Three
The flap of the Callum’s tent opened just as he tilted up his leather pouch to take a drink of mead. He swallowed the liquid as Brice strode in, a fierce scowl on his face.
Brice set his hands on his hips. “We’ve a problem.”
“What is it?” Callum asked, turning the pouch down to voice the question.
He’d been competing in the tournament for five days now, and today had been especially brutal. But every battle he won earned them much-needed coin, and it kept him so occupied he didn’t have to spend much time with Coira. Her constant complaining defied belief and had become increasingly harder to tolerate with each day that passed. She also had stirred up trouble with the kitchen lasses. It seemed his future wife was cold but jealous. She’d tried to rid the kitchen of all the young lasses she considered pretty because she did not want them serving him. He’d had to intervene and tell her, in no uncertain terms, that he was the only one who held the power to dismiss a servant.
“Has Coira done something else?” he asked.
“Nay,” Brice replied, but his pacing did not set Callum at ease.
“What then?” Callum inquired.
“Cedric Ainsworth won two women as a purse in a passage-of-arms contest. The man who put out the call to fight him wagered the women instead of coin.”
Callum frowned. That was unwelcome news. Not only was the Earl of Ainsworth’s son known to treat women cruelly but Callum disliked the practice of wagering women. He forbade it in his own clan, though he knew it went on in some others and often among men with no clan allegiance. “Where is Cedric? I want to speak with him.”
“I thought ye might say that.” Brice paused a beat. “Now, ye ken we kinnae anger him or we risk the alliance with the earl.”
“I ken it,” Callum said. The Earl of Ainsworth had proven to be a fine man, honorable even, but it had become apparent since he had arrived here with Coira and Cedric that the earl indulged his son, ignorant to the fact that the man was immoral. “The women who were wagered, what do they say?”
“I dunnae. Cedric took the women to his tent for a rest before he faced his next opponent. He refused me entry to speak with them.”
As laird, Callum could demand entry to the tent, and he could even dispute Cedric’s “winnings” if the women protested it, but it would require treading very carefully. If it came down to it, he could simply take up the challenge that Cedric had issued. He felt confident he could beat his future brother-in-law, but it would make the prideful man angry. Yet, if he ordered Cedric to release the women, that would make the man angry, as well, and he likely would refuse to comply.
Callum picked up his sword, having learned long ago to always be prepared. “I’ll speak with him and see how best to sort this.”
“Ye’ll be fighting,” Brice replied with a shake of his head. “I’m certain of it. Ye must make it seem that one of the women he’s won has captured yer fancy, and ye can bid him to wager them both. He’s nae a man who would expect ye to be true to his sister. Trust me.”
“Ye’ve thought this through,” Callum commented, impressed.
Brice nodded. “Aye. As I came to find ye, I tried to determine the best way to free the women without Cedric kenning what ye were really doing.”
“The only problem with yer plan is Coira. She dunnae want me, yet she dunnae want me to so much as look at another lass. I believe she may fear I will lie with another lass,” Callum said, exiting the tent to a bevy of noise. The grassy plain to the east side of his home was filled with tents for the warriors who had come to compete in the tourney his clan hosted. Banners hung on poles in front of tents, fluttering in the wind, and identified which tents housed which clans.
“Mayhap she only has acted cold because she senses ye are nae open to caring for her,” Brice said, falling into step beside Callum.
He said nothing, just kept weaving his way through the narrow passages between the rows of tents. The smell of cooked meat filled the air, making his stomach growl. He saw his mother to his right, and he offered an obligatory wave. She stood near the earl’s tent, and Callum tensed at the prospect of seeing Coira. When they were well past the hill, he felt his shoulders relax.
Brice elbowed him. “This response is exactly what I mean. Ye scowl at the possibility of seeing yer future wife. At first, I felt sorry for ye, but now I’m feeling sorry for her.”
Callum made a derisive noise. “Ye have too much time to sit around contemplating my life, let alone Coira’s. I want ye to start training the men every morning with me. It’s quite apparent I have nae given ye enough duties.” He looked at his brother and raised a brow. “Now, let’s make haste. I’d rather get this done and ken the sort of trouble I face.”
“Get off me!” Marsaili snarled, kicking out and connecting her foot with Cedric’s gut. They were alone in the tent now, as he had ordered one of his men to take Maria to the place where he would fight any man who answered his challenge, to use her as an enticement as part of the prize. Marsaili, he had declared, he would keep for himself. She shuddered inside. She would not live like this, nor would she allow Maria to do so.
The journey to the tournament had been fast, bumpy, and hard, but at least the Black Mercenaries had a code of honor and did not use any woman they were to deliver for coin. It was a twisted sense of honor, but it had served to protect her and Maria from being ravaged. Now there was no protection. Upon arriving at the castle—she still had no idea which clan owned it—she’d asked Lucan where he had brought them, but he’d ignored her as he sought out the most despicable man he could find, just as he’d said he would.
It had all happened so fast, her head still spun from it. She needed food and sleep, both of which she had obtained little of over the past few days. Anguish for Maria, herself, and her son filled her chest, and as if Cedric could sense her weakening state, he shoved her foot away and pressed himself on top of her, covering her mouth with his. She did the only thing she could think of and bit down as hard as she could on his tongue, which had plunged inside her mouth.
He rose up with a roar and swiped a hand across his mouth, smearing blood over his lips. “You bitch!” he bellowed and pulled his hand back to hit her.
Fear sent a surge of strength through her, and she scrambled off the pallet and to her feet. She turned to flee only to knock into a hard, unrelenting, immovable wall of warm flesh and bone. Tears sprang to her eyes as she unseeingly brought her hands up to pummel the chest of the man who blocked her escape. He had to be one of Cedric’s guards.
“Ye kinnae keep me here!” she screamed.
Strong hands captured her wrists and deftly stopped her blows. A sob of despair tumbled from her lips. “Release me,” she begged, pulling on her wrists to no avail.
“Shh, lassie,” the man whispered, even as Cedric began to yell. “Dunnae fash yerself,” the stranger said under the roar of Cedric’s temper.
“Leave go of my woman,” Cedric demanded.
For a moment, there was a small glimmer of hope that the man holding her would be honorable and come to her aid, but he released her and her hope plummeted. And when the stranger said, “Dunnae get churlish over a wee wench,” despair threatened to overcome her. She could ill afford the weakness of such an emotion. She thought of her son, and anger burst forth.
“I’m nae a wench, ye blackhearted swine,” she growled, looking up into the man’s face. Shock hit her hard as her gaze met the soulful brown eyes of Callum Grant. Her lips parted with a jagged breath.
She gasped, her chest tightening with a storm of confusion, memories, and emotion. In the space of a breath, she careened wildly from disbelief, to anger, then to happiness, and back to seething anger. “Ye!”
For a moment, Callum simply stared at her, his own lips slightly parted. His fingers, still encircling her wrist, tightened as his chest rose with a sharp intake of breath. A crease appeared between his thick, dark brows but smoothed immediately when Cedric spoke. “Do you know my prize?”
“I’m nae yer prize!” Marsaili snapped, turning her head to glare at the odious Englishman.
When she felt Callum suddenly release her, she turned her attention to him once more, but he was looking at Cedric. “Nay, I dunnae ken the lass.”
Marsaili’s jaw slid open again. She knew three years had passed since they had seen each other, but a lifetime could have gone by and she would have known Callum Grant, even if age or warfare had ravaged him. He knew her, the foul beast! The only explanation was that he did not want to admit he knew her. For the second time in her life, Callum Grant had managed to humiliate her so much that she wished she could disappear. To make matters worse, the betrayal that had nearly killed her soul pounded at her once more.
Damn Callum. She had never planned to seek his aid in finding their son, let alone tell him of the child. He was a liar and a betrayer, and she could not trust that he would allow her to keep the child. Still, it was like liquid fire beneath her skin to know that if she had wished to ask for his aid, he obviously never would have given it. She drew herself up to her full height, which felt rather pitiful at the moment, given she only came up to Callum’s shoulder.
“This is Marsaili Lamont—”
“Lamont?” Callum interrupted Cedric. “Are ye married?” His brow knitted, and a vein in his temple was suddenly pulsing.
She pressed her lips together. She was certainly not going to explain to Callum Grant how it came to be that she was perfectly fine going under the false name given to her by that clot-heid Lucan because he hadn’t wanted any trouble. Yet, he was boring a hole into her with his penetrating stare, and she did not get the feeling he’d let the question go unanswered.
“That’s an odd question,” Cedric replied, saving Marsaili from having to answer. “She’s not married, just a wench from a nameless family—no clan affiliation.” Callum narrowed his gaze upon her, but before he could say anything, Cedric went on. “Curtsy to the laird of the Grant clan, wench.”
She stood stiffly, her mind and her body refusing to curtsy to a man who had lied to her and used her. For one moment, confusion flickered in Callum’s dark-brown eyes. She was angry he had denied knowing her, but also glad. When she escaped Cedric—because she fully intended to do so—she would not have to worry about fleeing Callum, as well.
“Curtsy!” Cedric ordered again. He clamped his hand on the back of her neck and shoved her head forward. Pain shot from the point of contact to her eyes and made her hiss.
“Dunnae handle the lass so roughly,” Callum said. Though his tone was even, there seemed to be a tension underlying it. When Cedric released his hold on Marsaili’s neck, she glanced to Callum, but his expression was unreadable. However, another man moved into the tent behind Callum, and his eyes glittered in obvious anger.
“What brings the Grant brothers to my tent?” Cedric demanded.
“I came to see how ye were faring against yer challengers in yer passage of arms.”
Cedric grinned and then smacked Marsaili on the bottom. She swung around and raised her palm to slap him in the face, but he captured her wrist with a chuckle. “I won this spitfire.” He yanked her to his chest and slanted his mouth over hers. She tried to turn her face but to no avail, so with her free hand, she raked her nails down Cedric’s cheek.
Immediately, he broke the kiss with a growl and reared back to hit her. She flinched and tensed, but the hit didn’t come. Callum had caught Cedric’s wrist from behind, and when Marsaili glanced at Callum’s face, the rage twisting his face shocked her. “I’m afraid I dunnae wish to stand here watching ye hit this woman, Cedric.”
“She needs disciplining,” Cedric said, his eyes narrowed on Marsaili.
“Mayhap, what she needs is a gentle touch,” Callum returned, releasing Cedric’s arm. Deep in Marsaili’s mind, unwanted memories of the night of passion she had shared with this man returned like so many unfulfilled dreams to nearly suffocate her. He had been gentle, and patient, and an expert at making her feel pleasure.
Cedric released her wrist and turned toward Callum. “Well, she’s mine, so I’ll do with her as I please. I’ll simply wait until you have departed.”
The mere thought made Marsaili shudder.
“Have ye bested everyone who has challenged ye?” Callum asked.
“Yes. I wish you had accepted the challenge, so I could have bested you, too,” Cedric boasted.
“It would take more than coin to get me to fight ye, Cedric. I dunnae wish to anger yer da by defeating ye,” Callum said with a wink.
Cedric’s hands curled into fists. “Don’t concern yourself with my father,” he snarled. “If you were to win, I’d deal with him, so there would be no need to worry about losing him as an ally.”
“Nay,” Callum said, glancing behind him. “Brice will fight ye, though.”
Callum’s brother did not hide his feelings nearly as well as Callum. Surprise settled on his face. “I will?”
“Aye,” Callum said jovially—almost too jovially. True, she did not truly know the man, nor had she ever, but his lightheartedness seemed forced. Cedric’s annoyed face revealed no sign that he sensed something being off as she did. Callum patted his brother on the shoulder. “Brice has taken a liking to the other wench ye won, and he wishes to fight ye for her instead of coin. What say ye?”
Cedric laughed. “I’ll fight you, Brice Grant, but you’ll not win the woman. And I’ll only fight Brice if you agree to battle me, as well, Callum. You’re the only one I truly believe to be close to my equal.”
Callum quirked his mouth as if in thought. “I already told ye I dunnae wish to take yer coin.” As the words left his mouth, his dark, penetrating gaze settled on Marsaili, and faint amusement swept over his face. “Mayhap if ye wish to wager the hellion?” he suggested, motioning to her as if she were some sort of good to be bartered at the market. Fury had her curling her own fists. What was this ruse he was about, and why was he about it?
Cedric chuckled. “Very smart of you to instill a leman to produce an heir before you wed my barren sister.”
A soft gasp escaped Marsaili and caused both men to look at her. God’s teeth, she wished she had not made a sound, but what the devil did Cedric mean when he said Callum was to be married? He was supposed to be married already! Had Edina passed? Cedric frowned at Marsaili, but she could not make herself care when her mind whirred with the shock of learning Callum was unmarried.
Callum winked at Cedric. “Let us nae tell yer sister, aye?”
Marsaili swallowed her disgust.
“Of course,” Cedric said smoothly.
“Excellent.” Callum’s gaze flickered to her once more, but his dark eyes were hooded, like a hawk, unreadable. He abruptly turned away toward Cedric. “A man needs a leman to give him pleasure as wives never do.”
Beside Callum, his brother looked as if he were just barely holding in words. Or was it laughter? Marsaili clenched her teeth so hard, she felt a stab of pain and feared she’d cracked a tooth. Callum was despicable! Never would Marsaili allow him to touch her, and never would she tell him of their son.
“I’d rather be under the dirt in my grave with worms crawling in my eyes than let ye lay hands on me, ye lan dhen cac, poor excuse of a man!”
“I don’t believe the wench likes you, Callum,” Cedric mocked.
“I believe ye’re correct, but that tends to make things rather interesting in my experience,” he replied, turning his attention to her.
“Exactly what I believe,” Cedric crowed. “Come, then. Let us see what you and your brother can offer me as sport in hand-to-hand combat.”
Marsaili was furious with herself for being so shocked that a man who had lied to her and used her would not blink an eye at trading her with another man as if she were a piece of cloth. Callum had no morals, and he was probably not married because Edina had been smart enough, unlike Marsaili, to see the sort of man he truly was.
“Do you have a favor for me, wench?” Cedric said, reaching for her breasts.
She smacked his hand away. “If I had a dagger, I’d plant it in yer heart—and then his,” she spat, motioning toward Callum. “That is the only favor I have in mind for either of ye. So beware: whichever of ye is the victor, ye’ll nae be able to rest easy at night if I’m forced to lie by yer side.”
“Such threats!” Cedric chuckled, looking amused as he gripped her arm and dragged her past Callum, out of the tent, and into a thick throng of people.