Eighteen
From his vantage point in the woods, Callum watched Marsaili on the rampart with Ulster. It had surprised him when she had appeared there so soon after arriving at the castle, and it surprised him even more when Ulster drew Marsaili to him and kissed her. Granted, he could not see the reaction on her face from a distance, but he could see that she circled her arms around the earl’s neck. She had not pulled away, and the kiss went on far longer than Callum cared for. Jealousy gripped him in a merciless hold. His blood strummed in his ears as he reminded himself that Marsaili was most certainly doing what she needed in order to survive, but that did not mean he had to like it.
When the kiss was finally over, he exhaled a ragged breath, only to catch it again moments later when she stepped toward the earl and kissed him. Callum gripped his sword in hand and waited for the kiss to end. It felt like an eternity before it did. She had done what she had needed to, and he would, as well. He glanced toward the castle. Somehow, he had to breach it and rescue her, and he feared he did not have long.
Callum spent the night discovering as much as he could about the castle, and what he learned did not fill him with much hope. It was greatly fortified, and the only way he could find to breach it was to swim the moat and try to gain the bridge. He waited as patiently as he could for darkness to once again descend, and as he waited, he plotted how to distract the guards so he would have a chance. The only thing he could think to do was set a fire in the woods. Near nightfall, he gathered brush to put his plan to action, then went back to his position, where he could see the castle clearly and wait.
Before the darkness set in, Marsaili appeared on the rampart again. She was accompanied by two guards who led her to Ulster. After they stood speaking for a moment, she dropped to her knees at Ulster’s feet, and Callum’s stomach lurched. What had occurred the night before? What had the man done to her? Callum could barely see her past his red haze of anger, and when Ulster yanked her to her feet and covered her mouth with his once more, Callum swore. “God’s blood!”
Behind him, wood cracked underfoot. He swiveled into a stand, sword drawn, legs parted, and anger coursing. Before him stood three men, one of whom he recognized as Alex MacLean, laird of the MacLean clan. The other two men he did not know.
“Ye should nae let yerself be so distracted by a harmless kiss that ye dunnae hear when someone approaches,” the man standing directly in front of Callum said. They locked gazes, and the man assessed him with keen green eyes.
“And ye are?” Callum demanded.
“Lachlan MacLeod,” the man replied. “Half brother to Marsaili.
Before Callum could respond, the fair-haired warrior standing beside Lachlan said, “I’m Cameron—also half brother to Marsaili. Dunnae pay heed to this clot-heid.” Cameron elbowed his brother in the side. “If Lachlan came upon his wife, Bridgette, kissing another man, his logic would flee, and he’d likely get himself killed storming an impregnable castle to retrieve the stubborn lass.”
“I hate to admit it,” Lachlan said, “but my brother speaks the truth. But the difference is that Bridgette is my wife. Marsaili is nae yers. If she cares to kiss another man, then—”
“She dunnae,” Callum interrupted. “She simply does so as a deceit. I’m certain.”
Alex waved a hand at Lachlan and Cameron. “Dunnae pay heed to these two. They ken how Marsaili feels about ye. Broch told us.”
Callum had already concluded that Broch must have crossed paths with them and sent them here to aid him. “When did ye see him?” he asked Alex.
“Shortly after ye parted ways with him. We came upon him in the woods on the edge of Inverurie. We had received word of the Campbell traveling there and had followed in hopes of finding Marsaili. We tried to close the distance to ye after Broch told us what had occurred and where ye were going, but ye made impressive ground, and we trailed ye almost all the way here. How long have ye been here?”
Callum glanced to the darkening sky. “One day.”
Lachlan motioned to the castle. “We will have to swim the moat to reach her.”
“Aye,” Callum agreed, studying the castle and its fortification again. “We’ll move when it’s dark.”
“Dunnae ye think we should wait until the residents are slumbering?” Alex asked.
“Nay,” Callum answered immediately. He had a bad feeling in his gut.
“I agree,” Lachlan said, an odd tension emanating from the man. “My wife was taken before we were married, and I reached her too late.” He paused for a moment, and Callum could hear him audibly swallow. “I will nae ever forgive myself for that.”
Callum had heard some news of what had occurred, and by the tone of Lachlan’s voice and the tortured expression on his face, Callum knew what he had heard was true. Stony anger made Lachlan’s green eyes look like green crystals. The man rolled his shoulders before focusing once more on Callum. “Ye need to ask yerself, if ye are too late, if she is married, if she has been defiled—”
“I will kill the earl with my bare hands,” Callum spat.
Alex clamped a hand on Callum’s shoulder. “He dunnae wish to ken what ye would do to the earl. It’s given ye would kill him.” All three men nodded at Callum. “What Lachlan wants to ken is, would ye still want her?”
“What?” Callum asked, astonished. The three warriors stared in silence at him. “Aye,” he replied. “I would want her always. It does nae matter what happens.”
“Then we will aid ye,” Cameron said.
Lachlan bent over and picked up a stick then crouched near the dirt. “Let us plan how we will breach the castle.”
Callum nodded, kneeled down beside Marsaili’s brothers and spoke. “It’s as ye said. We must swim the moat, but in order to gain entry into the castle, one of us must get the attention of the tower guards, compel them to lower the bridge, and while they are occupied with that person, the rest of us will loop a rope to the bridge, gain it, and enter through the main courtyard. I also considered starting a fire.”
“Nay,” Alex said. “I’ll distract the guards while the three of ye gain entry to the castle.
“Nay,” Cameron replied. “Lena—” He glanced at Callum as if realizing he may not know who Lena was. “Lena is Alex’s wife and our sister, and so she is Marsaili’s half sister.”
“Aye,” Callum said. “I ken.”
“Lena would kill us if anything happened to ye, MacLean. Ye kinnae take the most dangerous task. Ye will be a father soon, and ye need to be there for the birth of yer son.”
Alex grinned, but the grin quickly faded. “Lachlan is a father, and Cameron will be a father soon, as well.”
“Brother!” Lachlan exclaimed. “Why did ye nae tell me?”
Cameron scowled. “There’s nae been time. I did nae tell Alex, either.”
“Yer wife told my wife. Ye ken the lasses kinnae keep a secret.” Alex shrugged. “We will draw a stick. The man with the shortest stick will distract the guards.”
All four men grunted their agreement.
“How will the one distracting the guards get away?” Cameron asked.
“Whoever has that task need only distract them long enough for us to gain the bridge. Once that is done, we can signal, and the man can run. He needs to be fast. Are any of ye faster than the other two?” Callum asked.
“I’m the fastest,” Lachlan said without any smugness.
“And I’ve the best bird call,” Cameron said, showing them by example.
“I believe it’s decided, then,” Alex said, “without the need to pick sticks. Lachlan will distract the guards, Cameron will signal when we have gained the bridge, and it will be up to the three of us to find Marsaili once we are in the castle and then escape, likely by swimming the moat once again.”
“Now we wait,” Callum said grimly, rocking back on his heels and glancing to the sky, which was not yet completely dark.
“The hardest part,” Lachlan said.
“Aye,” Cameron and Alex agreed.
Callum fixed his gaze on the spot he’d last seen Marsaili and wondered what she might be thinking. Did she fear he would not return for her? Did she fear she would never see their son again? His mind turned with all the worst sort of possibilities. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the roaring din of worry, but it was to no avail. Until they were together again,—Marsaili, himself, and their son—he would have no peace.
“My lady,” the chambermaid assigned to bathe and dress Marsaili said, “shall I braid yer hair for the wedding?”
Marsaili shook her head. She feared she did not have long before one of her father’s men, or her father himself, came to fetch her to take her to the chapel. “Nay,” she said. “I prefer it down. Now, if ye’ll leave me, I’d like a little time alone to pray to God for counsel.”
Technically, it was not a lie. She would pray to God, just not for counsel. She would pray for the courage to jump into the moat, and that she would not drown. She had swam a few strokes long ago on the day she had almost drowned because of her Campbell half brothers, and she remembered the euphoria she had felt on her first time ever of gliding through the water. It was also her last.
She tried to recall what she had done. She had pulled the water with her hands and arms, it seemed, and she had kicked her legs. She prayed she remembered correctly and would be able to overcome her fear. If there were any other way, she would have taken it, but there was not. She and the maid were locked in this bedchamber by the earl’s command. Marsaili had only one possible way to avoid being forced to marry the earl, and that was the window.
“As ye wish,” the maid answered, went to the door, and knocked. “My lady and I are finished.”
The lock on the door scraped and clicked as it was opened, and then the maid exited the room. The door shut immediately, and the lock once again snapped into place. She wasted no time rushing straight to the window. She tried to open it, but the thing would not budge. Muttering, she strode to the bed, yanked off the quilt, and hauled it over to the window where she dropped it in a pile on the floor. Then she tried to pick up the chest at the foot of the bed so she could stand on it to open the window and escape. The chest was too heavy, though, and she feared that when she moved it, it might draw the attention of the guards and they would open her door. But what choice did she have?
She first tried pressing her hands against the chest, but try as she might, the blasted thing would not budge. Her brow was damp from the effort, and her head and heart pounded. She crouched near the chest, lodged her back against it, and dug her heels into the ground while she pushed with all her might. The chest barely budged, and tears sprung to her eyes. But so did an image of her son. She had to keep trying.
Gritting her teeth, she once again positioned herself against the chest and shoved. This time it moved with a great loud scrape. Her breath caught with fright, but a burst of men laughing came from just beyond her door. She started to expel a relieved breath when she heard her father speak, and then the men laughed once more. She breathed in quick, shallow gasps as she grunted and shoved at the chest, finally moving it in front of the window.
She shook badly as she grasped the quilt, wrapped it around her hand, and then rearing her hand back, she threw her body weight into her fist and shoved her hand through the window. The quilt protected her skin and muffled the noise, and without hesitation, she knocked the last of the glass from the window, rid herself of the quilt, and placed her hands on the window ledge, hauled herself up, biting her lip to keep from screaming in pain. Shards of glass sliced into her palms, but behind her, the rattle of the door being unlocked made her entire body tingle with terror.
She dangled for a moment, her arm muscles burning as she struggled to find the strength to pull herself all the way up. Digging deep, she shoved, propelling her body up to wiggle through the space. She ignored the sharp pain of the glass cutting through her gown to slash her thighs, hip bones, and stomach. Her father’s voice boomed from the other side of the door, and she thanked God that he had always loved to be the center of attention. It sounded as if he was telling another one of his hunting stories.
The cool wind hit her hard as she poked her head out of the window. Black had swallowed the night, but the full moon illuminated the area around her enough for her to realize she could not see the loch below. It was so steep. Fear lodged in her throat. The loch was there; she knew it to be so, for she had seen it earlier. But she would be falling blind, eyes open yet unseeing.
She absolutely did not want to plunge into the water headfirst, so she turned onto her bottom, scrunched herself as small as she could, and slid her legs under her. Then, gripping the ledge, she put her legs out the window and dangled there, heart pounding and blood roaring. She could not seem to release herself, though. Terror had frozen her ability to move, but her fingers were slipping, and soon, the inevitable would happen.