When a Scot Gives His Heart

by Julie Johnstone

  “Do ye ken me?” he demanded.

  She nodded dutifully, her mind turning, as it often did, to where she would go if she ever managed to flee her home. The problem was that she had nowhere to go, no one to call on for aid, no one who cared for her. When she was younger, she had daydreamed of meeting a man and falling in love. He would take her away in her silly fantasies, but she knew better now. No man ever saw her; they all looked through her. Of course they did. Her father had been right that she strove to appear the simpleton to escape as much notice as possible from her family. She rarely received new gowns, and she rarely washed the ones of quality that she did have. Her hair was usually knotted, her face dirty, and she had perfected a blank stare, as if she did not have a thought in her head. It had served her well with her brothers, sister, and mother. They were still cruel to her, but her ruse had blunted the sharp, sometimes physical, edge of their cruelty.

  “Ye will marry the Earl of Ulster,” her father pronounced.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Surely, her father did not intend to kill the earl’s wife!

  She kept her voice calm and cautious. “Ye said the earl was married.”

  “When she dies, ye foolish lass,” her father snarled.

  “But I dunnae ken the earl, and he dunnae ken me. Ye said yerself, I’m plain.” She knew she was no great beauty, but she also knew her father liked to make her feel ugly. Honestly, she was unsure if a man would think her pleasant to look at if she took care with her appearance.

  “Ye will find a way to enthrall the earl in spite of that. And ye will do so strongly enough that he will wish to have ye as his mistress. Ye will let him join with ye then, until ye are with child, and when his wife dies, ye will compel the man to marry ye.”

  Heat singed her cheeks, her neck, her chest. “Ye would make me a whore?”

  “Aye,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “I would make my own mother a whore to get what I want.”

  All her silly dreams of girlhood flooded her mind once more—her lost hopes, her fantasies. In that moment, her anger exploded and fear fled. “Nay,” she said, tilting up her chin. “I’ll nae do it.”

  Her father brought his hand up in a flash and gripped her chin in an iron hold. He jerked her face so close to his that she could see the cracks in his yellowed front teeth. “Ye will do as I bid, or I will have the healer, Maria, killed slowly and painfully. I ken ye have formed a friendship with her.”

  Marsaili sucked in a sharp breath. Maria was her only friend. She was the one person who had shown kindness to Marsaili. She did not want to do as her father ordered, but she was certain that he’d kill Maria as he’d threatened. However, if Marsaili agreed, she’d be relinquishing all hope of happiness—unless the earl actually proved to be a kind man, one she might even fall in love with, which was doubtful. Regardless, the idea of luring him, of tricking him, disgusted her. She could not refuse, though. Maria’s life was more important to Marsaili than her own happiness.

  “I will try,” was all she said.

  Her father released her immediately. “Excellent choice. Now off with ye to make yerself presentable before our guests arrive.”

  “Callum Grant, halt, damn ye! I demand ye halt!” Edina Gordon screamed at Callum’s back as he strode outside, toward his horse and away from the stable, where he had just discovered his intended wife naked in the stable hand’s arms.

  For a moment, he considered simply mounting his destrier, continuing on his journey to the Gathering at the Campbell hold—he’d been ordered to attend for his father, the Grant laird—and dealing with breaking his vow to wed Edina after the Gathering. The idea of letting her fret over what he might reveal, what he might say until he returned to speak with her appealed to him, but he recognized the dishonorable thought and came to a stop.

  He was angry, but only because he’d almost allowed himself to be wed to a woman he had never cared for and who had been claimed in body by another man. She would have brought betrayal to their marriage that would have been difficult at best.

  Edina hurried toward him, tugging the laces of her bodice together. She stopped in front of him, cheeks flushed from her tumble in the hay with the stable hand. “It’s nae what ye think.”

  For some reason, that amused him. “Is it nae?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve nae joined with a woman myself, given I’ve been promised to wed ye since I was ten summers, but I’m fairly certain what I just saw ye and the stable hand doing in the hay was a joining.”

  Her gray eyes narrowed as her mouth puckered. “Dunnae stand there and lie to me, Callum Grant. Ye are a laird’s son, and a fine-looking one at that. Ye kinnae tell me ye have been true to me. I’ve seen the lasses flirting with ye.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, “they flirted. But my father made a vow to yer da that I’d wed ye when ye were eighteen summers, and as much as I did nae wish to take ye to wife, our clans had an alliance, and I intended to honor it.”

  She gasped. “Ye still have to honor it! I may be with child!”

  “Then marry the stable hand,” Callum said calmly. “Ye two seem to like each other verra much.” How any man could have been enticed into Edina Gordon’s arms perplexed Callum. She was lovely enough, but it was surface deep.

  “I kinnae marry a lowly stable hand!” she bellowed.

  “A man’s station in life dunnae determine his quality,” Callum said through clenched teeth. He hated that so many people, including his own parents, thought that it did.

  Edina clenched her hands into fists. She had a spitefulness about her and a jealous tendency to be cruel to anyone she thought might be prettier than she was. He’d asked his father more than once over the years to break their promise to wed, but his father had refused every time, reminding Callum that their alliance with the Gordon clan only existed because of the impending marriage. Callum gave a quick thanks to God that Edina’s mother had insisted she reach eighteen summers before they wed. If not for that request, he would already be well and shackled to a woman without honor.

  “I’ll tell ye, as I have before, that my father’s warriors are the reason yer family is still in possession of Urquhart Castle.” Edina gave him a haughty smile. “If it were nae for them, the MacDonald clan would have taken the castle from yer father shortly after it was granted to him by King David. We both ken the MacDonald laird has a much greater force than yer father does. So ye kinnae renounce our upcoming union,” Edina said smugly. “Ye will marry me, and ye will keep what ye saw a secret. And if I should have a bairn, ye will raise it as yer own.”

  Callum felt as if his blood were boiling. He had known for a long time that Edina was a spoiled lass, but he had misjudged the depth of her lack of character. It was true that the Lord of the Isles did have many more men at his disposal than Callum’s father had. It was also true that Callum’s clan had desperately needed an ally to help them defend Urquhart against sieges by the MacDonald clan because their laird had wanted to advance his holdings farther north.

  “Ye dunnae ken me Edina, and ye did nae ever. I am nae a man to be told what to do. I’ll nae shame ye by telling all that ye gave yerself to another man, but I’ll nae marry ye. Ye may consider our promise to be wed broken.”

  “Ye kinnae do that! Yer clan needs the alliance!”

  He nodded. “Aye, we do, but we dunnae need it so greatly that we will sacrifice honor. We will find another alliance.”

  She glared at him. “Yer father will nae allow it, and I’ll nae consider yer vow to wed me broken until yer father has agreed.”

  “My father kinnae force me to wed ye and neither can yer threats.” Callum turned and strode toward his horse with Edina bellowing his name.

  He kept going until he was mounted and riding away from her. He felt liberated, though also burdened by what was to come next. He suspected his father, and most assuredly his mother, would try to compel him to mend the rift. But he’d not bind himself to a woman like Edina for life. That would not be good for the clan, nor for any children
they might have. For too long, Callum had obeyed his father’s commands, despite his doubts, but no more. He’d not wed Edina, but he would do all he could to ensure his clan made another alliance.

  The best way to do that would be to travel with haste to the Gathering and speak to the other lairds who’d been called there by the Campbell laird. Callum hoped that some of them had doubts about pledging loyalty to the Steward, too. His father disagreed with Callum’s concerns, but his father would not always be laird. It would be Callum’s duty someday, and he intended to be informed thoroughly about the politics of his land and choose his loyalty based on the honor of a man, not how the man could increase the Grant clan’s wealth.

  Marsaili sat on a plaid in the grass with her mother and sister, as she had been ordered to by her father. The lords and lairds who’d been invited to the Gathering, including the Earl of Ulster, had ridden off into the woods some time ago for a Bow and Stable hunt. Her father had chosen to hunt a wild boar as opposed to the usual prey of a deer, and the animal had taken off with a squeal. The men, all assembled on horseback with their bows ready to shoot, had set off after it. The winner would receive a purse of coin and his choice of lass to dance with at the feast tonight. Her brother Colin was the best shot she had ever seen, and under normal circumstances, he would be the winner. Except today, of course, he’d been instructed to let the Earl of Ulster pull ahead for the win so he could shoot him from behind.

  Marsaili picked unhappily at a blade of grass. She listened with little interest to her mother and sister, who were speaking extensively on the eligible men present, making a list of their attributes, which apparently included their clan’s wealth, their clan’s strength, and finally, the man himself. Not of his honor, of course—her petty mother and sister were judging each man by his appearance.

  Marsaili listened half-heartedly, but most of her thoughts were occupied with the horrible predicament in which she found herself.

  She’d met the Earl of Ulster when he had arrived. He’d only managed to draw his gawking gaze from her cleavage, which Helena had ensured was almost spilling out of Marsaili’s gown, when her mother had inquired after his wife. His answer had been disturbing and telling of his character. Marsaili had quickly concluded that he had little merit when he had complained that his wife was “still stubbornly clinging to life” despite his best physician assuring him that the woman would succumb to her sickness within a few months. He’d noted, with a scowl, that it had been six tiresome months.

  It disgusted her to think upon his callous words and uncaring attitude. She did not want to do as her father had demanded. She did not want to gain the earl’s attention, become his mistress, and then wed him, either. But she had little choice if she wanted to protect Maria.

  “They approach!” Helena cried out and scrambled to her feet. The sound of the hunting dogs barking filled the air. “Mother! Callum Grant is leading the hunters!” she gushed.

  Marsaili looked up from the grass. She did not know who Callum Grant was. She’d only been present yesterday when the Earl of Ulster had arrived, and then her father had commanded her to her room until today’s hunt. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes as she stared at the rider who was coming hard and fast at the boar, the hunting dogs on his heels. The Highlander had his bow raised, and Marsaili could see, even from a distance, that he had quite powerful arms.

  “Where is Colin?” Mother moaned. “Callum Grant is nae meant to win!”

  “There!” Helena exclaimed, pointing. “He is ten paces behind Callum.”

  Marsaili rose to her feet, getting embroiled in the excitement of the hunt despite her worry. Colin had never lost a hunt, and she wanted to be in a position to see him finally bested. He’d been especially cruel to her all her life. He was the one who often locked her in the penance cell and said she had done things she had not. Sin or not, she would enjoy watching his defeat. He was as prideful as they came, and this public loss, which also would disturb their father’s carefully laid plans, would sting his pride.

  “Do ye see the earl?” her mother demanded.

  “There,” Marsaili said pointing, “he’s coming up beside Colin.” The thundering of the horses’ hooves reverberated in the air, and the ground trembled beneath her feet. Marsaili held her breath in anticipation as Callum Grant closed in on the boar, backing it against a wall of rock. He cocked his head slightly, and she knew he was lining up his shot. Behind him, her brother and the earl raced onward, the earl pulling ahead of Colin. The minute he did, Colin raised his arm, and Marsaili cringed, knowing her brother intended to shoot the earl and not the boar.

  The barking dogs grew frenzied, Callum released his arrow, and at the same moment, Colin released his. The boar fell and an exalted shout came from Callum, but then a bellow rang out as the Earl of Ulster yanked his destrier to a halt. He reached for his arm and awkwardly dismounted his horse.

  “Make haste,” Marsaili’s mother said calmly. “Ye ken what ye’re to do.”

  She started toward the earl as her father and the men gathered around him, but her feet would not carry her quickly. It felt as if she were wearing stone shoes. When her father glanced her way, his gaze narrowed dangerously, and she forced herself to increase her pace. Soon, she was running.

  As she drew near the earl, so did Callum Grant. His gaze locked with hers, and her breath caught. She felt as captive as a hawk in an iron cage. Eyes the color of a rich honeyed mead assessed her frankly, and then his heavy eyebrows drew up as if he were shocked by something. By what, she didn’t know. The urge to smooth her gown and put order to her hair gripped her, but she fought it. When the earl groaned loudly, she remembered all too clearly the task at hand. She turned her attention to the earl, even as Callum moved to stand beside her. His arm brushed hers briefly, sending a tremor of odd recognition through her, as if her body were familiar with his.

  “I can tend to the earl if someone can withdraw the arrow from his arm,” she said, inhaling in a desperate bid for calmness.

  The Earl of Ulster swung toward her, face mottled red and fist raised in anger. Her instinct was to scuttle backward, but Callum stepped slightly in front of her. She blinked in shock at his boldness and at the fact that he would place himself in harm’s way to protect her, a woman he did not know. No one had ever done such a thing for her in her life.

  The earl raked his flinty gaze over Callum before settling it on her once more. “There’d be no need to withdraw an arrow if that fool—” he glared at Colin “—had aimed with more care.”

  “I am terribly sorry,” Colin replied, but his stiff tone alerted Marsaili immediately that her brother’s quick temper had been lit. Her father must have realized it, as well. He placed a hand on Colin’s shoulder, and she saw him squeeze it until his knuckles turned white. Colin’s jaw began to twitch, but he gave an almost imperceptible nod of understanding. “I can remove the arrow,” he said, exactly as their father had planned.

  “If you believe I’d let you near me, you’re mad!” the earl bellowed and then grabbed Marsaili by the arm. “You will do it. I’ll take a woman’s touch.”

  To dress an arm was one thing but to remove an arrow? “I kinnae, my lord. I—”

  “Ye dare defy me?” He shot her a menacing glare.

  Callum moved forward so quickly, she didn’t even realize what he was doing until she heard a snap, and then in a flash, he yanked the arrow out of the earl’s arm. “There,” he said, throwing the two halves of the arrow on the ground. “’Tis done.”

  Marsaili was too astounded and too grateful to speak for a moment. The earl appeared enraged, as his face twisted into a grimace, but he bit out through clenched teeth, “Thank you.” And when he looked down at the steady stream of blood coming from his arm, he paled.

  Marsaili’s instinct to help anyone in need took over. She took up the hem of her dress and ripped off a long strip of material without a thought. She didn’t realize until she was wrapping it around the earl’s arm with great care that s
he had unwittingly done her father’s bidding. She ground her teeth, though she would not have changed aiding the man. “There now, my lord. That should hold ye, but I compel ye to make yer way immediately to the medicine woman.”

  “An excellent idea,” he replied, his gaze sliding from her face to her chest. “You will show me the way, of course.”

  “Aye, she would be happy to,” her father answered for her.

  She bit hard on her lip but nodded. She was trapped, exactly as her father had intended. The earl gave an impatient wave for them to depart. As she turned, her gaze caught Callum’s once more. The look of understanding he gave her filled her with an unexpected sense of hope, but she quickly shelved it, knowing how foolish hope was.

  The beautiful Marsaili Campbell stayed in Callum’s thoughts all day, even as he spoke with many of the other men at the Gathering. Many men talked highly of his father, which did bode well for making a new alliance, but with each person he spoke with, Callum’s hopes to find a like-minded man, one who was doubting the wisdom of pledging his clan to the Steward, ebbed away. He tasked himself with delving deeper into the character of the king and his nephew so when the time came that he led the Grant clan, he’d be well-informed enough to make an unprejudiced decision.

  When he entered the great hall for supper, the first person he saw—truly, the only person he saw—was Marsaili. She looked fragile, tense, and stunning as she sat on the dais between her father and the Earl of Ulster. Gazing upon her tightened Callum’s chest and stirred his desire in a way it had never been stirred. He had no notion what was making her so unhappy, but perhaps it was the married earl’s attention. The man was gawking at her. Not that Callum could blame him.

  Marsaili Campbell had outer beauty, to be sure. Her mahogany hair shined and tumbled over her shoulders in inviting curls. And her eyes… Never had he seen eyes of such a pure, clear blue. God’s blood, he would likely dream of her eyes tonight. They reminded him of the waters of the loch around his home. Yet, it was not the color he would dream of as much as the emotions they had conveyed. One minute her gaze had appeared guarded, then forlorn, and for one extraordinary breath, he’d sworn he’d seen hope there.