MacKinloch 03 - Tempted by the Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  Callum kissed her hard, his arms holding her close as if he could capture her spirit. As he slid his tongue against her mouth, she opened to him, her hips moulded against his.

  Every last thought in her mind disappeared when his tongue slid against hers, reminding her of the way he’d made love to her. His body went rigid, his hands moving over her bottom, bringing her closer.

  Marguerite surrendered to the instincts roaring inside, her swollen lips kissing him hard as his erection strained against her softness. She was trembling in his arms, wanting so much more than she could have. Her breath quickened in her lungs and desire clouded the thoughts spinning in her mind.

  ‘Marguerite,’ he said, pulling back to look at her. In his dark eyes, she saw the man who held no fear at all for their future. He didn’t seem to care that she was betrothed to another.

  He wanted no other woman but her. And though she wanted to fight to be with him, never would she let him die. Not when she could save him.

  * * *

  ‘Do you want your father to know?’

  Marguerite turned around from the door to her chamber. In the hall stood the captain of her father’s guards, Xavier.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She turned to face the man. His thin face was smug and she didn’t trust him at all.

  ‘I followed you tonight. And I saw you with the Scot. The mute one who works in the stables.’

  His knowing look made Marguerite’s heart catch. If he told the Duc that she’d kissed Callum, there was no knowing the depths of her father’s fury. She stared at the captain, not wanting to reveal anything to him.

  ‘What will you pay for my silence?’ he prompted.

  The threat reached down past her fear and squeezed the throat of her anger. Drawing upon it, she took a step towards him. ‘What would you pay to keep yourself alive?’

  Ice hung from her voice as she withdrew her eating knife and pointed it towards him. ‘All I have to do is tell my father that you tried to hurt me. That you tried to force your attentions on me and you’ll feel the lash upon your back. Perhaps worse.’

  ‘It would be a lie.’

  She forced a thin smile. ‘But he would believe me, not you. So if you dare to spread stories to my father, remember what I can do to you.’

  He stared at her, his expression as hard as iron. She’d made an enemy this night, for no doubt he’d hoped she would line his pockets with silver. But she was not about to let him threaten her.

  After he left, she couldn’t calm the beating of her heart. Though she tried to appear serene, inwardly she was drowning in fear for Callum. They would find him if he didn’t go.

  Marguerite went inside her chamber and sat down while her maid tended her gown and hair. Her lips were still swollen from Callum’s kiss, her body on edge. Outside, it had begun to rain and she worried about him dwelling among the trees.

  She stared at her chamber and the small bed with soft sheets and warm coverings. All her life, she’d lived in the finest castles and houses, wearing expensive gowns and dining upon exotic foods. This was her life and her father would never allow anything less.

  But it was no longer what she wanted.

  Marguerite dismissed her maid and went to stand at the small slit of a window, watching the darkness outside. If she were wed to Callum, she would never again live in a castle or wear gowns like this. There would be no maids or servants.

  She’d enjoyed the time she’d spent with the MacKinlochs, but it had been so different. They fought to survive, instead of worrying about which husband would bring the greatest status. When she looked around at her life, it felt selfish and shallow.

  She closed her eyes, resting up against the wall of her chamber. Her only hope was to speak with the earl, to somehow convince him to let her go.

  * * *

  This time, her father never protested at all when she asked to ride alone with the earl. Though Lord Penrith seemed amenable enough, she dreaded telling him the truth. She took the lead, bringing him away from the castle, to the hill overlooking the sea.

  At the sight of the blue waves smoothing the edges of sand, she thought of how Callum had taught her to swim and the morning she’d spent in his arms. Guilt flushed her cheeks, but she had to speak with the earl and make him understand why she couldn’t wed him.

  Once they stopped the horses, the earl held the reins and regarded her. ‘You implied before that you didn’t want this betrothal.’

  She shook her head. ‘But not because of you.’

  His blue eyes turned thoughtful and he held out his hand to her, inviting her to walk. ‘Are you so certain it would not be a good marriage?’

  ‘It would be wrong. And though my father will be furious with me, you deserve my honesty.’ Her cheeks burned, but she forced herself to continue with the confession. ‘You deserve a virgin bride for your wedding bed.’

  He said nothing for a long time, turning away from her while he thought. She expected anger or a biting response. Instead, he stared out at the sea.

  ‘I have made many mistakes in my life,’ Marguerite continued. ‘But it would be a greater mistake to let you believe that I would be a good wife. I cannot wed you.’

  The earl’s expression turned musing. ‘You know nothing about me, Lady Marguerite.’

  She waited for him to continue, and he added, ‘I, too, know what it is to care for someone else. Someone unsuitable for marriage.’

  When he looked back at her, she saw the echoing shadow in his eyes, but he masked it with a sardonic smile. ‘I see no reason why we cannot find another solution that would benefit us both.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Keep your lover,’ he suggested. ‘Have him join us in England, if that is your will. So long as you are discreet, I won’t stop you.’

  Shock rendered her speechless. She had no idea how to respond to such an offer. ‘And what if I bore a child from him?’

  The earl shrugged. ‘Then I will not have to share your bed.’ The look in his eyes spoke of a man who didn’t want to perform his marital duty. ‘I made this betrothal because I need an heir for my lands. If you provide it for me, I care not who the father is.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  His face held a trace of bitterness. ‘A lady such as yourself wouldn’t. But I think we would do well together. I like your sense of honour. And you.’

  Her gaze lowered to the ground. ‘Let me go, Lord Penrith. Please.’

  ‘No,’ was his answer. Though he spoke the word lightly, she sensed the steel beneath his tone. He was a man who possessed his own authority, one with a resolve to equal her own.

  He softened his refusal by giving her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Consider my offer, Lady Marguerite. A respectable marriage, a strong alliance…and a blind eye toward your lover. It should be enough for you.’

  Perhaps it should, but it wasn’t. She didn’t understand his nonchalant attitude toward infidelity. Most men would be furious to learn that their brides were no longer innocent. But the earl was unlike the other suitors she’d met.

  Lord Penrith returned to the horses and waited to boost her back on to her saddle. He glanced back at her and in his eyes she saw a man resolved to keeping this betrothal. Though she didn’t understand his reasons for making the marriage, something bothered her about his behaviour. ‘I am sorry,’ she told the earl, ‘but I must speak with my father. I cannot marry you.’

  His face was like a block of smooth marble, unyielding. ‘Ask, if that is your will, Lady Marguerite. But I have no intention of breaking our agreement.’

  * * *

  Callum spent most of the morning considering what to do. Marguerite’s insistence that he return to Glen Arrin weighed upon him. Though he understood that she didn’t want him implicated in the murder, if he left now, she would be lost to him.

  She’d signed the betrothal agreement, and her father would coerce her into wedding the Earl of Penrith. He was convinced of it.

  Aye, walking away now mi
ght save his life, but his life was nothing more than an empty shell without her. He wasn’t willing to let her fears dictate his actions. Why should he hide like an outlaw because her father held power? If he fled, it was as good as admitting guilt.

  Callum slung his bow over his shoulders and took the long walk to the castle, intending to return to the stables. At his waist, he carried the pouch of parchment, quill and ink that Marguerite had given him. Though it might not be needed, at least he could write a few words to defend himself.

  Before he reached the castle, he saw a gathering of men, just outside the gates. Among them, he spied Iagar.

  ‘MacKinloch,’ came the man’s voice. ‘We’re leaving Duncraig. You’ll come with us.’

  Callum sent Iagar a stare and shook his head. Did the man think he was going to blindly obey strangers? Keeping a neutral expression on his face, he continued his walk when Iagar blocked his path.

  ‘They’ve taken Sileas for questioning. He’s going to break if they torture him. And who do you think he’ll blame for all of it?’ Iagar’s tone turned menacing. ‘I’m trying to save your ungrateful arse, MacKinloch. Come with us and save yourself.’

  Callum kept walking, not even bothering to look at the man.

  ‘You were with Lady Marguerite when you escorted her on her ride the other day.’

  At those words, Callum stopped. Was the bastard threatening her? His hand clenched around his bow and he fought to keep his expression shielded.

  ‘She’s a bonny one, the lass is. What do you think her father will do to her when he learns she’s been with a Scot?’ Iagar dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Was she good? Should I have a taste of her, after you’re dead?’

  Callum spun, his hands reaching for Iagar’s throat, but found, instead, the point of a dirk at his throat. ‘You don’t have a choice in this, MacKinloch. If you stay, you die.’

  Not if he could help it. Callum seized the man’s wrist and squeezed until Iagar released the weapon. The man’s face reddened as he struggled to free himself from his grasp. He stared hard, letting the man know he could crack the bone if he wanted to.

  ‘Die, then, if that’s what you want.’ He bent to pick up the dirk and Callum never took his eyes off the man as Iagar retreated.

  ‘But if you betray us, it’s your death. And hers.’

  Chapter Twelve

  When she returned from her ride with the earl, Marguerite was startled to see her aunt speaking to Xavier, the Captain of her father’s Guard. The two soldiers who had been her escorts were bound with rope.

  After she gave her horse over to the stable master, Marguerite hurried forward. Her aunt had a gloating expression upon her face, one she didn’t understand.

  ‘Why are these men being detained?’ she asked Beatrice. ‘They are my guards, are they not?’

  ‘They stole from you, Lady Marguerite,’ Xavier answered. ‘They took pearls from you and tried to use them for their own compensation.’

  ‘Thievery is not tolerated here,’ her aunt added. ‘They will each lose a hand for what they’ve done.’

  ‘It was not thievery,’ Marguerite said, stepping between them. ‘The pearls were a gift to them and to the men you punished. As compensation for what they’ve had to endure.’ She drew herself up to face her aunt, adding, ‘Surely you cannot punish these men for what was freely given.’

  ‘Take them below,’ her aunt ordered Xavier. ‘My niece and I will discuss this.’

  The false look of benevolence on Beatrice’s face repulsed Marguerite. She darted forward and seized the blade from Xavier’s waist. With a few slices through the rope, she freed the men and ordered them to go. Turning to Beatrice, she commanded, ‘You will not take them prisoner.’

  ‘You overstep yourself.’

  ‘No.’ With the knife still in her palm, she advanced upon her aunt, feeling the sudden rush of danger in her veins. ‘I have had my fill of you attempting to take my mother’s place. This is my home and you are nothing more than my father’s putain.’

  Beatrice’s eyes gleamed with rage. ‘I will not tolerate such insults from you, Marguerite.’ With a hand, she dismissed Xavier. Only when she was certain the men were safe did Marguerite lower her knife.

  ‘I told you not to make an enemy of me, Marguerite,’ her aunt said calmly. ‘You lied to the Duc about our…conflict.’

  ‘I spoke the truth. You tried to starve me in my own home. And you punished innocent men.’ The anger rose up, nearly blinding her with its intensity. ‘And now you think to punish more of them?’

  A thin smile spread over Beatrice’s face. ‘I am not without mercy. If you say that you gave jewels to these men, so be it. But your father will not be pleased to learn that you granted favours to his men.’

  She didn’t miss the implication in the matron’s words. ‘I granted no favours. Only compensation for their trouble.’

  ‘You mean bribes, so they would let you meet your lover in the forest,’ Beatrice corrected. ‘Xavier told me about him. One of the MacKinlochs, isn’t he?’ She took a step forward, grasping her skirts as she climbed the stairs leading into the Hall. ‘I saw him near the stables just now.’

  The rush of fear swept through her, leaving Marguerite speechless. Dear God, no. Let it be a lie.

  She masked her emotions, keeping her tone firm. ‘You will not threaten him.’

  ‘I don’t have to,’ Beatrice said. ‘Xavier is taking him to your father now, for questioning. I would suggest that you be careful about what you say. He was carrying a quiver filled with black-tipped arrows, just like the one they found at the outpost.’

  As her aunt slipped inside the Hall, Marguerite turned back and saw Callum surrounded by soldiers. He made no move to fight them off, but went into their custody without argument.

  God above, she didn’t know how to save him without implicating them both.

  * * *

  Guy de Montpierre stared at the Scot standing before him. It was the mute who had taken shelter in the stables. One of the soldiers had taken a quiver from him and held up a black-feathered arrow.

  ‘Is that yours?’ the Duc asked.

  The Scot gave a single nod, his face shielded without emotion or fear. Eyeing his guards, Guy motioned for them to draw in closer, to prevent the archer from making an escape. He suspected this man had something to do with the attack on the garrison, but why would he have returned to the stables? Already he’d heard of several other Scots who had disappeared and he’d sent men after them. But this man’s behaviour spoke of a man who possessed great courage, or else he was the greatest fool. Curious, he gestured for the man to sit. ‘Can you speak at all?’

  The man gave no answer, but opened a pouch at his waist and held out a piece of parchment. Intrigued, the Duc allowed him to sit. Few men could write and he wondered if a priest had taught him.

  The Scot struggled to grip the pen, but he wrote only two words. The first was MacKinloch. The second was Marguerite.

  At the sight of his daughter’s name, a cold fury took command of his temper. If this man was a MacKinloch, then he had lived with Marguerite during the time she’d taken sanctuary with them. His suspicions darkened and he was beginning to see a pattern in his daughter’s behaviour. The thought of her having anything to do with this Scot enraged him. If he’d harmed her in any way, Guy wouldn’t hesitate to give him a traitor’s death.

  Beatrice’s suggestion, that she had been meeting a man in secret, suddenly held a grain of truth. Mon Dieu, the Scot must be the reason for Marguerite’s reluctance to wed.

  ‘What does my daughter have to do with this?’ Guy demanded. It was an effort to keep from killing the man right now.

  MacKinloch set down the quill, giving no answer at all.

  ‘Send for Marguerite,’ the Duc ordered. In the minutes before her arrival, he glared at the Scot. If you’ve hurt her in any way, you answer to me.

  But there was only the quiet stare of defiance in the man’s eyes.

  * * *
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  When at last Marguerite appeared in the Hall, she touched her hand to her heart in fear. So. She did know the MacKinloch clansman.

  ‘You lied to me,’ the Duc said coolly. ‘You said you didn’t know this man. But he claims he’s a MacKinloch.’

  Marguerite’s face blanched, but she nodded. Embarrassment flooded her face, but she admitted, ‘Callum MacKinloch is his name. His brother Alex is the clan chief.’

  ‘Why did he come here?’ the Duc demanded. And why did you lie? It wasn’t at all in Marguerite’s nature to tell an untruth, and, from the way she avoided looking at the man, his suspicions magnified.

  ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘Marguerite,’ he warned, crossing the room to stand before her. ‘Tell me what you know of this man.’

  Fear made her cheeks whiten, but she said, ‘I saved his life, when he was Cairnross’s prisoner. He protected all of us in the battle, before you came with your men. That’s all.’

  ‘Is it?’ He didn’t believe her. Likely she was trying to protect the man. ‘Did you teach him to write?’

  Tears welled up in her eyes, but she confessed the truth. ‘Yes.’

  To do so meant that she’d spent time with MacKinloch. The thought made him want to flay the Scot alive. Guy’s hands curled into fists at his side, and at that moment the Earl of Penrith moved into the Hall. His eyes moved to Marguerite and she sent him a silent plea.

  MacKinloch’s gaze moved upon both of them and Guy didn’t miss his possessive stare. This Scot somehow believed he could force his way into Marguerite’s life.

  Guy didn’t care what lies had been spoken, nor what had happened in the past. He wouldn’t allow any man to threaten his daughter’s future. Especially not a common Scot who couldn’t even speak.

  Lord Penrith came forward, interrupting. ‘This morn, Lady Marguerite and I came to an understanding about our betrothal.’

  There was reassurance in the man’s gaze. When he turned to his daughter, Guy saw the wrenching pain in her blue eyes. To her credit, she did not deny the earl’s claim. Penrith came to stand beside her, taking her hand in his. Whatever had transpired in the past would not be held against Marguerite. The alliance was not in danger and when Guy eyed his daughter, she gave a silent nod.