Seven

Callum stared at Maggie, a few feet from him in the tree—safe—and he sagged against the trunk, his muscles suddenly weak. His heart still raced, and his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth as he’d watched her descend on the pulley, helpless to do anything but pick up the pieces afterward. Only a few minutes ago, he and Gavin, plus their men, had been under the huge tree on their horses, about to approach the castle and sneak inside. He’d heard the cross bolt hit the trunk up high and had thought they were under attack.

“Find cover,” Callum had whispered harshly, not wanting to give their position away to any hidden marksmen. They’d tucked in closer to the tree—the only cover between the cliff and the castle—drawn their weapons, and searched for their enemy in the dark, but no MacDonnells appeared.

The delay had chafed at Callum; he wanted to push forward and get to Maggie as soon as possible. The idea of her alone and vulnerable in the castle ate at him.

When no attack came and he couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, he said, “I doona know what we heard. It must have been something else. Who would use a crossbow in the dark? Let’s move on.”

Drustan shook his head. “’Twas a cross bolt.”

Gavin whistled softly to their youngest warrior—agile, blond-headed Finnian. “Finn, go check it out. Fast as you can.”

“Aye, Laird.” The lad jumped from his horse and practically ran up the tree. He poked his head out from the leaves above them less than a minute later and whispered, “There’s a lookout up here, a wooden platform with a railing, but I canna see anyone. And I found the bolt. It’s attached to a rope that’s stretched toward the castle. Shall I cut it?”

Callum and Gavin both replied, “Nay!” just as Callum heard the whine of the pulley on the rope.

His stomach dropped as he stared at the curtain wall, rooted to the ground in disbelief and fear. Only one person he knew would be forced to escape the castle like that.

When the clouds drifted from the moon and the shape of a woman appeared from the darkness, barely hanging on to a rickety pulley, he knew it had to be Maggie. Her wild hair streamed behind her as she streaked toward them from high above.

“Lord have mercy,” Artair said. Beside him, Gill made the sign of the cross.

“Christ Almighty, she’s going too fast,” Drustan croaked, sounding as helpless as Callum felt.

She was bare-legged again, her skirts tied up between her legs, and when he saw her lift them up to the rope, it propelled him into motion.

He jumped from his horse directly to the tree and climbed as fast as he could, passing Finn on his way down. Dread tightened Callum’s chest. He wouldn’t make it in time to catch her or soften the impact. Then he heard a bang and the sound of the pulley dragging on the rope, and he knew she’d popped it off the track to slow herself down.

By God, she might make it after all if the rope didn’t fray.

Resourceful woman!

He drew even with the lookout and saw her glide into view and bump arse-first into the tree. Seconds later, a gust of laughter burst from her lungs before she clamped a hand over her mouth. All his fear turned to relief, then boiled into anger over what might have happened—just as it had when she’d been chased up the tree by the wolves.

He had to squeeze the words past the tightness of his throat and clenched jaw. “Maggie MacDonnell, if I e’er find you up a tree again, lucky to be alive, I swear I’ll lock you in my bloody castle and throw away the key!”

She yelped in surprise and almost fell, but her harness held, and she tipped halfway over instead. “Callum?”

He hauled himself up beside her on the platform as she scrambled to right herself. Her skirts fell back to her ankles. He steadied her as he lifted his knife above her head and sawed viciously at the rope. Moments later, it gave way, fell to the ground, and slithered back to the castle.

His emotions careened inside him, all tangled up and whipped into a frenzy like her hair from the pulley ride. Without any thought, consumed by raw need and want, he tucked the knife into his belt and hauled her against him, tight and hot.

Her startled breath fanned his lips as his hand squeezed high on the back of her thigh, pulling it around him.

“Callum MacLean!” She sounded shocked and breathless but not admonishing. Her fingers curled into his waist, anchoring herself instead of pushing him away.

He sank his other hand into the mass of curls at the back of her head and held her in place. Her eyes met his for just a second, and he knew she wanted the same thing he did—wanted him to devour her, to reaffirm that she’d made it, that she was alive!

He caught her mouth without warning, lips open, tongue stroking in, tasting her, savoring her, until neither one of them could breathe. He nibbled down her throat, his hand sliding along her thigh to her knee.

“I’ve dreamt of this, of you, every night since we’ve been apart.” Voice rough, he sounded almost feral.

She answered with a groan as he slipped his hand under her skirts and cupped her thigh, trailing his fingertips along the sensitive inner muscles. They quivered against his palm, and her breath rasped through her lungs. When he reached the top, she gasped, rocked her hips toward him, her heel lifting higher to push into his backside.

He pressed closer and inhaled her scent—the smell of fresh air and sunshine and that unique bouquet of Maggie that he would sometimes wake to even though she wasn’t there.

He knew he should stop, that they weren’t safe yet, but his need for her overwhelmed rational thought. His body was so filled with lust, with feelings, that he could barely reason and strained to sink into her warmth.

He lifted his head and watched her in the moonlight. Her eyes had closed, her mouth had parted. When he skimmed his fingertips along the crease at the top of her leg, her throat arched and lips quavered on her sudden inhalation.

She released his waist and slid her hands up his back to tangle in his hair, pulling and twisting in the short strands.

“We are betrothed, Maggie,” he ground out. “All we need is this final intimacy, then before God and man, we’ll be married. We doona need a priest. Let me join with you, sweetling.”

She groaned and opened her eyes. “I canna believe you’ve asked me this. We’re in a bloody tree, surrounded by our enemies. Your men are just below!”

The low, rough timbre of her voice sent shivers up his spine. “We’re alive. When I saw you flying down that rope, knowing you could fall at any moment, going too fast to land safely…” His throat tightened, and he couldn’t continue.

She pressed her cheek against his, her breath huffing past her lips in warm bursts of air. Every puff sent a jolt down to his groin, tightening his stones. When her teeth dragged over his stubble, he knew it was with a mix of desire and anger, and he wanted to bite back.

“You left me,” she accused, her voice filled with hurt, with fury.

“Aye, and I’m sorry. My father died, Maggie. They whispered he committed suicide, but I knew it was murder. I couldnae keep you safe at my home until I had answers.”

He released her leg and cupped his hands around her face, brought her gaze to his. “But this time, I came back. I left so I could return to the castle and save you.”

“I didn’t need you to save me. I needed you not to leave.”

“I promise I’ll ne’er leave again.”

They stared at each other, tension and want thick between them. Finally, she shook her head. “Nay, Callum. I doona trust you, and Irvin’s men may be heading our way as we speak. ’Tis a fool’s request.”

He clenched his jaw to stop the curses on his tongue from flying free—at himself, not her. Aye, he was a fool.

Stepping back, he sighed. He had so much more he wanted to say, wanted to explain to her, but he’d have to wait.

“I’m sorry, lass. You’re right. I lost my head.” He released her and moved to the edge of the platform, swinging his legs over the railing to stand on a sturdy branch. She quickly followed, and he helped her over.

“What was your plan after you got me out of the castle?” she asked.

“We didn’t have one. The idea was to take over the castle from the inside once most of Irvin’s men were out, then wait for Gregor and the lads to arrive.”

Her eyes widened. “And Gavin went along with it?”

“It could have worked.” He heard the defensiveness in his voice.

“How would you have manned the walls? Stopped Irvin’s men from climbing over?”

“I thought you could convince the remaining men to pledge you their allegiance.”

“I doona think so. Not if someone like Alpin MacDonnell was rallying forces on the other side.”

“Well, maybe Ross then, but it doesn’t matter now. You’re out, we’re together, and we need to get to safety.”

“Aye.”

She sounded reluctant, and it grated. He wanted to drag her back into his arms so she was pliant, needing him again.

“Let me go first,” he said brusquely. “Your arms must be spent.”

When she didn’t resist, he knew how tired she truly was. The slump that followed the exhilaration of survival could be crushing, and the force it took to hold on to first the rope and then the pulley would have pushed her strength to the limit.

After his feet crunched the leaves and twigs on the ground, he lifted his arms and grasped her waist to bring her the rest of the way down.

She sagged against him, and he felt a tremor run through her body.

“You’ll ride with me,” he said.

He whistled for Aristotle, who came forward eagerly. Callum lifted her and placed her on his horse before she could protest. He swung up behind her, her rump tight against his groin. His cock was as hard as the tree they’d just climbed down, and he felt just as big.

She squirmed against him, then said dryly, “Well, that’s comfortable.”

Gavin huffed out a laugh while Gill coughed into his hand.

Drustan grunted before turning away.

“You can sit on my blanket if you like, Lady…MacLean?” Finnian offered, misunderstanding her jest and eager to help.

“Nay, it’s still MacDonnell,” she said. “I assure you, the ride would be much more comfortable if I were finally a MacLean.”

Finnian made a sort of strangled sound when he realized her meaning, and the older warriors laughed into their plaids. Callum was sure the lad’s fair skin had turned a bright shade of red, even though he couldn’t see it clearly.

Oh well. ’Tis something the lad can laugh about later.

The men were excited and invigorated by Maggie’s dramatic escape from the castle, and Callum noted a few gazes resting on her in wonder as they readied to leave. Gill, Callum’s marksman, looked astounded. Aye, he of all people would understand the difficulty of the shot Maggie had just made—and in the dark.

Pride surged through him, and he kissed the top of her head.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“You’re a wonder, Maggie MacDonnell.” He looked up and saw the moon had clouded over. “Now, lead us to shelter. You wouldnae have planned your escape without thinking of somewhere safe to go.”

“Nay, that would be daft, now, wouldn’t it? Much like storming a castle with no way to keep it.”

He heard Gavin and Drustan snort, and Callum had to smile. How could he do anything else? Maggie was safe in his arms, and he wasn’t letting her go ever again.

“But it won me points for bravery, aye? I was coming back for you, Maggie MacDonnell. Doona e’er forget that.”

“This time,” she said, as stubborn as ever.

He pressed his lips to her ear and she shivered. “Every time from now on, lass.”