The Highlander's Defiant Captive

by Anna Campbell

  Mhairi had to agree. By heaven, she understood his impatience. Her reaction made no sense.

  She planted her feet firmly on the ground – ground that still belonged to the Mackinnons – and faced him down. "Ye dare to call me contrary? What happened to the laddie who locked me up and who slung me over his shoulder and who defied my father to send an army to Achnasheen if he wants to get me back?"

  A grimace contracted the Mackinnon’s face, and his hands clenched at his sides. He looked tormented and desperately unhappy.

  His voice emerged low and anguished. "Mhairi, I vowed nae harm would come to ye, and circumstances have turned me into a foul liar. You've suffered injury in my care. It’s clear I cannae keep ye safe at Achnasheen."

  Speechless, she stared at him. With a shaking hand, she reached out to hold onto Kelpie's saddle. Otherwise her knees threatened to fold beneath her. "So you’re setting me free?"

  "Aye," he said, the single word as heavy as lead.

  "What about ending the feud?" she asked, bewildered.

  He swung away as if he could no longer bear to look at her. "Right now I couldnae give a rat's arse about the feud." Then his belligerence faded, and he almost sounded like the man she knew. "No, that's no’ true. But it turns out ye were right all along."

  She regarded him doubtfully. At this precise instant, she could think of very little she'd been right about. "In what sense?"

  He still didn't look at her. "I was an arrogant fool to imagine that peace could come out of an act of war. Kidnapping ye was a damned idiotic thing to do, especially when…"

  "Especially when what?" she asked after he broke off.

  Mhairi released the saddle and stood tall. She had a feeling that Black Callum wasn't the only fool standing on this mountainside that overlooked the boundary between Mackinnon and Drummond lands.

  He faced her. He looked strained and stricken. He looked like he sacrificed his dearest dreams on a reckless gamble he'd never win.

  Was she his dearest dream?

  His voice softened. "Especially when ye were so much more than I could ever have expected."

  "Bonny Mhairi Drummond," she said with a hint of rancor.

  One elegant hand swept through the air, dismissing her words. "Aye, you're bonny. Bonnier than a beautiful spring morning. But a pretty face alone could never break my heart."

  His words shuddered through her, left her staggering. Mhairi licked her lips and forced herself to respond in a steady voice. She couldn't take the chance of getting anything wrong. There could be no possibility of misunderstandings. These next few minutes promised to be the most important in her life.

  "I didnae ken hearts were involved." Her voice sounded rusty, as if she hadn't used it in a long time.

  "Of course ye do." He frowned at her. "I called ye the bride of my heart yesterday. Do ye no’ remember?"

  She did. "I assumed that was just rhetoric."

  "Rhetoric!" He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. As if he feared he had as well. "I'll show ye rhetoric."

  Before she could think to move, he caught her face between his hands and held her still for a desperate kiss that told her so much more about his feelings than his chaotic explanations had so far managed.

  She'd never been kissed before. Nothing prepared her for the spreading heat or the way his lips claimed ownership over her whole body. Shock held her paralyzed in his grasp, before wild rapture like lightning zapped through her.

  At last, she moved her lips under his. He made an incoherent sound of encouragement and shifted closer.

  Wanting him closer still, she reached to draw him nearer. Lost in this extraordinary kiss, she forgot her injured arm. She couldn’t muffle a whimper of pain.

  Abruptly she was free and Callum was standing a couple of feet away. He stared at her with the same fierce despair that, despite her inexperience, she'd tasted in his kiss.

  "I'm sure ye want to kill me for that piece of…rhetoric." He snarled the last word as if it was a curse.

  She stayed where she was, studying him and trying to make sense of what happened between them. Her good hand rose to touch lips that still tingled from that ferocious kiss.

  "No’ right now," she said softly. She squared her shoulders. "You've only known me a few days. How can ye claim to love me?"

  Because that must be what he was saying. She couldn’t have got that wrong.

  His shrug conveyed every ounce of his frustrated desire and self-loathing. "I fell in love with ye that first night when ye played that trick on me and ran away. How the devil could I no’?"

  "How the devil could ye?" she retorted. "I was horrible to you."

  "Ye were enchanting."

  That sparked a snort of disdain. "You're insane."

  "Aye. That’s true enough. Or at least it has been since the day I laid eyes on a troublesome redheaded lassie whose lips promise passion and whose eyes flash hatred."

  "No’ always," she admitted, but he was too sunk in misery to listen.

  "From the moment I saw ye, I wanted to make you mine. You're the woman for me, Mhairi, and it's my own damned fault that I'm the last man you'll ever take as a husband. I wish to Hades I'd never laid eyes on ye."

  She flinched at that. He sounded like he hated her.

  "Do ye mean that?" she asked shakily. "It doesnae sound verra loving."

  "How the hell do ye expect me to sound?" He made another of those slashing gestures. "I'll spend the rest of my life eating my heart out for a woman who would happily see me dead."

  Hearts again. Interesting. "That might have been true at first. It’s no’ true now."

  He bit back a jagged groan. He suffered from such a fit of self-hatred, she didn’t think he even heard her reluctant admission. He might be a man of his word, but she was also a woman of hers. She couldn’t help cringing to recall how she’d sworn black and blue that she’d loathe him to her last breath.

  "Ye should be delighted with what’s happened. Because of ye, the Drummonds have won their final victory over the Mackinnons."

  Mhairi sucked in a shaky breath and spoke in a hard voice she'd never have thought herself capable of producing. "Ye know, I'm getting heartily sick of Drummonds and Mackinnons, and the endless carping on the trouble between our families."

  At least he heard her this time. Black Callum fixed burning eyes on her and drew himself up to his full, impressive height.

  "It's brought ye nothing but strife, I know. Now I'm taking ye back to your father wounded and in pain. When all I wanted to do was cherish ye and do you honor. Ye are the bride of my heart, Mhairi Drummond, and I’ll have nae other." A sour smile twisted his lips. "Ye have your triumph, my lady. It’s the last gift I’ll give ye. I hope you enjoy it."

  He turned away again, she guessed to hide his excess of emotion.

  A thorny silence fell between them.

  "Will ye say that again?" she asked in a small voice.

  "What? That I'll never marry if I cannae marry ye?" He sounded as if he forsook all hope of happiness. "Aye, on my soul."

  "No’ that bit."

  "That you've won? What do ye think? Or are ye just twisting the knife in the wound?"

  "No’ that bit either," she said with a hint of impatience. "If ye love me, say the words."

  The Mackinnon stiffened as if she'd struck him. Slowly he turned, and she gasped in consternation when she saw his face. He looked like a man testing the farthest edge of his control.

  She'd seen him as a ruthless captor. She'd seen him as a powerful laird. But this man was stripped to basics, and the basics were all fierce desperation.

  "Aye, I love ye," he said gruffly. "Precious little good it does me."

  She watched him the way she’d watch a wild beast likely to decide to devour her any minute. "And yet ye tell me I'm free to return to my father?"

  "Aye." His nod was an echo of one of his brief bows. "I should never have taken ye away from Bruard in the first place. God forgive me."

  "I woul
dnae worry about God right now, Mackinnon," she said sharply. "It's my forgiveness ye should be interested in."

  Another of those almost courtly acknowledgements. "And that I'll never have, I ken."

  "Dinnae speak too soon," she muttered.

  "What?" He looked puzzled. "What the devil madness is this?"

  Mhairi took a faltering step in his direction. Her lips curved up in a tremulous smile, while her heart danced about in her chest and promised to burst with joy. "This devil madness is a life sentence, Black Callum. This devil madness is a wedding at Achnasheen. A wedding for ye and me."

  She waited for him to seize her in his arms and kiss her again. She'd just started to discover what magic his lips could conjure on hers when he'd jumped away as if he'd stuck his hand into a fire.

  But he remained where he was, staring at her in confusion. "I dinnae understand."

  Her smile broadened, as she extended her good hand in a gesture that offered him everything she was, everything she'd ever been, and everything she would become.

  To her surprise, her voice emerged firm with certainty. "It’s simple enough. Aye, I'll marry ye, Mackinnon."

  Chapter 20

  Callum didn't move. His heart was pounding like a mighty drum, and the world around him faded to nothing. He only saw this remarkable girl who had stolen his soul away. This remarkable girl who was smiling at him as if he’d put the sun in the sky.

  He couldn’t be sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Had this headstrong lass driven him insane indeed?

  Surely Mhairi hadn’t just consented to wed him. Not today, when he'd come so close to losing her and he'd at last recognized that she’d never be his.

  Except maybe he was wrong about that…

  That radiant smile faded as he remained baffled and planted in one spot.

  "Mackinnon? Did ye hear me? You've won. I'll be your bride." She paused. "If you'll have me."

  "If I’ll have ye?" The painful torrent of love rushing through his veins made his voice crack. "Aye, mo chridhe, I'll have ye. Forever."

  Her face lit up, and she rushed forward until he caught her around the waist. He stared down into brilliant blue eyes, before he bent his head and kissed her with all the passion he’d stored up in his heart since the day he’d first seen her.

  She melted into his hold, and her lips moved upon his. He ran his tongue along the seam and to his delight, she opened. When he'd taken her lips in that first, furious, despairing kiss, he’d caught her by surprise. He suspected she was too innocent to know how to respond. When his tongue delved into the honeyed cavern of her mouth, she made a faint astonished sound, confirming his guess at her innocence.

  Slowly he withdrew, savoring her flavor, then returned for a deeper exploration. This time, her shuddering sigh conveyed a wholehearted surrender he’d given up hoping to win from her.

  Exultant happiness washed over him, and he dragged her closer into his body. Then in an instant she was free. Her whimper this time had expressed pain, not pleasure.

  "This sling is proving blasted inconvenient," she muttered.

  He took her hands and kissed them with a reverent adoration that turned her eyes misty. She was flushed and bonny and his. He could hardly believe it. "We'll have plenty more time for kisses, my braw lassie."

  She blushed. "If you'd kissed me like that when ye caught me, I might have come round sooner."

  He gave a grunt of self-derisive amusement. "Och, dinnae be daft. You'd have scratched my eyes out." He sobered and holding her hand, brought her over to sit on a tussock. "Tell me what changed. I'd given up all hope of ye. God’s teeth, ye spent the night running away from me. Ye were willing to throw in your lot with a murderous witch like Sheena because you were so eager to get back to Bruard. Am I dreaming all this now?"

  She raised her good hand to stroke his cheek. "If you're dreaming, I'm dreaming, too, my darling."

  It had been a day of shocks. Another one exploded through Callum when he heard her call him her darling. He liked that. He liked it very much indeed. But before he could be sure of her, he still needed to trace the path that brought him to this transcendent moment. "Every time I asked ye to marry me, you refused."

  She stared up into his face, still with that dazzled expression. "I hated ye at first."

  He winced. "I ken."

  "But it was soon clear that there was more to ye than just a ruthless kidnapper."

  "Oh?"

  Her smile turned teasing. "For a start, I saw that ye were a handsome ruthless kidnapper."

  "Mhairi," he said in warning. "Tell me. Today you've tossed me from hell to heaven and back again, and it’s not even nine o’clock. I need to understand."

  The amusement faded from her face, and she shifted to kiss him again, a sweet salute that was over in a second. To his regret. "Well, there was the fact that after you'd snatched me, ye were kinder than I expected. I saw straightaway that your people love ye. And I admire the way ye think before ye react."

  He frowned. "None of those things sound too lovable."

  "Perhaps those things didnae make me love you, but they showed me ye werenae the ravening beast I'd been taught to fear and hate. I started to wonder whether there might be a good man hidden under all that Mackinnon arrogance. Then…" Her gaze clung to his as if she couldn't bear to look away, even for a second. "Then ye spoke those beautiful words yesterday, when you told your clan that I had your loyalty and that any wrong done to me was a wrong done to ye."

  Callum hardly remembered what he’d said. He'd been so angry when he'd seen Mhairi’s bruises and learned that she'd suffered his kinswomen’s spite. "That's when I confessed ye had my heart. I laid my soul at your feet, my lady, and ye had the hide to dismiss my admission as mere rhetoric."

  "I dinnae think that anymore," she said softly.

  This time he kissed her. Their lips clung and parted.

  "Yet still ye ran from me." The joy of knowing she would become his wife wasn't yet enough to banish the horrific memory of Sheena brandishing a knife and forcing Mhairi back toward the dizzying drop behind her.

  Guilt shadowed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

  He shook his head with wry fondness and cradled her delicate jaw in one hand. "Dinnae be."

  "I wanted to talk my father out of besieging the castle."

  “It was more than that.”

  "Aye, it was. I did want to escape ye, that’s true, but no’ because I still hated you. I was so confused and torn about what I was starting to feel for my enemy."

  He smoothed the flyaway strands of hair back from her face. "After a lifetime of hating the mere name Mackinnon, I can imagine."

  Callum stored up an ocean of passion, but her injuries dictated tenderness. Her injuries, and the great surge of love that tightened his chest.

  Mhairi still looked troubled. "Our marriage willnae solve our difficulties like some magic spell. My father will still fight to get me back."

  "I'll never give ye up, beloved." It emerged as a vow.

  "Callum…" She sighed and moved closer for another kiss.

  He drew away, studying that beautiful face. "You've never called me that before."

  The humor he loved sparked in her eyes. "I called ye lots of other things."

  He gave a huff of amusement. "Aye. And probably will again. You're a willful wee thing."

  "We'll probably fight."

  He arched one mocking eyebrow. "Probably?"

  "Definitely."

  "Will ye mind?"

  She shook her head, smiling. "I'd rather fight with ye than anyone else."

  "Och, mo leannan, ye humble me," he whispered.

  He kissed her again, telling her without words how precious she was to him. Needing to take care not to jar her arm added an extra intensity to the kiss, as if lips alone conveyed everything he wanted to say.

  This time she met him readily, and her tongue responded to his invasion with fluttering welcome. He twisted to angle her back in his arms so she draped across hi
s chest with her sore arm cradled between them. When Mhairi curled her good arm around his neck, sizzling heat flooded him and his kisses turned voracious.

  By the time he raised his head, they were both gasping. His hands itched to discover her body with feverish caresses, but it wasn’t the time. "I love ye, Mhairi. I will always love you. Will ye come back to Achnasheen and marry me?"

  To his surprise, worry shadowed her eyes. "Would it no’ be better if I continue on to Bruard and try to coax my father out of his rage? I cannae bear to think of men dying for my sake."

  Callum sighed. For a brief interval, all that had mattered was the gorgeous woman in his arms. "Och, you're turning into a wee politician, lass. Always thinking of strategy."

  She drew him down for another kiss, hot and hungry and long.

  "No’ always." Her husky confession set his blood pumping hot with anticipation. Soon he’d discover all her secrets.

  "Lass," he said with regret. "We both ken if your father gets his hands on ye again, he’ll never let ye set foot outside the castle walls until the day you die."

  Her lips turned down. He could see that for her, too, the reality of their situation came crashing down. "And I’ll die married to John Drummond."

  "What the devil?" Although the news wasn’t that much of a surprise. He'd seen the possessiveness in John Drummond's eyes when he looked at his fair cousin.

  "It turns out my father and John had cooked up a scheme to put us together." Displeasure dripped from her words. Callum was petty enough to appreciate her unconcealed contempt for the plan.

  "Ye ken it makes sense. It means ye could stay at Bruard as its lady. If ye were a man, you would have been laird, after all."

  She cast him a mocking glance as she sat up. "Whose side are ye on, Callum Mackinnon?"

  He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Yours, beloved, now and always."

  Her gaze softened until he drowned in the rich blue of her eyes. Even in his wildest dreams – and he'd had a few of those, God forgive him – he'd never imagined that he’d see that melting surrender in her expression.