Five
“I hope he goes down as fast as his brother did,” Marsaili muttered under her breath as she stared at Callum, who was striding to the center of the field.
“Ye dunnae mean that,” Maria replied. “Ye may detest the man, but from what I’ve overheard from the people talking around us, he and his brother are considered verra honorable and Cedric is reviled. I’ve a bit of hope that Laird Grant will set ye free if he wins ye, but I’ve nary hope Cedric will free me.”
“I’ll free ye somehow,” Marsaili assured Maria. “We can tell him of yer ties to yer sister, who is now part of his clan.”
“Nay,” Maria said. “I will nae bring trouble to my sister and her new husband. Dunnae say a word.”
“Ye’re certain?” Marsaili asked, staring at Callum.
“Aye,” Maria replied.
Marsaili nodded as she continued to watch Callum. She told herself it was because she wanted to see him felled, but the weight of the lie pressed on her chest. She rubbed it absently as she gawked.
Damn the Scot, he was even more handsome than she had remembered, and with every piece of his clothing removed but his braies, which clung to his hips, she didn’t even have to rummage around in her memory to pull up a mental picture of how Callum’s body had looked as if it were made of stone.
“God’s teeth, that Scot is a sight to behold,” Maria murmured. “Are ye certain ye dunnae wish to tell him of the son the two of ye share?”
Marsaili nodded. “I’m certain. I dunnae trust him. I kinnae be sure he’d nae take our bairn from me, and I’ll nae chance it. The woman he is to marry is barren; our son will likely be his only heir. I fear he might take him from me and give him to his new wife to raise.”
“Ye have good reason to fear and keep yer secret, then,” Maria agreed.
Marsaili heated simply watching Callum circle his massive shoulders to loosen them before the fight. With each roll, his muscles rippled. It disgusted her that she still felt such desire for a man who had used and betrayed her. Suddenly, his gaze locked on her, sharp and assessing.
She boldly returned his stare, refusing to be cowed. Was he trying to ascertain how she had ended up here, as the possession of a man like Cedric? What story would she tell Callum if he won her in this fight? Did he think himself so compelling that she would lie with him again like a fool?
She vowed never to allow him to touch her again. But as she considered Cedric and Callum, she had to admit, she preferred for Callum win her. He, at least, seemed to possess the barest hint of honor—but only the barest. Mayhap he’d not force himself upon her as Cedric would undoubtedly do. The thought of being ravaged made her skin crawl.
Callum broke eye contact with her as Cedric approached him, and she keenly felt the loss of his gaze on her—too keenly. She could not fall under his spell again. The horn blasted, marking the beginning of the fight, and she sucked in a sharp breath as Cedric swung first, his fists almost connecting with Callum’s chin. But Callum ducked down at the last possible second and came up fast with a jab to Cedric’s stomach. She could see the man gasp, but he recovered quickly, swinging out with his left hand. This time, his fist slammed into Callum’s jaw. His head jerked to the left, but with a quick shake, he rebounded, delivering two jabs to Cedric’s face. Blood immediately gushed from the man’s nose and leaked from his lip.
He swiped the blood away and kicked out at Callum’s knee. Callum jumped back, evading the move. With a roar, Cedric lunged at Callum, and the two men went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Suddenly, Marsaili saw a flash of steel, and as she realized that Cedric intended to win the fight by cheating and using a dagger, she cried out to Callum, “Careful! He has a weapon in his right hand!”
A shocked murmur rose from the crowd as Callum rolled away from Cedric just as the man brought his dagger down very near Callum’s neck.
“Coward!” someone from the crowd yelled, and shouts of Cedric being treacherous started all around her.
“Why is nae anyone intervening to stop the fight?” she cried out as she turned to Maria.
Marsaili winced at the sight of Callum’s brother, Brice, beside Maria. When had the man come to stand there?
He studied Marsaili for a moment, as if he was trying to decide if he was going to answer her. “We dunnae stop the fight because to do so would make it appear as if Callum needs us to help him.”
“But the fight is nae fair!” she shouted.
Callum jumped backward when Cedric swiped the dagger out at him, and Marsaili’s breath hitched.
“Much in life is nae fair,” Brice replied, an odd tension in his voice. “Dunnae fash yerself for Callum. He has nae ever lost a one-on-one battle.”
“I’m nae fashed,” she snapped, though her heart was racing and her breath was ragged.
“Ye appear to care for him still,” Brice said in low tones, shocking her.
“He told ye about me?”
Brice gave her an uneasy look but nodded.
She could only imagine how Callum must have boasted of the conquest. She ground her teeth, then glared at Brice. “Just because I dunnae wish to see a man killed dunnae mean I care for him,” she whispered furiously. Yet, a breath later, when Callum knocked the dagger out of Cedric’s hand, then brought the man to his knees, there was no repressing the relieved exhalation that escaped her. “He won,” she said, both glad and fearful at once. Yes, she had rid herself of Cedric, but she still needed to escape Callum, and she’d prefer not to have a conversation with the man at all if she could help it.
She glanced around the grounds, now nearly bereft of people despite being littered with tents. Night was almost upon them. Many of the people who were not gathered around this fight had obviously already made their way to the great hall for supper. Her best hope of fleeing would be now. If they could get Brice to move away from them…
She turned to somehow let Maria know her intentions, but as she did, Cedric’s guard strode up to them and grabbed Maria by the arm. “Come on, wench.”
“Ye kinnae take her!” Marsaili protested, aware she had no way to stop the man.
“She’s Cedric’s property,” the man snapped, and when he jerked on Maria’s arm, Marsaili lunged at him and bit down hard on his arm. He released Maria with a howl and reared his arm back to strike Marsaili, but before he could, Brice hit the man. Then all hell broke loose.
It was the perfect distraction for them to flee, and without a second thought, Marsaili grabbed Maria’s hand. “Come! We must away!”
In one breath, Callum was bargaining with Cedric for the purchase of the woman with Marsaili, which had only been made possible by threatening to tell the earl of his son’s dishonorable actions, but in the next breath, fighting between his men and Cedric’s broke out and he was roaring commands to cease fighting, as was Cedric. Once their men finally obeyed and Callum glanced around, he realized that neither Marsaili nor her companion were anywhere to be found.
Fear and anger sprung within him. “Cedric,” he demanded, “did ye order yer men to take the lasses?”
The confused frown Cedric gave Callum was answer enough.
Brice pointed. “I saw the lasses run that way, but I was tied up with this one.” He shoved at Cedric’s man, who shoved back at Brice.
“God’s bones,” Callum growled, as he motioned to his brother. “Come with me.” With that, he took up his sword from where he had set it by the tree, and then he set off running in the direction Brice had pointed.
He led his men through the rows of tents, thankful it was so close to supper that most people were in the great hall. But the hour also meant darkness was descending quickly and would make it harder to find the women. He had no notion why the lasses would run from him, but what he did know with a stomach-twisting certainty was that tournaments had a tendency to attract men with little-to-no morality, men like the one who had wagered Marsaili and her companion away. Many of those men, who may well have lost their money in wagers and fights today, would be angry and on the road home. And others, who had traveled far to reach the tournament, might just now be nearing Urquhart and might see two women alone in the woods as their right to use for their own comfort.
Callum paused at the crest of the hill where he could head to the shore, the loch, or the woods. When he had known Marsaili, she had not known how to swim…
“What are ye doing?” Brice asked in panting breaths beside him.
“Trying to decide which way Marsaili would have gone.” Just as he finished his sentence, a scream tore through the night from the direction of the woods and black fright swept through him.
Marsaili!
Her voice had long been committed to his memory. Every instinct he possessed to protect others sprung to life, and he took off in the direction of her voice without a backward glance or explanation to his brother.
“Ye son of a devil!” Marsaili screeched, reaching frantically behind her to try to gouge Godfrey’s eyes. But her efforts were fruitless. The Earl of Ulster’s man, the very one she and Maria had knocked unconscious to escape Innis Chonnell Castle, simply tightened his grip around her neck and cut off her air so she would stop fighting.
“Are you going to behave, lass?” Godfrey demanded.
Marsaili jerked her head in a nod as best she could. Godfrey released his hands from her neck but slipped a solid, immovable arm under her breasts, preventing her from moving. Her feet dangled from the ground, locked as she was in the tall man’s embrace, but for the moment, that was likely a good thing. Tiny dots of silvery light peppered her vision, and she feared she would faint.
“You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble forcing me to track you like this.”
“Good,” Marsaili spat, glancing down at Maria’s still body. “If ye’ve killed my friend, I vow I’ll kill ye in return.” More the fool was she for not having secured a weapon before racing away from the Grant hold. She’d been so anxious to put distance between her and Callum that she’d not properly thought things through. It was a mistake she’d never make again.
“I gave that hellion a thump on the head, and that is all. But if you continue to fight me, it will get a lot worse for her.”
Marsaili gritted her teeth against responding. She feared he’d carry out his threats without delay.
“My orders from the earl are simple: bring you to him immediately and not irrevocably harmed. I’ve got leeway there, you see.” Godfrey sneered and squeezed her so hard that she hissed in pain. “Now, I’m going to set you down, and you are going to do exactly as I say.”
Marsaili nodded as she quickly thought about her options. Despair rose in her as Godfrey set her down and turned her toward him. “Hold out your hands. I’m going to bind you.”
“Oh, please!” she begged, trying to delay. “I vow I’m done fighting. I—” She took a deep breath. “I’m tired and hungry, and will go willingly to the earl’s castle.”
“That’s a right smart choice you’ve made, lass.”
She nodded, eyeing the dagger protruding from the holder at his hip. If she could grab it and stab him, she could put enough distance between them to escape, if she did not wound him sufficiently to fell him. But then what? She’d have to get aid for Maria.
“Marsaili!” a man’s voice—Callum’s voice—roared through the night.
Gooseflesh swept over her body, and her heart raced. When Godfrey turned to look toward the dark woods and the direction from which Callum’s voice had come, she lunged forward, grabbed the hilt of his dagger, and swung it up to stab him. He turned toward her like a flash of light, and his hand came up to deflect the weapon. She jerked to the right, intending to plunge the dagger into his heart, but she sank it into his shoulder instead.
“You she-devil!” he roared and leapt for her, but she scampered back, stumbling over some gnarled roots sticking out of the ground. She screamed as she fought to maintain her balance, steadied herself, and then took off through the thick branches toward Callum’s voice. He would help her and Maria. He had to.
She shoved tree limbs out of her way as she blindly ran, unsure if she was even heading toward Callum. Behind her footsteps pounded. “Callum!” she cried out. “Callum, where are ye?”
“Keep calling me,” Callum answered, his voice loud and clear. “Lead me to ye. We’re coming.”
“Ready yer weapon!” she yelled, running, tripping, and falling to her knees. Wood cut into her palms, but she ignored the pain and scampered to her feet once more. Behind her, Godfrey’s footsteps pounded closer. She ran through a thick bramble, thorns tearing at her sleeves and slicing the skin of her arms and hands. When she came out the other side of the thorny brush, she smacked into Callum and almost fell backward at the force of the impact.
“Callum,” she sobbed, reaching out for his arms and clinging for one breath, not caring for a moment that he, too, was her enemy.
“Shh,” he demanded harshly, and before she knew what was occurring, he shoved her behind him as Godfrey broke through the bramble with a roar, sword raised high. Callum sprang forward and sent his blade straight through Godfrey’s heart. The man teetered for a moment before he crumpled to the ground.
Marsaili clenched her teeth against the horrid gurgling sounds Godfrey made, and then he fell silent. She began to shake violently, her teeth clanking loudly. Behind her, twigs snapped, and aware of how defenseless she was without a weapon, she scampered toward Callum’s side as a man appeared like a mist from the darkness. In the moonlight, she could barely make out his face. When she realized it was Callum’s brother, her legs shook even more, but this time from relief. Immediately, she became aware of Callum’s heat and his masculine smell.
He turned to her. “Are ye unharmed?” he asked in a voice that sounded truly concerned.
For a moment, she could not speak. She had dreamed of seeing him again for so long. At first, the dreams had consisted of his begging her for forgiveness and giving her explanations for why he’d lied, which were always understandable even if unacceptable. In her fantasies, he would cup her face and kiss her while whispering his love. Later, the dreams had turned to ones where she would see him and be a fine and beautiful lady. His regret for forsaking her would be plain on his face. Never had her dreams consisted of her on the hunt for their child, because she had long ago gathered all her will and used it to not think of the dead bairn for fear the thoughts would drive her mad.
But now, standing before the man she had loved and whose child she had borne, she longed to tell him that they had a son who was alive. But he was a deceiver, not someone she could trust, no matter how honorable he might appear. He was, she realized in that moment, as cunning as her father. The realization filled her with a bitter sense of irony: she had given her heart to a man just like the very one she detested more than anything on this earth.
“Marsaili?” Callum asked, and then to her utter shock, his hands were cupping her face. “Are ye hurt, lass?”
She shoved his hands away and turned in the direction she thought Maria was in. She got no more than five steps before Callum grabbed her by the arm and swiveled her toward him. His brother stood just behind him. “Release me!” she demanded of Callum. “Maria was felled. She needs me!”
He released her at once but fell into step beside her with his brother behind them. “Are ye injured?” he asked again.
As she strode through the woods, shoving branches out of the way, she said, “What concern does a liar and a user have of how another fares?” Sweat dampened the hair at the base of her neck, her stomach tightened and roiled, and she realized with frustration that she was waiting, almost hopefully, with bated breath, to hear what he would say.
“None, usually,” he said, answering after a long pause. His voice sounded odd, resigned, she thought with confusion. He inhaled an audibly long breath. “However, guilt of my past actions compels me to now be concerned.”
All the anger and resentment she had stored within her released like a rushing river. “Ye can keep yer guilt. I dunnae need nor want it,” she snapped, while ducking under a low-hanging branch. “What I will take is two daggers for myself and Maria, if ye please, and a bag of coins to travel.”
“Ye kinnae travel without men to guard the two of ye,” Callum said. The unbending tone he used ignited her anger further.
“I can, and I will!” she rebutted. “And if ye will nae give me weapons and coin, then I dunnae have further need to speak with ye.”
“Marsaili,” Callum said, halting her once again by gripping her arm. Exasperation and what almost sounded like a plea was in his voice, “I kinnae allow ye to set out without protection. I dunnae ken how ye came to be at my home and wagered away to a man like Cedric, nor do I ken who the man I killed is and why he was after ye, but ye are in danger when traveling with no companion other than a woman. Ye need an escort to wherever it is ye are going.”
“Release me,” she demanded, frustrated that his touch on her arm stirred feelings of desire that she’d rather forget.
He did so at once, and she slowly turned to him, gasping at how close he was. He must have taken a step toward her without her hearing it. She tried to put distance between them, but the brambles stopped her. She craned her head to look at him, very aware that his presence was every bit as commanding and overwhelming as it had been three years ago when they had first met.
“Quit following me,” she demanded, his answer a snort and his brother’s a snigger. She ground her teeth as she continued to stomp through the forest. Twigs and dry leaves snapped underfoot as she went. After a short bit, she started to worry that she could not actually find her way back to Maria. She stopped and called to her friend, but no response came.
From behind her, Callum said, “I can locate her for ye.”
She absolutely did not wish for his aid, but she did not see another choice. Maria could truly be hurt. “Then get on with it,” she barked, not caring how ungrateful she sounded. The man deserved her ire.
He and his brother moved past her and bent low to the ground. She could not see what they were doing, but she heard them.
“Up ahead,” Callum said.
“Aye. And to the right,” his brother went on.
“Ten paces.”
“Give or take a pace,” Brice replied.
Both men stood and started walking. Marsaili had to triple her strides to keep pace with them. But within a few minutes, they led her to Maria. Marsaili dropped to her knees and gently shook her friend.
“Oh!” Maria moaned. “My head. It feels as if it might split in two.”
Marsaili hovered over Maria and rummaged through her satchel. “Tell me what to give ye.”
“A pinch of the brown leaves,” Maria instructed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where’s Satan’s son?”
“Dead,” Marsaili replied.
“Ye killed the Grant laird?” Maria gasped.
Marsaili winced, and from behind her, she heard Brice chuckle and then say, “Did ye hear that, Brother? They refer to ye as Satan’s son.”
“Callum lives,” Marsaili snapped. “I thought ye were referring to Godfrey. Callum killed him.”
“I presumed ye would manage that,” Maria chided.
“I would have,” Marsaili insisted as she handed Maria the brown leaves from one of her medicine pouches. “But the man jolted when I tried to stab him, and I hit his shoulder instead of his heart. Come on, then. I’ll help ye up.”
“Nay,” Maria replied. “I feel dizzy from the hit to my head. I need to be carried to a bed for sleep.”
“But—”
“I’m happy to oblige.” Brice stepped forward, bent down, and scooped up Maria. Before Marsaili could form a proper protest, he was striding away. She stood and brushed her skirts, aware that Callum was looking at her. She could not see his eyes upon her in the dark, but she could feel his gaze, just as she always had before.
A tingling began in the pit of her stomach, and something intense flared through her. God’s bones, the man was disturbing to her in every way. She hated him, yet it was painfully obvious to her that her attraction to him had not dulled, despite his betrayal. She didn’t want to contemplate what that said about her nature, for she would not give in to such base desire again. She needed—and wanted—to flee him immediately, yet she could not go without Maria, and Maria obviously needed rest. Plus, if it could be managed, it would be wise to gather some provisions for the road, weapons, and coin. She’d not ask him for these things again, as she’d done in the heat of her earlier anger, so she needed to discover a way to get them. First, though, she needed to ascertain if he would be amenable to her and Maria staying at his home for a few days.
She cleared her throat. “It seems Maria and I may need shelter for a few days while she recovers.” She refused to ask, but if he offered…
“Of course,” he said immediately. “I’ll have bedchambers readied for ye.”
“If ye think to make me yer leman—”
“I dunnae,” he said stiffly.
“But ye said—”
“I lied in an effort to release ye from Cedric’s possession without causing strife for my clan.”
She snorted. “I see ye are still an expert liar.”
His answer was stony silence, which for some reason unnerved her more than if he had given a sharp-witted response. “Will nae yer future wife dislike me ensconced in yer home?” she asked, shamefully wishing to needle him.
“She dunnae have cause to worry; therefore, she dunnae have true reason to dislike my sheltering ye and yer friend. I have given my vow to Coira to marry her, and I will nae break it.”
Hurt streaked through Marsaili, which she masked by saying, “As if a given vow makes a difference to ye, ye foul beast. As far as I can perceive, it’s a habit of yers to make vows to women and break them. Did ye nae promise to wed Edina Gordon? Oh wait,” she growled, sensing her anger was getting the better of her but simply not caring. “Ye pledged yerself to three women. I forgot to include myself. Unless Edina died before ye could wed her?” She honestly had not heard a mention of Edina and Callum since the day Helena had told her of their promised union.
When Callum stared at her in unnerving silence, she said in a purposefully sarcastic tone, “I suppose if Edina Gordon died, then the breaking of that particular vow was nae yer fault—well, the marriage part anyway—as ye did break the vow with me. Ye ken, the part that says ye will be true.”
“I ken,” he said, his voice rigid. “I have to wonder”—he sounded almost angry now—“why ye are so vexed with me. One minute ye say ye dunnae need or want my guilt, and the next ye seem angry, as if ye were betrayed by me somehow.”
“I—” She clamped her mouth shut, belatedly wishing she would have kept it closed and controlled her anger. She tried to think quickly of a plausible explanation for her behavior. “I must admit that even though I used and lied to ye at the Gathering, I did nae care to find out ye had done the same to me.”
He frowned. “Ye used me? Ye lied to me? Do ye care to explain?” he asked, his tone full of disbelief.
She shrugged, her stomach dropping to her slippers. “Ye did nae mean a thing to me. Ye were but a game I played to entertain myself. I forgot ye the day ye left.”
“I see,” he said evenly. “Well, ye certainly were an accomplished liar when I met ye at the Gathering, then.”
How dare he act self-righteous! He was the one who had lied, but she supposed he now thought she had lied, as well, which was what she wanted. “Aye,” she drawled, a physical ache rolling through her. “I suppose that’s why we were drawn to each other—one deceiver recognized the other.”
She heard his ragged intake of breath. How strange that it disturbed him so to be called a liar when he had admitted it himself. “I—” He paused for so long that she decided he had changed his mind about finishing his sentence, so she started to walk away.
Suddenly, she found her arm in his grip. He whirled her around to face him before she could protest, and then he pulled her so close that they were merely a hairsbreadth apart. His warm breath fanned her face, and the heat his body radiated enveloped her. “I wish I could I have forgotten ye. Ye have haunted me as a ghost would.”
“A ghost?” she asked, a strange, warm, delicious heat spreading from where his hands now gripped both her arms to her entire body.
“Aye,” he replied, the word a rumble from his chest.
“That is a strange compliment to give. I have nae ever been compared to a ghost. I believe to call me an enchantress would be a much finer compliment.” Her heart beat viciously at his nearness.
“Ye are certainly that,” he bit out, “for I find I still desire ye even now.”
“Desire all ye wish, but ye will nae ever have me.”
“Nay,” he agreed, sounding almost desolate, but that could not be. “I will nae have ye, but, God’s bones…” With that, he pulled her to him and his mouth captured hers in a ravenous kiss that stole her breath.
She could not think beyond her leaping senses. It was as if a part of her that died had just been resurrected against her will. Her heart hammered, and a pulsing knot formed in her stomach as his tongue gently slid into her mouth and his heat invaded her. Her limbs ached to touch him, and she found her fingers suddenly tangled in his thick, wavy hair. His tongue swirled around hers, inviting her to let down her guard, encouraging her to forget. She felt like clay to be molded by only his hands. He left her lips to kiss her neck, her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. His hands cupped her face, uneven breaths flowing over her.
“Mo chridhe,” he whispered.
It was as if she had been dropped into an icy loch where she was pricked with painful reality. With a cry, she shoved away from him, angry at herself for her weakness and angrier still at him.
“Yer heart,” she ground out, pleased her words vibrated with rage. “Dunnae tell me I am yer heart!” She was about to say he did not have one, but she bit down on her treacherous tongue until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She itched to slap him, but she refused to reveal how he had once hurt and humiliated her. Instead, she shoved past him with a growl and marched blindly into the woods, not caring at the moment whether she reached his castle or not.