Tempted by the Highland Warrior Page 12
Callum inclined his head and the man smiled. ‘I thought so. I knew your brother Bram. You were just a boy when I saw you last. Colin, is it?’
There was no way to correct the man, so he shrugged. It was close enough.
‘I am Iagar Campbell.’ The name was unfamiliar to him, but the scars upon the man’s wrist gave the clearest indication that he wasn’t lying. Iagar seemed to notice his stare, and he added quietly, ‘I was at Cairnross.’
When they reached the stables, the stable master began speaking in French, so rapidly that Callum couldn’t follow any of it. Iagar answered on his behalf, and after a time the stable master grumbled and brought his horse Goliath to a stall.
‘If you’re looking for a place, this is the best you’ll get. The others think we’re good for nothing except shovelling dung.’ Iagar winked at him. ‘But there are ways to get what you want if you know how to ask.’ He passed Callum a shovel and led him into one of the stalls. In Gaelic, he added, ‘Go on and start. We’ll talk later when there aren’t any ears to overhear our conversation.’ With a light slap to his back, Iagar left the stable.
Callum eyed the horse in front of him and guessed her to be Marguerite’s horse. She was a light grey mare with delicate features. When he touched her nose, letting her learn his scent, she gave a whuff and then lowered her head to drink from a trench of water.
* * *
Over the next few hours, he worked until nightfall. The stable master Jean never took his eyes off him, but when he realised that Callum had done well enough cleaning the stalls, there was a noticeable difference in his demeanour.
‘You don’t speak, do you?’ Jean asked, using English at last. Callum shook his head, touching a finger to his lips. The stable master studied him. ‘You’ve earned a meal after the work you did. You’re hungry, I suppose?’ At his nod, Jean led him outside.
Torches lined the walls, the orange flames flickering in the twilight. Callum kept his face lowered, so as not to attract attention. He didn’t doubt that the guards he’d attacked on the night he freed Marguerite would recognise him if he showed himself.
He followed Jean to the kitchen, where he saw a few other men and women gathering outside. ‘You can get some table scraps here,’ the stable master offered. ‘And you can sleep in the Hall, as your cousin does.’ From the emphasis he placed on the word, Jean had guessed they weren’t related.
After he left, Callum found a barrel of rainwater and splashed his face, thoroughly scrubbing his hands until he was clean. He didn’t suppose anyone would want to give him food, smelling the way he did.
* * *
He waited for over an hour among the others, his stomach raging for something to eat. Though he was accustomed to hunting for his own meat, he didn’t have the choice of returning to the forest. The idea of begging for leftover food didn’t sit well with him.
The cook was still busy preparing a light meal of sliced meat, baked salmon, cheese and assorted breads for the Duc’s family. Seeing so many exotic foods made his mouth water. He noticed the cook struggling with a heavy iron pot of water. Without asking, Callum took it from the older woman and hung it over the fire.
She stared at him, her round face narrowed. ‘Merci.’ Then she took a crust of bread and placed bit of the salmon on it, ladling a thick sauce over it. Callum’s stomach roared with hunger at the sight and he accepted the food, nodding his thanks. When he bit into the warm fish, the succulent flavour was like nothing he’d ever tasted. He caught the cook’s gaze and sent her a smile.
She spoke in French again, but he shook his head to indicate he didn’t understand. Then she asked in English, ‘Do you like it?’
Callum devoured the food and stood, coming close to her. The older woman’s hair was grey and wrinkles rimmed the edges of her eyes. He took her hand and kissed it in thanks.
‘Scottish devil,’ she chided, snatching her hand back. ‘If you think you’ll get more food out of me by flirting…’
She turned her back to him and began rummaging through another part of the kitchen. Callum waited and she handed him a tart the size of his palm, dripping with cherries.
‘You’d be right.’ The cook’s face cracked into a smile and Callum bit into the tart, the cherries oozing into his mouth. Never in his life had he tasted food like this. When he’d finished licking his fingers, he kissed the cook on the cheek.
‘Make yourself useful by taking one of these trays to the Hall,’ she ordered. ‘Follow the others and if you value your life, don’t spill a crumb. Or if you eat it before it gets there, I’ll have you flogged.’ She pointed to the heavy tray of herbed salmon and he followed the other kitchen servants to the Hall, being careful not to spill the sauce.
Inside, the large Hall was immaculate, with fresh rushes upon the floor. Callum held the heavy tray, absorbing the sights around him, searching for Marguerite. If she’d been locked away in her room again, he would do what was necessary to set her free.
But then he spied her at the far end of the room. She sat alongside an older matron, a shuttered expression on her face. She wore a ruby-coloured surcoat and a cream cote that hung to the floor with tightly fitted, draping sleeves. A veil and gold circlet rested upon her head. Around her throat, he spied the silver chain and the blue glass pendant rested upon the crimson gown. Although her expression remained serene, he sensed the unrest simmering beneath. Callum carried the tray and stopped before her, waiting for her to notice him.
When she did, her hand stilled upon the goblet of wine, panic etched on her face. She appeared frozen, not at all pleased to see him. It was as if he’d invaded her safe world, the uninvited guest whom she could never present to her family. Though she accepted a piece of salmon from his tray, not once did she look at him.
He gave no reaction to her dismay, slipping into the role of a nameless servant. Frustrated anger simmered beneath his skin, for he no longer knew if she wanted him here or not.
But when he followed the others back, he caught her stricken gaze and sent her his own challenge. He’d infiltrated the castle walls just to see her—let her come if she dared.
* * *
Marguerite waited hours before slipping away from her guards during the evening entertainment. Distracted by the storytelling, they hadn’t noticed her disappearance. But they would. She had only moments to warn Callum.
She found him standing outside the stables. He’d stripped himself of the tunic and had poured water over himself. Though the night air was warm, his skin puckered from the cool droplets. She saw the reddened scars upon his back and the strong muscles that corded along his upper arms and torso.
She remembered what it was to touch his skin, to taste the firm mouth that stole away her wits, leaving her breathless.
‘You can’t be here, Callum,’ she whispered. ‘Please. You have to go.’ Couldn’t he understand that if they were caught together, his life was in danger? Beatrice hated the Scots and she wouldn’t hesitate to punish him or, worse, have him killed.
‘If they find me with you—’
Her words broke away when he led her into the shadows. There was no light and she couldn’t see anything, not even his face.
‘Don’t do this,’ she whispered. ‘I’m trying to keep you safe. If anything happened to you…’
He drew closer, his dark eyes shadowed with persistence. It had been such a mistake to let him touch her as he had in the forest, for now he’d glimpsed the secret desires within her heart.
* * *
Callum pressed her back against the wall, supporting her as his warm breath silenced her protests. She cared.
He sensed how distraught she was, but he wasn’t going to abandon her. Not after they’d hurt her before.
‘It’s too dangerous for me to see you any more, Callum,’ she murmured. ‘My father will return soon. And my new…betrothed husband will come with him.’
His hands stilled on either side of her as the coldness slid through his veins, freezing into anger. Was she giving up?
‘I am grateful to you for protecting me,’ she whispered. ‘And I am glad that you are healed. But it has to end between us.’
No. He wasn’t going to stand back and let her fear dictate the future. He gripped her hand and drew it back to his throat. Reminding her that he couldn’t speak, but it hadn’t stopped him from coming here.
She was his and he intended to fight for her.
His hands moved up to cradle her head, his thumbs edging her temples. He wanted her to feel his touch, to know the thoughts inside of him. When his fingers passed down her cheeks, there was wetness from her tears.
‘I don’t want you here any more.’
In the heated darkness between him, he knew it was a lie. She was trying to drive him away, in order to protect him. Didn’t she know that he would do anything for her?
A sliver of frustration irritated his pride, for he didn’t intend to hide. If she wanted to be with him, he could take her away right now. But she was faltering. He could see it in her divided loyalty, her uncertainty of whether she could turn her back on her family, seeking a life with him. Leaving her made it too easy for her to forget what there was between them.
Callum ignored her soft struggle to move away and held her captive. Against his hands, he felt the harsh beating of her pulse. He moved his mouth to kiss the trembling vein and her hands came up to hold his head.
Aye, she was lying to him. He sensed it in the way her hands dug into him, pulling him closer. He nipped at her throat, moving up to her chin, then capturing her mouth.
There was desperation in her answering kiss, but she didn’t try to free herself. She kissed him back, her mouth meeting his as he took possession. Never would he stand aside and let another man take what belonged to him. He wouldn’t cower before a duke or hide in the shadows out of fear.
Like a brand, he kissed her hard, provoking the heat that had always been between them. He slid his hands between them, just to the underside of her breasts. And when he grazed the hardened tips, reminding her of the way he’d pleasured her, she gasped against his mouth.
Don’t ever deny what’s between us.
Abruptly, he released her and walked away. He wasn’t leaving, not after all they’d endured.
* * *
A heaviness clenched Marguerite’s heart when he left. The vast emptiness inside was all-consuming, for he’d thrown down a gauntlet of his own, challenging her to fight. She made herself to walk back to the Hall, forcing back the tears.
Even though she wanted him desperately, she understood the challenge that lay ahead. Until she’d convinced her father to end the betrothal with Lord Penrith, there was no hope of being with Callum.
Guy de Montpierre would be furious if she refused the marriage. He’d given her a life of privilege and she recognised his God-given right to choose her husband. To deny it and rebel against him made her ungrateful and selfish.
The good-girl daughter cringed at the thought of asking him, while the woman who had spent the night in Callum’s arms wanted nothing more than to spend all of her days with him. No matter what happened.
She might fail…but she had to gather her courage and try.
Chapter Eight
‘MacKinloch?’ came a whisper from the back of the Hall. ‘Come with me.’
Callum spied Iagar Campbell beckoning to him. He rose, following the man outside. It was late at night and most of the castle inhabitants were asleep. The darkness made it difficult to follow Campbell to the stables, for the torches were sparser in this area. Though he didn’t know if anyone else was there, he supposed it was safe enough to hear what the man had to say.
They stopped, just inside the doorway. Iagar loosened his tunic, revealing reddened marks around his throat. Then he lifted his wrists, revealing the scars that could only have been formed by manacles. ‘I was freed a few years ago,’ he admitted. ‘But I remember what they did to you at Cairnross.’
Callum studied the reddened marks. Though it was possible that Campbell had been chained alongside him, he didn’t recognise the man. Whether or not it was true, he waited for the man to continue.
‘I remember you as a boy,’ Iagar said, leaning against one of the stalls. ‘Your brother took punishments for you.’ His expression turned angry and his fingers dug against the wood of the stall. ‘It shouldn’t have happened. Not to any of us.’ Anger and bitterness laced Iagar’s voice and Callum suspected that the man had lost someone close to him.
‘But now we’re fighting back against the English.’ Iagar’s eyes gleamed with ambition. ‘We’re forming our own group of men to reclaim the lands stolen from us. To put an end to the suffering of our kinsmen.’
Callum folded his arms across his chest, understanding that they wanted him to be a part of their rebellion. Although he recognised their purpose, he had no desire to be involved.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything, MacKinloch?’
Callum unsheathed the dagger at his waist and touched his mouth with it, implying that his tongue had been cut out.
Iagar paled, his face tightening. ‘Then you, of all men, have a reason to want vengeance.’
Callum kept a veiled expression on his face. He was here for Marguerite, not to start another fight with the English.
Iagar offered, ‘Come and join us. We have a small hut outside the castle grounds and we could use another Scot. Another man we can trust.’
He started to shake his head, but Iagar urged, ‘Take some time to make your decision.’ He eyed the scars upon Callum’s wrists. ‘There are other prisoners left, not far from here. I think you remember what it was like, living in English captivity. We’re going to free the rest of them. No matter what the cost.’
* * *
Over the next few days, Marguerite sensed Callum’s presence everywhere she turned. At meals, he served her food. In the morning, she saw him standing outside her window, leading horses out for the hunters. And today, when she walked through the garden, she had seen her name written in the earth beside the herbs she tended. It was as if he’d countered her declaration with a defiance of his own.
I’m not leaving.
She knelt down and touched the dirt where he’d printed her name. Seeing his awkward handwriting reminded her of when she’d taught him the letters. Guilt pressed against her conscience, for she’d not been able to give him any more words to communicate. It felt as if someone were tearing her in half. Her heart was with Callum and her mind here. And she didn’t know how to respond to the way he was fighting for her. Until her father returned, she could do nothing.
Sweeping the dirt clean, she began writing his name in the space. He
might not recognise it, but he would understand that she’d answered his silent message.
‘What are you doing, Marguerite?’ came her aunt’s voice from behind her.
She dropped to her knees, hiding the words beneath her skirts. Reaching out to pull a weed from the herb garden, she answered, ‘I believe it’s obvious enough.’
‘You should be sewing your bridegroom’s wedding tunic,’ Beatrice chided. ‘He will come in a few days, and you’ve barely finished any of it.’
Because I don’t want to marry him. Because I have to find a way to reason with my father.
She held her silence and a moment later, her aunt gripped her by the arm, jerking her up. ‘Answer me when I speak to you, or I’ll have you locked in your room again.’
Marguerite’s anger blazed. She pried her arm free from her aunt’s grasp and felt the rush of indignation filling her up inside. ‘Try it again and see what the others think of you. Already they despise you for what you did to those soldiers.’ Though she hadn’t seen either of the men, it dismayed her to think of how they’d suffered after her escape.
‘It was your fault,’ Beatrice corrected. ‘Had you stayed in your room and obeyed me, it never would have happened.’
Marguerite was so stunned by her aunt’s self-righteous attitude, she could make no reply. There was no sign of remorse upon Beatrice’s face.
‘It would not be wise to make an enemy of me, Marguerite,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll expect to see you in your chamber within the hour.’
She stared at the woman, her shoulders squared. Beatrice turned and left her there, and Marguerite wondered exactly how much damage the woman had done in the Duc’s absence. She’d been so concerned with Callum, not once had she paid heed to the castle inhabitants.
Behind her, two guards shadowed her, as if she were about to run away again.
‘Come.’ She beckoned to them. They were different from the first two men who had guarded her, but she suspected they would have the answers she needed. ‘I would like to know what happened to the two men who guarded me in my room.’