Three

Callum strode across the glade, carrying the remnants of his and Maggie’s dinner. A stream trickled through the north end of the clearing, and he crouched at its edge to rinse the bowls and cups. He’d tried to get Maggie to talk more about Ross, about what she was running from, but she refused to divulge any further information. And when he tried to get her to talk about their betrothal, she shot him a glare that ended the conversation before it began.

She’d wanted to wash afterward, so they’d strung up blankets near the stream to give her some privacy, then she’d stretched out by the fire on the bedroll he’d provided and covered herself with his plaid, his pack under her head for a pillow.

Gavin approached with Drustan to wash their dishes, and they crouched beside Callum.

“Did she tell you what the trouble was? Why she was running?” Gavin asked.

“Nay. The only thing she said is that Ross has turned to drink since his wife and bairn died two years ago.”

Gavin rubbed his hand over his short, bristly hair, a gesture Callum had noticed he did whenever he thought of his lost son—almost as if to remind himself.

“Och, I can understand that. But not for this long.”

“Who’s leading the clan, then, with John gone?” Drustan asked.

“I don’t know, but she implied she was in danger.” Callum whirled and threw the wooden cup into the woods in frustration, and it crashed against a tree. “I shouldnae have left her alone for so long. I thought she would be safe—safer there than with me—but all I did was leave her to fend for herself.”

“She’s with you now, Laird,” Drustan said. “Alive and fighting.”

Gavin looked over to where Maggie slept by the fire. “And covered in your plaid. Marry her tomorrow, Callum. Father Lundie’s here. He knows the two of you are betrothed. You don’t have to tell him about Ross’s letter. You don’t have to tell anyone you received it. Even her.”

“You’re already betrothed,” Drustan added. “All the two of you need is mutual consent and carnal knowledge. ’Tis how my wife and I were married. We ne’er said vows in front of a priest.”

Callum looked at him, his brow raised. He’d known Drustan his entire life, trusted him like an uncle or much older brother, but he never knew Drustan’d had a wife.

“When were you married?” he asked. “And how come I ne’er knew about it?”

Drustan turned back to his dishes. “’Twas a long time ago and short-lived. Not many people remember.”

“What was her name? Did my father know? What happened?”

“Abigail. She…she had freckles like your Maggie. Although she didn’t have red hair, but her eyes were similar, and the shape of her face—small and fine boned. And yes”—he paused, and Callum saw his jaw clench and release before he continued—“your father knew. He liked her verra much. She…died”—Drustan took a moment to clear his throat—“after being kicked by a horse. ’Twas the saddest day of my life, and I doona talk about it because it still hurts.” He’d placed a hand over his heart while he spoke, a gesture Callum had never seen him do. Then his hand fisted, and he said, “Your da kept me sane and helped me through it, or I wouldnae be here today. ’Tis why I know he ne’er would have committed suicide—not after working so hard to keep me on this earth.”

Callum clamped his hand on Drustan’s shoulder. It was only the second time he’d seen such emotion from the man—the first being when Callum’s father had been murdered.

“And you ne’er wanted to marry again? Ne’er wanted bairns?” Gavin asked.

“Not if I couldnae have them with my wife. I havenae been chaste for twenty years, but I’ve always been careful ne’er to leave my seed behind. The women I’ve been with feel the same. And if they doona, I stop seeing them.”

Callum wondered who Drustan was seeing now. He was a private man, so he would never tell, and Callum would never ask.

He looked over at Maggie. If she had died, would he have felt the same? Judging by the way his chest squeezed and his pulse sped up just thinking about losing her before they’d even begun, the answer was yes. Which was a problem if she didn’t feel the same.

“Maggie says she willna have me,” he said gruffly. “That she’s leaving the Highlands for good.”

Gavin followed Callum’s gaze to where she lay sleeping by the fire. “She canna just leave.”

“And how do you propose I stop her? Should I dose her with herbs as was done to Darach’s Caitlin until she canna protest the union?”

“Nay, of course not. But…have you talked to her? Explained about your father?”

“I’ve talked to her, aye, but she’s made up her mind against me. And until she’s my wife, I doona think I should tell her about my da. At least, not yet.”

“I agree,” Drustan said.

Gavin raised his brows. “You think she’ll tell someone?”

“I think the fewer people who know, the better my chances are of finding my father’s killer. And the less chance someone will target her for what she knows. If we’re married, I can keep a guard on her. Protect her. But if not, and she continues to Edinburgh to find John, she’ll be vulnerable.”

Gavin laid a commiserating hand on his shoulder. “So what will you do then?”

“I’ll try to talk to her in the morning, and if she still insists on leaving, I’ll make sure she gets there safely.”

“I’m sorry, Laird,” Drustan said. “I know you’ve always held Maggie dear—”

A scream sounded from the campsite, followed by a sob, and Callum sprinted across the grass to Maggie’s side. She’d rolled onto her back, still asleep, and thrashed her head back and forth on his pack, clearly agitated.

Pulling her into his arms, he rubbed his palm over her hair. “Hush, sweetling. ’Tis all right. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

She whimpered and turned her body fully into his before settling down, her cheek on his chest. He lay back and tucked her into the crook of his arm.

It was a sweet kind of sorrow, knowing he may never hold her like this again. He closed his eyes against the pain, regret a sharp knife in his heart.

He’d done this, driven her away. He had no one to blame but himself—and whoever had killed his father. Still, if marrying him then had meant her life might be forfeit, he’d make the same choices all over again.

This single memory—finally holding Maggie—would have to last him a lifetime.

* * *

Maggie woke with the bright morning sunlight in her eyes. The first thing she saw was a fire with a pot of boiling water over it. Callum’s knife handle poked up from inside, reminding her of her injuries. Not that she needed reminding. Her whole body ached.

She sat up slowly, looking for him. She knew he’d slept with her last night and helped soothe her fears. She’d been half awake at times, but instead of rolling away or stealing a horse and sneaking off like she’d intended, she’d curled into his protective warmth.

She made a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat, annoyed by her own weakness. Maybe the salve had some kind of sleep aid in it, or she’d been too hurt, too exhausted, to pull away. Or maybe she’d just wanted to be near Callum.

It bothered her to realize she’d needed him like that, and she scowled. She wouldn’t stay. Couldn’t stay. He’d lied to her. Betrayed her. She could not trust him.

“Thinking about my foster brother, are you? About how you’d like to drive a dagger through his heart and twist it? Then maybe bash his head in with a rock? Aye, me too. Especially when he spits logic and reason at me. ’Tis most aggravating.”

She looked over her shoulder, brows raised. Gavin stood there with a grin on his face, two cups in one huge hand and a couple of bowls in the other.

“You’ve gone and lost your mind as well as all that glorious blond hair,” she scoffed.

“Aye, I did for a while. Just like your brother. Grief is a terrible thing. Mind you, I didn’t grieve my wife’s death. ’Twas a most disagreeable marriage. But it cut out my heart to lose my son, even though I’ll get him back some day. Soon, I hope.”

He sat down beside her and handed her a steaming bowl of cooked oats and a cup of watered-down mead.

“Thank you.” She drank deeply then dug into the oats. “What makes you so sure you’ll find him?” she asked, then cursed her wayward tongue. She should never have questioned him about something like that.

“I talked to the survivors from the spring gathering. Nobody remembers seeing Ewan with Cristel before people became sick. And I checked the charred remains the day after they were burned—none of them were bairns.”

“So you think she left him somewhere else? Or someone took him?”

“Maybe. But he has my eyes and white-blond hair. He canna stay hidden for long. I’ve sent men to every part of the country looking for him.”

Maggie stared up at Gavin’s eyes. Aye, they were remarkable—the most astounding blue-green color she’d ever seen. He fluttered his lashes at her, and she laughed.

“’Tis good to hear you laugh, Maggie. It took me a long time to do so after Ewan disappeared. It sounds like things have been tough for you and your brother the last few years.”

“Aye. Ross has been lost to us for a while.”

“But why run? Shouldnae you have stayed to help the clan if your brother canna? And what about John? Did you write to him? Tell him the problem?”

“Aye… He may not have received my letters. I’ll ask him when I see him.”

“There’s no need for you to go yourself. We’ll send men to find him and give him the news. If Callum is to be your husband—”

“He’s not. And I doona need his help to find my brother.”

“Maybe not, but in times of need, it’s good to rely on one another. ’Tis something Gregor MacLeod taught us.”

“How can you say that after the way Callum left me? After both my brothers left? The only one I can rely on is myself.”

Gavin gave her an assessing look, and she found herself wanting to squirm—so she frowned instead.

“Life is hard enough without friends and family, Maggie. Callum made a mistake, but he still wants to marry you. He would have done so sooner, but he faced his own difficulties after his father died. He had good reasons for leaving you with your own clan.”

“Like what?”

“I canna say anymore. ’Tis his story to tell. But he knows he shouldnae have left you for so long. Let him set things right.”

She put her oats aside, her stomach twisting at the idea of allowing Callum back into her life. There would be no escaping the hurt he could cause. But it did the same at the idea of riding away from him. “I canna trust him, Gavin. How can I marry someone I doubt?”

“You doona have to marry him right away. Come with us. If not to his clan, then come stay with me and mine. Let Callum visit you. Rebuild your bond. You’ll like my sister Isobel. She doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do either.”

He smiled then pointed across the glade. When she followed his gaze, her eyes landed on Callum, and that twist in her stomach became an ache in her heart. He led a strong-looking mare toward her, with full packs strapped on either side of its flanks.

“Just look at him… Is there a more handsome man in all the Highlands? Other than me, of course. He’s all broody and protective. And laird of a prosperous clan.”

She couldn’t help laughing, even though her words were serious. “I doona need protecting.”

“Well, he’ll do it anyway, because he’s a great laird and a good man.”

She couldn’t help staring as Callum drew closer. He was perfectly formed with hard, defined muscles, a big cat’s deadly grace, and the face of an avenging angel dispensing justice to the wicked.

Could she trust him not to leave again?

She heard Gavin pick up her dishes then rise to his feet. “Let him in, Maggie. He is the best of us. I promise you willna regret it.”

She didn’t say goodbye or even watch Gavin leave. She was too intent on staring at Callum. And he at her. He looked grave but determined, as if he faced a heavy task. Stopping at the other side of the fire near Aristotle, he tied the mare’s reins to his stallion’s, then circled the fire and crouched in front of her.

“The horse is yours, Maggie, and the supplies. I willna stop you if you decide to leave, but I will send a guard with you—five men. They will see you safely to your brother.”

Instead of feeling grateful, disappointment crashed through her. What was wrong with her? She pinned a smile on her face, hoping he read it as a sign of thanks. She opened her mouth to tell him she’d leave immediately, but he waylaid her with a raised hand.

“Nay, I have more to say. Let me finish, please.”

She closed her mouth and nodded. Her heart beat faster. That flutter returned in her chest. When he grasped her hand and held it in his, palm to palm, her throat tightened.

“Maggie, when I left you before, I meant to return in the spring. ’Twas my true intent to marry you, I swear it. I could hardly wait to make you my wife. But…things changed after my father died that winter. I kept thinking I would fix it by the next spring or next summer, until suddenly, three years had passed and I’d barely written, let alone come to see you.”

“Why didn’t you come?” She had to squeeze the words past the lump in her throat.

“I knew I wouldnae be able to leave if I did.”

She frowned, her anger boiling up all over again. “And why would you want to? I was of age.”

“’Twas not the right time.”

“And now is? When I’ve decided to leave? When I no longer trust you?”

“’Tis not ideal, I know—”

“Aye, you have that right.”

He clenched his jaw, and his chest rose as he breathed deeply. “We both have secrets. You don’t want to talk about yours, and I canna talk about mine. Not yet. I’m sorry, lass. But…if you can, I’d ask you to put that behind you. I told you I’d help you get to Edinburgh, to wherever John is, but there’s another option. I doona want you to leave. Father Lundie is riding with me. He’ll marry us, Maggie. Now.”

She gasped. Married? Now? “But…but…”

He lifted her hand and squeezed tight. “Stop thinking of the past and everything that stands in our way. Just think of the present. With me. You’re frightened of something, and this will give you protection. Not just mine, but my foster brothers’ and Gregor MacLeod’s too. We’ll help you with Ross and whatever else it is you’re running from.”

“So you’ll marry me to protect me? That’s all?”

“Nay. I’ll marry you because I want you. As my wife, as my lover, as the mother of my children. I will create a safe and happy home for you. You doona need to leave the Highlands, and I promise ne’er to leave you again.”

She stared at him, barely able to catch her breath. Then he wrapped a strong hand around the nape of her neck under her hair and pulled her toward him. “Please,” he said before pressing his lips to hers.

They’d kissed before, and she’d never forgotten the feel of him against her mouth. But the reality of him was so much better than her memories.

His lips were soft, warm. He didn’t push or thrust his tongue inside; instead, he gently caressed it against the seam of her mouth. She shivered, a gasp echoing through her and parting her lips. He waited a moment, as if to make sure she wouldn’t shove him away, then stroked through the opening just far enough to touch her tongue, to play lazily against it.

She felt scorched from the inside at the contact. Heat built heavily between her legs and in her breasts. She wanted his hands on her, squeezing, like he’d done before.

She’d only just leaned into him, needing contact down the length of her, when a shrill whistle sounded in the distance—or it seemed far away to her passion-drugged body.

“Callum!” Gavin yelled just as Callum set her away from him and stood up.

She blinked and looked around to see the men, including Gavin, running for their horses, weapons drawn. Then Callum grabbed her hand, tugged her up and over to the other side of the fire where their horses stood together. Aristotle had his ears forward and eyes on Gavin. The mare stamped and whinnied nervously at all the sudden noise and activity.

“Someone’s coming?” she asked, her breath coming in short bursts.

“Aye,” Callum said as he practically tossed her on the mare before mounting his horse. “A lot of someones. Do you have your daggers?”

“I always have my daggers.”

“Of course you do. Smart lass.”

“Callum, if they’re MacDonnells, doona trust them. They’ve come for me, and if I have to go—”

“You’re not going with them.”

She didn’t answer, wishing it were that simple. He tugged her mount closer and looked directly into her eyes.

“You are not going with them, Maggie. If you do, we all go. Gavin and I are lairds of strong clans, allied to even stronger clans. If Ross thinks—”

“’Tis not Ross coming for me. It’s Irvin,” she blurted out.

He frowned. “Your mother’s cousin?”

“Aye, and Eleanor’s brother.”

“I remember. I did not like the way he watched you at Ross’s wedding. He’s sly.”

“Like a fox.”

He squeezed her hand, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “And I left you there with him all this time. I’m so sorry.”

She squeezed back. Fear for him tightened her throat. “I doona want you hurt. If anyone’s going to put a dagger in your heart, it’ll be me.”

He puffed out a laugh. “I’d welcome it.”

“Nay, you wouldnae. If I were mad enough to stab you, I’d make it hurt.”

Gavin charged up on his stallion. “They’re coming. Fifty or more men on horses. What did you do, lass?” he asked her. “Steal your clan’s jewels?”

Callum lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. “She is the clan jewel.”