“A lot, I’d think, if you want her to love you.”
He rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and looked at Maggie—sleeping under his plaid. “I want her in every way a man wants a woman. And only her, no one else. I want her safe and happy and healthy. I ne’er want to be parted from her.” He returned his gaze to Gavin. “Is that love?”
His foster brother smiled, his face softening and bringing to Callum’s mind the Gavin of old. “I think so, Brother.” He lifted his flagon of mead in the air—a toast. “Aim your arrow for her heart. Strike true.” He took a swig and passed the drink to Callum. “Keep it. I’ve had enough. ’Twas sobering to look on Ross and know how easily that could have been me.”
“Aye. Thank you,” Callum said before he took another sip.
Gavin rose quietly from his chair. “I’ll go take over from one of the lads. And I’ll tell them not to come into the cottage. Maybe Maggie will wake with her mind sleepy and ask you to make her yours.”
Callum shook his head. “I need her fully awake when she asks me that—in word or in deed.” He eyed his brother with concern. “You should sleep too, Gavin.”
“I canna, not really. I’ll sleep when I find my son.”
Gavin crossed the room and left the cottage, closing the door behind him.
Feeling a little broken under the weight of Gavin’s despair, Callum gathered up the parchments and returned them to his pack. He then tidied the cottage, closed the shutters, and replaced the chairs, so it looked exactly as when they’d first arrived. If they did have to make a run for it and someone came inside the cottage to check, he didn’t want to give away that they’d been here.
He looked at Maggie sleeping on the bed, indecision making him hesitate. If anyone came in quickly enough and the bed was still warm with body heat—if it smelled sweet like Maggie, or even, God willing, held the musky smell of sex—then that would give them away too. But she needed her rest. Aye, he did too, especially if they had a hard ride ahead of them. He decided against disturbing her.
Nay, he’d let her sleep, preferably with him beside her.
She’d barely moved in the last three hours as the sun reached its zenith, and it pleased him that she felt safe enough with him there to let her guard down to such an extent. He couldn’t imagine that she’d slept well the past few years, with all the turmoil and upset in her clan. Certainly not since she’d discovered Irvin’s treachery and had to escape—twice—during the night.
It was yet another tie being woven between them. A bond of trust and care. Aye, care. He would show Maggie he had her best interests at heart.
As if his thoughts had roused her, she rolled onto her back, thrashing her head on the pillow. Callum quickly crossed to the bedside and stroked his hand through her hair, and she settled immediately. He looked one more time around the cottage, stifling the yawn that wanted to crack open his jaws, then shed his boots and plaid and crawled onto the bed beside her, wearing only his long shirt. She curled instantly into his side when he rolled onto his back, her head on his chest and hand over his waist. It was the same way they’d slept at their camp after she’d been attacked by the wolves.
Callum wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close. He yawned again, this time letting his jaws stretch wide, then shook his head in exasperation. He had Maggie on a bed beside him, soft and warm and smelling sweet. She’d let him look on her naked, every lovely, shapely inch, and she’d missed when she’d thrown her dagger at him. Twice. Yet here he was, going to sleep. And despite the ache in his body, he knew he would slumber soundly until Gavin woke him.
Never would he have guessed it was possible.
* * *
Maggie opened heavy eyelids and blinked slowly. She felt cocooned in warmth and safety, enveloped by a smell so delicious, it made her toes curl—hints of fresh air, wood smoke, and horses. The smell of fresh petals too, and clean water. But mostly, she smelled the slightly musky scent of…of…Callum.
She sighed in sleepy contentment, knowing she was exactly where she was meant to be. She pulled his arm farther around her waist from behind, weaving their fingers together at her navel, just like she’d wanted to do when they were on Aristotle.
She closed her eyes, let sleep begin to pull her under, then a thought surfaced in her mind. Why is Callum in my bed?
She opened her eyes, fully awake now, and stared at the log wall of her grandmother’s cottage just a few feet away. Pressed up behind her, warming her, was a hard, male body. Her heart sped up. She looked down at their linked hands to confirm that it was indeed Callum. She’d been riding with him for hours on the way here, had been touched by him, kissed by him, even slept with him through the night on one other occasion, though that time, he’d been gone when she’d woken. She knew the feel of him, the height and breadth of him.
She knew his scent.
He released a heavy breath, and the hair on her crown stirred. Is he awake?
She hesitated, then unlinked their hands and turned to him, only to find him fast asleep. Her breath caught as she stared at his face, so handsome. When she’d first seen him as a lass, she’d thought he was an angel come straight from heaven. Sent by her mother to comfort her. When she’d found out he was just a regular lad and that she was meant to marry him when she was older, she’d felt a confusing mix of disappointment, excitement, dread, anticipation, and resentment. A lot of resentment.
Why couldn’t he have stayed her angel? He was supposed to have been her last gift from her mother.
Maybe he is and I just can’t see it.
Her throat tightened, and she found herself blinking back tears. She should get up. She wanted to get up, but her body refused to move. Just like earlier when she stood in front of him without a stitch of clothing.
Aye, he was right. She had wanted him to see her naked. Not that she’d tell him that.
A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and she lifted her hand to sweep it away before stopping herself. If she woke him now, what would happen? How would she say no if he wanted to tup her, when she longed for his weight on her, wedged between her legs, pressing her into the mattress?
Instead, she drew her fingers down his face, just a hairsbreadth from touching him. She traced the sharp angles of his eyebrows and cheeks, softened a bit in slumber; the perfect formation of his lips, neither too full nor too thin; the dark sweep of thick lashes against his tanned skin.
She wanted to press closer, get inside his skin. Have him reside in hers. She wanted to crawl on top of him, roll around on him like a foal in a field of clover.
God’s blood! At this rate, she wouldn’t stay a maid much longer, and she would find herself married to Callum by way of intimate congress. She should leave now before that happened. Before she was forced to make that decision…or she gave up and let her body decide.
But she couldn’t make herself move. She couldn’t stop staring at his face and seeing the boy she’d once thought an angel.
It pleased her the sky had not darkened yet and she could drink him in to her heart’s content. The light coming through the partially open shutters had the tinge of late afternoon, perhaps early evening, which astounded her. How long had he been here? And how long had she been asleep? She hadn’t stirred once since she’d lain down.
When was the last time that had happened? Maybe before Eleanor had died, or before John had left the castle. Perhaps as far back as when her mother was still alive.
Aye, that was probably it. The last time she’d felt…safe. Truly safe.
Until now. Which made no sense, as Irvin’s men were nipping at their heels like a pack of ornery dogs.
Yet somehow, Callum took it all away—the worry, the uncertainty. The loneliness.
She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his chest, not wanting to let the emotions free. She had to hold herself together or she might just fly apart.
She worked to control her breathing, stop her heart from pounding.
It wasn’t working. Then Callum’s arm slipped beneath her, pulled her into the crook of his arm as he rolled onto his back. He muttered something under his breath, and she looked up to see that he was still sleeping.
Slowly, she laid her head on his chest and crept her arm around his waist, inch by inch, until she squeezed him tight. She breathed in his scent and felt warmed from the inside out. Finally, the jagged emotions inside her softened, subsided.
She drifted then, thinking vaguely about her plans—how she should climb out of bed, sneak out of the cottage and into the caves. Steal one of the men’s horses. She should make her own way to John as she’d first planned. Far away from here, from Irvin and Ross, from the memory of her mother. From Callum.
Aye, especially from him.
She was still thinking that—about how she didn’t need him. She was a capable lass. She didn’t need anybody. She could take care of herself.
When she fell asleep.
Ten
“Maggie!”
Maggie’s eyes opened wide, and she shoved herself up in the empty bed, the linen cold where Callum’s body had once lain beside hers.
It was dark, but she sensed him near, standing at the edge of the bed. His big hands cupped her face, and he leaned forward, his lips pressing close to her ear. “Hush. Someone’s coming. We have to get behind the cottage and out of sight before they enter the glade.”
“I see a light, Callum. Torches at the head of the trail where we first came in. Let’s go.”
It was Gavin’s voice coming from the cottage door, and a sliver of moonlight streamed through the opening. All the shutters must have been locked tight, for it was the only light coming in.
Callum released her and placed something in her lap. “Your shoes, daggers, and arisaid. Put them on quickly while I strip the bed, so they doona know we were here.”
“Aye,” she said, her heart pounding with the need to hurry, to escape. She moved out of his way and propped herself against the wall while she pulled on her shoes, secured her daggers in their leather sheath, and loosely pinned her arisaid. In the dark, she heard Callum stripping the linens from the bed to leave the mattress bare. Then she heard him inhaling. Deeply.
Confusion creased her brow. “Are you smelling the sheets?” she whispered.
“Aye. Smells like heaven. Like you.” She heard the grin in his voice and didn’t know if he was teasing her or not.
She chose to ignore him, but she couldn’t stop the blood from warming her cheeks. “Where’s my bag?” she asked, glad he could not see her flushed face.
“I have it,” Gavin said. “Hurry, lass. They’re getting closer.”
Callum grasped her arm. “Let’s go.”
“Nay, Callum. This way. There’s another exit that leads behind the cottage.”
He stilled, and his hand on her arm tightened. “I didn’t see another door.” His voice had taken on that edgy tone that she’d come to recognize—a telltale sign he was restraining some strong emotion.
“It’s hidden behind the chair in the corner. My grandmother had it built right into the cottage. The big log at the bottom pushes out and can be reset from the other side. That way, they’ll ne’er know we were here.”
He inhaled—sharply. But this time, it was not to smell the sheets. His hands wrapped around her head like they did before, tipped up her face. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but anger radiated off him, and she felt it invade every pore of her body.
“You will ne’er leave me without telling me you are going, Maggie. Do you understand? You willna sneak out—in the dead of night or any other time. Promise me.”
She hesitated. “Callum, I doona think—”
“Promise me!”
She wanted to stamp her foot, to hit out at him. Instead, she hissed, “I promise, but it doesn’t mean I willna leave. On. My. Own.”
He grunted, then pressed his lips to hers. Hard. She barely resisted biting him…before she began to melt.
“For the love of God,” Gavin exclaimed in a harsh whisper from the door. “We doona have time for that.”
Callum pulled away, but he kept one arm around her as he picked up his pack. “Come inside and shut the door, Gavin. Lock it, but doona put the bar across. There’s another exit over here. Maggie was just about to show it to me.”
She heard the door click shut, and the room fell into total darkness.
“Do you need light?” Callum asked. “We can crack the shutters at the back.”
She could dislodge the log by feel alone, had practiced in the dark several times, but even a sliver of light would be welcome. “Aye, thank you.”
Callum left her side, and for just a moment, she felt bereft. Then she straightened her shoulders and shook her head. What a daft, needy lass I’ve become.
She reached out and felt for her grandmother’s old chair, knowing it by the worn pillow on the seat. Her hand curled around the smooth wooden arm, and she pulled it away from the wall just as Callum silently opened the shutter to let in some light.
Shouts sounded in the distance, followed by a loud crash. Maggie jumped, her heart rate accelerating. That was one of her traps. How close were Alpin and his men?
She hurried now and crouched in the corner, her movements quick and efficient as she reached for one of the short, fat logs.
Gavin crouched beside her. “Just push?” he asked.
“Aye.” It was a tight fit and the log heavy, but with Gavin’s assistance, it was shoved out of the way in no time.
Gavin whistled softly to Callum, then pushed his bag through the hole. The room went dark, and she heard Callum bar the shutter.
“I’ll go first,” Gavin said. “When I’m through, hand me your bag and follow behind me.”
Stress sharpened her tongue. “You doona need to tell me what to do, Gavin MacKinnon. I’ve practiced this escape several times. Now quit blathering and go!” She watched as he lay on his belly and crawled through the hole. He was so wide across the shoulders, she half expected he’d get stuck halfway through. She breathed deeply to release the tension as she waited, keeping her hands clenched in her lap.
Finally, he reached the other side and dragged his feet clear of the opening. His hand reappeared, and she passed him her bag. She hesitated, waiting until she sensed Callum kneel behind her, felt his hand on her back. “Your turn,” he whispered.
She wasted no time scooting through the hole on her belly, barely restraining a squeal as another loud crash sounded at the edge of the woods. She reached back for Callum’s bag. “The chair,” she whispered. “Come through feetfirst and pull it into place as you go.”
She heard shuffling, then his feet appeared, soles facing upward as he made his way out of the opening. It wasn’t quite as snug a fit as when Gavin had worked his way through, but it was infinitely more heart-pounding for her as Callum’s plaid pushed up his powerful legs and over his arse.
And what a fine arse it was—tight and muscular in the moonlight. When his waist appeared, she reached up and reluctantly pulled his plaid over the glorious sight, resisting the urge to smack it—or bite it, even. Although she may have let her fingers trail over it just a bit.
He gave her a searing look after he pulled his head free, and despite the knot in her gut, she couldn’t help smiling. She rolled the log toward him so he could fit it into place.
“Look good?” he asked, referring to the log after it lay snug in the wall.
“Aye, verra good.” Her voice held just enough amusement for him to know she wasn’t talking about the log.
He grabbed her hand as they rose and pulled her close for a quick kiss, their bags in his other hand. “’Tis only fair, lass, since I’ve seen every bare inch of you. Oh wait… I havenae seen your arse, yet, have I? Something to look forward
to.”
“Let’s go!” Gavin said as the sound of horses and men shouting rose in volume.
Callum tugged her after him, and they sprinted to the hidden caves, praying they couldn’t be seen.
* * *
Callum stood in the dark near the cave’s opening and looked out onto the glade below. He kept one hand on Aristotle’s reins, his signal to the horse—who stood behind him—to stay silent. His free hand clasped tight around Maggie’s. Gavin stood on his other side, also holding his stallion’s reins. Behind him, Drustan held the reins of the remaining four horses. Finnian, Artair, and Gill were still out there, on foot, hiding in the forest.
Callum was not worried the men would be found; they were too well trained for that. He was worried, however, that one of the MacDonnells would come snooping around the caves. Then Callum would either have to dispose of him or leave the horses and retreat through the rear of the cave and proceed up the mountain on foot. Which wasn’t really an option.
A tremor passed from Maggie’s hand to his, and he squeezed tight, trying to transfer his strength to her. Not that he didn’t think she was strong—just the opposite. But having to be strong all the time came at a price. Everyone needed support. He had his foster brothers and Gregor, even Drustan to lean on.
Now he would prove to Maggie that he would be her unwavering support too.
Alpin and his men had entered the glade slowly, their torches lighting up the night. He’d done as Callum and Gavin had done, secured the area first, then sent men ahead to scout the cottage. Now they’d surrounded the dwelling and were preparing to go inside.
Callum couldn’t see the front of the house as Alpin approached it, but he knew the MacDonnells would break the lock soon. Upon entering, they’d be met with an empty, barren room. But their leader was smart. He’d look for signs they’d been there and might find something Callum had missed in their rush to get out—a hair on the pillow that Callum hadn’t seen in the dark, the chair not replaced quite where it should be, the ground still damp where water had spilled.
Highland Betrayal Page 11
