Chapter Fifteen
Despite the ache in his sore muscles, Calum urged his mount onward through the village with one thought in mind—seeing Arabella.
After their outing in the glade, he’d ridden out the following morn with Liam and a handful of his clansmen, but not before he sent a missive to Fraser demanding his return. How could the old fool have left his niece without a care for her safety? Not that Arabella’s welfare had been in question with his absence. In fact, Calum assigned two of his best men to shadow her every step. Until the matter with Longford was resolved, he would accept no less.
The last three days he’d thrown himself into his work, distributing food, firewood, and supplies to the clan living outside the village. He and his men repaired cottages to withstand the approaching winter and secured the borders, checking for any disturbances. Even as he toiled hard during the long, exhausting days, his mind often drifted to thoughts of Arabella, or rather, his failings where she was concerned.
Too much hung over his head like a dark cloud—his growing desire for the lass, the words he’d left unspoken between them, a missed opportunity to tell her of their upcoming vows, the bride price Fraser bribed him with. Guilt ate at his conscience. Why had he not simply announced his feelings and his intention to wed her?
’Twas cowardice, fear she’d outright spurn him. Especially after she spoke of her desires to choose a husband and wed for love. How, in God’s name, could he tell her of the agreement he’d struck with her uncle? As matters stood, everyone knew of the wedding but her. Thanks to Fraser, a fact Calum was not likely to forget any time soon.
As for the dowry, he wanted naught of it. He would not have Arabella believe he sought her wealth as others had done. Nay, Fraser could keep the land. Calum and his clan had managed this long without it.
He rode through the bailey and into the stables. The sight of Fraser settling his horse in a stall grabbed his attention, and his anger rose in a swift peak. Days had passed, and the man just now returned?
Calum barked out, “Where’ve you been?”
Fraser ignored his question and retreated from the enclosure without a backward glance.
Not easily hindered, he threw a leg over his stallion and dismounted. Rushing after the other man, he grabbed the man’s shoulder, but Fraser lurched from his hold. He spun around to face Calum with a fierce scowl plastered across his ruddy features.
The stench of soured whisky assailed Calum’s nostrils. For as long as he remembered, his ally had sworn off drink. At present, the man smelled as if he’d swam in a dram of it.
He frowned. “What the devil’s the matter with you?”
“Leave me be,” Fraser muttered. His bloodshot eyes stared over Calum’s shoulder.
“Leave you be?” he asked in affronted surprise. “You take your leave without a word—”
“I said leave me be.” Fraser slurred and feebly pushed at his chest.
His temper riled, Calum struck back, shoving him in return. Unsteady on his feet, the older man staggered a few steps and fell backward, landing on his backside. Calum glared down at the pitiful mess of a man at his feet—the same man he owed his life.
“I damned well will not let you be, you stubborn arse. And what of your niece? Did you give any thought to her welfare before you crawled into the bottom of a barrel?” He shook his head. “Look, I do not know what’s going on with you and my aunt. Frankly, I do not care. But have a care for Arabella, will you?”
He offered his hand, but Fraser knocked it away and managed to stand on his own.
“To hell with Elena.” He waved his hand. “As for Arabella…she’s no longer my concern.”
Calum blinked at the careless words, stunned by Fraser’s indifference. Not a fortnight before, the man would’ve invaded England to see his beloved niece freed. Sure, he was crude, spoke his mind, and cared for little else other than those closest to him, but he’d never behaved in such a shameful manner.
Their gazes met and Fraser curled his lip. “Have you told my niece of the wedding yet?”
Unwilling to admit the truth, Calum narrowed his eyes.
Fraser sneered. “’Tis as I thought. What’re you waiting for? To plant a bairn in her belly first?”
The insult caught Calum unaware, allowing Fraser a chance to push around him. The man knocked into Calum’s shoulder as he stormed from the stables.
Christ’s bones, he should’ve rushed after Fraser and rebuked him for disparaging Arabella in such a manner. Instead, he scrubbed a hand over his scruffy face, at his wit’s end with the infuriating mess. Did he not have enough to worry over without this trouble with Fraser, too?
He grabbed his saddlebag, tossed the sack over his shoulder, and started from the stables. He’d sort out the matter with Fraser later. For now, a dip in the loch would cool his temper. Especially before he set eyes on Arabella once more.
Once he reached the loch on the edge of the forest, he pulled off his soiled clothing, grabbed a cake of soap from his bag, and eased into the chilled water. He ran the soap over his body, scrubbing away the sweat, dust, and grime from his labors. Dunking his head beneath the surface, he welcomed the initial sting of the frigid water.
As the sun gave way to the moon, he waded onshore and redressed in fresh clothes from his pack. Finished with the chore, he gathered his belongings but paused a moment to stare into the darkening forest just beyond the loch.
The time for stalling was over. This eve, he’d tell Arabella of their upcoming wedding and hope for the best. ’Twas little else to do but hope.
Inside the keep, he passed off his saddlebag to a servant and strode into the great hall. Several head nods, raised hands, and words of greeting from the clan met his entrance. Of course, his step faltered when he caught sight of Fraser, slouched at the high table with a tankard of ale in his hand and his face set with a deep scowl.
Clenching his teeth, Calum proceeded to his usual seat at the center of the high table. He waved over a servant to fill his goblet with ale. Given his frayed wits, the brew would calm his burgeoning temper.
More of the clan filed into the hall for the eve’s meal—save Elena and Arabella. Though his cousin and sister heeded the open hostility between him and Fraser, the pair wisely chose the safety of silence. In fact, most of the hall sensed the tension rife in the air and spoke in hushed tones or murmurs.
As he sipped his ale, his gaze swept over the chamber and, to his annoyance, landed on the dour laird seated three trenchers to his right. Saints help him. He’d had enough.
“If my hall displeases you so, you’re free to take your leave.”
Fraser slammed his tankard on the table, rattling trenchers and drawing the uneasy stares of clan members. Gripping the chair arms, Calum sat forward and opened his mouth to reprimand the man, but a shuffle of feet at the hall entrance gained his attention. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Arabella, comely as ever.
A frown marred her features. She worried her bottom lip and glanced around the quiet chamber. He rose from his chair and the legs scraped over the stone floor, drawing her gaze. Once their eyes met, she rushed toward him without hesitation. As he settled her beside him, he allowed his hand to linger on her arm. The heat of her skin beneath her sleeve warmed his fingertips.
Long moments lapsed before Arabella broke through the wall of tension. With a shy smile, she peered from him to her uncle. “I’m pleased you both have returned.”
Fraser dipped his head but remained quiet.
Though Calum did not speak, he reached beneath the table and grasped her hand. For days, he’d craved her touch. For now, this small concession would have to do.
Aside from the clatter of trenchers and hushed babble, much of the meal passed in relative silence. ’Twas apparent everyone in the hall guarded the mounting enmity between Fraser and Calum.
“Please, excuse me,”—Arabella disentangled their hands and stood—“I wish to retire for the eve.”
Left to grasp naught but air, Calum lifted his goblet to keep from reaching for her. Inwardly, he cursed himself for letting another opportunity slip through his fingers.
When she drew near the entrance, Fraser clumsily rose from his chair and beckoned after her. “Wait, girl.”
The hair at Calum’s neck stood on end. A sick foreboding swept down his spine to settle in his gut. He swallowed against the lump suddenly lodged in his throat.
Arabella paused and turned to her uncle. A questioning look creased her features.
Despite the swift thump in his neck, time slowed as Fraser lifted his tankard and swung to face him.
“Allow me to be the first to offer a toast on your choice of bride, MacGregor. ’Tis far past time you’ve chosen a wife.”
Calum heard her faint gasp over the ringing in his ears, and his heart dove to the floor beneath his seat. His gaze flew to her wide, green eyes. He leaped to his feet. “Arabella.”
She spun on her heel and fled the hall.
Fury burned in his blood. He sprang to his right and clouted Fraser soundly in the jaw, knocking the arse off his feet. Heedless of the startled stares of his clan and the cursing old fool laid out amongst the rushes, Calum rounded the table and quit the hall in search of Arabella.
He rushed outside the keep’s opened front doors and lifted his chin at a one of the guards posted. “Which way did the lass go?”
The guard tipped his head. “The stables, Laird.”
Alarmed, Calum took off at a run. Saints, he had to find her before she saddled her horse and bolted to God only knew where.
Fortunately, he found her alone inside, leaned against her mount’s stall. She buried her face in the crook of her arm while she stroked her gelding’s muzzle. The beast nudged her shoulder, blowing strands of red hair with each breath. Her muffled sobs tore at Calum.
Moving closer, he reached for her, but she shook off his grasp and that infernal beast of hers tried to bite him. Another time, he might’ve applauded the animal’s protection of his mistress. In his current mood, not so much. He glared at the gelding and reached for her once more.
“Leave me alone,” she croaked, swiping at the tears in her eyes.
“We must talk.” Calum grabbed her hand, but she wrenched free and spun to face him.
“Were you ever going to tell me you’d chosen a wife?”
“Arabella—”
“You made me believe that you…” She shook her head. “Saints, I’ve been such a fool.”
Christ, he should’ve told her sooner and spared her the anguish. “I’m not.”
“You’re not what?” she shouted.
He swallowed. “Wedding another.” Why the blasted hell could he not just say it?
Her brilliant eyes hurled daggers at him. “My uncle just said so.”
Damnation. ’Twas not how he wished to bear the news. At a loss, he lifted a hand to rub the tingling at the base of his neck. Finally, he simply blurted the truth. “’Tis you. You’re the wife I’ve chosen.”
She stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “W-what do you mean?”
Calum blew out a breath. “I agreed to wed you on our return from England.”
Arabella blinked at the information and her brows furrowed, a frown tugging at her lips.
He explained. “After Iain’s death and the trouble with Longford, your uncle worried you were in need of a protector. Fraser approached me with the match before I left for England, and I accepted once we returned.” He paused, then warily added, “Whether you wish it or not, you do need a protector, Arabella.”
Her mouth flapped open and closed thrice before snapping shut. Scorn twisted her features and darkened her cheeks.
Christ, no wonder he’d put this off. Flaming furious, that’s what the devil she was.
“’Tis not your choice, nor my uncle’s. ’Tis mine. My choice. I will decide what man I wed. And I can assure you, I’m in no need of a protector, least of all, one such as you!”
She stomped past him and he snagged her around the waist before she had a chance to flee. The enraged woman kicked and twisted in his arms, but he grabbed her hands and tugged them across her chest. He yanked her back to rest against his frame, unwilling to let her go. At least until he offered a proper explanation.
Once she winded herself, he leaned down to speak near her ear. “Be quiet and listen, will you?”
Arabella yanked her head forward and jerked back, whacking him in the collarbone with the base of her skill.
“Oww! God’s blood, stop!”
“Let me go.” The vulnerability in her tone nearly cleaved him in two.
“Do you not understand yet?” Calum held her tighter. “I cannot. I will not let you go.”
His words had the desired effect and she slumped against him. The beat of her heart pounded beneath his palm. He dropped his mouth to the delicate curve of her neck. The bare scent of roses tickled his nose.
“Do you truthfully believe I would force you to wed me?” He eased his hold and lowered his hand to her belly. “I did not accept Fraser’s arrangement out of duty. I was not being noble. I did not do it for him, or you. I did it for me, Arabella. I agreed to take you for my bride because I want you. More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.” Tracing his lips over the column of her throat, he admitted, “Truth is, I’d hoped…you might come to…want me.”
Arabella turned in his arms and luminous pools of green gazed up at him. He swiped the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks, removing the evidence of her tears.
“’Twas not my intention to cause you such distress. Please, do not cry anymore, Sweetness.”
Her arms slipped around his waist and she laid her head on his chest. She mumbled, “I know not what to believe anymore.”
Calum cupped the back of her head and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Believe this—I want you, Arabella—by my side, in my bed, for the rest of our lives. Say you’ll be my wife.”
Worrying her bottom lip, she pulled back to stare at him, her measured gaze weighing his words. She yielded with a faint nod, but ’twas not enough.
He framed her face in his hands. “Speak the word. I need to hear you say it.”
“Aye.”
Sheer relief crashed into Calum. He’d never imagined a single word might be his undoing, but his weak knees bore testament. Gripping the back of her neck, he pulled her closer and latched on to her mouth. He thrust his tongue past her parted lips, teasing with bold strokes. Her muffled whimper stirred a flood of white-hot lust. Overcome with desire, he guided her backward to lean against the stable wall.
As he ravished her mouth, he eased a hand around to the soft curve of her belly. Beneath her gown, her stomach quivered under his fingertips. With deliberate leisure, he slid his hand up her waist to the underside of her breast and swept his thumb over one stiff peak.
Arabella tore her mouth free with a gasp, wrapping her hand around his wrist. When he thought she might pull away from him, she pressed the plump globe into his palm, urging him to touch her.
Emboldened by her response, he worked fast to loosen the lacings of her dress. While he nipped at her lips, he pushed the gown and chemise down over her shoulder and arm to expose a pale, rounded breast. Desperate for a taste, he leaned forward to catch one rosy bud.
Smooth, creamy flesh filled his mouth. His tongue circled over the hardened tip and laved at her breast. She moaned low in her throat and dug her fingers into his shoulders, feeding his hunger. Writhing against him, she raked her nails from his neck to his scalp and gripped his shorn hair in her hands. The action sent a trail of fire rippling to his groin.
Saints, he burned for more—for everything.
Releasing her breast, he moved his hand to the curve of her hip and tugged up her skirts. Her warm breath puffed against his neck, drawing a shiver from him. Slowly, he traced his fingers up her legs to the junction between her thighs until he found the soft curls shielding her center. Panting, she arched against him, her nails scoring his flesh.
Through the mist of desire, he attempted to steady his breathing, but Arabella drove him wild. His lass was molten fire in his hands, and the last of his control splintered in two.
To hell with waiting any longer. His lust-addled brain could not bear the torture, nor could his aching member.
Trailing kisses up her neck to her ear, he slipped his fingers through her slick folds, preparing her to accept him. A cry tore from her throat and he fumbled with the laces of his braies, impatient to bury himself deep inside her.
“Laird! Have you found Lady Arabella?”
His commander’s shout cut through the sensual fog and Calum froze, ceasing to draw breath for a few rattled moments.
Annoyed with himself, he banged his forehead against the wall. Like a callow youth with his first lass, he’d nearly taken her against the damned planks of timber, right then and there. Arabella deserved better than a quick tumble in the stables.
Outside, muffled voices sounded and his frantic heart leaped in his chest.
In a mad rush, he withdrew his hand from the temptation between her thighs and set their clothing to rights. Her wide, glazed eyes darted to his, and he planted a quick kiss on her swollen lips.
“’Tis fine. No cause to worry.” With an arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward the front of the stables. “Come along, Sweetness.”
And none too soon since Mairi, Liam, and Marcus met them just outside the doors.
His sister frowned at the two of them. “Is everything all right?”
Clasping Arabella’s hand, Calum nodded. “Aye, Arabella’s agreed to become my wife.”
“Holy Mother, ’tis about time,” Mairi exclaimed.
Liam’s gaze swept over Arabella, from head to toe, no doubt noting her disheveled appearance. He arched a brow at Calum. “I assume this’ll be a quick affair.”