He felt he would explode with frustration. His heart hammered, a searing heat sweeping through him, and his blood roared in his ears. He curled his fists in an effort to hold in the truth, but it would not be held. It clawed out of him, out of the darkness that he felt without her. “I thought myself free,” he said, the intensity of his emotions making his words sound choked and ripped from his throat.
“I dunnae believe ye,” she hissed.
“I dunnae blame ye for that,” he said, feeling almost numb from the pain. “I should have told ye of Edina when I met ye, of the promise that had been between us, but I was engrossed by what was occurring between ye and me. And I had told her I would nae marry her shortly before the Gathering. I intended to see that break through when I returned home.”
“Oh aye?” she replied, the disbelief evident in her sarcasm. “Ye wish me to believe ye broke the promise to wed her before ye met me, then did nae wed her because of me, though ye did nae ever return for me?”
“I thought ye were dead!” he exploded.
“Ye lie,” she spat.
“Why would I lie?”
“Because ye think to join with me again! I see yer desire for me. That,” she growled, “I believe. The rest are lies ye weave, but I will nae be fooled again.”
When her chin thrust out stubbornly and her eyes narrowed, he sought his mind for some final words to convince her, but he could think of none. He had given her the truth, though God knew he should not have, and she had refused to believe it. Given that he had to wed Coira anyway, he simply should have let the past die as he had told himself he would.
“Fine. Dunnae believe me. But I will see ye to safety. Where am I taking ye?”
“I’ll tell ye, but only because I need an ally, a strong one, and at the moment, ye are the only one I have. So I kinnae afford to refuse yer offer, however much I wish to.”
Her words made him ache. The depth at which he had hurt her by not returning for her, by withholding the broken promise to Edina, was clear. Her pain pierced him at his core, and the knowledge that he could not ease her hurt, felt as if it would kill him.
Ten
Marsaili gulped a deep breath and reached for a tree to keep herself upright. His revelation left her so shocked that her legs shook. Had he truly told Edina he would not wed her before he had come to the Gathering? Marsaili could forgive him and understand why had had not told her if he honestly had thought the deed done, but had he really thought he would return home, tell his parents of it, and be finished with Edina? And what of him saying he had thought her dead and that was why he had not returned for her? Why would he think her dead?
The need to ask him burned her tongue, yet he was now to wed Coira. That was a fact. It was also a fact that Coira was barren and could not give him an heir. Marsaili could not be certain he was telling the truth, or that she could trust him, so she still could not be certain he would not take her son if he knew of the child. Their son would be his only heir; she had to keep her secret.
“My horse is tethered over that hill,” Callum said, pointing and interrupting the train of torment in her head.
“Lead the way,” she replied, praying her voice did not sound shaky. She needed a moment to compose herself. His wary look almost made her laugh. If she’d not known it was because there was no trust between them, it would have been humorous, but the fact that the man who had been her first and only love was a stranger, made her sad. Still, she forced a smile, wanting to conceal how she really felt. “I vow I’ll follow ye.”
He nodded, turning in the direction he had indicated and setting out at a clipped pace, despite the darkness. As she followed, she tried to think how best to tell him that they were headed to find the Summer Walkers. She also needed a believable explanation for who their son was when they found him. Despite her anger and the fear that Callum would take her son from her, knots of guilt formed in her stomach. She would never have imagined keeping such a thing from him.
She came to a huffing stop beside him, where he was already untethering his horse. The silence stretched thick, heavy with the past that lay between them. Once the horse was freed, Callum turned to her. The darkness concealed his expression, but she could sense his frustration, as well as his curiosity.
“Well?” he demanded.
An idea of what to say came to her. “I travel to Inverurie,” she said, glad that she had learned the path the Summer Walkers took from Maria before she and Maria had been separated.
“Inverurie?” he repeated, confusion in his tone. “That is on the other side of the Gordon’s lands.”
“Oh,” she said, only just making the connection that they would have to pass through Gordon land to reach Inverurie. That would be dangerous for Callum given the Gordons were his enemy. “I did nae ken. It’s too dangerous for ye to accompany me—”
“Nay. We will be careful. Why do ye make yer way to Inverurie?” he asked.
“Because,” she said slowly, thinking carefully about each word. It would be best to keep the deception as close to the truth as possible, “I vowed to my chambermaid on her deathbed to find the Summer Walkers, and I happen to ken that they convalesce in Inverurie for a short time before the summer solstice.”
“Why did ye give such a vow?”
Marsaili cleared her throat. “She believes they have her bairn, a boy, who was stolen from her by her father.”
“Why would her father do such a thing?”
The anger and incredulity in his tone increased her doubts. Was she misjudging him? Would he allow her to keep her child if he knew?
“Her father wanted her to marry a certain warrior, and he knew she would not agree, as she was in love with another, the father of the child.”
“Well, where in God’s name was the father of this child when it was born and then taken? He should have damn well been there and stopped such an atrocity.”
She was glad for the darkness because tears pricked her eyes. His words mirrored the thoughts she’d had about him. She licked her lips, her palms tingling from vexation. “He died,” she said, not wanting the story to be so close to the truth that he would recognize their story in it.
“I see,” he replied and sighed. “So the father did nae want yer maid to have ties to the dead man that would make her nae marry the other warrior?”
“Aye, exactly.”
He nodded and looked up at the sky thoughtfully. “We will pass my home on the way to Inverurie. Is time of the essence?”
“Aye,” she said, forcing herself to keep her emotions under control. “The Summer Walkers are always gone by the summer solstice, which means we only have a fortnight to get there.”
“Then we must make haste. I’d prefer to fetch some warriors, as we will have to travel through the Gordon’s land, but we will travel by night and do so carefully. Making our way to fetch warriors could delay us too much.” Callum swung himself onto the horse, surprising her.
“Take my hand, lass. We’ll travel by moon for a bit before we rest for the night. I want to put distance between us and Lucan, as I dunnae have any notion if there are other Black Mercenaries afoot.”
She’d not even thought of that. Lucan had originally traveled to Callum’s home with other mercenaries, but when he had returned to take her the second time, he had been alone. Quickly, she grasped Callum’s hand, his strong fingers closing around hers, and then she swung onto the horse with his help. She settled in front of him, trying desperately to put as much distance as possible between them while on the horse.
Even without touching him, his body heat enveloped her, and the memories of lying with him flesh to flesh stirred. To her horror, her stomach fluttered. She would have shifted forward, but there was nowhere to go. His arms suddenly brushed each of hers, and he leaned near to grasp the reins. His chest touched her back, and it was every bit as hard as she recalled. Her belly tightened with recollections of running her hands over his taut chest. His thighs flexed, squeezing closer to her legs, and she felt
trapped in every sense of the word. She desired him as much as she had the day she had given herself to him, and she was disgusted with herself.
She concentrated on that irritation, as he said, “Get, Lightning.” His warm breath caused gooseflesh to rise on her neck, her chest, her arms—everywhere, really. She tried and failed to repress a sudden shiver, born of yearning and not cold.
“Are ye cold, lass?”
“Nay,” she growled, praying he’d not try to speak to her again. She desperately needed time to compose herself.
She sat tensely, but as the horse’s pace increased and trees blurred by, the repeated thudding of Lightning’s iron-shod hooves striking the hard ground almost soothed her. All the things that had happened—and that she had learned in the last few sennights—tumbled around in her head now that she had nothing to do but think. She’d tried to avoid thoughts of Callum as much as possible, but one question would not leave her be. He’d said he had thought her dead. But why? If it was true, who would have told him that? Her father was the most likely suspect she could think of.
God above, what if he was, in truth, as honorable as she had once believed? What if he had truly loved her? He could be honorable and have loved her, and still take her son from her, a voice in her head reminded her. He had said himself that he needed the alliance with the Earl of Ainsworth, and she knew Coira was barren. Her belly clenched at the thought of finding her child only to have him taken from her again. But she wanted to trust Callum. He had come to her rescue more than once now, but the risk seemed too great. She was not the naive fool as she had been three years ago. Lairds would always choose loyalty to their clan and protecting their clan over love.
The monotony of the motion of the horse, along with her lack of sleep, started to outweigh the questions filling her head. She fought to keep her eyes open, knowing if she fell asleep, she’d likely end up leaning on Callum, but in the end, she lost the battle.
Marsaili slumped against Callum, but he’d been expecting it. He’d watched her head bob to the right and left as she fought sleep, and he had suspected it would not be long until it overcame the lass. When it did, Callum was glad. He didn’t even bother denying why. He pulled her closer to him, circled his right arm tightly around her ribs, and allowed her head to rest against his chest.
God’s blood, it felt so right to hold her. Her soft, womanly curves not only stirred his desire but her delicateness made him even more aware of how very vulnerable she was and how much she needed a protector. And damnation, he wanted it to be him. Yet it could not be so. Who did that leave? He had to ensure she was under the care of someone who would keep her safe, yet the idea of handing her over to another man gutted him. Even if he took her to her half brothers, they would want to marry her off someday. His Marsaili… But she was not, yet in the deepest part of his soul, the space only she had ever occupied, she was his. She would always be his.
He tilted his nose toward her hair and inhaled her fragrance. His throat tightened with emotion, and when she shifted so that her bottom pressed more firmly against him, he had to clench his teeth to fight the wave of longing that washed over him. Did she feel anything for him still? God’s blood! Why was he torturing himself with such ponderings?
As they rode, he thought about all she had been through in the very short time since he had discovered she was alive. And then he thought about her crying over the Black Mercenary and her statement that all children should know their parents. Considering it now, it made sense given she had learned that her mother was not who she had thought. He wanted to speak with her of her discovery and question her about her life, but to do so would be folly. He had to keep his distance. Even now, holding her close, pulled him in a little further. If he was not careful, he’d be in the same position he was in when he first had met her: willing to forsake his duties to his clan for her, the woman of his heart. If she could love him once more, if he could find a way to protect his clan, secure another alliance…
Frustration pummeled him. There was no other alliance available. Even if Marsaili loved him, even if they married, Callum would not want an alliance with her father, not that he would be given the opportunity. Not only had the Campbell proved himself to be dishonorable with all his actions but he was truly aligned with no one, seeking only to do things to put himself in the greatest position of power. The man could not be trusted.
Further, Callum could not, in good conscience, align himself with anyone who had pledged fealty to the Steward. He fully had come to believe King David should remain on the throne, yet as it stood, he was not even certain the king would accept his pledge this time. He had nowhere to turn. It didn’t even matter that the MacLeod laird, Iain, was her half brother. He was the king’s greatest supporter, and until the king accepted Callum’s pledge of loyalty, Callum was an outcast to King David and all who supported him.
His heart and his head pounded equally hard. So many uncertainties, yet a whisper of a thought grew inside him, and with each strike of his horse’s hooves upon the hard earth, the volume of it increased. The only thing he was certain of was that he loved Marsaili still and that he would be a shell of a man without her. He had no answers or solutions, and weariness pulled hard at him. But he rode on until his own eyes grew heavy, and when it no longer seemed wise to press forward, he found a well-hidden spot in the woods by a river bank where they could rest and then wash in the morning.
Marsaili snored as he dismounted with her in his arms, but when his feet hit the ground with a jarring thud, her eyes popped open. “Where are we?” she rasped, pressing a palm against his chest.
He looked into her blue eyes, laced with fright, and his chest squeezed. He wanted to be the man who tried to ensure she never felt fear. He wanted to be the man to protect her if she did. Without another solution to the alliance he needed, he could be neither of those things. Or could he?
Mayhap the answer was to choose uncertainty and then find a way. Was that not what made a man strong? The ability to rise up when everything around him pulled him down? Yet, how could he ask Marsaili to endure that uncertainty with him? Her brothers would likely marry her to a powerful man with many allies. The thought put knots in his gut. Oh, how could he face his clan and tell them he had once again broken an alliance that would have protected them?
“Put me down,” she demanded, jerking him out of his own head.
He obliged immediately, though he was loath to do so. “I’ve stopped to rest.”
“I ken that,” she said. “Ye sleep over there, and I’ll do so right here.” She tapped her foot on a patch of grass.
It would be warmer if they slept side by side, but given that his resistance to her was weak at best, he nodded. “I’ll make ye a pallet,” he said, stripping off his plaid to hand it to her so she could use it to keep warm.
“Put that thing back on!” she cried.
He finished tugging his plaid over his head and squinted at her through the moonlight. “What’s the matter with ye?”
She batted at his plaid and took a step back as if the thing would burn her. “I told ye I will nae be dishonoring myself with ye again.”
He tossed up his hands in frustration. His plaid went flying from his fingers and smacked her in the face, where it settled. Her gasp filled the silence. “Ye threw yer plaid at me,” she accused.
“I vow I did nae,” he said, laughter now rumbling from him as he watched her tugging at his plaid, which was apparently stuck and still covered her face.
“Ye and yer too easily given vows,” she grumbled as she reached her hands behind her back. The dark prohibited him from seeing what the plaid was caught on, and he started to move toward her to aid her when she said, “Dunnae ye dare come near me.”
“I’d nae dream of it,” he replied, forcing himself to stop.
She threw the plaid hanging over her face upward and tried—and failed—to get free of it. She growled and turned in a half circle while trying to grasp the edge of the plaid. “Are ye going to si
mply watch me all night?” she growled.
He could. He could watch her do such simple things as try to unhook herself for the rest of his life, it filled him with such happiness. “If ye say please, I’ll aid ye. Though just so ye are aware, I was offering it so ye could keep warm. I was nae removing my clothes with the thought that ye and I would be joining.”
“Oh.” The embarrassment in her tone made him feel bad for her. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
“I ken what ye thought,” he interrupted. He closed the distance between them, felt with his fingers to discover the plaid had gotten caught on the tip of her sheathed dagger, unhooked the plaid, and then held it toward her. “Dunnae let yer pride keep ye from using this to stay warm while ye sleep.”
“What of ye?” she asked, not yet taking the plaid.
Thoughts of how her lush bottom had felt pressed against his hard groin would do to keep him warm, but he’d dare not say that. “I dunnae get cold easily. Take the plaid.”
“Ye’ll stay well away?”
“Aye,” he said with a sigh. “Believe it or nae, I am able to control myself.” Or at least he sincerely hoped he was when it came to her.
She finally took the plaid and wrapped it around her shoulders. Seeing her bundled in it put knots in his throat and his gut. He was fairly certain he’d had a dream where she had worn nothing but his plaid.
They stood face-to-face, unspeaking for a long moment. Marsaili suddenly cleared her throat. “Not that I believe ye, but if ye did tell Edina that ye did nae wish to marry her, what compelled ye to break yer promise? I ken it could nae have been me, as we had nae even met yet.”
Callum stilled. He had never spoken to anyone of what had gone through his head that day. His parents had not wanted to know. All they had wanted to hear was that he would change his mind and do as they bid. “I saw her with another man in the most intimate way, but I kinnae lie, I was grateful to have a reason nae to wed her.”
When a Scot Gives His Heart Page 14
