tempted by the Highland Warrior Page 7
