Chapter Eight
Calum’s eyes snapped open as an eerie sense of warning nudged him from sleep. The hair along his nape stood on end and his heart sped to a restless beat. He’d learned long ago to heed his God-given instincts and, at the moment, they bellowed at him to take action.
His gaze darted over the camp before coming to rest on the woman in his lap, who laid in a deep slumber. With care, he unwrapped her arms from his middle and lifted Arabella away, settling her against the tree beside him. Rising to his feet, he gave her one last lingering look, then strode to the middle of camp and let loose a shrill whistle.
Whether packing for the day’s journey or lost in slumber, each of his warriors snapped to attention, responding to his call to arms. Before he managed to speak a word of warning, his man, Anthony, hastened through the wood from the main thoroughfare.
Between panting breaths, the lad managed to speak between his gasps. “Laird, men approach.”
Calum raked a hand over his head. “So they’ve found us?”
Anthony answered with a grim nod.
Damn, how could he have allowed this to happen? He should’ve pushed them to ride through the night. At least until they reached Scots territory. Little good it did them now.
“How many?”
Liam, Symon, and Gregor huddled closer around Anthony, awaiting his words.
Anthony waved a hand southward. “At least two score. Most on foot. English soldiers, Laird.”
No doubt they’d come for Arabella. Why else would an ample force of English soldiers stray so far north near the Scots border?
“How close?”
“Too close. We cannot outrun them…not with the woman.”
Several choice curses flew from Calum’s mouth. He nodded at Anthony and motioned for his men to prepare for battle. Out of options, they would meet their enemy head on. He and his clansmen had faced far worse odds and met with success. Now should be no different.
Determined, he barked out a string of orders to his men, who jumped to do his bidding. He sent four warriors, a pair east and west, to double back and pick up the rear after their enemy entered the clearing. A quick glimpse in Arabella’s direction prompted his heart to pick up pace. Another round of curses fell from his lips.
Christ’s bones, what the devil was he supposed to do with her? How was he to keep her safe in the midst of a small-scale skirmish?
Calum paced the camp, searching for any place to stow her out of harm’s way. His gaze swept over the encampment twice before landing on her gelding. The beast pawed the earth and tossed his mane as though sensing the imminent danger. As he watched the restless animal, an idea took root in his mind.
“Gregor, bring Arabella’s horse.”
His clansman cast him a dubious stare, but hastened to retrieve the beast.
Calum hurried to Arabella and knelt in front of her. He shook her shoulders until her bleary eyes snapped open.
“I need you to listen closely. Company’s headed our way. ’Tis not the time to argue. Just do as I say.” When she merely blinked at him, he tightened his grip on her shoulders. “’Tis urgent. Do you understand?”
She hurriedly nodded. “Company?”
“English soldiers. More than a few.”
Dread pulled at her features. “You think—”
“Aye, we must keep you safe.”
“Let me grab my bow. I can help.” She attempted to scramble up onto unsteady legs, but he held her firm.
Had sleep addled her brain? The daft woman.
“You’ll do as I say.” He swept away the furs and helped her to rise. “Take your mount and go to the loch. Should something happen, you ride north. Do not stop. Ride until you reach Fraser. Understand?”
It took everything in him to not kiss the pout from her lips. Gregor rushed forward and handed over her gelding’s reins. Calum hoisted her into the saddle and then passed her the leather straps. Before he stepped away, she reached a hand toward him.
“Be careful.”
A burst of warmth filled his chest. The soft words bolstered his confidence. He clasped her hand and squeezed. “All will be well.”
He smiled as she urged her mount toward for the loch. For once, the woman followed his orders without complaint.
Not wasting another moment, he hastened across the clearing to Liam. “You and Symon stay with Arabella at the loch.”
“What? Are you mad? We’re already outnumbered,” his cousin protested. “We’re needed here.”
“What I need is the two of you protecting her, at all costs. If something happens to me, make sure she gets to Fraser’s.”
Unwilling to listen to any more of Liam’s arguments, he sprinted to his horse at the edge of camp and grabbed his sword from the scabbard alongside his saddle. With the cold steel gripped in his hand, he joined his warriors assembled in the middle of the encampment. A short time later, the sounds of rattling chainmail and clinking shields broke through the forest, drawing closer.
“Ready yourself, men. Our enemy has arrived.”
The noisy rabble of English soldiers approached on foot. If their attempt at stealth was an indication of their skill with a blade, then Calum and his men had few worries. Shrugging away his disgust at the enemy’s lack of training, he braced his feet apart and raised his sword, waiting for the first man daft enough to tread too close.
*
Clangs of steel rang out through the wood, increasing Arabella’s distress. She reached for her mother’s dagger in the saddlebag along Devlin’s hip, and then tucked the blade into a sheath on her belt. She willed her hands to cease shaking but met with little success. The crunch and snap of undergrowth to the right of her set Arabella on edge. She gripped Devlin’s reins in a white-knuckled grasp, ready to spur the animal into a run. As soon as Liam and Symon pushed past the low-lying tree branches, she blew out a sigh of relief.
She frowned at the pair. “You should be helping the others.”
“Tell that to Calum,” Symon grunted.
“He sent you to guard me?” Twin glares answered her question. “’Tis madness. You’re needed with your clansmen. Not here with me.”
Liam cast her a wry glance. “Excellent suggestion, my lady.”
“Go. Help them,” she urged. “I’ll keep my distance. I know how to handle a bow.”
Snorting, Liam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft, woman.”
Arabella quelled the impulse to draw her bow and prove the stubborn arse wrong. Rather than give in to her temper, she swallowed the rebuke on the tip of her tongue and attempted a different approach. “Please, Liam. I could not help Iain when he needed me most. If Calum is hurt or worse…I cannot have that on my conscience, too.”
“You’d rather your death be on his?” Liam countered.
“Please.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “I beg you, Liam. Let me help.”
For long moments, he stared at her through a set of narrowed eyes, while the sounds of warfare bounced off the surrounding trees. At last, he ground out a sound of annoyance. “All right.”
Symon cuffed him on the arm. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
With the point of his sword, Liam motioned toward the camp. “We’re needed there, guarding our clansmen’s backs.”
“Fine.” Symon threw up his hands in frustration. “You deal with your cousin then. I take no responsibility for this.”
Sword grasped in his hand, he shoved past Liam and stalked toward the clearing without a backward glance.
Liam turned on her in a flash. A menacing weight glittered in his dark blue eyes. Any trace of the grinning man she’d first met was absent, replaced by a resolute, hardened warrior.
“By the blood of Christ, do not make me regret this. You stay the hell back. At the first sign of trouble, you better ride north like the devil’s chasing you, woman.”
His warning delivered, Liam swung around and trudged after Symon.
Arabella nudged Devlin forward, trailing after them. Once they reached camp, Liam held up his arm for her to halt. At once, she took in the full scene in front of her.
Battle had broken out in their small encampment. The early morning light gleamed on hard steel as men swung their weapons. Shouts and peals of metal rang in her ears. Despite the chaos, she skimmed over the throng of men until she found Calum deep in the midst of the fighting. Arabella’s breath caught in her throat.
Blood stained his hands and leine, while his thick muscles stretched taut with each swing of his blade. Hair clung to his damp head, and those frosty blue eyes of his blazed like a beacon in a raging storm. He cut down one enemy, then charged ahead to meet the next. The man resembled an avenging Celtic god of lore, sprung from the very ground beneath his feet.
Snapping her gaping mouth shut, she peered at one of the enemy, inspecting the coat of arms on their tabards. A rush of anger pushed through her limbs. Just as Calum suspected, Longford’s men. Why send soldiers after her? Had he not already taken almost everything from her? Only one thing remained—her freedom—and she refused to forfeit it to Longford.
Enraged, she bent to retrieve her bow from the side of her saddle. Untying the quiver along Devlin’s shoulder, she grabbed an arrow and nocked the smooth wood in her bow. With a draw of her arm, she lined up her shot, locked her sights on her first target, and then released.
The arrow found its home in the middle of one of the enemy’s back. The Englishman fell to his knees, struggling to reach the wooden shaft. The Highlander he fought turned his wide-eyed gaze on her. A huge grin split his face and he nodded his approval before jumping back into the fray with his clansmen.
For a moment, Arabella stared at the fallen soldier. Her trembling hands clenched tight around her bow. The unsettling truth that she’d taken another’s life with such ease stabbed at her conscience. Mercifully, her brother’s words from one of their training sessions sifted to the forefront of her stuttering mind.
“In matters of life and death, your sole duty is to survive. ’Tis no time for doubt.”
She exhaled a shaky breath and recited Iain’s words over and over in her head. Once the trembling in her arms lessened, she reached for another arrow. Fitting the wood into its notch, she raised her arms. The soft fletching tickled her cheek as she waited for a clear shot. At the sight of an enemy advancing on Calum’s unguarded back, she released without a moment’s delay. With a faint whistle, the wooden shaft pierced the soldier’s throat just as Calum spun to face the threat.
Shock flared in his wide eyes before his gaze locked on her. Blistering fury swirled in his firm stare. The thunderous look he pinned her with promised he’d deal with her later. Tossing his head back, he released a loud bellow over the sounds of clanging steel and shouts.
Not in the least bothered by his display of temper, Arabella rolled her eyes as he rejoined the fight. As she reached for another arrow, she caught sight of Liam and Symon cutting a path straight for her.
“Damn it, woman,” Liam snarled. “Get back to safety.”
She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but the vexing man swung around in time to deflect a blow. As Liam and Symon fended off their attackers, she chose to continue picking off Longford’s men.
Two felled soldiers later, the opposition evened and she awaited a clear target. She searched the crowd over, seeking an opportunity. On the edge of camp, a lone Highlander took a sword to the side while fighting off two English. The young warrior evaded further injury but dropped to his knees, leaving himself defenseless.
Gripping an arrow between her fingers, she pulled her bow taut, aimed, and released. The slender rod hurtled through the air, the sharp tip embedding deep in a weak spot of armor beneath one of the soldiers’ arms. The blade dropped from his hands and he wavered on his feet before falling to the ground. Despite his wound, the Highlander hoisted himself to his feet, winked at her, and rushed to engage his second attacker.
Astounded, Arabella gaped at the madman and briefly wondered if he was a bit touched in the head. Shaking her head, she glanced around the clearing, thankful to find the skirmish nearing an end. In front of her, Liam and Symon finished off their opponents. Without a clear shot any longer, she bent to replace her bow along Devlin’s flank. A sharp jerk to the back of her tunic caught her unaware and pulled her sideways from the saddle.
She landed flat on her back. The fall jarred her entire body and knocked the wind from her lungs. Rolling onto her hands and knees, she struggled to drag air into her greedy lungs. Rough hands wrenched her upright, tearing a loud gasp from her. Hauled against a mail-clad chest, she twisted and kicked to free herself, but to no avail. The sharp bite of cold steel at her neck ceased her efforts.
*
Liam’s battle cry rent the blood-tinged air and Calum’s heart constricted. Certain the call to arms boded ill, he pulled his sword from the belly of a dead soldier and coolly turned. Just as suddenly, his blood ran cold.
One of the English restrained Arabella against his chest, pressing the point of his dagger to her throat. A second soldier flanked the man holding her.
For a fleeting moment, dread held Calum immobile. ’Twas a mercy his fear swiftly abated and fury consumed him—an all-consuming wrath that moved throughout his frame in a blinding rush. Over his cold, lifeless body would he allow these whoresons to take Arabella from him.
He sucked in a harsh breath to soothe his anger before he attempted a foolish move that might endanger the lass. Such as charging across the clearing and lopping the arse’s head off. He cast a quick glimpse around camp, considering his men’s positions. Braced in battle stances, Liam and Symon stood a few yards ahead. Weapons drawn, the pair merely awaited his signal to attack.
With measured steps, Calum strode forward, pausing in front of Liam and Symon. Not removing his gaze from the enemy, he stretched his arm behind him to pass his sword off to Liam.
“Release the woman.” The even tone belied the force of his words.
The Englishman’s lips twisted with a sneer. “My lord’s paying well for this one’s return.”
Arabella struggled to free herself, but the fool pressed the point of his blade into her flesh and she stilled. A low growl slipped from Calum’s throat. He repressed the impulse to lunge at the man. For the first time since he crossed the clearing, he spared Arabella a glance.
A mix of fear and indignation darkened her eyes, while her cheeks flushed a deep shade of scarlet. She slid her free hand to a dagger sheathed along her waist and tapped the hilt. Her raised brows and searching gaze silently beseeched him to follow along.
Was the woman addled in the head?
He directed his fiercest glare at her, but the blasted female closed her eyes, dismissing his mute warning. Moments later, she reopened them with a look of fierce determination.
Blast the woman!
He unclenched his fists and forced his hands to remain lax at his sides. In one swift motion, she grasped the dagger and arced her arm upward, embedding the small knife in the Englishman’s throat. She ripped free from his hold and threw herself to the ground, out of harm’s way. Calum snatched the dirk sheathed along his inner arm and sent the weapon hurtling through the air. The blade found its mark, buried deep in the second Englishman’s neck. Eyes wide, the soldier clawed at his throat, gasping for air, before crumpling into a heap in the dirt.
The breath Calum held hissed out of him. The pounding in his head matched the drumming in his chest. Coiled tight, his body shook with raw, unspent rage. Locked in his anger, he merely blinked as the madwoman in front of him retrieved her dagger from the dead soldier’s neck, wiped the blood from her blade on the slain man’s tabard, and then returned the small knife to a sheath along her belt. Heedless of the violent storm fuming inside him, she met his gaze and bestowed a brilliant smile.
His patience splintered in two. “Damn it! What the devil’s the matter with you? You could’ve been killed, you foolish, daft woman.”
Arabella flinched, her smile fading in a flash. Her brows pinched together and a flood of color rushed to her cheeks. Her features twisted with a scowl and she marched forward, until she planted herself directly in his path.
With both hands propped on her hips, she glared up at him. “I knew what I was doing.”
A hushed snort from one of the horses pierced the rigid silence.
Calum gritted his teeth. “You’re not to take such a damned, foolish risk again, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” She poked him in the chest. “I’m not a fool, nor do I take foolish risks. And I do not have to answer to you. You’re not my keeper!”
’Twas the sheer grace of God alone that kept him from wringing her lovely neck. Saints alive, he could not do this with her. Not now. Not when he itched to inflict bodily harm to someone or something. He slapped her finger from his chest, turned his back on her, and grabbed his sword from Liam.
“See to Tomas, then we’re leaving.”
Distance—he needed it desperately. Otherwise, he’d bellow at her until she wept like a bairn. Seething in anger, he stomped into the forest, desperate to regain his waning composure. He slashed his sword at offending branches and undergrowth as he stalked through the dense wood.
What the devil was the matter with her? The blasted lass was a hazard to her own health, placing herself directly in the path of danger. Christ, he could not endure much more of her recklessness. Just the thought of that impudent cur holding a dagger to her throat incited his anger all over again, and his temper bubbled over.
Growling out his rage, he gripped the hilt of his sword in both hands and lashed out at a tree stump blocking his path. With vicious strokes, he hacked at the innocent stub of wood, removing several large chucks. A flurry of tree bark flew through the air, pelting him in the face, but he continued to chop and slash, desperate to destroy something—anything.
When hardly anything remained of the stump, he ceased his assault and dropped his strained arms, letting the sword rest lax against his leg. As his chest heaved from his labors, he surveyed the damage and shook his head in disgust.
Hell, he couldn’t decide which was more pitiful—the hunk of wood or him?
Annoyed with the childish display, he dragged his feet to a nearby tree, propped his arm against the rough surface, and lowered his forehead onto the coarse bark in defeat. His once-prized composure had deserted him, and damned if he did not blame Arabella for the loss.
How had Iain possessed the patience to deal with her? By God, if she were his…
The unfinished thought hit him like a blow to the chest. She could be. If he accepted Fraser’s request. But could he handle a lifetime of her, or would she drive him to an early grave?
Truth be told, a part of him was livid for her lack of care, but another admired her spirit and cunning. He rode a fine line between turning her over his knee and offering her praise. Christ, what was he to do with the brave, reckless woman?
Over his shoulder, leaves rustled as someone approached.
Arabella.
He knew it as sure as he’d draw his next breath. Sending up a quick prayer, he beseeched the heavens to lend him strength. In his present state of mind, he dared not trust his sour mood.
“Calum?”
When he did not respond, she moved close enough he felt the heat of her body. She placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes.
“I’m truly sorry for my behavior, but I do not regret my actions. Please understand. I could not stomach you or your men coming to harm because of me. I just…I cannot be helpless any longer, Calum. Please, do not be wroth with me.”
Saints, he did not wish to forgive her. He wanted to hang on to his anger, to rail at her for her recklessness, but his ire crumbled into a fine dust, whether he wished it or not. He lifted his head and stared out at the forest. How could one small woman unman him with a slight touch and soft-spoken words? Was this how life would always be with her?
Calum shifted to lean his back against the tree and searched her solemn features. Spying the blade’s mark on her neck, he raised his hand to her throat and brushed his thumb over the angry scratch. A comely shade of pink stained her cheeks, but she did not flinch away at his touch.
He confessed, “I hated seeing that arse hurt you.”
“I hated it, too.” She bit her bottom lip. “Thank you, Calum.”
“For what?”
“For saving me. Again.”
He snorted. “You keep saving yourself, lass.”
Arabella flashed him a playful grin. “Or getting myself in more trouble, you mean?”
His gaze drifted from her vibrant eyes to the curve of her mouth. He itched to feel the press of those full lips to his. Unable to bear her nearness any longer, he hooked his other arm around her waist and hauled her flush against his chest. Her sharp intake of breath gave him pause. As he stared into her wide eyes, he permitted her a chance to reject him but, to his utter relief, she relaxed in his arms.
Reassured, he moved his thumb from her throat to sweep over her plump, bottom lip. Finally, he yielded to the urge that had plagued him since he’d first set eyes on her. He leaned forward and captured her mouth with a chaste kiss.
Arabella trembled in his arms. She gathered the material of his tunic in her small fists. He released her lips and shifted to pull away, but she tugged at the material.
“Do not stop,” she breathed against his mouth. “Please.”
The blood in his head rushed straight to his groin at her innocent plea. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“You never have to beg me for a thing, Arabella.” He would gladly give anything she asked of him. He tipped her head closer. “Open for me, Sweetness.”
She timidly parted her lips and he eased his tongue inside to explore her mouth. At his leisure, he deepened the kiss, sampling her taste. A rich, spiced honey, the unique flavor slipped into his senses.
Christ, she was sweet.
As soon as her shy tongue moved with his, he sank deeper in her lush warmth, drinking her in. Desperate for more, he drew her closer until the curve of her belly cushioned his hardened length. A low moan rose from the back of her throat, sending a tremor of white-hot lust through his frame. ’Twas a mercy his good sense nudged at him before he surrendered to his male urges. He had to stop before he continued with something Arabella might come to regret.
Calum bit back a groan and forced himself to withdraw. He licked his lips, savoring the lingering spice of her, and gazed down at her flushed face. Passion darkened her eyes a deep emerald, while her kiss-swollen lips tempted him to steal another taste. Unable to resist, he bent forward and gave her a quick but thorough kiss. Holding her tight in his arms, he rested his chin atop her head and soaked up the feel of her lithe body tucked against his.
Once their breathing evened out, he set her away from him. He caressed her soft cheek. “We’ve tarried too long, Sweetness. We should return before the men come looking for us.”
Arabella nodded absently and fingered her lips, lost in her own thoughts. Barely suppressing a satisfied grin, he placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her through the wood. Despite his apprehension and fears, Calum arrived at a decision on the short walk back to camp. As soon as they returned home, Fraser would have his answer.