Highland Betrayal

by Alyson McLayne

  “I’ll go to see John whether you want me to or not, and I’ll go when I deem it’s safe.”

  “Aye, but the wager is that I willna fight you on your decision. Isn’t that worth something? If you believe in your skills as you say you do, it’s not a risk. Unless you’re afraid that—”

  She made a scoffing sound, and he could just imagine how she must have rolled her eyes. He couldn’t hold back his grin. He knew when a negotiation was going in his favor, and he almost had this one tied up.

  “You canna sway me so easily, Callum. For such a good negotiator, you’re verra transparent.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted? No trickery. You didn’t like it before when I tried to choose my words carefully, so here it is. I believe I can beat you. I’ll win the wager, and you’ll marry me. If you believe in your skills the same way I believe in mine, accept the wager and defeat me.”

  She didn’t answer at first. When she did, her voice was soft. “And if we tie?”

  “Then we compete again the next day, and the next.” He held his breath, knowing this was it. She would agree.

  “Doona expect to beat me, Callum. We will compete, just you and I, until we reach your castle. If no one has won by then, the wager is ended.”

  Twelve

  Maggie took a deep breath, her feet firmly grounded on the rock, her every sense tracing the pattern of the wind. She raised her bow in one fluid motion and loosed her arrow. It flew straight and sure, and she did not need to wait to know that it hit her target dead center.

  The men—all of them on Callum’s side in their wager—muttered behind her, exclaiming over the accuracy and grace of her shot, shaking their heads at the near impossibility of matching it.

  Except for Callum. He stood still…and silent.

  Gill moved closer to Callum and plucked a long, black strand of hair from his head. He held it up and let it drift in the wind. “It’s blowing southwest,” he said, “but the current is temperamental at the tail end. Can you feel how it kicks back in the other direction just before it’s done? Wait till you feel it shift, then loose your arrow immediately before the next wind hits.”

  Gavin stood close on Callum’s other side. “And you doona need to pull the string quite so tight. The air is thinner here, and the arrow will go faster, aye?”

  “Aye,” the other men replied, nodding.

  “But won’t he have to go in hard so his shaft spears hers down the middle?” Finnian asked. The men snickered at his comment, sounding like a group of village lads standing outside the schoolhouse doors, causing her to roll her eyes.

  She saw Callum’s mouth open as if to say something—either to reprimand them for laughing or to add to Finnian’s unintended jest—but she spoke before he did. She would use the opportunity to shake his concentration if she could.

  “I wager he’ll come up short and miss the mark entirely,” she said. “He’s feeling the pressure and will release too soon.”

  Silence reigned, then the men burst out laughing—all except Callum. He was still quiet and hadn’t moved.

  She wondered what was going on in his head. Did he know he could make the shot and was just drawing out the tension to make it more dramatic, or was he still running over all the options in his mind?

  The latter, most likely. Callum was nothing if not thorough. She remembered that from his kisses three years ago—she’d felt consumed by them. When the kiss would end, her entire body would feel enlivened yet limp at the same time, the same way she felt in the tree the night she’d escaped, the night he’d kissed her, touched her. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to make love with him.

  Completely immersed in pleasure.

  She shivered just thinking about it and forced her mind back to the present just in time to see Callum pulling his string back on his bow, his arrow notched. For a second, he aimed too high, and a burst of panic exploded in her chest before he readjusted and released. The arrow shot straight and true, harder than hers had, and landed right on top of her fletching. It split her arrow in two.

  The men cheered, and Callum looked over his shoulder at her. He crooked his finger, and she stepped forward until his lips touched her ear. “Doona worry, lass. I ne’er release too early, and my shaft always flies hard and true.” Then he kissed her lips, softly, lightly, and walked away.

  She touched her fingers to her mouth, staring after him for a moment. Her eyes fixed on the sway of the plaid that hung off his well-shaped arse and the drape of his shirt outlining his muscular shoulders and long, strong back.

  With a silent sigh, she turned to find the others gathered together, watching her like a bunch of gossiping old men, sappy looks on their faces. Even Gavin, who certainly had no reason to believe in love and marriage. Yet there he was, grinning from ear to ear. A real smile too, not tinged with bitterness.

  “You’re definitely the better archer, lass. You feel the shot in a way Callum does not. But I think my brother is more motivated to win this game than you. He wants to marry you more than you want to leave him.”

  She tched dismissively and looped her bow over her shoulder. “You’re all daft as a cloud of bats. God’s truth, I doona know what you’re talking about.”

  She and Callum hadn’t been as quiet as they thought last night, and Finnian’s sharp ears had heard everything—well, the wager part of it, anyway—and reported it to the rest of the men this morning.

  She’d been met with smiles upon waking, and Callum had been met with much backslapping and well-meant advice.

  Maggie didn’t object. Oddly enough, she found it rather funny—and somewhat endearing. Every one of them wanted to see her married to Callum, not because of alliances or old contracts but because they liked her. They’d claimed her as their own—our Maggie, they called her—and found her a worthy match for their laird and ally.

  It was actually quite sweet, even though Maggie still had no intention of becoming a MacLean. And unless her shots were disrupted by an act of God, there was no way she could lose.

  Unless I want to.

  The thought sent a shiver through her belly and continued down her inner thighs. She squeezed them together to stop the sensation, barely restraining a gasp. Luckily, the men had moved on, and no one noticed the heat that filled her cheeks.

  Except when she glanced up, she saw Drustan standing to the side away from the group, watching her intently. Taken aback and embarrassed, even though she’d done nothing, she quickly stepped backward.

  He walked toward her, reminding her of her father with his trimmed gray beard and the swath of gray at his temples. He smiled a little sadly, which also reminded her of her father—after her mother had died.

  “Laird MacKinnon is right, lass,” he said softly. “You are the better marksman. Markswoman, I should say. You can beat Laird MacLean and win your freedom, if that’s what you want. On the other hand, Callum’s a decent man and laird. Better than his rascal father, for sure, and would make a good husband despite his treatment of you in the past. But doona let them pressure you. Be certain and stay true to what you want. Marriage isna the right choice for everyone.”

  Then he raised his hand and squeezed her shoulder. He held on for a bit too long, staring at her, before he nodded and let go. Slowly, he walked back to the group.

  Maggie stared after him, feeling confused. It’s not that he had said anything wrong. Nay, his words were touching and lovely, with a message she should ponder. Rather, it was the overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss that had emanated from Drustan as he’d spoken to her that made her want to sit and cry. Had he intended to do that? Known how his words would affect her? Or had he just revealed more about his true state than he realized? He’d been sick last night, and she suddenly wondered if there was more to his illness than met the eye.

  “Drustan,” she called out and took several steps before stopping about six feet
away from him. Her heart raced for some reason, and her stomach had tied in knots.

  He turned, his shoulders stiff and neck rigid. He smiled, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes, and she found herself taking another step backward.

  “Lass?” he asked.

  “I… I… Are you feeling better today?”

  “Feeling better?”

  “From last night. You said your guts hurt. Verily, I did pray for you that your ailment would be resolved by morning.”

  He raised a hand and almost appeared to be tracing the contours of her face in the air. “What ails me canna be fixed, lass, but I appreciate your prayers and concern. Thank you. I’ll remember your kindness always.”

  He left, and she blew out a puff of air, feeling on edge and out of sorts. She turned away from the small copse of trees that hid their camp and stared out at the forest below. They’d reached the end of the ridge about midday and started the descent into the next valley. At first, she’d been relieved to be going downhill, but soon her thighs ached, and every step down was torture. When Callum stopped her without a word and lifted her onto Aristotle, she didn’t protest. Nay, she’d been grateful for the reprieve. When he’d climbed up behind her on the horse as soon as the path was safe enough and ordered the others to do the same, she’d leaned her body against him and let him hold her up.

  Pain and fatigue had beaten the fight right out of her.

  Until they’d made camp and Callum had selected a target for them to hit—then her spirit had returned. Aye, she did not like to lose.

  Now the sight of her arrow pierced by Callum’s drew her, and she headed toward it. It hadn’t been an easy shot—especially in this wind—but she’d had no doubt she would make it. And she’d wanted to, no matter what Gavin had said to her afterward. But then… She remembered her panic when Callum had first raised his bow and aimed too high.

  Surely I didn’t want him to win?

  Nay, but she also hadn’t wanted him to lose just yet. She was looking forward to their wager, to the excitement of pitting their skills against each other. That’s all it was.

  Upon reaching the target, she tied up her skirts and climbed the tree to reach the arrows, embedded deeply in the trunk about ten feet up. Hers had been split in two by Callum’s arrow, just as Finnian had said. She pulled Callum’s out and ran her fingers over the smooth shaft and soft feathers at the end, remembering what else Finnian had said. About Callum impaling her.

  Not only was she thinking about it, but she’d dreamed about it last night too. And in the dream, Callum had been doing exactly that—tupping her hard, his body heavy on top of hers, splitting her legs, which she’d wrapped around him.

  She’d woken with a start just as the sky had begun to lighten, snug beneath their blankets with Callum holding her tight from behind, his arm wrapped around her waist and his warm breath puffing evenly in her hair. She’d lain there for what seemed like hours, wanting him to move his hand between her legs, to stroke her slick mound like he’d almost done before, to squeeze his palm over her center and relieve some of her ache.

  Aye, she wanted to be tupped by him. Hard.

  “What are you thinking about up there, Maggie MacDonnell, that has your face flushed and your eyes glowing softly like the morning dew?”

  Startled, Maggie tumbled off the branch right into Callum’s arms. He grinned at her. “Miss me already, do you?”

  She knew her face was flaming, could feel the heat burning her skin. She frowned at him fiercely, hoping he’d think her embarrassment stemmed from anger. But he looked down and saw the arrows that she’d pulled from the tree, now lying on the grass.

  He kept her body flush to his as he lowered her to the ground. “Were you thinking about the arrow, Maggie? About me?”

  “I was thinking that you made a lucky shot, and next time I’ll let you go first, so you doona rely on me to show you how it’s done.”

  He laughed softly, a puff of air that warmed her cheek. “I can show you how it’s done.” He dropped his head into the crook of her neck and kissed her, mouth open and hot, his tongue scorching her skin. Her knees softened, and her hands gripped his plaid.

  After a moment, he said, “Would you like that, Maggie? Would you like me to show you how it’s done?”

  God’s truth, she would. But instead of reaching for his cock like she wanted to—finding herself more and more curious every day to see it, to shape it with her hand, to feel it pushing inside her body and finally assuaging the ache between her legs—she pressed both palms against his chest.

  He released her immediately with a soft chuckle. Capturing her hand, he kissed her palm and tugged her into step beside him, heading to the camp. Her skirts loosened from where she’d tied them up and fell into place around her ankles.

  “You shouldnae be this far away from us on your own, lass, even if we can still see you.” He laced their fingers together. “I doona think we’ve been followed by the MacDonnells, but ’tis possible we might run into another party. We could be ambushed at any moment. Or a wild animal could attack. I’ve seen several men injured by wild boar, and you know how dangerous a wolf can be. You may not survive an assault twice.”

  Part of her wanted to roll her eyes. She didn’t like being told what to do. Unless, perhaps…it was while she was intimate with Callum. Then she might like receiving his direction.

  She stopped suddenly as her body flooded with need. Aye, she wanted him to instruct her in lovemaking. Wanted to pleasure him too.

  “Maggie?”

  She raised her eyes to his. “You talk about mutual consent and carnal knowledge leading to marriage between us, but…what if…”

  He stepped closer, his gaze growing hooded and the color in his skin heightening along his cheekbones and the tops of his ears. He stroked the backs of his fingers down her face. “What if…what?”

  “What if…there didn’t have to be marriage? What if we had carnal knowledge of each other—with mutual consent—but we didn’t marry? We…pleasure each other. I allow you into my body, but nothing afterward. We walk away.”

  Callum stilled, and his eyes narrowed. She saw desire and lust raging there but also anger and hurt.

  Oh dear God, I’ve hurt him.

  Callum MacLean, who could choose any lass in the Highlands, wanted to be with her, married to her, and she’d just relegated him to the role of stud.

  “Here then. On the ground,” he said, his voice clipped. “It’ll be dark soon. The men willna be able to see us.” He looked up, then grabbed her hand and dragged her to the nearest tree, pushing her against it. “Or maybe here against the trunk. I’ll lift your skirts, and the bark can scratch your arse as we tup.” He spun her around. “Or this way. You willna even have to look at my face and see me. So much easier to just walk away!”

  “Callum, stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking, tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

  He turned her to face him, his face a mask of anger now. “Why, we’re just getting started. I doona even have to swive you.” He suddenly pushed on her shoulders, and she dropped to her knees on the ground with a sob, her heart broken, all of her broken—because she’d hurt him. “You can go on your knees and suck my cock into your mouth. That way, we’ll ne’er worry about you conceiving a bairn, and I’ll be pleasured without consequence. Then I’ll do the same to you, all without you having to take me as your husband.” He dropped on his haunches in front of her so they were eye to eye, and she could see how her words, her rejection, had ravaged him. “Or have you done that before, lass? Did I leave you alone for too long, and you found someone else to pleasure you? Are you still a maid, Maggie MacDonnell? Or did you leave a lover at your castle?”

  “Aye, Callum, I’m a maid, and I have ne’er had a lover other than you. But it goes both ways, doesn’t it? Are you also a virgin? Or have you lain with other women and done
the things to them of which you speak to me?” She knew he’d had carnal relations with other women, and she’d felt the pain of it. She had for many years, especially when he never returned for her. She’d half convinced herself it was because he loved someone else.

  He hesitated, and a look of regret crossed his face. “Nay, Maggie. I am not a virgin. I had my first woman when I was sixteen and you were nine. The same summer we were betrothed. My bedding came before our contract, but it would not have mattered. I didn’t have the maturity to realize I might someday be hurting you with my actions. But I’ve had none in the last four years. None since you turned sixteen and you suddenly became real to me. You weren’t just a lass who would grow up one day in the future, but a woman who was to be my wife.”

  He rose and walked a few feet away, his back to her, held stiffly. Maggie also rose and leaned against the tree, rubbing the tears from her face as she tried to regulate her breathing.

  He half turned to her so she saw his profile—jaw clenched tight and his mouth set in a grim, hard line. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I shouldnae have been so rough under any circumstances, no matter the provocation.”

  “I’m sorry too,” she said, voice raw. “’Twas not my intent to hurt you. I just…”

  “You just doona want to marry me.” He said it with a finality that shook her, and that same burst of panic she’d felt earlier exploded in her chest.

  “I…I…I doona know what I want. Other than—”

  “Other than carnal knowledge.” He clenched his hands into fists by his sides. “And will anyone do for that, or is it just me you want?”

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop them trembling. “Just you,” she whispered.