Twelve
Callum managed to kill the first two Gordons who attacked him, but when four more entered the cave just as he was yanking his sword from the last one he had felled, they advanced quickly under the shouted directives of Robert Gordon, Edina’s elder brother who despised Callum. Callum sliced one warrior across the chest, but before he could turn to ward off Robert, someone knocked him on the back of the head so hard that bright specs danced in his vision and the cave seemed to tilt.
He stayed on his feet for another breath, but then a second hit to his head came, causing pain so intense that he clenched his teeth and fell to his knees. His vision blurred, and he blinked his eyes to clear it as his left arm was grasped. He blindly swung his sword upward, felt it knocked from his numb hand, and then his right arm was restrained. Whoever stood behind him yanked his head back. He squeezed his eyes shut again, his vision starting to clear, and with a roar, he strained against the men holding him to no avail.
“I’d save yer strength,” Robert Gordon said, standing in front of him.
Callum gnashed his teeth as he tried to bring his head forward to glare at Robert, but the grip one of the Gordon’s men had on his hair prevented any movement.
“Leave go, Sully,” Robert ordered. Instantly, Callum’s head was released, and he brought his gaze to Robert’s.
“Where’s the lass?” Callum growled. Since the moment Marsaili had told him that she had loved him, he’d known he could not marry Coira, yet he could not repeat his past mistakes. He had to find a way to save his clan without the union and somehow break his promise to Coira without hurting her or making an enemy of her father. The tasks seemed impossible, but not fighting for what he and Marsaili had was unthinkable. He needed her. She had taken his heart the day he had met her, and without her, he felt empty inside.
Robert smirked. “Ye’re nae in a position to demand information from me. Does this lass mean something to ye?”
“Nay,” he replied without hesitation. If Robert thought Marsaili was special to Callum, he would purposely harm her.
As if Marsaili sensed she was being discussed, her scream of rage rent the air. Callum lost control, roaring in response and surging upward against the three men who restrained him. He managed to throw off the man who had been holding his left arm. He then drove his fist into the nose of his captor on the right. Bone crunched satisfyingly, and blood spurted from the wound. The man released him to grip his nose, giving Callum the opportunity he needed to gain his feet. He sprung up, spun around, and delivered two quick jabs to the windpipe of the man behind him.
The man fell to his knees, gasping and wheezing for air. Behind Callum, the air swished, alerting him to danger. He swung toward the threat, but he was not fast enough. He saw the hilt of Robert’s sword coming but could do nothing to prevent the blow. He was struck once in the nose, then on the side of the head, which sent his vision black once again. But this time, he felt as if he were suddenly floating in the darkest loch he had ever seen. The water was warm, and he could not fight the temptation to simply close his eyes and drift.
The grip on Marsaili’s chin made sharp pain throb on both sides of her jaw, but the tears swimming in her gaze were for Callum. He lay unconscious before her, blood trickling from a cut on his head and streaming from his nose.
“I’ll only ask ye one more time,” the redheaded man before her said in a calm and eerily patient tone. She sensed he would relinquish a great amount of time to happily torture her if he thought it would get him the answers he sought. “Who are ye? And who are ye to the Grant?”
Her thoughts seemed to collide with one another inside her head as she tried to determine the best way to answer. So far, she had refused to say anything, but that had caused Robert, as she’d heard him called, to have his men drag Callum outside the cave, his limp head banging against the ground as the men brought him to Robert’s feet. Who she truly was would both damn and save her. She knew the Gordons were her father’s allies, thus they would not kill her, but they would alert her father to where she was, and then any hope of escaping a life as the earl’s leman would be lost. Her father would triple the guards to take her there, and it would separate her from her son that much more.
“Have it yer way,” Robert announced, his voice cutting through Marsaili’s thoughts. He waved a hand at his guard. “Cut off one of his fingers.”
She gasped. “What? Nay!”
“Aye,” the man said in that same calm voice, but this time he offered her a distinctively cruel smile. “For every lie ye tell me, I’ll take a finger off the Grant.”
Her heart raced furiously in her chest. “Why?” she asked. “Why do ye do this?” She knew, of course, but she was desperate for time, any little bit she could get.
Robert drew her face a hairbreadth from his. “This man shamed my sister when he broke his promise to wed her. He took her innocence, got her with child, and then the child died shortly after he was born. It near killed my sister, and she has nae recovered from the loss. He deserves to suffer, and I see before me the perfect weapon to bring him more misery. What a happy chance, too!” Robert said with a guffaw. “So are ye or are ye nae Coira, daughter of the Earl of Ainsworth, whom the Grant intends to wed to secure an alliance with Ainsworth to fight against my clan?”
Marsaili had to clench her jaw against the desire to gape. Robert Gordon thought her to be Coira? He believed he had happened upon Callum with his soon-to-be wife? No wonder the man was gloating. He likely thought God had given him the perfect gift of revenge. It was both a nightmare and her only hope.
“Aye, I am Coira,” she lied. “Please, I beg ye, spare Callum’s life and take mine instead.”
“Dunnae fash yerself, lass,” Robert said, his voice baleful. “I’ll take yer life just to spite yer da, and I’ll spare the Grant so he may suffer the rest of his life without ye. He’ll ken well ye died a painful death because he’s going to watch ye die. It does nae matter how long it takes. And when ye’re dead, he’ll be a broken man, as my sister is a broken woman.”
With those ominous words, Robert made quick work of binding her hands and her feet, and then he slung her belly-down across his destrier. The wind gushed out of her lungs, and before she could even catch a breath, they were riding. With each jarring strike of the horse’s hooves against the ground, her head pounded, but she concentrated on one thought: she had to find a way to tell Callum he had a son in case she did not live to find the child herself.
Callum’s thoughts floated just out of his reach, and he could not seem to remember where he was or what had happened. Something was not right, yet he could not recall what, and there was a dull ache that seemed a constant part of him. In the distance, something hung in the air, dangling, and he thought he saw a woman floating. But that was not right. It could not be.
Heat washed over him for hours, light pressing on his eyelids, and then coolness came with dark and blessed silence. Then heat once more, brightness and noise. Time drifted by like this, repeating itself until he awoke with a start, rage and worry immediately washing over him and the realization that he’d been drifting in an out of waking, but for how many days, he did not know.
Trying to ignore the thundering in his skull, he opened his eyes, the sun nearly blinding him. Flies buzzed around the cut on his head, the one Robert had given him. He struggled to swallow, his throat raw and burning. His eyes watered as they tried to adjust to the daylight. He tried to move his hands but couldn’t, then tried his feet to the same effect. Looking down, he grunted.
A stake. He was tied to a stake! He brushed his fingertips against the unmistakable grain of wood that was often used for a binding stake. The familiar noises of a working castle surrounded him, like the sound of a smithy laboring with iron. He inhaled, and the scent of baking bread filled his nose. He was in the inner bailey of the Gordon castle. The questions now were what had Robert done with Marsaili and what did he intend to do next?
Callum’s eyes finally stopped watering, and when he opened them, he glanced immediately to his left and right. Guard towers stood on both sides of him. He craned his head back to see the roof of the gatehouse above him. Squinting into the sun, he looked across the bailey, where guards, servants, and members of the Gordon clan milled about. There was a small group of people straight ahead of him at the far end of the bailey. They seemed to be gathered looking at something. He swept his gaze around, searching for what they were watching, and when he saw a woman standing with a basket on her hip and her head tilted back as if staring into the sky, he quickly looked up. His heart lurched, and his breath left him. There, suspended from an iron cage from the castle wall was Marsaili.
He had dreamed she was floating, and she was, in a way. The cage was rectangular and not tall enough for her to stand. She had her face pressed against the bars, and her hands clutched the black iron on each side of her. At first, he thought she must be glaring defiantly at the crowd gathered to gape at her, but from the tilt of her head, it seemed she looked beyond them. Black rage choked him, and with a guttural cry, he lunged forward, only to be jerked violently back by the momentum of his own body.
“Callum!” Marsaili screamed his name. A shudder of relief coursed through him that she could call out to him. He opened his mouth to call back when she screamed again. “Callum! Callum, it’s me, Coira!”
The crowd that was gathered in front of her turned his way, and at the front of the group of onlookers was Edina. She broke away from the crowd and strode across the bailey toward him. His thoughts spun, trying to take in everything and put meaning to it. Marsaili had called to him and told him she was Coira for a reason. Did she fear revealing her identity for fear that it would bring her father to her? Callum would keep her deceit for now unless revealing the truth would save her life.
Edina stopped in front of him and set her hands on her hips. She smiled, but it did not reach her steel-gray eyes. Instead, hatred blazed there. “It took ye long enough to wake up,” she announced.
“Ye can thank yer brother for that,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from lack of water.
She chuckled. “I was so stunned when Robert returned here with ye in tow—shocked and ecstatic. I have prayed for yer death for years. Ye shamed me when ye renounced me. I lost my child, and it was yer fault.”
“I am sorry for the loss of yer child, but it was nae my fault.”
“It was,” she said, her eyes becoming daggers. “My father beat me because I carried a bairn in my belly but did nae have a husband. He beat me until I did nae carry a bairn any longer.”
Callum’s gut clenched at the horrific news. “Edina—”
“Save yer pity for yerself,” she hissed. “Ye will need it. I dunnae ken why ye were so foolish to travel alone so close to our land, but I’m awfully glad ye’re such a fool. Now, vengeance is mine. I thought to kill ye, but my brother showed me a better way to hurt ye.”
When Edina paused and looked toward Marsaili, Callum’s blood went cold. “She has nae hurt ye,” he growled. “Leave her be.”
Edina’s lips twisted into a vicious smile. “Ye hurt me, and I will hurt ye by slowly killing the woman ye love. Ainsworth will consider ye an enemy when he learns ye failed to protect his daughter.”
“Edina,” he pleaded, not caring that he was begging. He would grovel on his hands and knees if he could somehow spare Marsaili. “The lass, Coira, has naught to do with what I did three years ago. Set her free and simply kill me.”
“How touching,” she snarled. “Ye love her so much ye will give yer life for hers. I fear I kinnae comply. She’ll be forfeiting her life for ye. It will be entertaining to see how long it takes. It is already beginning, ye ken. She has weakened much in the three days ye have drifted in and out of sleep.”
“Edina!” Callum called, even as she marched away. “Edina!”
She swung toward him. “Save yer breath. Yer precious Coira’s blood will be on yer hands.”
He flinched at Edina’s words. He had to do something, but he didn’t know how long Marsaili would hold on. How weak was she? He toiled against his ropes, his flesh burning and sweat dampening his brow and his neck for what seemed like ages. He struggled with his binds until his vision blurred. He paused, blinked, and looked toward Marsaili’s cage, surprised to see the crowd no longer gathered there. He was equally as shocked to see the sun had faded, and hues of orange and purple now tinted the sky.
“Coira!” he called, not caring if he was heard. He had to know she was still alive. He could not breathe without confirmation. When she did not move, anguish threatened to overcome him. He yanked, tugged, and pulled fiercely on his tied wrists, and after a while, warm blood slicked his skin. But no matter what he did, the binds would not loosen.
Despair pounded at him. “Damn ye, Robert!” he roared. “Damn ye to Hell, and damn yer vengeful sister to Hell with ye!”
“Shut yer mouth,” a guard called from the tower. “Or better yet, I’ll shut it for ye!”
Footsteps pounded down the stairs and then two figures clad in hooded capes and Gordon plaids appeared.
“Untie me ye cowards,” Callum seethed. “Untie me and fight me like men. Unless ye’re afraid…”
“I’m nae fearful,” said the taller and much bigger warrior.
“I’m nae fearful, either, ye clot-heid, but I kinnae fight ye like a man.”
Shock reverberated through Callum to hear a woman’s voice answering, and when the woman pulled her hood back ever so slightly to reveal her face, he was struck speechless at the sight of Maria.
“What the devil are ye doing here?” he asked, unsure whether it was an occasion of gladness or worry. “Has my castle been breached by enemies? Is my family well?” The most plausible way she would have slipped by his brother’s watchful eye was if Brice had his hands full with an assault.
She snickered and dropped her hood back over her face. “Yer castle is fine. Breached by none.”
“Then how—” Callum started, but Maria cut him off.
“Yer brother was much occupied with yer future bride, so he was easy to escape,” she said in a rush. “Now, do ye wish to stand here chatting or shall we free ye and go save Marsaili?”
“Escape,” he said, but as the larger warrior reached toward him, Callum stiffened. “Who are ye?”
The man pulled back his hood enough for Callum to see his face. His expression was hard and grim. “Broch MacLeod,” the warrior answered. “I was sent by my laird, Marsaili’s brother, to find and rescue her. I have been searching for some time now.”
“Only ye?” Callum asked suspiciously. If the MacLeod laird cared so much about Marsaili, why would he only send one warrior?
“Nay,” Broch said as he worked discreetly to untie Callum’s hands, though the courtyard was empty and night was rapidly descending. “There are others. We broke apart and went in different directions to find her with haste. I went to the Campbell hold,” he said, freeing Callum’s right hand.
Callum’s instinct was to immediately bring his arm forward, but he refrained. “How do ye two intend we escape?”
“Broch and I will feign we are Gordon guards with orders to take ye to the cage to give ye a closer look at Marsaili to torment ye.”
“What of the other tower guards?”
“Dead,” Broch answered, releasing Callum’s other hand.
Callum stood still as Broch kneeled to untie the binds around his ankles next. “How did ye find yer way here from Innis Chonnell?”
“I was leaving the castle for Inverurie, after some hard persuasion of the laird’s wife presented me with word that Marsaili was searching for the Summer Walkers,” Broch said, standing once Callum was released. “Och!” Broch grunted and looked to Maria. “Why the devil did ye push me with yer elbow?”
“Because, ye big, burly, handsome Scot,” she said in an exasperated voice, “we dunnae have time to waste chatting. Marsaili can tell him all he needs to ken. Aye?”
“Aye,” Broch agreed. “Pleasing to look at, did ye say?”
“Aye,” she replied, and Callum did not miss the flirtatious look she gave Broch.
They moved to either side of Callum and each took an arm. Broch drew his dagger and held it to Callum’s throat. “I want ye to remember the feel of my dagger at yer throat,” Broch growled, his light demeanor from a mere moment ago completely changed.
“And why is that?” Callum demanded as they started across the courtyard to Marsaili.
“Because,” Broch answered, “if ye do anything that will cause Marsaili harm or sorrow, I’ll kill ye.”
“I want to protect her, nae harm her, and I dunnae intend to cause her sorrow.”
“Just like ye did nae intend it the first time? What did ye think would happen when ye took her innocence and then—”
“Broch,” Maria snapped. “Ye speak too freely, ye big clot-heid.”
Broch chuckled. “For some reason, lass, I dunnae mind so much when ye offend me.”
They both fell silent as a guard came out of the shadows that led to the stairs where Marsaili was being kept.
“What’s this?” the man demanded.
Callum yanked his arm free and jabbed the man in the windpipe. He fell in a wheezing fit at their feet.
“That was nae the plan,” Broch growled, turning the man over and giving him a hard thump on the head so that he went completely still. “Nor verra smart,” the MacLeod warrior added. “Now we have to hide him. Control yer temper, aye?”
“Aye,” Callum agreed, helping Broch tug the guard under the stairs. “It was foolish, but that man dared to touch what is mine.”
“Yer sword?” Broch asked as they climbed the stairs.
“Nay,” Callum answered, sureness swelling inside his chest. “Marsaili. She belongs with me, and I’ll nae abide another man touching her.”
“Finally ye staked yer claim,” Maria murmured, and as the words left her mouth, two figures came around the corner at the top of the stairs, one of whom happened to be Robert Gordon.