When a Scot Gives His Heart

by Julie Johnstone

  He had dreamed she was floating, and she was, in a way. The cage was rectangular and not tall enough for her to stand. She had her face pressed against the bars, and her hands clutched the black iron on each side of her. At first, he thought she must be glaring defiantly at the crowd gathered to gape at her, but from the tilt of her head, it seemed she looked beyond them. Black rage choked him, and with a guttural cry, he lunged forward, only to be jerked violently back by the momentum of his own body.

  “Callum!” Marsaili screamed his name. A shudder of relief coursed through him that she could call out to him. He opened his mouth to call back when she screamed again. “Callum! Callum, it’s me, Coira!”

  The crowd that was gathered in front of her turned his way, and at the front of the group of onlookers was Edina. She broke away from the crowd and strode across the bailey toward him. His thoughts spun, trying to take in everything and put meaning to it. Marsaili had called to him and told him she was Coira for a reason. Did she fear revealing her identity for fear that it would bring her father to her? Callum would keep her deceit for now unless revealing the truth would save her life.

  Edina stopped in front of him and set her hands on her hips. She smiled, but it did not reach her steel-gray eyes. Instead, hatred blazed there. “It took ye long enough to wake up,” she announced.

  “Ye can thank yer brother for that,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from lack of water.

  She chuckled. “I was so stunned when Robert returned here with ye in tow—shocked and ecstatic. I have prayed for yer death for years. Ye shamed me when ye renounced me. I lost my child, and it was yer fault.”

  “I am sorry for the loss of yer child, but it was nae my fault.”

  “It was,” she said, her eyes becoming daggers. “My father beat me because I carried a bairn in my belly but did nae have a husband. He beat me until I did nae carry a bairn any longer.”

  Callum’s gut clenched at the horrific news. “Edina—”

  “Save yer pity for yerself,” she hissed. “Ye will need it. I dunnae ken why ye were so foolish to travel alone so close to our land, but I’m awfully glad ye’re such a fool. Now, vengeance is mine. I thought to kill ye, but my brother showed me a better way to hurt ye.”

  When Edina paused and looked toward Marsaili, Callum’s blood went cold. “She has nae hurt ye,” he growled. “Leave her be.”

  Edina’s lips twisted into a vicious smile. “Ye hurt me, and I will hurt ye by slowly killing the woman ye love. Ainsworth will consider ye an enemy when he learns ye failed to protect his daughter.”

  “Edina,” he pleaded, not caring that he was begging. He would grovel on his hands and knees if he could somehow spare Marsaili. “The lass, Coira, has naught to do with what I did three years ago. Set her free and simply kill me.”

  “How touching,” she snarled. “Ye love her so much ye will give yer life for hers. I fear I kinnae comply. She’ll be forfeiting her life for ye. It will be entertaining to see how long it takes. It is already beginning, ye ken. She has weakened much in the three days ye have drifted in and out of sleep.”

  “Edina!” Callum called, even as she marched away. “Edina!”

  She swung toward him. “Save yer breath. Yer precious Coira’s blood will be on yer hands.”

  He flinched at Edina’s words. He had to do something, but he didn’t know how long Marsaili would hold on. How weak was she? He toiled against his ropes, his flesh burning and sweat dampening his brow and his neck for what seemed like ages. He struggled with his binds until his vision blurred. He paused, blinked, and looked toward Marsaili’s cage, surprised to see the crowd no longer gathered there. He was equally as shocked to see the sun had faded, and hues of orange and purple now tinted the sky.

  “Coira!” he called, not caring if he was heard. He had to know she was still alive. He could not breathe without confirmation. When she did not move, anguish threatened to overcome him. He yanked, tugged, and pulled fiercely on his tied wrists, and after a while, warm blood slicked his skin. But no matter what he did, the binds would not loosen.

  Despair pounded at him. “Damn ye, Robert!” he roared. “Damn ye to Hell, and damn yer vengeful sister to Hell with ye!”

  “Shut yer mouth,” a guard called from the tower. “Or better yet, I’ll shut it for ye!”

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs and then two figures clad in hooded capes and Gordon plaids appeared.

  “Untie me ye cowards,” Callum seethed. “Untie me and fight me like men. Unless ye’re afraid…”

  “I’m nae fearful,” said the taller and much bigger warrior.

  “I’m nae fearful, either, ye clot-heid, but I kinnae fight ye like a man.”

  Shock reverberated through Callum to hear a woman’s voice answering, and when the woman pulled her hood back ever so slightly to reveal her face, he was struck speechless at the sight of Maria.

  “What the devil are ye doing here?” he asked, unsure whether it was an occasion of gladness or worry. “Has my castle been breached by enemies? Is my family well?” The most plausible way she would have slipped by his brother’s watchful eye was if Brice had his hands full with an assault.

  She snickered and dropped her hood back over her face. “Yer castle is fine. Breached by none.”

  “Then how—” Callum started, but Maria cut him off.

  “Yer brother was much occupied with yer future bride, so he was easy to escape,” she said in a rush. “Now, do ye wish to stand here chatting or shall we free ye and go save Marsaili?”

  “Escape,” he said, but as the larger warrior reached toward him, Callum stiffened. “Who are ye?”

  The man pulled back his hood enough for Callum to see his face. His expression was hard and grim. “Broch MacLeod,” the warrior answered. “I was sent by my laird, Marsaili’s brother, to find and rescue her. I have been searching for some time now.”

  “Only ye?” Callum asked suspiciously. If the MacLeod laird cared so much about Marsaili, why would he only send one warrior?

  “Nay,” Broch said as he worked discreetly to untie Callum’s hands, though the courtyard was empty and night was rapidly descending. “There are others. We broke apart and went in different directions to find her with haste. I went to the Campbell hold,” he said, freeing Callum’s right hand.

  Callum’s instinct was to immediately bring his arm forward, but he refrained. “How do ye two intend we escape?”

  “Broch and I will feign we are Gordon guards with orders to take ye to the cage to give ye a closer look at Marsaili to torment ye.”

  “What of the other tower guards?”

  “Dead,” Broch answered, releasing Callum’s other hand.

  Callum stood still as Broch kneeled to untie the binds around his ankles next. “How did ye find yer way here from Innis Chonnell?”

  “I was leaving the castle for Inverurie, after some hard persuasion of the laird’s wife presented me with word that Marsaili was searching for the Summer Walkers,” Broch said, standing once Callum was released. “Och!” Broch grunted and looked to Maria. “Why the devil did ye push me with yer elbow?”

  “Because, ye big, burly, handsome Scot,” she said in an exasperated voice, “we dunnae have time to waste chatting. Marsaili can tell him all he needs to ken. Aye?”

  “Aye,” Broch agreed. “Pleasing to look at, did ye say?”

  “Aye,” she replied, and Callum did not miss the flirtatious look she gave Broch.

  They moved to either side of Callum and each took an arm. Broch drew his dagger and held it to Callum’s throat. “I want ye to remember the feel of my dagger at yer throat,” Broch growled, his light demeanor from a mere moment ago completely changed.

  “And why is that?” Callum demanded as they started across the courtyard to Marsaili.

  “Because,” Broch answered, “if ye do anything that will cause Marsaili harm or sorrow, I’ll kill ye.”

  “I want to protect her, nae harm her, and I dunnae intend to cause her sorrow.”r />
  “Just like ye did nae intend it the first time? What did ye think would happen when ye took her innocence and then—”

  “Broch,” Maria snapped. “Ye speak too freely, ye big clot-heid.”

  Broch chuckled. “For some reason, lass, I dunnae mind so much when ye offend me.”

  They both fell silent as a guard came out of the shadows that led to the stairs where Marsaili was being kept.

  “What’s this?” the man demanded.

  Callum yanked his arm free and jabbed the man in the windpipe. He fell in a wheezing fit at their feet.

  “That was nae the plan,” Broch growled, turning the man over and giving him a hard thump on the head so that he went completely still. “Nor verra smart,” the MacLeod warrior added. “Now we have to hide him. Control yer temper, aye?”

  “Aye,” Callum agreed, helping Broch tug the guard under the stairs. “It was foolish, but that man dared to touch what is mine.”

  “Yer sword?” Broch asked as they climbed the stairs.

  “Nay,” Callum answered, sureness swelling inside his chest. “Marsaili. She belongs with me, and I’ll nae abide another man touching her.”

  “Finally ye staked yer claim,” Maria murmured, and as the words left her mouth, two figures came around the corner at the top of the stairs, one of whom happened to be Robert Gordon.

  Thirteen

  Marsaili lay curled in a ball, cold iron pressing into her cheek, along with pebbles of sharp rock and gritty sand. She was too tired and hungry to move or even care about the discomfort of those minor things. She trembled almost violently with chill and fatigue, and the pain in her stomach had turned piercing. Her every nerve throbbed as she struggled to press her palms over her ears to block out a loud clanking noise that now filled the air.

  Despair weighed on her, stifling and immovable. She could not think of a way to let Callum know that he—they—had a son. She could not shout it across the courtyard and chance any of the Gordons hearing her secret. She had no doubt Robert Gordon would hunt down their son and kill him simply to hurt Callum. And she feared she would not be making it out of this alive.

  God’s above, she had to rise and find a way to tell Callum of his son. Maybe she could bribe one of her guards. But with what? She glanced down at her hand and the ring she wore that had been her mother’s. It was the only thing of value she possessed, but she would gladly relinquish it to save her son. She took a deep breath and struggled to push herself off the floor. The clinking and shouting now seemed to be coming from everywhere, hitting her eardrums with painful, almost deafening beats. Pressing up to her hands and knees took so much effort that she was panting, sweat beading on her forehead, and the cage seemed to tilt precariously. She had no notion if it was really moving or if she was simply feeling unstable. Either way, the result was the same. She had to gulp air to fight back the sick feeling roiling through her.

  With her cheek dragging against the cool bars of her cage, she pulled herself slowly up, her sensitive skin sliding over the chilled iron and her body screaming for her to simply release her hold and drop back down into a heap. Thoughts of her son kept her going until she gained her feet and slowly opened her eyes.

  Her cage dangled from an iron hook fashioned into the castle wall. On one side of her, blackness swirled with white fog, taunting her. And beyond the endless black was a rocky, steep drop to the frothy waters of the loch below. She shoved away from the bar as the salty wind sprayed the first drops of rain across her face to sting her chaffed skin. She turned slowly toward the castle. Torches lined the walls, illuminating the stone structure, but what else she saw shocked her speechless for a breath. “Callum!”

  Robert Gordon and Callum both stood on the narrow ledge of the passage at the top of the wall, and Robert swung his sword perilously close to Callum’s face. Callum jumped backward and, to her astonishment, turned his back on Robert to race toward her.

  “Callum, watch out!” she called, fear making her voice weaker than she wanted.

  Robert charged toward Callum, sword raised once again. As Robert sliced his sword down toward Callum’s left shoulder, a deep voice called out, “Left!” and Callum lunged to the left, making Marsaili’s breath catch with the fear that he would plunge over the edge to his death. He teetered for a moment before he righted himself, ducked another oncoming blow, and turned back toward her.

  She blinked in shock at the sight of Broch, a big, burly MacLeod Highlander, who was visible for one brief moment when Robert ducked an oncoming blow from him. Though she knew Broch had been pursuing her to return her to Dunvegan, she was glad to see him. He’d fight for her life with Callum, and as close as the Gordon land was to Inverurie, she felt certain that if they did rescue her, Broch would help her find her son or, as fate may have it, aid Callum in the quest.

  Callum came toward her with such force he almost barreled into the cage. As it was, he grabbed at the iron bars, which made the cage sway backward and knocked Marsaili, weak as she was, to her bottom. The fall jarred her entire body, and she let out a deep groan.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he murmured, followed by a loud curse and then several hits of his sword to the lock that had been fashioned to keep her in. “God’s blood!” he roared, kneeled, and reached his arm through the bar. “Give me yer hand,” he demanded, his tone harsh, but the worry in his gaze was a gentle buffer.

  She complied immediately, and his fingers gripped hers tightly. “Dunnae fear. I will get ye out of here.”

  A horn sounded loudly, and she knew enough about castle defenses to know that meant the Gordon men had been alerted to intruders. Though had she not known, Callum’s string of curses would have told her the situation had just become even more dire. Shouts rose from the inner courtyard, and fear, along with a certainty that if he stayed he’d die with her, stabbed at her heart.

  “Leave me!” she ordered him and tried to tug her hand away from his, but it was impossible. His grip was like a steel vise.

  “I will nae ever leave ye from this day forward.” His words vibrated with the intensity of his emotion and made tears come instantly to her eyes. “I will retrieve the key and return. Dunnae fear!”

  When he released his grip and stood, she felt momentary panic. If he could not return, if she died—

  “Callum!” she called, as he had already moved several steps away. He turned, and behind him, she saw a wave of advancing men. She scrambled clumsily to her feet and gripped the bar, the cage now rocking in the wind. “We’ve a son,” she blurted. There was no time to ease into telling him the truth. He had to know. It had not been right to keep it from him, no matter her fears; she understood that now.

  When he simply gaped at her, she repeated herself. “Ye have a son—our son. My father took him from me and told me he died at birth. That is who I’m looking for.”

  She flinched at the raw hatred and rage that swept his face. She had no notion if the black anger she saw in him was mostly directed at her. He turned with a guttural war cry and raised his sword above his head, then advanced straight down the line of enemies, swinging his weapon side to side, cutting men down. He appeared crazed and unstoppable, almost frightening in the destruction he was leaving in his wake. Near the end of the passage, Broch joined him, and a woman, who Marsaili recognized instantly by her hair. How Maria and Broch had both come to be here, she could not guess.

  The nausea and fatigue hammered her relentlessly, and helpless to offer aid or to even escape, she slid to her knees, deciding the best thing she could do was conserve her strength in the unlikely event that Callum was able to free her from this cage. When nausea twisted her stomach and rose in her throat, she doubled over her knees and pressed her head to the cold iron floor as she inhaled long, slow breaths.

  A rattle came from above her, and she shoved herself up with shaking limbs. Callum stood outside the cage, covered in blood with his sword at his feet, gripping an iron ring of keys. He did not speak, did not lift his eyes to hers; he simply kept
methodically trying the keys. With each failed try, his curses grew louder and fouler, and her hopes dwindled. When he got to the last key, he finally looked up, and the stark fear glittering in his gaze made her throat ache with the need to cry.

  As he brought the key to the lock, he said, “I’ll die with ye before I leave ye. Dunnae mistake it.”

  Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she nodded, knowing well that to fight him would be useless. He inserted the key, and with a click that reverberated through her entire body, the door swung open. But as she stood and he reached for her, Robert appeared behind him, and she could not get the scream out soon enough to warn him. Robert plunged his sword through Callum’s left shoulder and then kicked out at Callum’s stomach. Callum caught Robert’s foot, and with a twist of his wrist, he sent the man over the ledge and likely to his death.

  Something greater than nausea consumed her. Her stomach cramped, and she was instantly hot, then cold. Her vision blurred, the cage tilted, and then she felt herself falling as everything went black.

  As Callum jerked the sword from his shoulder with a hiss, he decided that he was glad Marsaili had fainted because there was no way to get out of the castle other than jumping from the ledge into the loch below. He’d studied it and judged it deep enough, but without going into the water to check, it was only a guess. Yet to stay on this ledge with the Gordon warriors advancing on them was certain death.

  With Broch steadying the cage, Callum retrieved Marsaili, gripped her around the waist, and prayed for God’s mercy on their souls in case this was the day he brought them to him. But as Callum locked eyes with Broch, who stood hand in hand with a very frightened-looking Maria, he also prayed that God would judge this day a bad one for taking them. Then, with his shoulder screaming in protest, he scooped Marsaili into his arms and jumped.