Four
Callum could not order his thoughts, nor could he form words to answer his brother, who’d now asked him twice what was wrong with him. Confusion and disbelief swirled in his mind as he strode several paces behind Cedric and Marsaili.
Marsaili.
It could not be. She was dead.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, sure that she’d be gone when he opened them, nothing more than a figment of his imagination. But when he opened his eyes, she was still there, in the flesh and as familiar as a woman would be if a man had committed every detail of her to memory. Yet, there was something different about her with the time that had gone by.
He rubbed his suddenly aching chest as he weaved in and out of the crowd, acknowledging people who spoke to him with a simple nod. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brice give him a confused look as they continued the progress toward the arena of grass where they’d both fight Cedric, but Brice did not ask him again what was ailing him. Callum locked his gaze on the source of his troubles—Marsaili Campbell, not Lamont. He had no notion why she was going by that name, but he intended to find out as soon as he won her and got her alone.
Desire and yearning flowed through him at the thought of having her to himself, touching her, kissing her, learning what had happened, and—“God’s teeth,” he swore under his breath, halting to take a deep breath and gain control. He could question Marsaili, but that was it. The touching, the kissing, the wish to take her in his arms and feel her welcome him into her body and heart once again would never be—could never be. By God’s grace, she was still alive, but that did not change the future before him. Her father had been his enemy since the day the Campbell had refused to offer aid to Callum’s clan, and now the Earl of Ainsworth was Callum’s only hope for an ally to stand against the MacDonalds and the Gordons.
“What the devil is the matter with ye?” Brice demanded, cutting into Callum’s thoughts.
Callum motioned toward Marsaili, who was twenty paces ahead with Cedric, the man’s grimy hand still locked around her arm. Hot rage poured through Callum. He was going to enjoy beating Cedric into the ground. It was the least he could do for Marsaili after the way the man dared to speak to her and handle her. Callum had the strong desire to kill Cedric, but that certainly would cause them to lose the earl as an ally.
The good of the clan comes first.
The muscles of his heart seemed to grow taut like a bow as he stared at her. She was alive. It seemed impossible, yet there she was, just across the clearing with her long mahogany hair he had dreamed many a night of running his hands through. Presently, her locks were not shiny and tumbling in inviting waves around her shoulders as he remembered them to be. Her hair was dull and matted in clumps around her dirt-smudged face. Her blue eyes still shone brighter than water glistening in the sun, yet now they seemed lit with anger. Her body had changed, as well. Her hips had become a bit rounder, and his fingers twitched to grip them. Her breasts appeared even fuller than they had been before, her voice huskier, and when she spoke, desire shot from his head to his groin.
He was uncertain of much, but the fact that she still possessed the ability to incite yearning within him just by being near was not in question. Never had a woman enticed him as she did. His father had always said that every man had one weakness that had the potential to fell him, and Callum had nary a doubt that Marsaili was his.
“Callum,” Brice growled and elbowed him hard in the side. “Ye’re standing there gaping, nae responding to a word I say, and ye look as if ye just saw someone rise from the dead.”
“Aye,” Callum said with a nod, unable to tear his gaze away from Marsaili. If Cedric so much as pulled, yanked, or raised a hand to her again, Callum feared he’d kill the man with his bare hands.
“What in God’s name do ye mean, ‘aye’?” Brice asked, exasperation heavy in his voice.
Callum forced himself to look at his brother. “That woman, from the tent—”
“The one Cedric won? The wench—”
“She’s nae a wench,” Callum bit out.
Brice frowned. “The lass—”
“The bonny lass,” Callum inserted, inwardly cursing his fool tongue when his brother’s lips parted with surprise.
“Aye,” Brice agreed. “She’s bonny, but she does need a good washing afore I’d—”
“Dunnae ye dare utter any foul insinuation about what ye would do or wish to do with her.” Callum’s heart seemed to be working four times as fast as it had been one breath ago. Blood rushed so loudly in his ears, it sounded like the roar of crashing waves. “That is the lass I plunged our clan into war for,” he said in low tones, though they were not standing close enough to anyone for them to hear.
Brice’s eyes widened, and he looked back and forth between Marsaili and Callum. Then Brice motioned Callum to follow him. Callum nodded, and his brother strode to a tree across from where Cedric had stopped. The man handed Marsaili off to a guard who was also gripping the arm of Marsaili’s companion, a silver-haired, green-eyed lass. Callum frowned. She looked too young for the odd color of her hair.
“I wonder how yer lass—”
“She’s nae my lass,” Callum interrupted, though the denial made his gut knot.
“Well, she was, and the only reason ye gave her up is because ye thought she was dead,” Brice growled. “Do ye mean to tell me that ye will deny yerself the lass now that she’s here in front of ye like a gift from God? She has risen from the dead.”
Callum glared at his brother. “She did nae rise from the dead, and ye ken it. ’Tis plain to see that her father lied about her death.” The question was why, and was it at her request?
“What will ye do?” Brice asked, jerking Callum’s attention back to the present. Brice was stripping off his plaid to prepare to fight. Callum did the same, as an opponent could grab it to aid them in bringing the other off his feet. Callum turned to lay his plaid behind him and nearly groaned at the crowd that was gathering. He had hoped to fight this particular battle without Coira knowing about it, but he would simply have to explain to her that he could not stand by and allow any woman to be wagered like a belonging.
“Did ye hear me?” Brice said. “I asked what will ye do?”
“I’ll win my fight, as ye better. And then once we have sent Cedric on his way, I’ll have ye attend Marsaili and her companion safely home. I dunnae ken how she ended up here, but I dunnae believe anyone from her clan is here to attend her.” He heard himself talking so matter-of-fact, but inside, he felt like the waters of a storm-ravaged loch. His thoughts dipped and tumbled. Had Marsaili’s father lied because she’d asked him to? Or had he learned of their affection and become enraged because of his plan for her to marry the Earl of Ulster? Or mayhap something altogether different had compelled the lies.
Brice frowned. “Ye honestly think it will be that simple to rid yerself of the woman who has haunted ye for years now?”
Callum sighed. “I think it will be complicated,” he answered when Brice nudged him. “But I will make it simple. I must do so for the clan.”
Brice sniggered. “I think it will be rather entertaining to watch how this unfolds.”
“I’m glad ye’re amused,” Callum said irritably.
“Brice Grant, I’m ready to best you,” Cedric mocked from across the field.
“Dunnae lose,” Callum instructed. “Remember, the fewer complications the better. I dunnae want to have to haggle with Cedric over that silver-haired woman.”
“Dunnae fash yerself,” Brice told Callum, which caused wariness to rise inside him instead.
Brice was being too cocksure. He practically strutted to the center of the field to meet Cedric. Around the men, jeers and cheers resounded from the still-gathering crowd. Someone tapped Callum’s arm, and he glanced to his side to find Coira.
“What is this?” she demanded, her green eyes narrowed.
“Brice accepted yer brother’s challenge,” he replied, hoping Coira would not press the matter further.
“What is the purse?”
“A woman,” he said. “Why dunnae ye make yer way to the great hall for supper?” he suggested.
She plunked her hands on her hips. “Can you not keep your brother out of trouble?” she accused, referring, he supposed, to Brice’s penchant for embroiling himself in situations with lasses.
“Nae this time,” he answered honestly. “Yer brother led him there.”
“Mayhap you need to punish your brother for being so gullible,” she snapped.
Callum gritted his teeth. “As I am laird, that is for me to decide.”
Coira snorted. “The woman looks like a whore, as does the woman over there with the dark hair. Perfect play toys for Cedric.”
Callum’s gaze immediately shot back to Marsaili, who was side-by-side with her companion. Her head was turned in conversation, and he took a moment to devour her beauty.
“Callum,” Coira said shrilly, yanking his attention back to her. “I don’t care for the way you stare at that dark-haired whore.”
“She is nae a whore,” he growled, fixing his gaze on Coira, though all he truly wanted to do was look at Marsaili.
“Are you familiar with her?”
“Nae exactly,” he said, which was technically the truth since he honestly did not know Marsaili anymore. She could have changed drastically in three years.
“I wager she’s Cedric’s whore,” Coira said triumphantly.
He restrained the urge to slap his palm over Coira’s venomous mouth. “She’s nae,” he said evenly. “Cedric won the woman in a wager.”
“Well,” Coira said with a barbed laugh, “if she was not a whore already, she will be made one soon.”
His temper snapped. “The lass will nae be made a whore because I will gain her freedom by fighting Cedric and winning her, and—”
“You will not!” Coira cut in before he could say that he would set Marsaili free, no matter how much the idea of doing so twisted him into knots. Coira pointed at him. “I forbid you to fight for her freedom.”
“Ye dunnae have the right to forbid me to do anything, Coira,” he snarled, glancing once more to Marsaili, who now stood with a defiant tilt to her chin and her arms crossed over her chest. His chest tightened. He refused to feel any guilt, even as his long-dormant desire stirred. He would not act on his desire, and he would have fought to free any lass that had been wagered unwillingly.
“I have a right as your future wife,” she proclaimed. “You may not take a leman and produce a bastard! I refuse to allow it!”
“I am nae doing any such thing. I am simply fighting to free a lass who has been wagered against her will. I’d think as a woman that would please ye.”
“It does not,” she said with a dark scowl. “I don’t know this woman, nor do I care about her, and I don’t want anyone whispering that you do.”
“Coira, if we are to be married, ye best heed me now. I will nae ever allow ye to order me about, and I will always do what I can to help others, bonny lass or nae.”
“Bonny lass!” she gasped, indignation sweeping over her face. “Have your fight,” she snarled, drawing the eyes of the people around them, “and free that whore”—she was raising her voice and his temper—“but you will set her from your home immediately, or I will consider that you are breaking your sacred promise to wed me and be true to me. Then you will have yet another enemy, for my enemies are my father’s enemies,” she threatened.
Callum didn’t doubt that. Though her father had used her in marriage once already and was about to use her again, the man demanded she was treated with respect, though he clearly did not care that she did not want to marry Callum. He suspected that the earl felt that disrespecting his daughter or son was disrespecting him, and it would make him appear weak.
As Callum intended to free Marsaili immediately anyway, and he would never do anything further to put his family and clan in harm’s way, he said, “I will set the lass free because that is what I was planning to do already, nae because ye are threatening me.”
“I’m going to tell my father of your treatment!” she cried out, then turned and stomped away.
Callum did not even bother to watch her depart as his brother’s fight was starting. She’d likely go to her father, and there’d be trouble to contend with later—or at the very least, apologies to be given—but he’d deal with it then. Right now, the only thing that mattered was freeing Marsaili. Then he would have Brice see her home, or wherever she would be safest. But before that, he had to talk to her. He had to know what had happened, why he’d been told she was dead. It changed nothing, of course, yet somehow it mattered whether it had been her or her father who had sent word of her death. He was a fool either way, for if it had been her father’s doing, it would only make parting with her again that much harder. If it had been her doing, and she had decided those years ago that she did not wish to be with him, then he had cost his father his life and caused his clan years of strife for a woman who had not felt what he had: an attachment so strong and true that he had forsaken his honor and his family for Marsaili’s heart.