Chapter Seven
Arabella paused on the edge of the clearing and studied the Highlanders settled around the campfire. They appeared calm and relaxed but, without a doubt, they would draw their swords at a moment’s notice. Most women of her station would balk at the notion of traveling in such company without a lady’s maid, but these warriors had been naught but kind to her. She feared not for her virtue or, more importantly, her life. The same could not be said of her last days at Penswyck.
She fixed her attention on Calum, who stared at the flames in front of him as if he had not a care in the world, but she knew better. He waited for her.
Though she had no liking for the task ahead, he’d asked for her tale and so he would have it. Gathering her courage, she paced closer to the glow of the fire, rustling fallen leaves beneath her feet. Despite the fading dusk, Calum locked his gaze on her, and a tight knot formed in her chest.
She eased down onto a fur he’d spread on the cold earth beside him. The fare Gregor cooked wafted through the air, drawing a rumble from her empty stomach. The crackle of burning wood and the chilly breeze stirring the leaves overhead filled the silence. Firelight threw shadows of the men against surrounding trees as the last sliver of daylight retreated below the horizon. Her gaze moved from man to man, taking in their solemn faces.
For the past fortnight, she struggled with her grief and heartache, choosing to bury her sorrow until she reached safety. Crumbling into a sobbing heap would not have gotten her down that wretched castle wall, much less out of England. She did not wish to speak of what occurred for fear of subjecting herself to a flood of anguish, but Calum and his men deserved to know the truth. Even if she was in some part to blame for Iain’s death.
Arabella inhaled a deep breath of cool air, allowing the chill to settle in her lungs. She glanced at Calum. “I shall tell you what you wish to know.”
Nodding, he plucked a tree limb from the ground and poked at the fire. All of the men averted their gazes from her. Without the weight of their stares, she relaxed enough to begin her tale.
“Geoffrey Longford is the man responsible for Iain’s death and the capture of Penswyck.”
“Iain’s dead?” Liam’s stunned exclamation rent the air.
Calum held up a hand. “Let her speak.”
“Why did you not tell me?” Liam demanded.
“I said, let her speak.” Across the campfire, Calum pinned his cousin with an immovable stare. “We’ll discuss it later.”
An unreadable look passed between the pair before Liam muttered beneath his breath and slid his gaze to the dark forest. From his shaken response, he must’ve counted Iain as a friend as well, which did not surprise Arabella.
With such an affable nature, many counted her brother a close friend. As a young girl, she’d envied Iain’s wit, charm, and the ease with which he made acquaintances. Because of her quiet temperament and propensity toward mischief, she often found herself alone. Though, Iain had always been there for her.
When Iain presented her at Court a few years past, the dreadful affair made her head spin. The latest fashions, childish games, or any other silly pursuits of noble young ladies held little interest for her. Mercifully, her brother understood her plight and never forced her to attend Court again. Instead, she spent her days trailing after him and Dougal, learning of bows, horses, and the inner workings of Penswyck. Was it any wonder she had few friends?
“How do you know he’s Iain’s murderer?” Calum’s quiet-spoken question dragged her from her idle thoughts.
“Talbot, one of my brother’s soldiers. You see, Iain left a sennight before with Longford on an errand for the king. Talbot said they were ambushed along the way. In the midst of battle, Longford and his men suddenly joined the enemy and attacked Iain. Talbot bore witness as Longford drove a sword into Iain’s back. Somehow, despite a gaping chest wound, the soldier survived the journey to Penswyck to warn me of Longford. By then, ’twas too late. Longford’s men overran the castle two days later.”
“If this man, Talbot, witnessed the foul deed, then surely you could approach your king with the truth and reclaim your family’s lands,” Liam proposed.
Arabella shook her head. “Talbot barely escaped with his life, then spent two days racing to Penswyck to warn me. By the time he arrived, his wounds had festered.” She cleared the lump from her throat. “He passed the following morning.”
A tug on her tunic sleeve pulled her from her tale. She glanced down to see a large hand holding out a skin of water beside her. She accepted Calum’s offering and stole a peek at him. His face gave naught away as he continued to stare into the flames.
Symon spoke up. “Why would Longford kill your brother?”
“Greed. He coveted Iain’s fortune and lands.” After a drink of cool water, she hesitated before softly mumbling, “I should’ve just wed Longford.”
“What?” Calum’s surprised bellow boomed in her ear. “Why would you wish to marry the arse?”
Scowling, she met his furious stare. “I have no wish to but if I’d simply accepted his suit, then Iain would still live and I would not be sitting here now.”
He lifted a cynical brow. “Do you honestly believe that?”
“’Tis true,” she insisted. “When Longford approached my brother with the match, I begged Iain not to allow it. I did not trust Longford. Something about him…frightened me. As soon as I told Iain how I felt, he denied Longford’s suit without a second thought.” A smile tugged her lips, remembering her brother’s kindness and understanding. “Iain allowed me certain liberties. Choosing the man I wed was one of them.”
The men said naught but Gregor frowned, no doubt surprised by the notion.
Few women had a say in matters of marriage, but Iain had left the choice to her. She counted herself fortunate to have had such a loving brother. He’d wished for her to secure a suitable match, filled with love and happiness, much like their mother and father. If only she’d realized then the foolish pursuit of love would cost her Iain’s life.
“Afterward, Longford took his complaint before the king. By chance, Iain had the king’s ear and once he explained his reasons for denying the match, the king did so as well. But I knew it would not end there.”
“Why did he frighten you?” Liam spoke up.
The question caught her off guard and she frowned. “What?”
“You said Longford frightened you. Why?”
From the moment Iain introduced Geoffrey Longford, an unsettled feeling took up residence in the pit of her stomach. “I-I cannot explain it well. But far too many times, he watched me a bit too close. Sought out ways to get me alone.” She set the water skin aside to keep from wringing the material. “My maid, Maggie, never left my side when he visited Penswyck.”
Arabella barely suppressed a shiver as she thought of the times Longford found any excuse to touch her—his hand on hers, a grasp of her arm, a brush of their shoulders. His subtle overtures had grown bolder and more frequent toward the end.
Heated skin covered her cold, trembling fingers, and she recoiled from the contact at first. Calum’s strong, callused hand settled over both of hers and squeezed.
“Did he—”
“Nay!” she blurted, her cheeks warming from the insinuation.
A collective sigh sounded around the fire, and Arabella fought the instinct to hide her hot face. The men’s evident relief encouraged her but did little to ease her discomfiture. She peeked at Calum and met his soft, blue eyes. A measure of comfort washed over her at the understanding in his gaze.
“Please continue, Arabella.” The calm tone of his voice settled in her ears, adding another degree of solace. She slid her hands from his and released a shaky sigh, then began once more.
“I told Iain of my mistrust of Longford. Not long after the king denied Longford, my brother severed his acquaintance with the man. Several fortnights passed and I foolishly thought the matter was over. But then Iain received a request of aid from the king. ’Twas meant to be a simple errand, but the task required a substantial force of Iain’s men. Even though he feared his absence would leave Penswyck vulnerable, he could not refuse his sworn duty to the king.”
“To hell with your king. Family comes first.”
Arabella glanced up to the owner of the incensed voice. Gregor scowled at the pot of fare he stirred over the flames.
’Twas not such a simple matter. Ignoring the comment, she continued. “For days, I awaited Iain’s return, but then Talbot staggered through the front gates. That’s when I learned Iain traveled with Longford.” She frowned and pulled at the hem of her sleeve. “He kept the knowledge from me. He must’ve known I would’ve pleaded with him not to go.” She released a deep sigh. “Two days after Talbot arrived, Longford’s soldiers swarmed the castle. Our men were outnumbered. I had no choice but to surrender to Longford’s men. If not, they would’ve spilled innocent blood. I could not allow that to happen.”
She snatched up the water skin and gulped a mouthful. The chilled liquid scarcely cooled the furious burn inside her. “One of his men produced a missive carrying the royal seal. The king appointed Longford as temporary Lord of Penswyck and my guardian. ’Twas simple to guess Longford’s aim. He sought to inherit Penswyck through marriage.”
Liam asked, “Did the king not suspect something was amiss with Iain’s death?”
Arabella passed Calum the skin of water before she hurled it across camp. “Who knows what tale Longford gave the king. He knows naught but lies and deceit.” She clenched her hands into tight balls. “I refused to wed the man who murdered Iain, so I fled Penswyck.”
“And then we happened upon you.” Liam snorted. “You know, ’tis much easier to use the front doors than a blasted chamber window, you daft lass?”
She glared at the man. “’Tis not as if I had a choice. There were guards posted outside my door.” She shook her head and stared at the glowing embers of the fire. “Truth be told, I would not have made it without Maggie and her husband, Dougal. I begged the pair to come with me, but they did not wish to slow me down. Dougal swore he’d leave with Maggie before Longford arrived, but what if he caught them?” She pinched the bridge of her nose against the burn of tears in her eyes. “What if I never see them again?”
Regret swelled in her chest and a sharp twinge pierced her heart at the thought of everything she’d lost. With a defeated sigh, she murmured, “I’m as much to blame as Longford. Had I just wed him when he asked Iain, then none of this would’ve happened.”
A firm hand beneath her chin forced her gaze up. Firelight shone on Calum’s glittering eyes and the angry wound marring the left half of his visage.
“Enough. You’ll stop blaming yourself right now. Do you understand?”
When she did not respond soon enough for him, he leaned closer, his face scant inches from hers. “Do you?”
She managed a slight nod. “Aye, Calum.”
“Good.” His thumb brushed over her skin. “I can assure you, you’ll not be marrying Longford. He’s a dead man, Arabella. That, I vow to you.”
The determined gleam in his eyes took her breath away. She was uncertain if his stalwart proclamation should trouble or flatter her. When he released her chin, she folded her arms across her middle and hunched over to stare at the fire.
For the moment, the uncertainty of her future frightened her worse than Geoffrey Longford ever would. Her mind spun in several directions, none of which made a bit of sense. What was she to do? Survive off her uncle’s charity for the remainder of her days?
“You know…you should find yourself a strong, sure Highlander to wed,” Liam suggested, as if he plucked the dismal thoughts from his head.
Wed? Saints alive, had she not escaped one unwanted marriage by a hairsbreadth?
“Aye.” Symon nodded. “You’d be well protected, my lady.”
Besides, even if she wished to secure a match, ’twas no longer possible. She sighed. “My home…everything, including my dowry, is gone, Liam.”
He shrugged. “There are some who marry for love.”
Arabella nearly rolled her eyes at the foolish statement. Any who’d sought her hand in the past hoped to gain far more than a wife from the match. Land, wealth, status—’twas what any suitor sought of her. Not one had truly cared for her, or even truly known her. Iain had taken careful measures to safeguard her from the mercenary pursuits of other men, but to no avail. ’Twas not enough to save them both from Geoffrey Longford.
Strong arms scooped her up from the furs, and Arabella almost jumped out of her skin. Calum tightened his hold and spoke softly. “I’ll carry you to the loch to wash your face.”
Frowning, she pressed a hand to her cheek, surprised to find her skin damp with tears. Snapping her eyes shut, she sucked in a deep breath to gather her waning composure. Trouble was, she hovered on the brink of splintering apart.
“You can cry…if you wish.”
Despite the sadness overwhelming her, a smile tugged at her lips. As he carried her through the wood, she laid her head on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his skin. She could not say what set this man apart from others, but the feel of his arms around her felt natural, comforting, safe—as if she’d known him her entire life.
Near the water’s edge, Calum awkwardly knelt on one knee and settled her atop the other. She gripped his shoulders for balance, while he leaned forward and dipped a corner of his mantle in the frigid water. In the same manner one might soothe a child, he wiped the coarse fabric over her face, washing away her tears. His cool gaze appraised every inch of her features. With furrowed brows, he paused his ministrations, resting the damp material against her cheek.
“I do not like seeing you upset.” He spoke the gruff words as if they were ripped from him.
Uncertain how to reply, she blurted the first thing to spring to mind when she found her voice. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
Calum chucked the cloth from his hand and cupped her face in his callused palm. Warmth seeped into her cold cheek.
“Understand this now, Arabella,” he demanded. “You’re not troubling me, nor are you to blame for any of this. Get that through your head. You’re entitled to your despair, but stop wallowing in guilt for the actions of another. What would your brother say if he knew you were behaving in such a manner?”
Hot tears ran from her eyes, clouding the stern lines of his visage. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He would tell me to stop being daft.”
“Aye, he would.” Calum brushed his thumb beneath her eye, swiping away tears. “So…stop being daft.”
Laughter burst from her throat, but soon turned to broken sobs. He tugged her closer into the shelter of his body and tucked her head beneath his chin.
“’Tis all right to weep.” With a soft touch, he stroked his big hand over her hair. “You’ll always be safe with me, lass.”
His kind words breached the invisible wall Arabella had built around her grief and sorrow. Feelings she held at bay surged forward and pushed through the fractures, releasing a flood of heartache and sadness. Her tears flowed unchecked as she allowed her despair free rein at last. She wept for what she’d lost—her brother, their home and, with it, the last ties to their mother and father. She wept for Maggie and Dougal, and even for the regret and guilt she might always harbor, deep in her heart. Through the battering storm, Calum held fast, his sturdy arms encircling her, bestowing a depth of comfort she likely did not deserve, but she clung to him all the same.
When the tide ebbed and her tears ran dry, she rested her forehead against the warmth of his neck. His hand continued an idle sweep from the crown of her hair to the small of her back. Oddly, the feel of his bare skin, coupled with the light touch, calmed her distress and stirred entirely new, different feelings within her.
With a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her head up and washed the tears from her face once more. Moonlight shone on his harsh face while he pressed the damp fabric to her hot cheeks.
Unable to glance away, she studied the lines of his countenance. His broad forehead led to a long, straight nose with a slight bend at the bridge. Midnight whiskers covered the firm square of his jaw. And those entrancing eyes, framed with sooty lashes, remained unblinking while she boldly took in every aspect of his features.
Arabella raised her hand and ran her fingers over the raised, marked skin near the left of his temple. He inhaled sharply, but allowed her hand to travel down the old wound, through his whiskers, down to his parted mouth. She brushed a fingertip along his full bottom lip.
“Thank you, Calum.”
An odd look she could not name glimmered in his eyes. For one small instant, she imagined he might lean the short distance between them and kiss her. Instead, he heaved a deep breath, bathing her finger in warmth, and then glanced toward the loch, away from her.
“The hour grows late,” he muttered. “We should return to camp.”
Shamed by her wantonness and stung by his rejection, she dropped her hand and blood rushed to her cheeks, heating her face to the roots of her hair. He must think her no better than a whore. As he rose to his feet and carried her through the surrounding wood, she fought the instinct to bury her face in her hands.
Calum strode into the clearing and headed for a tree on the edge of camp. Holding her in his arms, he lowered them to the ground. She tried to rise from his lap, but his grip tightened around her middle. Grabbing the furs beside him, he leaned back against the base of the tree and tucked the blankets around them. With a gentle press, he pushed her head down on his chest.
“Go to sleep.”
His deep voice rumbled beneath her ear. She lifted her head to argue, but he pressed her head down again.
“Sleep, Arabella.”
Weary from her bout of tears, she surrendered to his command and found a more comfortable position against him. Surrounded in warmth, she rested her cheek over his beating heart. Soon, the steady thump lulled her toward sleep. One final thought lingered in her mind—kissing Calum MacGregor.