Highland Soldiers 1: The Enemy

by J. L. Jarvis

  He peered at her while he forced down his anger. “I assure you, as I stand here, I dinnae lack control, even though it may be put to the test at this moment.” He leveled a probing look. “Lass, have I given you any cause not to trust me?”

  Mari’s fingertips trembled in his sure hand. “Not yet, but I’ve heard such words before. People behave in one way, but they change once they get what they want.”

  “Mari.” Callum took a step toward her, but she stiffened, so he stopped. What he wanted to do was take firm hold of her shoulders. Instead he spoke with forced calm. “Look at me. Really look at me, and tell me you truly believe I would speak false words to you.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “I believe that you would. You’re a man, and men lie.”

  He interrupted her. “Mari, I willnae lie to you. Nor will I hurt you.”

  “No one ever says in advance that they’ll hurt you. But they do just the same.” She cast her eyes to the side to avoid his.

  “I am not like the bairn’s father, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nor will I pay for his wrongs.” His temper sparked, and he clenched his jaw as he tamped down his anger. Had he not pulled her from certain death? How could she not trust him, when all he wanted to do was to help her? Ah, but now he was not being truthful to himself. He wanted much more than that, he was forced to admit. Eejit, the lass is in pain. Give her some time. But that was one thing he could not seem to do.

  Mari said, “I’m not asking you to pay for what he did. I’m just asking you to leave me alone.”

  “Is that truly what you want—what you feel in your heart?”

  As she gazed at him, she knew that the answer was no. Lest he see it in her eyes, she looked down—anywhere but at him—but not before her eyebrows drew together. The light caught her moist lashes. “I dinnae trust feelings.”

  He softened his voice. “Mari. My feelings are true.”

  No one called her Mari, and somehow the way that he did made her heart pound. She fought it and lifted her eyes to stare boldly, but faltered and looked down again. “It’s my own feelings I dinnae trust.” Silent moments passed, so she looked up to see his reaction. His gentle look gripped her heart.

  Callum felt a surge of relief from her confession. She had as much as declared there was something between them.

  “You’re a soldier,” she said.

  “Aye,” he replied.

  She said, “In battle, if someone sank a dirk into your heart, could you choose how it would feel?”

  “No, but I’d let the wound heal.”

  She cried, “But not all wounds heal.”

  “Och, lass.” He was beginning to wish he could sink a dirk into whoever had hurt her. “This one will.” He reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek, but she turned to avoid his touch.

  He nearly said that people did not die from broken hearts, but then he thought of how he had met her, when she was about to do just that. He wished he could make her forget, but how could she when the memory grew in her belly? Until her heart healed, his attentions were no better than salt for her wound. Walk away, said a voice in his head. Now.

  Despite that, he heard himself say, “I willnae hurt you like the bairn’s father did. You must trust me, lass.”

  She practically scoffed, and that wounded him. “People who ask for trust seldom deserve it. Forbye, my past is no business of yours.”

  “It’s my business if he stands between us.”

  Her bitter tears shimmered. “Us? There is no us. And do you truly believe that the wee one’s father is all that stands between us?”

  “So there is an us!” He grinned in triumph, but quickly saw she was in no mood to be grinned at.

  “Mari,” he said, running a thumb along her wrist as he studied it. “I’ve laid bare my heart.” He could not quite believe it himself. He gazed at a strand of hair that lay on her brow and reached up to touch it. His hand lingered, stroking the smooth strands of hair.

  “Stop that!” she snapped as she took a step backward, but her foot caught a crack in the cobblestone floor and she faltered. With firm hands, he caught her waist and steadied her. She took in a small gasp and kept her eyes focused straight ahead, at his chest. She leaned as though pulled closer to him. Correcting herself, she took a careful step backward until he released her.

  When she would not meet his gaze, he studied her troubled brow, her flushed cheeks and the lips he had once tasted. Stillness hovered between them. “Mari, I dinnae want to hurt you. Believe me.”

  “I do.” In a soft voice she added, “But you will.”

  Callum said nothing. No words would change her mistrust. Not today. Not for a very long time. Yet he stood there, not wanting to leave her. He would stand there until she forced him to go.

  Mari’s brow furrowed as she exhaled with resignation. He had already seen her at her lowest. Nothing she said now could be worse. It would be a relief to have someone to talk to. “He said he wanted to marry me.”

  Of course he did. Callum’s eyes shut for an instant. There was really no need to hear more. But until she told him, it would loom there between them. He could not share his particular thoughts at the moment, for they were too harsh. So he held his tongue. She glanced toward him, almost as though she were rolling her eyes from self-loathing, but also checking to see if he looked poised to flee. That charmed him—that and her eyes, which were green and quite round. He had no plans to flee.

  She spoke in a quiet voice, with little emotion. “He came by one day, on his way to speak with my father to ask for my hand, or so he said, and I was fool enough to believe him. There’s a burn not far from here, with a thicket of trees beside it. It was a grand day, very warm for the season. It was the kind of day you smell spring like a hint of what’s coming. I’d gone for a long walk. I was warm and had dabbed my face with a handkerchief, when a gust of wind caught it and carried it to the water. I waded in after it. Och! It was so cold! That’s where he happened upon me by chance.”

  Callum arched a brow. By chance.

  She went on. “He was thirsty from walking and came to the burn for some water to drink. He was surprised to find me there.”

  With no warning, she glanced over at Callum and caught something in his expression. With a painful nod, she said, “I suppose that was a lie, too.”

  Callum imagined himself there, met with the sight of her wading—skirts up past her knees, legs wet and silken, turning a startled face toward him. Her chest heaving with a sigh of relief to find someone she loved. Eyes wide with trust, the brisk air drawing a blush to her cheeks. The thought alone stirred him. The sight would have tested his honor.

  She continued. “I was chilled from the water. He opened his coat and wrapped it around me for warmth.”

  Callum looked away to conceal his disgust for the rogue.

  Mari said, “It was a mistake to stay there alone with him. I should have gone home.” She stopped talking, her troubled thoughts distant.

  A wisp of hair brushed her jaw line. He wanted to slip it behind her ear, but then he would slide his fingers into her hair and touch his palm to the nape of her neck underneath it. All that thickness of hair seemed to cry out to him to be clutched in his hand while he kissed her. He resolved not to touch Mari’s hair.

  Her gaze hardened. “Afterward, he was furious with me.”

  A frown was only the surface of the anger now roiling within Callum. The man was a scoundrel, and a lucky one not to be here now.

  “He said it was my fault. That I’d bewitched him.” She lifted her eyes to meet his.

  Callum dropped his chin with a sigh. “So when I said the same words… ”

  She nodded.

  He had touched a raw nerve. How he wished he had known.

  “He told me I was not fit for a godly man’s wife.”

  Callum’s jaw clenched. The only words that now came to mind were curses, so instead he quietly listened.

  She swallowed her pain. “He never spoke to my father to ask f
or my hand.”

  “Och, lass.” He was moved by her pain, which had only been deepened by her sweet, trusting nature.

  “He had high ideals,” she explained.

  He scoffed, but then worked to suppress any further reaction. High ideals? The only thing high in this lout was in the front of his trews—that is, when he managed to keep it inside them. With restraint he said, “He was not worthy of you.”

  “He held quite the opposite view.”

  “Because he was a blackguard, or an eejit. Either way, he was worthless.”

  “He was married within a month.”

  “Then he was both.”

  “And I was a fool.”

  Callum’s anger with the bairn’s father doubled as he saw Mari’s sorrow. Without thinking, he brushed a tear from her cheek, but his hand lingered there. She leaned into it slightly, enough to undo him. When she took in a soft breath, he touched his lips to her tear-moistened cheek. He told himself to stop there. But her face inclined toward his, and he gave her a kiss, soft and brief. But when it was over, neither pulled away as they should have. Instead their lips lingered, not touching, but near enough that a breath brought them nearer, and into a kiss. Callum lost himself to the taste of her lips and her mouth, the physical thrill of her body leaning against his, and her arms about his neck.

  Mari’s resolve came moments too late, as she pressed her hands to his chest and pushed him away. “Despite what you now ken and may think of me, your past kindness will purchase no more than my thanks.”

  “Purchase?” he said, eyes flashing in anger. “Mari …”

  “Marion.” Her strong words came in a weak voice. “What gives you the right to be so familiar? Who are you to think you can call me what you want, and to do what you want?”

  “What I want? It did not appear that I was alone in the wanting. Say what you want, lass, but your lips make you a liar.” Callum shot a harsh look at her and then shook his head as he cast his eyes elsewhere. He had wanted that kiss; and, yes, she had kissed him back. He wished he could pause for a moment to contemplate that, but he had taken it knowing how fragile she was. With a good deal of trust, she had shared a deeply personal story, and it had moved him—enough, as it turned out, for him to lose control and scare her away. Again.

  He looked earnestly at her. “I am not like the bairn’s father. I’ll admit that to kiss you like that was impulsive and selfish, but it was honest.”

  She considered his words for a moment, but abruptly said, “Ensign—”

  “Callum.”

  “Ensign MacDonell.” In vain, she tried to replace some formality between them, as though it could erase what they had shared.

  “Mari,” said Callum.

  “Marion—Mistress McEwan.” Color rushed to her cheeks, which made her look all the more lovely to Callum.

  “Have we not progressed beyond formal address?” Callum asked her.

  “No, we have not. We will not.” She stammered, which drew a grin that he worked to conceal. She had feelings for him. No matter how reluctant they were, as long as he saw them he would not be dissuaded. She had touched his heart, and his heart once touched was tenacious.

  She struggled to continue. “We met, and you saved me. I believe you are not—a bad man.”

  Callum did not lack modesty, but he thought he was a bit more than that. Not a bad man.

  She went on. “But we—well, there is no we. We can be no more than… ”

  “Friends?” Callum said dryly.

  “Friends? No. That isnae what we are.”

  With a knowing tilt of his head, he acknowledged her point.

  “You have come on our land to force your religion upon us. We dinnae want you here. We are foes.” She stopped, seemingly satisfied with her conclusion.

  Her conclusion felt quite like a wall.

  Her eyes darted about, seeking any sight but his troubling gaze. His silence made her feel as though she needed to explain herself further. “Royalists just killed my brother and my friend, both of whom I dearly loved.”

  “I’m sorry. I ken that your loss is a deep one.”

  “Aye,” she said softly.

  Gently, he said, “And you ken that my kinsmen suffered similar grief.”

  “Aye.”

  “But you and I have done nothing to hurt one another.” He tenderly lifted her chin. Reluctantly, she shook her head as his fond look settled on her.

  She said, “Tomorrow—or the next day—in battle, one of my people might kill your brother and your dear friend. Will you feel the same then?”

  “Unless you hold the sword, I will view you as separate.”

  This troubled her. “I cannae view you the same way. You make me uneasy. You look like the others, and, given the chance, you will act like the others. You are one of them.”

  “I am.” He could not refute it. “But am I not more than just that?”

  “To us, you are one more thing the king has forced upon us.”

  “But what am I to you?”

  Her agitation mounted. Her eyes darted to the door, but he stepped in her path.

  Frustrated, she said, “You are someone I wish would stay out of my way.”

  “I willnae.” He was quiet, but firm.

  “Why?” she asked helplessly.

  “Because I can protect you.”

  “From whom?” She leveled a look that convicted him, for in truth any danger ahead would most likely be at the hands of some royalist forces. How could he admit that there were Highlanders—not from his clan—but others who were taking property, sometimes women, on the lands that they occupied? His jaw clenched with the taste of his own hypocrisy.

  She leveled a glare. “You are my enemy, and I am yours, Ensign MacDonell.”

  “Callum,” he insisted, as though stripping himself of his rank might help her see him as a man apart from other Highland dragoons. “Mari, please dinnae judge me for things I have not done.”

  “Callum.” She now turned his name on him like a weapon. Her contempt made it sound like a curse. “You are a strong man with deep convictions. I admire that. I do.”

  He knew he was going to wish she had stopped there.

  She went on with a bluntness that disarmed him. “You have chosen to fight for your clan. I suppose that I must admire that, but it sets us at odds. Nothing can ever change that.”

  Her words stung, but he steeled his expression. “I am just Callum.”

  Her expression softened. “No, you are so much more than that.” She lifted sorrowful eyes that searched his, looking lost.

  Callum let that look wash over him until his lips parted.

  “Good day, Callum.” Mari turned and walked to her house.

  * * *

  Mari’s mother called out from the kitchen. “Are you finished with the cows already?”

  “Aye, Mum.”

  “And the chickens?”

  “Aye, Mum.”

  “Mari?” Her mother came to a stop at the doorway. “Be wary around those Highlanders. They’re not like us. If any of them talk to you, just act like you dinnae ken what they’re saying and keep walking.”

  “Aye, Mum.”

  She ran into her room, shut the door and leaned on it. God help her, she hated him—and herself. She had spoken her true mind, but her true heart had been silent. She now breathed out what was on her heart in a whisper: “Callum MacDonell.”

  9

  The Dirk Oath

  Callum stared at the night sky, unable to sleep. He believed in his reason for fighting. His people had been attacked first by the Covenanters. It was they who had come—four thousand of them—to his land, to his home. But they had not merely occupied homes as his people did now. Covenanters had destroyed homes and villages. Forty years had since passed, but Highland memories ran deep. To fight back was a matter of honor and loyalty to family and clan. Unlike that of the English, Highland strength was built not on owning land but on the number and loyalty of its people. Honor bound them tog
ether and gave them their might. This was his duty, and he would not waver.

  Callum understood Mari’s feelings. She thought she had lost her brother and friend at the hands of a rogue unit of soldiers who were using the law to justify their blood sport. He did not know them, but they fought for the crown, on the same side and for the same cause. The actions of one reflected upon the other, and so he was tainted in Mari’s eyes. He knew that in battle not all men behaved honorably. It occurred on both sides. It was wrong. But all he could do was control himself and his men and ensure that they fought for their cause in a way that brought honor to their clan and the people back home.

  He could not deny that he was glad to be here. Mari McEwan had changed him. She lingered on his mind, and his heart, and she gave him new purpose. He wanted to know her and win her heart over. Being here gave him time. In the meanwhile, he would keep her safe. It was a noble excuse for the truth, which was that she stirred longings in him, and this drove his desire to know her and watch over her.

  His clansmen would protect her. He need only ask. They might have been full of whisky and mischief earlier, but they were good lads. He knew them, and trusted them with his life and with hers. He could not speak for the other Highlanders about them, though. While Mari might view him as an intruder, the truth was that by being there, he indeed protected her from the harm others might do. If his presence did that, he would not regret or apologize for it.

  The next question was harder. If his honor were put to the test, which would win? If he had to choose between his desire for Mari or his honor to the crown for which he had sworn to fight loyally, what would he do?

  Now who’s the fool, Callum MacDonell? She hates you, and for good reason. Walk away. Let her grieve. You can only hurt her—and yourself in the bargain.

  * * *

  In the days that followed, Callum saw little of Mari. He forced himself to stay distant. Ignoring her came at a cost, but he did his best to respect her wishes. He had told her his feelings and she had rebuffed him. There was nothing to do but to wait. He hoped that she would change her mind, but days passed with no progress.