Eleven
Marsaili awoke abruptly to rain, thunder, lightning, and Callum looming over her. She blinked the water out of her eyes and tried to clear her groggy mind.
“We need to seek shelter,” he half shouted over the torrential downpour.
Before she could answer him, she found herself swept into his arms, her legs dangling, and her shoulder pressed against his chest as he strode through the woods toward what appeared to be a cave in the distance.
“Put me down,” she gasped, vexed at the immediate heat that flared within her for this man.
“Nay,” he returned, grim faced. “I’ll nae take the chance of ye falling and hitting yer head on one of these rocks.”
An odd warmth spread through her belly at his concern for her. She wasn’t helpless, by any means, but it was nice to feel that someone was there for her, if only for a moment. It was not true, but she indulged in the fantasy for a few breaths.
When they got to the cave, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Now, ye may put me down.”
He obliged by setting her on her feet. “Wait here,” he commanded, tossed his plaid at her, and shot out of the cave before she could say anything.
With lightning illuminating the sky, she could track his progress to the tree where his destrier was tethered. He turned, reins in hand, but as he did, lightning struck a nearby tree and cracked it in half. The horse reared, kicking its legs very close to Callum’s head.
“Callum!” she shouted, fear gripping her.
He stepped to the side of the beast as its hooves struck the ground. He pulled sharply on the reins and then set a steadying hand on his horse. He leaned close and appeared to whisper in the beast’s ear. Then he led his wild-eyed destrier through the pouring rain and into the cave. He tethered the horse to a small boulder and turned to her.
His hair dripped around his face, and when he reached up to slick it away, she found herself staring at his arms and the way his biceps moved. He was a powerful man, and not just physically. Everything about him commanded respect and notice. It always had.
“We’ll have to wait out the storm here,” he said, waving a hand around the cave. “It’s too dangerous to travel in lightning.”
“How long do ye think the storm will last?”
“I dunnae,” he replied, glancing around the cave. “The winds are verra strong and the rain verra heavy. Hopefully nae more than a few hours, the day at most.”
“The day!” she exclaimed, not wishing to be trapped in the cave that long with him, not when his words from last night rang in her head. He had loved her. She believed it. He might even love her still, but he had made it clear that this time he would choose his clan over her. Could she blame him? Look at what his previous choice had caused? His guilt had been clear in his voice and on his face.
“Well, lass, ye certainly ken how to make a man feel wanted,” he teased. But she could do no more than stare at the two dimples that appeared in his cheeks. She’d forgotten he had dimples. Did their son? Did he have Callum’s brown eyes or her blue ones?
Knots jumbled in her belly just thinking about the bairn. Really, he’d be more a young lad now at two summers. She turned from Callum, who was frowning at her, as tears pricked her eyes at the thought that she’d never held her son in her arms as an infant. And who had nursed him? Had he ever cried himself to sleep? Did he now?
A sob escaped her, which she tried to muffle by slapping her palm over her mouth.
Then Callum was behind her, so very close but not touching. “Marsaili?” The undeniable concern in his tone, almost undid her. “What is it, lass? What’s vexing ye? Are ye afraid? I’ll protect ye, dunnae fash yerself.”
The emotions she’d been holding within her roiled. “Stop!” she barked, his concern shredding the invisible binds that held her together. “I kinnae—” She gulped. “I kinnae take yer kindness. I dunnae—” She shook her head, choking on her words. Gulping again, she continued, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “I dunnae ken what to think or what to do. Or what is truly right. I’m alone, all alone in this. I have to be strong.” She pressed her lips together on saying more, on saying too much.
Suddenly, she was being turned around to face Callum. His hands felt like fire pokers on her skin. Or perhaps it was her? Was she feverish? Her heart pounded a desperate beat, and that same frenzied desperation sent her blood rushing through her veins to roar in her ears. Her stomach felt hollow, and as his gaze pierced her very soul, he said, “Let me help ye. Tell me what ye fear.”
The truth clawed its way up, and she worried she’d not be able to hold it in, so she did the only thing she could. She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Her heart lurched as he stiffened. He was going to push her away! But a growl seemed to come from deep within him, and he delved his hands into her hair to cradle her head and slant his mouth over hers. The kiss tore through every defense she possessed. It was violent in its passion and blissful in the way it seared her from the inside out.
Her hands had been clenched at her sides, but as his tongue slid inside her mouth and his heat consumed her, she could not hold back. She ran her hands up his thick arms to his shoulders and dug her fingers into the muscle there. Their tongues met, swirled, and retreated, as he ravished her mouth and her senses. Every memory she had worked so hard to repress flooded her. Each touch they had shared. Each kiss. The moment they had become one. She whimpered, when his lips found her neck, and then he stilled and jerked away.
She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing lips as she stared at him. He looked stricken, and in that instant, she knew he was thinking of his future wife. He was honorable. Maybe he’d not been—she honestly didn’t know what she thought anymore—but he was honorable now or self-loathing would not be twisting his face.
“God’s blood.” He clasped his hands behind his head, inhaling a deep breath, and then swiped his open palms over his face. His whiskers scratched against his skin, and an acute memory flashed in her mind of those same whiskers tickling her inner thighs when he had long ago trailed kisses there.
“Marsaili,” he said, his voice heavily laden with sorrow. “I should nae have kissed ye.”
“Ye did nae,” she said, hearing her own flat tone. “I kissed ye, and I’m sorry I did.” When a scowl crossed his face, she rushed to continue. “I was swept up in feeling alone.” That was true, though it was but a paltry sliver of the truth. She had been swept up by the longing for him that still raged within her. She had been taken by memories of what was and what would never be, but the greatest thing that had moved her had been her desire to confess the truth to him.
She could not chance it. She wanted to. God’s blood, she did. She knew he was honorable and good now, yet it was that very honor, that guilt he harbored over having once chosen her over his duty to his clan, that made her hold her tongue. It was that very honor she feared would compel him to take their son from her and raise him to be his heir with his soon-to-be new wife.
As if he could hear her thoughts, he said, “I must marry Coira. I—God’s blood!” he thundered, the words bouncing off the walls of the cave. The horse neighed, and Marsaili flinched.
“Dunnae make apologies. I did nae ask ye to.”
“I ken ye did nae,” he growled, glaring at her. “Ye dunnae ask anything of me, and yet I want—” His words jerked to halt.
He wanted what? She dared not ask, for fear he might say something that would have her spilling her secret to him. She could not take the information back once revealed. He clamped his jaw shut, and she was near enough to him that she thought she heard him grinding his teeth. Was that in an effort to stop speaking? She thought perhaps it was. Callum, she realized, had his own secrets he did not wish to reveal to her.
They stood in silence, which stretched to the point that Marsaili thought she would scream. When her stomach growled, she seized the chance to think upon something other than the secret she was harboring. “I’m famished,” she announced, glancing toward the cave opening, where she could see the wind and rain coming down at a sharp angle—a sheet of white against the sky, now gray because dawn had broken.
“I’ll get us something to eat and gather wood to start a fire.”
“Ye gather the wood,” she said. “I’ll catch something to eat.”
“Ye kinnae venture out there,” Callum said. “Ye could be struck by lightning.”
“So could ye,” she shot back and stomped toward the entrance. She got one foot out into the rain when she was pulled back into the dryness of the cave.
“Lass,” Callum growled, his hot breath tickling Marsaili’s nose. “Stay put and let me hunt the food and gather the wood.”
She yanked her arm out of his hold. “I’ll nae sit here idle while ye risk life and limb for me. I am nae that sort of lass!” she fairly shouted. He glared at her, opened his mouth to argue, and then promptly threw back his head and laughed. “What?” she asked, poking him in his hard abdomen when he continued to roar with mirth. It took a few more minutes, but his laughter finally died to a quiet chuckle.
“Ye’re most definitely nae the sort of lass to sit idle, but I’m nae the sort of man to allow my woman—I mean, to allow ye,” he corrected mid-sentence, “to risk yer life for me. I’m yer protector, or have ye forgotten?”
“Ye are my temporary ally, nae my protector.”
A long sigh rattled from him. “Ye’re the most stubborn and most braw lass I’ve ever met. Stick close to me, aye? If ye dunnae, I’ll throw ye over my shoulder and bring us both straight back into the cave. We’ll be wet with nae a morsel for our bellies, and we’ll lack a fire to warm our bones.”
“I’ll stay by yer side,” she agreed, still reeling from the compliment he had given her. When he drew his weapon, she followed his lead and drew her own. He turned to her, his gaze impaling her. “Ye ken ye’re a lass, aye? And lasses are supposed to let the man, the protector, lead?”
She chuckled. “I ken it, but I did nae ever have a protector until I was too old to need one. I learned good and well how to protect myself. And I did nae spend long enough with my MacLeod brothers to become truly accustomed to men who were sincerely interested in how I fared.”
Callum scowled. “If yer Campbell brothers were alive, I’d kill them for how they made ye fearful. As for yer father, I vow—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Dunnae make yerself more of an enemy to my father than ye already are. He would happily destroy ye, and he has the warriors to do it.”
His hand cupped her cheek, his jaw twitching as if touching her pained him. She started to pull away, but his hand moved to the back of her neck lightning-quick and held her there. “Ye’re gutting me, Marsaili.” The word was cracked, and it strummed with untold agony.
She inhaled a sharp breath. “I’m nae intending to.”
He nodded, not speaking for a moment, simply staring at her. Finally, he said, “I thought I kenned ye.” His voice held awe. “And I did, but just the tip of ye.” The tic in his jaw had grown ferocious. “Ye deserve to be protected always.”
Hot longing pierced her. She wished the past could be wiped clean, but such things were impossible. With that in mind, she untangled herself from his hold, noting that he did not stop her. He looked like he was at war with himself, and oddly, it gave her the strength to put space between them.
When he took out his dagger and started out of the cave, she was glad to be given something to concentrate on besides the impossibility of the situation in which she found herself. They walked silently through the pouring rain side by side, weapons drawn. Callum killed a rabbit before she’d even seen it. As she watched him make quick work of skinning it, all she could think was that he should know their son and their son should know him. Fear and guilt raged within her, battling for dominance.
“Will ye gather some brush?” he asked over the din of the rain pelting the now raw, red earth. She nodded, eager to be of use. “I’ll get the wood,” he continued, hooking the rabbit onto his dagger and standing. “Gather as much brush as ye can hold. We will need it to get the fire going since the wood is wet.”
After they had gathered enough wood and made their way back to the cave, she plopped down to the ground in weariness. Her head was pounding, and she felt as if it were filled with mist. She pressed her fingertips to her temples to try to ease the pain, but a chill took her. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees, and laced her fingers together as she watched Callum build the fire.
He worked silently with a furrowed brow as he struggled to get the wet wood to light. He muttered to himself, and Marsaili could not help but smile at how concentrated and determined he was. Finally, a spark appeared. And then another, and another. She let out a relieved sigh as delicious heat caressed her cold body and warmed her face and hands.
Callum looked up, and his gaze stopped on her. “I’m sorry that took me so long.”
“And I’m sorry I did nae help ye,” she said, her teeth chattering as she spoke.
Callum circled the fire in a breath and kneeled down beside her. He touched his hand to her arm. “God’s blood! Ye’re freezing.”
“Aye,” she agreed.
He sat beside her, wrapped an arm around her back, and drew her into his side. “What are ye doing?” she asked wearily, but she was too tired to move away.
“I dunnae have any dry clothes to give ye or a blanket to wrap ye in, so I’m giving ye my body heat.”
He was amazingly warm, so despite the fact that it was dangerous to be so close to him, she did not protest or make an effort to shove him back. “I’ll take it, but only because I’m so cold.”
He chuckled at that, and they sat in silence for a long while, the fire crackling and flickering on the cave walls and the heat increasing until Marsaili finally quit shaking. Her head still ached and felt full of wool, but at least she was not fearful a chill would take her. “I’m warmer now,” she said.
Callum glanced at her, and his rugged handsomeness made her breath catch in her throat. “Ye’re certain?” he asked, the concern from earlier still there.
“Aye,” she replied.
When he removed his arm and shoved over so they were no longer touching, she felt his absence acutely. She thought he might get up and start to cook the rabbit, but instead, he turned toward her once more.
“Tell me how was it that ye came to find out ye had half brothers?”
It was an innocent enough question, so she didn’t mind answering. “Well, ye recall Helena?” she teased.
“Who?” he teased in return.
Marsaili laughed at the lighthearted moment among all the heavy ones they had shared. “Oh, I’m certain ye recall my beautiful sister.”
“If ye recall, I told ye back then that she did nae have yer inner, as well as outer, beauty.”
“I remember,” Marsaili said. “She was enraged that she failed to seduce ye.”
“She should nae have been. I could nae see her because of ye. Ye bewitched me,” he admitted. His voice had dropped low, his gaze as hot as the fire that blazed before them.
She swallowed hard and licked her lips, trying to decide what to say. She thought he might be recalling the day they had joined. She knew she was.
“I can still see ye lying in the bright-green grass with yer dark hair spread all around ye,” he said in a velvet murmur. Her stomach tightened with his words. “Purple heather surrounded ye.”
She was acutely aware that if he were to lean over and kiss her now, she would not stop him. “I’m famished,” she said, desperate for anything to think upon other than her yearning for him.
He gave her a long, searching look, then stood without a word to retrieve the rabbit and a stick. Soon, he had the rabbit over the fire and was cooking it. His focus was singular on the task, and she realized that when he was engrossed with something, he would catch his lower lip with his teeth. Did their son have that same habit?
“Tell me,” she said, determined to learn all about his life for their son’s sake. There would come a day, she was certain, when she would reveal to their son who his father was. There would come a time when her son would need him, and she would let him go, as she must. But not now. God help her for her selfishness, but not now. An ache sprang up in her throat, and she swallowed it. “Why was yer clan so weakened that ye were compelled to marry Edina? Did it have to do with the MacDonald Clan attacking yer clan?”
He flicked his gaze to her as he slowly turned the rabbit. “I’m surprised ye dunnae ken the history from yer family.”
“Are ye?” She could not keep the sarcasm from her voice. “I was set apart from my family most the time I lived at Innis Chonnell. I ate in my chamber as ordered. I was not allowed to attend the great hall when guests arrived, so I did nae ken the happenings of other clans. The servants feared speaking to me, for they feared my father’s anger. Maria was my only friend, but she had a family of her own and our time together was always in brief slivers. When I learned that Jean was nae my mother, that I was born of my father ravaging the MacLeod laird’s wife—”
“God’s teeth,” Callum swore.
“Aye,” Marsaili agreed. “He is nae a good man, which ye ken. I realized once I learned all of this that Jean had likely always hated me. I represented my father’s indiscretion, and he hated me, as well, I think.” She shrugged. “I kinnae say for certain.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was a foolish thing for me to be surprised that ye did nae ken the history.”
“Nay. It was nae foolish. Ye could nae have kenned my life there.”
“I suppose nae,” he said, looking angry. “I wish—Well, I wish I had kenned. I would have—”
“Dunnae,” she interrupted, fearing to know such wishes. “Tell me the history that has weakened yer clan.”
A resigned look settled on his face, and he nodded. “We’ve been under attack from the MacDonalds for years, as I told ye long ago at the Gathering, since King David’s advisors granted Urquhart Castle to my father in the king’s name for services rendered. At least that was the reason they gave.”
She frowned. “Do ye mean to say yer father did nae aid the king?”
“What? Och, nay.” He waved his free hand. “My father fought truly for the king, but the king, with his advisors telling him what to do, likely gave my father our particular castle because the MacDonald laird had wanted it and had demanded it. I imagine the king’s advisors wished to send a message to the laird that he was nae in a position to demand things from the king, even one who was but a child as David had been then.”
“Wise advisors,” she murmured.
“Aye,” Callum said. “Since Urquhart became our home, we have suffered frequent raids from the MacDonalds, which weakened us considerably. It did nae help matters that we were not near as large as the MacDonald clan in the first place, so my father sought out an alliance, and Edina’s father answered the call. He gave my father warriors, and in exchange, I was offered as Edina’s husband when we both grew older. I was but ten summers at the time the promise was given.”
“And when ye broke yer promise to wed Edina…?”
“We came under attack from the Gordon clan, as well,” he supplied. “When my father was killed, my mother begged me on her knees to mend the breach, but I could nae because of what I felt for ye.”
He had that same tortured look he’d had earlier on his face. She stilled, her body screaming to touch him. She trembled with the effort to hold herself back.
“Christ,” he muttered, slammed the pointed edge of the stick the rabbit was on into the ground, stood, and turned away from her. “Telling ye this does neither of us any good, yet I find I kinnae stop myself.”
Her heart lurched at his words.
He swung toward her, his gaze swirling with emotion. “Even when I thought ye dead, my grief, my love for ye, obliterated my desire to do what I should as laird.”
She inhaled a long breath, each word hitting her like a pebble hitting water and sinking into her brain. Her chest felt as if it would burst, and a trembling took hold of her. “Why did ye think me dead?” she asked, fully believing him now.
“Shortly after I returned home from the Gathering, we received a letter from yer father announcing that ye had drowned.”
Her father’s betrayal roiled through her, making her feel ill with the knowledge. She had this space in time to say out loud how she had felt, how she still felt, or she was certain the words would never be uttered to him. Soon they would part, and he would marry another. She clenched her hands with indecision, nails biting into her palms.
He caught his lower lip between his teeth in the same unconscious gesture that had made her wonder earlier if their son did the same thing, and the tension that had been building in her since the first moment she had seen him again in the tent at his tournament, drove the truth up. “I loved ye,” she blurted, her palms instantly damp. “Not that ye dunnae already ken it, but I loved ye. Completely. I wanted—” A sob tore through her for what she had lost with him and with their son.
Before she realized he had even moved, he was a hairsbreadth from her. Pain twisted his features and shone in his eyes. He raised a hand toward her but stopped partway there. “I want to touch ye, lass, but I—”
She grabbed his hand and pressed his open palm to her cheek. “I ken. I love ye still,” she said on a choked cry. “I love ye.”
“By God, Marsaili, I love ye, too.” Misery was etched in every word, and raw pain glittered in his gaze.
And then his mouth was on hers, crushing her to him. His lips moved possessively, devouring her, worshipping her, but he abruptly pulled back. He cupped her face, his touch so tender and the look in his eyes so reverent that she gasped. “Ye have my heart,” he vowed. “All of it. Ye have me in ways I did nae even ken were possible for a woman to take a man. I am yers, body and soul.”
His confession released something within her. With a groan, she pushed his hands aside, kissing his neck and his chest, the passion and need pouring from her. She wanted him to take her in this moment, to pretend with her that they had not lost each other, that they had a future together.
His hands came to her midriff, and he hoisted her off her feet as he brushed his lips to her flushed chest, then blazed a trail of kisses across her collarbone and up her neck. He growled, tangling his hands into her hair before pressing his mouth close to her ear. “I cannot resist ye,” he said, the desperate words hot against her ear. “I have struggled in vain to conquer my desire for ye.” His lips captured hers, more demanding than before. She tasted his searing desire, the kiss turning slow, causing each of her senses to spark to tingling life. He pulled back, his brown eyes glistening with need. “I kinnae find the strength to turn from ye any longer.”
His words cut her to the quick and filled her with a hot joy that was drowned by sorrow so awful that tears could never express it. He pulled her face close to kiss her, and in that instant, she knew that as much as she wanted to, she could not allow him to endanger his clan for her again. She shoved against his chest with a strength she had not known she possessed. The moment their contact was broken, she began to tremble as her emotions spun wildly out of control. She hated him, yet she loved him. She wanted to tell him of their son, but she feared that would be the very thing that would stop him from putting his clan first.
She turned from him, fearing he’d see the secret in her eyes. “I kinnae,” she said, sucking in a jagged breath. She could hardly breathe. She pressed her palms to her wet cheeks, only then realizing she was crying. “I… We kinnae. Ye are to be wed.”
“I’ll nae wed her,” he said in voice that was as unbending as the ancient bronze used to forge her father’s sword.
“Ye must,” she said, trying to make her own tone as hard as his.
“Nay, Marsaili.” His hand grabbed her wrists, but she jerked her arm away and swung toward him. His gaze burned into her. “How can I? I kinnae. I fooled myself into thinking I could. I will find another way.”
“What way?” she demanded, praying he truly had an answer.
“I dunnae ken,” he roared, “but I will find it.”
Foolish hopes. That’s all they had.
“Dunnae touch me!” she sobbed. If he did, she knew she would simply let him do as he pleased. If they shared another kiss, she would tell him of his son, and then he would feel obligated to wed her, even if their union would weaken his clan and bring another enemy to his doorstep. She had tasted his love for her in his kiss, seen it in his blazing eyes, felt it in the way he touched her, and heard it as truth from his lips. She would protect him from himself now.
He gave her a beseeching look that tightened her belly painfully. “Lass—” He stopped abruptly and drew his sword. “Nay!” he roared, and behind her, she felt the sudden heat of a body. Then a hand was on her mouth, an arm around her waist, and she was jerked backward off her feet as six men charged past her. The last thing she saw as she was being taken was Callum’s sword plunging into the first warrior who reached him.