He wondered if she felt the same.
She was grinning from ear to ear when she yelled at Finn, “Now!”
Finnian tossed her target high in the air. Callum expected Maggie to pull her arm back and loose immediately, as he had, but she waited until the target was on its way down. The men yelled out with concern, but she waited until the very last moment. Only then did she throw the dagger, hitting the target just before it reached the ground a few feet from Finnian.
The men erupted with loud shouts of astonishment and revelry, and this time Callum couldn’t stop himself from punching the air and yelling along with them. His shot had been precise; hers had been a thing of beauty.
He looked over just as she gave the men a deep curtsy. When she straightened, she looked up the mountain, hands on her hips, and blew out a heavy puff of air. “If only this mountain were so easy to beat!”
His pleasure turned to indignation. “You did not beat me!”
“Tell that to the men,” she replied with a saucy grin, then cupped her hands over her mouth. “Finnian, bring my dagger. And somebody help me up this great, bloody rock!”
* * *
Wind whipped around Maggie’s head, blowing tendrils of hair across her face, even though she’d tied the tangled mess into a tight braid. What she wouldn’t give for a proper bath after all the days she’d been climbing over the thrice-damned mountain range with Callum and the others. They were on day five of their journey, not counting the nights spent in the glade after the wolf attack and at her grandmother’s cottage.
Every night, Callum had slept wrapped around her, and she’d been grateful for the warmth, especially as the weather had turned colder and the hike more difficult. Clouds had filled the sky, and they often had to walk through fog and mist, staying tight to the path that wove along the top of the ridge. When the fog dissipated, they would pick up the pace to as fast as Maggie could go. Fortunately, today she felt a bit stronger.
The men’s joviality from a few days ago had turned quieter with the dangerous weather, but Callum still insisted that he and Maggie compete with their arrows and daggers—even in the fog, which Maggie had found a real challenge. She had yet to win outright, but then neither had Callum.
Not that it mattered at this point. Maggie was just praying they’d make it out of these mountains alive—and this morning, her prayers had been half answered when dawn arrived with a bright, clear sky. It was still windy, now more so than ever. The wind bit through their plaids and threatened to push them over at times, but the damp from the last two days, the cold that soaked through to her bones, was gone.
Drustan, who was on point, let out a loud whistle up ahead.
The others around her didn’t react defensively to his whistle, so she assumed they weren’t being warned of danger. In fact, the men looked eager and had pleased expressions on their faces.
“What was that for?” she asked Callum, who walked by her side.
He grinned down at her, passed Aristotle’s reins to Gill, and then grabbed her hand and strode quickly ahead. The others followed behind them, and she couldn’t help but be caught up in their sudden good mood, even though she had no idea what they were celebrating.
She saw Drustan up ahead, sitting on a rock, and waved to him. He lifted his hand back in greeting, a small, strained smile on his lined but still handsome face.
“Callum, what’s—” She let out a surprised cry as he suddenly scooped her into his arms.
He took a few steps forward then stopped. “Welcome to Clan MacLean, love. We have officially crossed the border and are on our own land.”
He’d carried her over the threshold to his home. For some reason, her chest tightened and she had to blink back tears.
God’s blood! I’ve become a Weepy Wynda.
Gill stepped over the border and let out a cry. “MacLeans! Virtue! Honor!”
“MacLeans!” both Callum and Drustan responded.
She grinned with them, remembering her own clan’s battle cry, which was much more bloodthirsty. When they were young, her brothers would race to the top of the cliff over the creek or all the way from the bailey to the keep’s topmost turret, shoving and laughing the entire way. The winner would shout out the MacDonnell battle cry at the top.
She’d trail behind them, occasionally winning because they’d been wrestling each other too much, and she’d squeeze past them. Sometimes they would lift her onto their shoulders and run with her instead.
If her mother had still been alive and seen how wild she’d become—her father lost to his own grief and her brothers letting her do whatever she wanted—she would have reined them all in. Maggie still missed her terribly and would do anything to have her back, but it was in the first few months after her death that Ross had first taught her how to use a bow, and John showed her how to fling a dagger. Her life would be dramatically different now if her mother hadn’t died.
She fingered the dagger that she’d attached to her forearm. Her skill with knives and a bow was more than just an ability; it was a passion. One she never would have been able to experience had her mother not fallen down the well in her attempt to get Maggie out.
The joy and satisfaction the weapons gave her had come at a high price. The sadness and regret, but also the guilt, ate at her.
Pressure built in her chest as the conflicting emotions bubbled up from where she’d shoved them down. She resisted releasing them, not wanting to look…weak, she supposed, maybe vulnerable, in front of Callum. Still, he frowned at her as though he knew something was wrong.
“Are you well, lass?” he asked, shifting her in his arms so he could see her face—which made her realize he still held her close.
She squirmed to get down, berating herself for wanting to stay there. By the glint in his eye, he’d probably known it. When her feet touched the ground—MacLean ground—she took two steps away from him. “Aye. Just…thinking about my brothers.”
He gave her an assessing look and nodded. A sharp wind blew suddenly, tossing her hair and whistling through her ears. Her blanket was little protection, and the wind pierced right through to her skin. She shivered violently, and her teeth chattered.
Callum pulled her close, opening his own blanket and tucking her inside against his body. Blessed warmth. She did sigh this time, and just let herself be held.
The men gathered around, and no one looked at them askance. Aye, they all thought of her as Callum’s wife-to-be—and for Drustan and Gill, their future lady. Although Drustan had been more distant since he’d had that strange talk with her days ago.
He’d been distant from everyone, it seemed. She’d thought it was just his personality, but by the concerned looks Callum kept throwing his way, she guessed it was not. She’d added him to her list of prayers every night, hoping he was well.
“Do you want to light the pyre and announce we’re coming,” Gavin asked, holding the reins of his and Callum’s horses, “or continue to keep our whereabouts a secret?”
Maggie scrunched her brow in confusion and looked around. “What pyre?”
Callum pointed farther up the mountain at the peak. “’Tis about an hour’s hike. A great wooden pyre. Once it’s lit, it can be seen from farther down the range, where another pyre sits. That one will be lit by a watcher and will be seen from an outpost that’ll send a rider with word to the castle. They’ll send men out to us within hours of the first pyre going up.”
“And send word to our foster brothers and Gregor as well, so they know what’s happened to us. If they received our earlier messages, Maggie, they should be at your castle by now. Laying siege, most likely,” Gavin said.
“Well, what about Irvin’s spy in your keep?” she asked. “If you light the pyre, he or she will know and may tell Irvin where we are.”
“Aye, ’tis a possibility, but ’twill also mean a message will be sent to Gregor and
the lads sooner than if we waited until we arrived at the castle. We need them with us to discuss the information in the parchments you gave me. From what’s written, Gavin and I both believe something else is going on that’s bigger than just Irvin’s desire to take over Clan MacDonnell.”
Maggie’s brow rose in astonishment. “Isn’t that enough?”
“It’s bad, Maggie. Terrible. And he’ll be put on trial for what he did and plans to do, but…”
“But what?” she asked, looking up just in time to see Callum’s and Gavin’s eyes meet. What was in those parchments that she’d missed?
Gavin huffed out a worried breath. “That’s the problem, lass. We doona know exactly. ’Tis just a feeling. From everything that’s written in there, and all the clans mentioned—or whom we think Irvin is referring to—it seems more intricate than just one man’s ambitions. Unless Irvin is planning to take over all of the Highlands.”
Callum rested his chin on top of Maggie’s head and squeezed his arms tighter around her. “We’ll sort it out, sweetling. But all six of us together have a better chance of doing that than just Gavin and me.”
“And you’re on MacLean land now,” Finnian said to her. “’Tis not like the MacDonnells can cross the border and take you without your laird knowing. They’ll ne’er get through.”
He sounded like a child at the adult’s table. No border was impassable, and Maggie waited for someone to tell him how wrong he was. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Nay, Finn,” Gavin said. “Callum protects his borders as best he can, as do we, but there is always room for error. If we understand our limitations, we’ll be better prepared to deal with a breach when it occurs, aye? ’Tis why we set up our defenses in concentric circles. If one ring falls, we retreat to the next line of defense, all the way back to our castle and keep, aye?”
Finn turned a fiery red and dropped his chin. “Aye, Laird. I’m sorry.”
Artair tched and bumped Finn with his shoulder, almost knocking him over with his great strength. Gill caught and steadied him.
“’Tis naught to be sorry for, lad,” Artair said. “’Tis just one of many lessons we have to learn.”
“Aye,” the other men agreed.
Finn nodded, still looking red but not as crestfallen. He’d be all right.
“So we weigh the need for secrecy against the need to have your foster brothers and Gregor here sooner. Is that what you’re saying?” Maggie asked.
“’Tis more than that. The flames will alert my men to our presence, and they’ll follow the same route we do but travel toward us. ’Tis more protection against the MacDonnells in case they breach our borders farther down. I doona think anyone’s followed us over the mountain. Or if they have, they’re at least a day behind us.”
“Aye. The threat will come from ahead of us, not from behind,” Gavin finished. “’Twould be good to have more men.”
“Well, it seems the decision is made then,” Maggie said, realizing that both Callum and Gavin were of the same mind. She looked at the mountain’s peak, seeing another steep and rocky climb. Lucky for her—and the men—her strength and stamina had improved over the last five days. “Let’s just hope the wood will burn, or ’twill all be for naught.”
Fourteen
Maggie stood, quietly fuming, at the base of the recently sheered cliff. The pyre still rested above her, but the route up to it would be difficult and dangerous with the unstable, fallen rock. Even more so than the path they’d already traveled to get to this point. Wind tore at her clothes and hair and threatened to blow her back down the mountain to where Drustan waited with the horses, but she’d dug her feet in and clenched her hands around her blanket to keep it in place.
And because her blood boiled, she was hot.
Five days she’d been traveling with these men, including four days of competing with Callum and besting him every time—he may not have lost, but she’d definitely won in the eyes of the men. She was the better archer, the better aim at throwing daggers. Better than him, better even than Gill. They’d seen her make the shot in the dark from the top of the keep to the tree, and they still hadn’t thought about asking her opinion on this shot to the top of the cliff.
Because they couldn’t do it, they assumed she couldn’t either.
She looked up again at the pyre. Aye, it would be difficult, especially with the wind blowing almost constant gusts in all different directions. She’d have to feel the weather and time her shot, pulling hard enough to make the distance to the top of the pyre but soft enough that the lit arrow didn’t blow out on the way there or fly past her target and land on the rocks rather than the wood.
She lifted her arms and closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the bow and learning the chaotic pattern of the wind. She pulled on the imaginary arrow, feeling the warmth of the flame near her hand before she loosed. When she opened her eyes, the men were still looking up, chattering in front of her about the best path to take to climb up the rest of the way over the dangerous, loose boulders.
All except Callum, who looked at her. Watched her. “Can you do it?” he asked.
Gavin heard and glanced over, followed by Gill and the rest of the men.
“I doona see how,” Gill said. He plucked a hair from his head and held it out. The strand blew sporadically in the wind. “The arrow will be blown off course even if you do manage to get the distance right.”
She studied the pyre. “The flame will have to be hot. Otherwise, the fire will be blown out.”
“Too hot and the shaft will burn down too quickly,” Gill said.
“Do you have a glove you can wear to protect your skin?” Callum asked.
“Nay. And even if I did, I wouldnae wear it.”
His jaw clenched, and a tiny muscle jumped on the side. She could see he wanted to deny her, wanted to end the discussion immediately.
“Maggie, there’s no need for you to be hurt. We have other options. And I doona mean that we climb up to the pyre either. I willna lose men o’er this. We can turn around and make our way to the castle without alerting them. There are good reasons we should do that anyway.”
She nodded. Lifting her arms again, she drew on the imaginary arrow, testing the distance to the pyre, the strength of the wind, and how close the flame would come to her hand. “I willna have to draw as far as you think. I will feel the flame, and my skin may be tender afterward, but I doona think it will be close enough or long enough to blister. ’Tis a risk worth taking, aye?”
She could see he didn’t think so, but after a moment, he scrubbed his fingers through his scraggly beard, his green eyes somehow even brighter. Then he said, “Aye.”
The knots in her stomach—of anger and anticipation of his denial, no, his betrayal, for that’s how it felt—loosened. He believed in her. Valued her.
Their eyes met, and she could see the battle that raged within him, his need to protect her overruled by his need to respect her.
She smiled; she couldn’t help it. It burst out of her. Wide and happy and filled with joy.
The men didn’t hesitate, coming forward to light a fire and search through their packs for linen that would be cut into strips and wrapped with twine around the tip of her arrow.
Gill moved to her side and looked up at the pyre, quietly assessing the shot. She let him, even though she knew exactly what had to be done. Finally, he said, “I have ne’er seen an archer as good as you. If anyone can make this shot, ’tis you, lassie. You doona need my advice on this.”
She squeezed his arm and smiled the same luminous smile she’d given Callum. “Will you stand beside me and hand me the arrows? Four will do.”
“I’d be proud to,” he said, returning her smile.
The others had the fire burning now in a hole to help block the wind and were smearing the linen strips with tallow. “Your arrows, Maggie,” Gavin said.
Looking up, she moved forward slowly, finding the best position to stand. Once she had it, she squatted and moved the rocks from around her feet. Callum crouched beside her to help. He took her hands when they were done, lifting the left one to his mouth to kiss it exactly where the flame might touch her skin. It felt like a seal, protecting her from fire in that spot.
She cupped his cheek and dragged her fingers through his thickening beard. Their eyes met and held. God Almighty, he was handsome—even unkempt as he was now, as they all were. He would rival the angels themselves.
The look they shared. So much emotion passed between them. So much was said through that one touch. It was chaste compared to how they’d touched before but perhaps more intimate than ever.
She rose to her feet. Callum stepped behind her and wrapped his arms and extra blanket around her. His big body protected her from the cold, and she warmed.
They stood there quietly as she listened to the blowing wind, envisioning the shot in her head, accommodating for the weight of the flame on the end of her arrow, the thinner air, and the weather. She felt the shot all the way down to her bones.
“Maggie,” Gill said.
She looked over to her right and saw he held her arrow out to her, three more in his other hand.
“Do you want me to light it for you?” he asked.
“Nay. I’ll do that once I have the arrow set.”
“I’ll light a torch and hold it on your other side,” Callum said. “That way you willna have to change your position or wait too long before you loose the next arrow.”
“I’ll get it,” Finnian said, his voice pitched high with excitement as he ran toward their pile of supplies beside a big boulder. He stopped at the fire on the way back to set the torch aflame, using his hand to shield it as he walked over.
Highland Betrayal Page 16
