Possession and denial hit him, and fury almost choked him. “So ye are the earl’s leman?”
“Nay, ye swine!” She wrenched back, and he released her, feeling a great war within himself to hold her close, keep her as his, but it could not be.
“Tell me what has occurred,” he demanded, realizing as he did that such demands pulled him further into her world when he was required by his fate to stay out of it.
“I have managed to avoid becoming his leman with cunning,” she replied, her voice flat. “My father pursues me, unwilling to relinquish his plot to tie himself to the brother of the possible future King of Scots, and the earl, it seems, refuses to relinquish his wish for me, as well.”
He wanted to tear the Earl of Ulster apart limb from limb, and he wanted to do the same to her father. The Campbell was without honor. “I will protect ye.”
“Nay,” she said, her tone fierce and hard as any man’s he’d ever heard. “I am nae yers to protect. Ye should concern yerself with yer soon-to-be wife.”
“I have nae forgotten Coira,” he said tightly. “I will have my brother see ye to safety. Tell me, if ye will, what cunning kept ye from the earl’s bed?” He found he was desperate to hear what her life had been since they had parted.
“Clever cunning,” she said, her voice hard as stone.
She was going to answer as little as possible, he understood this clearly now. Perhaps not knowing what had happened was best. Yet, the need to know if it had been her or her father who had sent false word of her death, burrowed into his head and would not leave go. “Did ye ever speak of us to yer father?” he asked, unable to stop that one question.
“Nay. Of course nae. That would have been quite foolish on my part. It is not as if I wanted my father or anyone else to ken that I had dishonored myself by joining with ye.” Her words were like a well-placed dagger in his heart. That she viewed herself as dishonored made his insides twist into knots. He’d done this to her, and he could not undo it.
“Dunnae ye need to make haste to supper?” she bit out suddenly, eyeing him. “Is nae yer future wife awaiting ye?”
“Aye, she is.” And she could wait a bit longer, too. “Where will ye go when ye depart here?”
Distinct wariness came into her eyes. “To Dunvegan Castle,” she answered slowly.
“The MacLeod hold?” He frowned. He knew the MacLeods were enemies of her father, so it was odd that she knew them at all, let alone sought them out. “Yer family’s enemies?”
“My father’s enemies, nae mine. I call them friends.”
“How? How did ye even come to ken the MacLeods?”
“It dunnae matter. I did, and that is all ye need to ken.”
Jealousy he had no right to feel gripped him. “Are ye going to a particular MacLeod? A man?”
“Aye,” she said, giving him a cool smile.
He wanted to deny her leave, but it was not his right to do so. She was not his. She would never be his. Yet the idea that someday she would be another man’s wife stirred something primal within him. “When ye and yer friend are ready to travel, I’ll have my brother attend ye.”
“That will nae be necessary,” she replied without hesitation.
“I insist.” He sensed suddenly that something was amiss, though it could just be that she wanted to rid herself of any association with him as quickly as possible.
She nibbled on her lip for a moment, then finally nodded. “That’s verra generous of ye, considering the MacLeods are nae allies of yer clan. Dunnae ye fear that ye will be sending yer brother into danger?”
“Nay,” he replied. “I will send word ahead that he is travelling with ye so that they will grant him safe passage.”
“A good thought,” she said, but her voice was strained and the worry that pinched her face made him aware that she was lying. The only thing was, he had no notion why.
Seven
“Maria,” Marsaili hissed, shaking her sleeping friend. “Maria, please.” Maria simply had to wake up so they could flee!
The door to Maria’s bedchamber creaked open, and Marsaili glanced up as a woman strolled in. She was fine boned, eyes keen and a deep shade of brown. Marsaili hissed in a breath. The woman had eyes the exact shape and color as Callum’s. She pushed her thick, peppery-brown hair behind her ears as her gaze traveled slowly over Marsaili and then came to rest on her face once again.
“I’m Lorna Grant, Callum’s mother. I’m also the healing woman here,” she said in a haughty tone. “Shaking yer friend will nae do any good. I gave her a sleeping draft. She’ll nae be waking for a while.” The woman’s eyes darted to the door as if expecting someone.
Marsaili frowned at how odd Callum’s mother was behaving and at the fact that she had given Maria a sleeping draft, which would prohibit them departing as quickly as Marsaili had hoped.
She stood and offered a curtsy. “I’m Marsaili Lamont,” she said, using the false name. She could not chance giving her name and having it lead her father to her. She would get to her son, no matter the lies she had to tell to do so.
“Save yer lies,” Callum’s mother snapped. She stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her with an ominous click. “I ken well who ye truly are,” she said, her voice cold and exact. “Brice told me when he brought yer companion to me to care for. Marsaili Campbell,” the woman said. Disdain seemed to trace her words. “Imagine my dismay and my surprise.”
“I’m afraid I kinnae,” Marsaili said as she backed up a step. She sensed danger, and she never ignored her gut.
“Ye are the woman responsible for my husband’s death.”
Marsaili frowned. The woman was daft. “I did nae ken yer husband,” she said evenly, though her palms tingled and her belly was tight with worry.
“Aye, that’s true enough, but ye are bathed in his blood, nevertheless. My son could nae be swayed to marry as we had commanded after he met ye, and his stubbornness brought the Gordon clan to our doorstep wanting vengeance. My husband died fighting the Gordons when they raided our land—”
The information shocked Marsaili, yet the woman’s words also confused her. “Yer son made his own choices,” Marsaili interrupted. “He did not break his vow to wed Edina Gordon for me. He did so to ease the burden of shame he carried for his dishonorable actions.”
The woman’s mouth parted, and her eyes widened. “Ye have talked to Callum, aye? Ye must have. He was much delayed returning to the castle. I saw him rushing to the great hall to sup with his soon-to-be wife.”
Marsaili felt her nostrils flare on the news that Callum had kissed her and then rushed off to appease Coira. The man had not changed at all. “I spoke with him,” she managed through gritted teeth.
“And yet ye dunnae see,” the woman said, her tone contemptuous.
“I dunnae see what?” Marsaili demanded, her temper banishing the fear she had been feeling.
Obvious anger flared in Lorna’s eyes. “Ye speak of my son’s dishonor when ye swim in yer own,” she hissed.
Mortification burned Marsaili’s cheeks, neck, and chest. Callum had told his mother what had occurred between them. He had to have for the woman to say such a thing to her. “I’m nae ashamed of what I did.” She had been in love, and though she regretted her choices now that she knew she had given her heart and body to a man who had not loved her, she refused to feel shame.
“I’m nae shocked,” Lorna spat. “Ye are just like yer father. He dunnae have any honor, and neither do ye! I dunnae ken how ye ended up here to be wagered away, and I dunnae care. Ye kinnae stay. Callum is to marry, and I’ll nae allow ye to ruin this chance for him again.”
Marsaili drew in a slow, fortifying breath. “I dunnae have any intentions to stay and ruin yer son’s plans, so dunnae fash yerself. As soon as Maria awakens, we will depart.”
“I dunnae believe ye,” the woman rasped. “What deceit is this?”
Marsaili stiffened. She was used to feeling unwanted by her own family, but it chafed to be
so disliked by someone who did not even know her.
“I speak the truth,” Marsaili bit out. “I dunnae need nor want yer son.”
“God’s bones,” Callum’s mother whispered, clearly shocked. “Ye do speak the truth.” She glanced to the door, then back at Marsaili. Indecision seemed to flutter across her face, then she said, “Wait here. I, er, I’ll fetch ye some daggers for yer journey. Ye should nae be traveling defenseless. Evil men lurk about.”
“I ken,” Marsaili muttered.
Lorna whirled toward the door and hustled out of the room as if a wolf were snapping at her heels.
When the door clicked shut, Marsaili slumped into the chair beside Maria. Her head and her heart ached terribly, and exhaustion threatened to overcome her. Why had Lorna acted as if Marsaili had somehow wronged Callum? He had been promised to another when he had wooed her. He had lied! He had made her fall in love with him. He had never come back for her as he’d vowed he would. But it seemed he had family who loved him.
And what did she have? A father who had lied to her, robbed her of her child, and was trying to use her for his gain. All the emotions she had long ago caged inside her fought their way to the surface. When the door creaked and started to open, Marsaili scrambled to her feet, hastily swiping at her cheeks. She did not want Lorna to see her weakened, but as the door opened farther, she nearly cried out in fright. Looming in the doorway was Lucan.
Her stomach clenched tight in fear that she refused to show. “Missed me?” she asked, trying to sound playful.
The Black Mercenary chuckled as he pointed a dagger at her. “Aye,” he drawled, his gaze sweeping over her and a leer twisting his lips. “I believe I did.” He rubbed a rough finger over her cheek that made her skin crawl. “I wish I could say I came for ye to make ye mine, but alas…”
She barely contained her sigh of relief, which he must have sensed because he sniggered. “I did nae. I’ve been given a new assignment in regard to ye, my pet.”
“How nice for ye,” Marsaili snapped, glancing toward the door. Any minute now, Lorna should be returning, and hopefully, the woman had a weapon. “Why are ye here, then?”
“Well,” he said, scratching at his stubble with the blade of the dagger he held, “I was amazed, then pleased to hear some English knights discussing a lass they were to find for their lord, the Earl of Ulster. It seems the leader of their party, a Godfrey—” A smile twisted his lips. “I believe ye ken him. Actually, I believe ye killed poor Godfrey. I stumbled upon a dead body in the woods when I was making my way back here to retrieve ye.”
“Aye, I killed him,” she lied. “Just as I’ll be killing ye when ye least expect it.”
“I like a lass who’s nae afraid to threaten,” Lucan said in a voice that revealed his fondness for dark deeds. “As I was saying,” he continued, sounding amused with himself, “I overheard them mention the earl was rather eager to have ye brought to him. It seems he’s quite taken with ye. I thought to myself, ‘Lucan, a rich earl would likely pay ye a great sum to bring the wench to him.’ So I killed the English guards, and here I am.”
The matter-of-fact way he spoke of murdering the Earl of Ulster’s men swept icy fear through her. She swallowed, her palms tingling. “So ye came here to take me to the earl, and what? Bargain me away to him?”
“How astute ye are, Marsaili.”
Her mind raced as she contemplated how she would get away. She didn’t see a way, unless Lorna’s return distracted Lucan enough that she could get around him and both she and Lorna could flee. “How did ye manage to get into this castle?” she asked, wishing to delay.
He chuckled. “That,” he said, slowly drawing out his words, “is a story I’m afraid I was paid generously nae ever to repeat. But I’ll tell ye this, my sweet, have a care before ye ever choose one man over another again.”
Marsaili frowned. She had no notion of what Lucan was speaking. “I dunnae—”
Lucan lunged at her, taking her by complete surprise. He clamped a hand over her mouth, turned her face directly to his, and knocked her over the head with the hilt of his dagger so hard that everything went black.
Eight
Sitting upon the dais with Coira and Brice, Callum tried to concentrate on the conversation the two of them held, but it was useless. His mind was occupied with thoughts of Marsaili. She had cared for him. He was certain of it. And the knowledge made the ache in his heart that much worse.
A chuckle from Coira startled him, and he turned to see a genuine smile lighting her face. It seemed a strange sight, given he’d never seen her smile that way, made stranger still by the fact that Brice was smiling in return. A shaft of guilt went through Callum that his brother had made the effort to become acquainted with Coira when Callum should be doing the same. Clearly, Brice found some redeeming quality in Coira, even if it was just her ability to carry a conversation.
“What are the two ye talking about?” Callum asked.
When they both launched into an explanation at the same time, they laughed, and then Brice said, “After ye, my lady.”
Coira, who sat on Callum’s right, gave Brice a faint smile before turning her attention to Callum and telling him that she and Brice had discovered they had a mutual love of horses. As she launched into a long explanation of the horse she was training, Brice joined the conversation again, and Callum’s attention drifted almost immediately to Marsaili and the MacLeods. Who was she going to see there? He had no right to be jealous, but he was. He wished he could press her more about it, and about how exactly she had managed not to be sent to the earl yet. But again, it was not his right to press her on anything, truly.
“You are not listening to me,” Coira said.
Brice, who was to Callum’s left, gave him a disapproving stare, Callum presumed for his utter lack of decorum toward his future wife. It was almost amusing that his brother, who had tried to convince him of the folly of Callum marrying Coira, now championed her cause. Then again, Brice was honorable, and that fact compelled him to believe that since Callum was committed to marrying Coira, he needed to behave accordingly. Callum agreed, but it chafed him to be called to task by Brice, so his answer to his brother’s disapproval was a glare.
Coria had not been the lively conversationalist before Brice had entered the great hall. She’d sat in sullen silence. Admittedly, Callum understood he was not good company and did not exactly invite conversation. He knew well he needed to make more of an effort to be attentive to Coira. “I apologize,” Callum offered, but even as he said the words, he was wondering why Marsaili had not come to the great hall yet. “Ye did say Mother was fetching Marsaili, aye, Brice?”
Brice scowled at Callum but then answered. “Aye. They should have been in here by now. I’ll see what detains them.”
Brice tilted his head toward Coira in an obvious hint to Callum, and Callum nodded, forcing himself to focus on her. “I am listening to ye.”
“Finally,” she grumbled. “I have not told my father of your earlier treatment, but if you keep overlooking me, I just may.”
“What is it ye wish to say?” he forced himself to ask, though honestly, shamefully, he did not truly care.
“What did you do with that woman from earlier?”
“What woman?” he asked, being purposely obtuse. He did not wish to talk of Marsaili with her.
Her face darkened. “The whore. I heard you won the fight.”
Callum took a long breath to gain control before speaking. “Listen well,” he said, his blood pumping hard through his veins. “I’ll nae allow ye to speak in such a way of a woman ye dunnae even ken. Marsaili Lamont is nae a whore.”
Coira’s eyes narrowed. “Now you listen to me,” she said in a quiet but firm tone. Callum clenched his teeth but nodded. “I did not care that you only wished to marry me because you needed my father as an ally, as I am being forced to marry, yet again, so my father can stop the MacDonald from taking our land, as well. And when I discovered that you would not ever have s
oft emotions toward me, it did not wound me as much as it could have.” Her expression, which had been rigid, softened, as if she were weary of being angry. “I watched you whenever we were around each other, and I saw that you did not have eyes for any other women, either—not just me. I did not know whether you just did not fancy women or a woman had once taken your affection and you did not have any left to give.”
The last words were said in a whisper, but they were so close to the truth that they hit him like a powerful blow. “And now?” he asked, straining to keep his calm.
“I don’t know who this woman is you fought to free, but I do recognize the possessiveness in your eyes, I hear an affection for her in your voice.” Her tone was accusatory and wounded, and he understood at once he had hurt her. “I’ll not abide you making this woman your leman. I’ll not raise any bastard that you have out of our union as my own. I want her out of this castle immediately. I am to be your wife, and if you don’t have any affection to give me, so be it, but you’ll not be giving any to another.”
He scrubbed a hand across his face, his mind turning. He’d thought her simply cold, but she had been reacting to how he’d been when around her. He felt guilty for the indifference she had perceived in him, but he could not force emotions that were not there, nor could he allow her to think she could order him about. He cast his gaze out over the crowded great hall, where many of his clan were merrily chatting and eating. They were his responsibility. Knowing this, knowing his alliance could be in jeopardy, he should simply say what Coira wanted to hear, but it would be a lie and dishonorable.
“I am to be yer husband, ye speak the truth,” he said, not touching on the subject of how he felt. “And as such, I will be true to ye when we are wed, but hear me now, Coira. I do nae take orders from ye or any man, do ye ken me?”
When a Scot Gives His Heart Page 11
