Callum nodded, having to swallow the emotion before speaking. “I must retrieve yer mother, Marsaili—the woman from earlier.” The last words were lost on the child as he had leaned back and started laughing and singing a tune. Callum brought him forward once more, gave him a hug, and then handed him to Maria. “Take him to Dunvegan with Broch.”
“Ye kinnae go after her alone,” Broch said as Maria took the boy in her arms. “Come with us to Dunvegan. We’ll gather men there and then storm the Earl of Ulster’s castle.”
Callum shook his head. “Nay. I kinnae delay and take the chance that the earl will wed Marsaili.” The thought of another man touching her, of claiming her body, made him feel crazed.
Broch set his hand on Callum’s shoulder. “I’d do the same,” he said softly, his gaze straying momentarily to Maria. “But dunnae attack the Campbell and his men. Ye will die.”
“I ken,” Callum replied. “I’ll overtake them and track them. If I see an opening, I’ll take her; if nae, I’ll breach the castle somehow and take her from within.”
“We’ll make haste,” Broch said. “And Lachlan, Alex, and Cameron are still searching for her, too. They are surely closing in on us, as they are all excellent trackers. If we come across them, we will send them to ye.”
“God willing,” Callum responded.
Broch nodded. “I will return to aid ye with Iain, and we will bring an army with us.”
“The Campbell will wage war on the MacLeod if he aids me,” Callum said, taking his sword from Broch, who was holding it out to him.
“Aye,” Broch agreed, a grim smile twisting his lips. “We’ve many scores to settle with the Campbell. Iain will welcome the excuse to possibly kill the man. The king has stayed his hand, but I believe Iain has come to the end of his patience.”
The news surprised Callum, as he knew that the MacLeod laird had always been one of the greatest supporters of King David, which was the main reason Callum had believed he had no hope of gaining an alliance with them. “Will the MacLeod break with the king, then? Surely, he will nae support the Steward?”
“Do ye?” Broch asked, eyeing Callum expectantly.
Callum understood that Broch was making certain his loyalties lay with the king now. Callum sheathed his sword and then took the dagger Maria silently handed him, sheathed it, and then blinked in surprise when Maria handed him another. He raised an eyebrow in question.
“For Marsaili,” Maria said. “It was knocked from her hand by her father’s men. She’ll be wanting it.”
“Thank ye,” he said, accepted the weapon, and sheathed it, as well. He looked to Broch once more. “I dunnae support the Steward as my father did,” he said. “I vow it. I will pledge my fealty to the king if he will but have it.”
Broch nodded. “Ye will have an ally in the MacLeods. On that ye can be certain. I ken ye have a promise to wed that ye need to break, but once ye do that, I feel confident in speaking for Iain and vowing that by wedding Marsaili, ye will have an alliance.”
The news was most welcome. He could not tarry much longer, but it was important to settle these things so he knew exactly what he would be facing and whom he may consider an ally. “I thank ye for that. It is welcome information. I will break my promise to wed the earl’s daughter, but I will keep the alliance with the Earl of Ainsworth if the earl is willing. I dunnae believe it will be good for the Lord of the Isles to gain more power by taking the earl’s home and growing his territory into English soil. In my opinion, the MacDonald is greedy. What would Iain say to that?”
“Iain shares yer opinion, as does the king.”
The news was surprising and good to hear. He glanced at his son for a long moment, memorizing his face and smile. “Ye will watch him as yer own, aye?”
Broch squeezed Callum’s shoulder. “I would give my life for him. Dunnae fash yerself. I will send ye any allies I encounter on our journey to Dunvegan, so dunnae kill a stranger without inquiring who they are, aye?” Broch smiled.
“Agreed,” Callum replied, allowing a chuckle and a moment of brevity in the darkness that seemed to surround him.
They walked together in silence to the tethered horses, and once they were all mounted, Callum took hold of his son’s small hand. He wanted to leave the child with something to look forward to. “Do ye ken how to swim?”
Brody cocked his head, a contemplative look coming over his son’s face that made him want to laugh. After a moment of quirking his mouth this way and that, he announced, “Nay.”
“I will teach ye when we are together again. Would ye like that?” Brody nodded. Callum thought then of Marsaili. “We will teach yer mother, as well. She dunnae ken how, and a braw lass such as she is should be able to swim.”
“Ma dead,” the boy said.
“Nay,” Callum said fiercely. “She is verra much alive, and we will be together, the three of us, verra soon. I vow it.”
Marsaili’s father set a casual pace to the Earl of Ulster’s castle, which suited Marsaili just fine. Her father’s certainty that neither Callum nor Broch would dare to pursue him would hopefully be his undoing, though when she thought about what would occur if they did pursue her, black fright nearly choked her. As they made camp that night, and she lay in her tent unable to sleep and guarded by three of her father’s men, she prayed that Callum had sent Brody to safety. Then she prayed just as ardently that Callum did not simply charge in and attack her father. She did not think he would. He was cunning, and he had to realize that there was no way one man, or even two, could defeat her father’s warriors.
Worry haunted her for the two long days of the journey as she tried to work out how and if she could be rescued before she was forced to wed the earl. The only hope was if Callum could breach the castle or if she could escape it. As they traveled another two days, her thoughts were divided between what the castle might look like and how Callum and their son were faring. She had a perfectly clear image of Brody in her head now, and for that, she was eternally grateful. The boy had been hearty and obviously had been well cared for by the Summer Walkers, though it pained her greatly that he did not know her and possibly never would. Yet, she found a measure of comfort in the fact that he would be with Callum if she ended up wed to the Earl of Ulster. It was that last thought that plagued her and knotted her stomach. She would almost rather be dead than wed to a man who was not Callum, but if she lived, there was always a chance she would get to see her son someday. But then she’d think of the pain that seeing him and Callum but not being able to be with them would cause, and she felt bottomless grief all over again. She was pinning her hopes, all her happiness, on the earl’s castle not being greatly fortified.
As the first signs of night were beginning to fall in shades of purple and black across the gray sky, their party broke through the thick woods. In the distance, rising to the sky, was one of the most formidable-looking castles she had ever seen, and worst of all, it was surrounded by a moat. A wail of despair swelled in her throat, but she pressed her lips together and did not let it burst forth.
The castle was triangular, made of red stone, and had a tower at each of its points. The drawbridge was raised, and she was further dismayed that before they were even completely out of the woods, horns filled the night, surely announcing to the guards that someone was approaching. On the top of the wall, along the walkway known as the allure, men filed out one by one until it seemed thousands of guards stood there to kill any who are unwelcome. Fear and certainty that the castle was near impossible to breach made her shiver. She had to escape somehow. That was the only hope.
Her father’s guardsman raised the Campbell flag, another horn was sounded, and after what seemed like an eternity, the bridge was lowered and two long lines of knights riding large destriers flooded out of the castle. They were dressed in full battle armor, swords drawn, and some had pikes. Her despair deepened. The Earl of Ulster was a careful man, as well he should be. Her father’s favored warrior drew forward to meet with one of the e
arl’s, and soon, they were being led across the bridge between two guard towers and into the inner courtyard.
She had not had a chance to even dismount before Ulster himself appeared, ruby robes billowing out to the sides as he strode down the stairs and straight up to her horse. He held his hand out to her. He was, she realized, much younger than she had remembered. He appeared to be perhaps thirty summers. It occurred to her then that he had likely been compelled to marry a woman not of his choosing. Perhaps he was the tender sort and she could appeal to that side of him?
He had kind green eyes and dark-brown hair with a thick beard. He smiled up at her. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since the day I first met you,” he said, his heavy English accent making it difficult to understand him.
She cast her mind back to the day her father had ordered her to try to sway the earl to her.
The earl frowned. “You do recall when you met me, do you not, Marsaili? You tended to my wound after your foolish brother shot me with an arrow.”
“I recall it,” she said, locking gazes with her father. “My father ordered me to gain yer attention,” she said, boldly speaking the truth.
Her father raised his hand as if to strike her, but the earl bellowed, “Stand down, Campbell,” before focusing on her once more. “What wicked lies do ye speak, Marsaili? Why do ye try to injure me?”
Unease edged along her spine, the realization that she had likely made a grave error sinking in. The earl was a prideful man and was never going to welcome the truth.
“I—”
“Leave us,” he barked at her father.
Her father’s gaze narrowed dangerously, but he complied. The earl waved a hand to one of his men, and they came to her and helped her dismount. He took her hand and led her away from his men, up some sidesteps, and to the ramparts she had seen when they had first approached.
The guards there scrambled away to give them privacy. The earl stopped near the wall and faced outward toward his vast estates. “All I have ever wanted,” he said slowly, “is to share this with someone I desired. And that certainly was not my last wife. I detested her, actually.” He turned to Marsaili, the strong wind fluttering his hair. She grabbed at the edges of her own flapping hair and braided it to keep it from whipping her in the face. “You ripped your dress to tend my wound, and then later that night, you danced with me. You were flushed, your skin kissed by the sun, your eyes sparkling. You laughed when I twirled you about the room. Why would you say your father ordered you to do such things? You could not have feigned such emotion.”
God’s blood. Her father’s plan had worked all too well. There was no way to tell him that would not injure and anger him, yet she had to try to find words to sway him. She licked her lips nervously. “Lionel,” she said, remembering he had wished her to call him by his given name, “there has been a grave confusion between us.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, surprising her when he jerked her hands to his lips and nipped her fingertips with his teeth.
Her unease increased tenfold. She cleared her throat. “Ye see, I—My father threatened my friend if I did not gain yer attention.”
“I do not believe you,” he thundered, his face turning red.
Marsaili flinched. This was not working. “It’s true, but it’s not only that… The day I met ye, I met another. And when I danced with ye, well, it was him in my thoughts.”
A dark look swept across the earl’s face. “You will not speak such lies anymore, or I will make you very sorry, do you understand?” He brought his hand to her face and squeezed her chin.
Her breath caught with fear. She recognized a cruelty in him that mirrored her father’s, though the earl was better at hiding it when he wished to. “I ken,” she whispered.
His grip on her chin became harder, pain radiating from the spot. “You will forget this other man, and if you cannot, I will kill him to help you do so. Perhaps I should dispense of him anyway. What name does he go by?”
She was not about to tell him Callum’s name, but her father would gladly reveal it if the earl asked him. “He’s dead,” she blurted, trying to think of something that would prevent the earl from seeking Callum’s name from her father.
“Excellent,” he replied. He gave her chin a final hard squeeze before he moved his hands to cup her face. “Sweet Marsaili, I knew you were pure of heart, and this proves it. You will forget him once we are properly joined. Don’t fear. Your heart will be filled with only thoughts of me.” He yanked her to him then and kissed her. It was sloppy, unpleasant, and harsh. That one kiss told her much about Lionel. Most importantly, he was used to being obeyed and wanted, and he’d not tolerate anything less. So she did not fight the kiss. Instead, she pretended to enjoy it. She prayed he would be convinced he had lit her desire and then become careless about guarding her. Mayhap the door to her bedchamber would not be locked, even.
Her mind raced with hopeful possibilities. She wrapped her arms around his neck, offered a few encouraging sounds, and struggled inwardly not to gag. When he finally broke the kiss, it took all her will not to scrub at her mouth. He smiled at her. “Do you see now that what I say is true? You will desire me.”
“Aye,” she said breathlessly. “I do. I kinnae wait to be married.”
He pulled her to him once more and kissed her hard on the mouth, nicking her lip with his teeth. She tasted the metallic of blood as he pulled away. “I’m eager, as well,” he told her as he dabbed a handkerchief at her lip. “We will be wed tomorrow night.”
She clenched her teeth in an effort not to gasp her displeasure. “Wonderful,” she choked out.
He nodded. “I refuse to wait longer than necessary to make you mine. And I don’t mind telling you now that I don’t care for your father overly much. I want him to depart, and I feel he would want to see you wed and joined with before he does so.”
The thought of lying with any man other than Callum made her feel ill. She forced a smile. “I presume there is a feast tonight?”
“Yes,” he said. “But you, my pet, will not be attending.”
She frowned. “I will nae?”
“No.” A dark look swept across his face. “You displeased me with your words. You—” he patted her roughly on the cheek “—will stay alone tonight and think upon how you will never say anything to displease me again. Your punishment is no food or drink, but next time it will be much harsher. Don’t forget this.”
“I will nae,” she promised him, wishing she had a dagger. She would gladly use it at this moment.
A satisfied smile came to his lips. “I have chosen the most beautiful chamber for you. It overlooks the moat, and the window will provide a lovely breeze.”
Her heart raced as an idea came to her. If the window was large enough, she could possibly escape through it and drop to the water below. Of course, she could not swim, but she would address that when she came to it. “Am I to go to my chamber now?” she asked, hoping she did not sound too eager.
“No, my sweet,” he replied and motioned to his guards. “You will spend tonight in my dungeon where you will do your penance,” he informed her as the guards came to either side of her.
Her hope for escape tonight plummeted and tomorrow she was to be wed. “Lionel,” she said, making her voice sound pleading, “will ye allow me to go to my bedchamber before our wedding so I may be refreshed for ye?”
“Convince me of your affections with a kiss, and I shall agree,” he said.
She swallowed past the desire to gag. Instead, she stepped toward him, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him, pretending that he was Callum. When the kiss broke off, she felt nauseated, but when he smiled at her and said, “Ye may go to yer bedchamber to cleanse before we are wed,” she knew the small sacrifice had been worth it.
Eighteen
From his vantage point in the woods, Callum watched Marsaili on the rampart with Ulster. It had surprised him when she had appeared there so soon after arriving at the castle, and it surp
rised him even more when Ulster drew Marsaili to him and kissed her. Granted, he could not see the reaction on her face from a distance, but he could see that she circled her arms around the earl’s neck. She had not pulled away, and the kiss went on far longer than Callum cared for. Jealousy gripped him in a merciless hold. His blood strummed in his ears as he reminded himself that Marsaili was most certainly doing what she needed in order to survive, but that did not mean he had to like it.
When the kiss was finally over, he exhaled a ragged breath, only to catch it again moments later when she stepped toward the earl and kissed him. Callum gripped his sword in hand and waited for the kiss to end. It felt like an eternity before it did. She had done what she had needed to, and he would, as well. He glanced toward the castle. Somehow, he had to breach it and rescue her, and he feared he did not have long.
Callum spent the night discovering as much as he could about the castle, and what he learned did not fill him with much hope. It was greatly fortified, and the only way he could find to breach it was to swim the moat and try to gain the bridge. He waited as patiently as he could for darkness to once again descend, and as he waited, he plotted how to distract the guards so he would have a chance. The only thing he could think to do was set a fire in the woods. Near nightfall, he gathered brush to put his plan to action, then went back to his position, where he could see the castle clearly and wait.
Before the darkness set in, Marsaili appeared on the rampart again. She was accompanied by two guards who led her to Ulster. After they stood speaking for a moment, she dropped to her knees at Ulster’s feet, and Callum’s stomach lurched. What had occurred the night before? What had the man done to her? Callum could barely see her past his red haze of anger, and when Ulster yanked her to her feet and covered her mouth with his once more, Callum swore. “God’s blood!”
Behind him, wood cracked underfoot. He swiveled into a stand, sword drawn, legs parted, and anger coursing. Before him stood three men, one of whom he recognized as Alex MacLean, laird of the MacLean clan. The other two men he did not know.
When a Scot Gives His Heart Page 21
