Reckless Scotland

by Vane, Victoria

  She lifted her hand to accept, but he stopped her.

  “Be sure this is what you want, Arabella.” She needed to understand, once he began his pursuit, retreat was not an option.

  That tempting pink tongue darted out again to wet her lips. She settled her small hand in his palm, sealing her fate.

  He helped her to her feet, then tugged her forward, into his arms. She landed against him with a gasp, her hands resting on his chest. Firelight danced on her red-gold tresses, and he threaded his fingers through the lush curls. Her soft form molded to his, the feel sheer perfection, as if she’d been made solely to fit him. As soon as Arabella parted her lips to speak, he struck, seizing her mouth with the same ardent vehemence throbbing through his heated body.

  Far beyond the point of gentleness, he kissed her with fervor, his tongue sliding into the warmth of her mouth. He caught her muffled whimper and drank in her sweet flavor. He slipped a hand down to the curve of her backside and pressed her firmly against the aching length in his braies. When her nails sank into his leine, digging into his skin, ’twas his turn to bite back a whimper.

  Christ, this woman…the things she made him feel.

  Shaken to his core, he claimed her the only way he knew. He poured every drop of passion she roused in him into their kiss—longing, desire, his hopes and dreams, even his fears, the dark places inside he buried from the light of day. With this one amorous exchange, he asked for her acceptance of him as a man. Not the wounded warrior others saw on the surface, not the laird burdened with responsibilities, or the patriarch of his family, but merely a man. Naught more.

  Thank the sun and moon, his common sense soon put in an appearance. He fumbled for the reins of his control before he did something foolish, such as guide her to the edge of his bed across the chamber. He pulled away, releasing her mouth. Her swollen lips and rosy cheeks were enough to tempt a saint. He rested his forehead against hers, and their panting breaths mingled.

  “Do you see? I had to keep my distance from you or I would’ve demanded more than you are willing to give.”

  Almost absently, her fingers traced over the old wound on his cheek and down his neck. The innocent touch raised gooseflesh along his arms. He forced his gaze to remain fixed on her, though he yearned to lean into the touch.

  She murmured, “You might’ve simply said as much rather than avoiding me. I did not know what to think.”

  “Aye, I should’ve spoken to you. I’m sorry to have caused you senseless worry for naught.”

  A pretty smile curved her lips while a mischievous twinkle sparked in her shining eyes, which caused his heart to kick in a swift thump. “Even though a demonstration was not necessary, I found it quite enlightening.”

  Calum barked out a laugh. With a quick kiss to her forehead, he stepped away from her tempting form, but clasped her hand as he led her from the chamber.

  “Come, Sweetness. We’ve tarried here long enough. Let us go below for the evening meal. My clan is eager to meet you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Geoffrey downed the tankard of weak ale and waved a serving maid over to refill his goblet. Her hand shook as she poured, splashing ale over the rim and onto his hand.

  Swiping the liquid away with his tunic, he shot the wench a harsh glare. Her cheeks burned deep crimson and she dipped her head.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” she stammered out.

  Another time, he might’ve had the wench flogged, but his mind remained on more pressing matters. He flicked his hand. “Be off with you.”

  The homely maid backed away and darted to the kitchens as if hounds nipped at her heels.

  Transferring his displeasure from the wench to the two Scots standing before his table, he raked each man with a measured stare. By all appearances, the pair wore the same attire as other soldiers in his employ, bearing no hint of their Scottish descent, but their direct gazes set them apart from the rest. A certain boldness every Scot displayed—a quality Geoffrey both admired and loathed at the same time.

  “Before Renard’s accident this afternoon, he revealed I had two Scots in my employ. Is this so?”

  The pair shared a quick look before the larger of the two men spoke. “Aye, John and I are from Clan MacRae.”

  He wrinkled his nose at the man’s broad Scots accent. “And you are?”

  “Finn, my lord.”

  Christ, he despised tossing his lot in with the two heathens, but what choice did he have in the matter any longer? He needed the pair if he stood a chance of getting his hands on Arabella again. And he damned sure would. He’d not come this far to fail.

  Curious, he asked, “Why did you leave your clan?”

  Finn shared another glance with John, then shrugged. “Coin, my lord.”

  Despite the fault of their birth, Geoffrey could appreciate the honest statement. Had he not clawed and scraped his way up from the dregs himself?

  “Do either of you plan to return to your clan when you’ve earned enough coin?”

  Not that he cared, in truth. ’Twas merely a matter of understanding where the men’s loyalties lie. It mattered not. The pair of heathens was naught to him but a means to an end.

  “Nay,” John spoke for the first time. “’Tis naught to return to. The laird cares not about his people.”

  For the first time in days, Geoffrey grinned at the welcoming piece of information.

  “Well, if ’tis coin you seek, then I have a proposition for the pair of you.”

  *

  As Calum guided Arabella along the torch-lit passage toward the main stairway, his words soaked into her reeling mind. She dug her heels in and attempted to pull her hand free, but his grip tightened. Pausing near the top step, he slanted her a questioning frown.

  “What’s amiss?” Concern deepened his voice.

  She bit her lip. “Why should your clan be eager to meet me? They know naught of me.”

  “I suppose they’re anxious to meet the woman who makes Fraser soft.”

  Arabella blinked. Soft? Uncle Hammish soft? He could not mean the same harsh, rough-spoken man from her youth. What a silly notion.

  “I’m afraid your clan is mistaken. I assure you, he most likely thinks me naught more than a troublesome female.”

  “Aye, well, I could see why he’d think as much.” A playful smile tugged at his lips.

  Affronted, she scowled and the big-headed giant had the audacity to laugh.

  He amended, “Although, I’m certain you do make him soft.”

  Prepared for more of his teasing, she snapped. “Why is that?”

  His clear gaze seared through her. “Because…you make me soft.”

  Speechless, she stumbled on the edge of the first step and pitched forward. Thankfully, Calum was quick to act, darting his hand out to wrap around her upper arm. He tugged her into his side, righting her near miss.

  “Careful, Sweetness. I’ve got you.”

  Faith, but the man left her senseless and off balance. She grasped ahold of his strong forearm. Somehow, the tanned skin beneath her fingertips and the nearness of his warm body tethered her to the earth. Of course, the close proximity did little to stop her head from spinning in circles.

  His large hand settled over hers as he aided her down the stairs with care. “In truth, Fraser was beside himself with worry when I left. The sight of you safe and sound should set his mind at ease.”

  She nodded, but the truth was, unease settled in her chest and doubt crept into her thoughts. Many years had passed since she’d last visited her kin. With Iain’s duties at Penswyck and errands for the king, there had been no time for the two of them to travel north. Would Uncle Hammish welcome her with open arms as he once had done?

  Her distress intensified when she realized she and Calum paused at the entrance of the great hall. She craned her neck to peek inside, and her heart began to thump wildly. Several MacGregors had assembled in the hall, awaiting their laird’s arrival. Her stomach tied in knots. She tried to lower her han
d from Calum’s arm, but his hold tightened.

  “My clan’s full of fine, honorable people, Arabella. There’s naught to fret over. Trust me.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Shall we?”

  With a deep breath, she gathered her courage and nodded. Together, they strode across the threshold into the hall, only to be met with deafening silence. Every gaze in the large chamber fastened on the two of them and her step faltered.

  Apprehension burrowed beneath her skin and raised the hair at her nape. In an instant, her confidence withered into a fine powder and she sidled closer to Calum’s side. Surely, the entire clan heard the pounding drum of her heart. Digging her nails into Calum’s forearm, she wavered on the brink of outright panic.

  “Well, ’tis a mercy! I might’ve starved to death waiting for the pair of you.”

  Liam’s voice boomed to the rafters, diverting the hall’s attention from her and Calum. Mairi burst into a fit of giggles and the rest of the clan promptly followed suit, exchanging grins and laughter.

  Before Arabella had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, Calum slipped his hand to her lower back and softly nudged her forward. They moved through the center of the hall, passing rows of packed trestle tables. As they passed, clan members extended kind smiles, nodded their heads, or spoke words of welcome. Her unease melted with each genuine show of hospitality.

  Once she and Calum made it across the chamber, he helped her onto a cushioned, high-backed chair near the middle of the high table. When he seated himself beside her, Mairi leaned forward from his left and beamed a bright smile.

  “I’m pleased you joined us.”

  “Aye, about blasted time.”

  Arabella glanced to her right where Liam sprawled beside her. With a lazy grin, he winked. ’Twas then she realized his outrageous exclamation had been deliberate, to spare her discomfort. Suddenly more at ease in her own skin, she relaxed and settled back in her seat.

  She peered around the hall, anticipating the MacGregors’ curious stares, but most carried on with idle chatter. Servants flitted from table to table, filling bare trenchers and pouring ale. A short, stout maid paused between her and Calum with a serving tray of roasted meat. The scent wafted up to her nose, eliciting an angry growl from her empty stomach. Calum shot her an amused glance from the corner of his eyes, and she lifted her shoulder with a shameless shrug.

  Perhaps ’twas unseemly, but days spent eating naught but plain fare such as bannocks and dried meats had grown unappealing. Calum heaped an array of cooked meats and vegetables onto the trencher in front of him. Mouth watering, she leaned closer, eyeing a particularly appetizing morsel of pork.

  Suddenly, the plate shifted to her face and she sat back in surprise. Her gaze darted to Calum’s and she narrowed her eyes. Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes and a carefree grin touched his lips.

  “You must be famished. Eat, Arabella.” He presented her his eating knife.

  For once, ’twas an order she would not argue with. She accepted the dagger and speared the piece of pork she’d coveted. The first bite was pure magic to her stomach and she nearly sighed in appreciation. Uncaring of anyone’s stare, she ate as though she’d not eaten in a fortnight, which was not too far from the truth. Food had been far from her mind at Penswyck.

  Once she’d eaten her fill, she returned Calum’s blade and sat back with a contented sigh. Of course, the man refused to eat until she’d firmly assured him she could not stomach another bite. She smiled as she watched him dine with relish. Perhaps ’twas odd, but the thoughtful gesture touched her.

  Over his shoulder, Mairi waved at her. The bold woman elbowed her brother in the ribs and he almost choked on a mouthful of meat. He leaned back in his seat and Mairi, heedless of his dark countenance, shoved a tray of tiny pies at him.

  “Pass them over.” She nudged his shoulder. “Try a tart, Arabella. Aunt Elena made them special for you.”

  Despite her full belly, Arabella picked up one of the sticky pastries and bit into the flaky crust. The delectable combination of sweet honey and tart berry lingered on her tongue. Savoring the flavor, she hummed in appreciation and licked the sticky honey from her fingers.

  Calum choked out a strangled noise and she looked over at him. Deep scarlet tinged his cheeks and his chest rose and fell from his labored breaths. Shifting in his seat, he glanced away from her and studied the trencher in front of him with a frown.

  Whatever was the matter with the man now?

  Dismissing his odd behavior, she caught Mairi’s eyes. “These are from heaven. Please let your aunt know how much I enjoyed them.”

  She snagged two more before a brooding Calum placed them out of reach on the table.

  “You can tell her yourself. She’s seated beside Liam.” Mairi pointed past Arabella.

  She peered to her right, around Liam’s bulk, to a robust woman with a mix of stunning graying-blonde hair and striking blue eyes. ’Twas plain to see where Liam had gotten his looks. Elena shoved at her son’s shoulder, urging him to sit back from his trencher.

  “I’m pleased you enjoyed my treats, lass. ’Tis fortunate our Mairi hoarded them away before these two heathens”—she waved a hand at her son and nephew—“had a go at them.”

  Liam tossed his mother a disgruntled scowl. “I take offense. In no way do we resemble heathens.”

  He stabbed a sizeable chunk of meat with his knife and jammed it in his mouth.

  Elena raised her eyebrows. “Humph, you and Calum act like a pair of bairns fighting over a teat.”

  A choked cough flew from Arabella’s mouth. She grabbed her goblet of water and swallowed a deep drink. Clearly, bold tongues affected the females of this family. Once she cleared her throat, she met Elena’s amused stare.

  “You and Mairi have my thanks for arranging such a fine meal this evening, Lady Elena.”

  “’Tis no trouble at all, my dear.” The regal woman beamed at her. “I’m simply happy to have you grace this hall at last. You take so much after your mother.”

  “You knew her?”

  Elena bobbed her head. “Arianna and I were inseparable before she married your father.”

  The information came as a surprise to Arabella. “In truth?”

  “Why, of course we were.” Elena released a tinkling laugh. “Used to run around here teasing your uncle and Calum’s father, Cormac, something fierce. Once you’ve had a bit of rest, I’d be delighted to tell you more of her.”

  A bubble of excitement blossomed in Arabella’s chest. “Oh, that would please me very much. Thank you, my lady.”

  “Oh, come now. Stop all this ‘lady’ nonsense. Around here, people just call me Elena.”

  Arabella felt a tug at her sleeve. She beamed a bright smile at the older woman before she turned to face Calum.

  “Mairi wants your attention,” he grumbled.

  He looked so perturbed she bit her bottom lip to prevent a laugh from slipping free.

  She laid her hand on his forearm. “Thank you, Calum.”

  “Should’ve just seated the lot of you together and been done with it,” he groused as he shifted in his seat and reached for his goblet.

  Mairi pushed at his shoulder, which caused the ale from his cup to spill over onto his tunic and braies.

  She ignored her brother’s growl with a dismissive wave of her hand. “After a good night’s rest, I’ll show you around the keep in the morn. Calum’ll be busy with his swordplay, or whatever he does to occupy his time.”

  Arabella struggled not to laugh at the look on Calum’s face. The man’s eyes bulged, his color darkened a deep red, and his upper lip curled in disgust. In his current mood, he might not appreciate her amusement in the least. She squeezed his forearm, digging in her nails to keep him from throttling his sister.

  “That would be lovely, Mairi.”

  Without warning, the keep’s main doors banged open and all sound ground to a halt. Every head in the great hall swiveled toward the entrance. Beneath her fingertip
s, the sinews in Calum’s arm rippled as he clenched his eating knife in a white-knuckled grip.

  Cold blasts of autumn air preceded Anthony and another large warrior, garbed in a different yet familiar tartan cloak, into the hall. Two more bulky soldiers followed a few paces behind. Lastly, an aging, barrel-chested warrior with prominent red hair streaked with white paused at the threshold.

  The older man surveyed the hall with an impassive air at odds with the harsh angles of his unforgiving countenance. One hand lifted to stroke his bushy, rust-colored beard, while the other rested on the hilt of the sword at his side. His mossy green gaze swept over the hall before settling on her.

  “Well, girl. Do not just sit there. Get over here and give me a proper greeting.”

  Uncle Hammish.

  Arabella bolted from the chair with such force it toppled backward onto the stone floor. Unconcerned with anyone or anything else in the chamber, she ran across the hall and threw herself into her uncle’s waiting arms. He caught her in a tight embrace, wringing the breath from her lungs.

  “’Tis been far too long, my lass.”

  “Oh, Uncle, I’ve missed you so.”

  He stepped back and held on to her shoulders. His glazed eyes searched over her features. “You’re the very image of your mother.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he stiffened. Donning the familiar harsh guise she recognized from her youth, he hurriedly tugged her behind his back. She’d no notion what had gotten into him, until she peeked over his broad shoulder.

  Calum stood a yard away, regarding her uncle with a pinpointed stare. Hands fisted at his sides, he held his big body rigid and his jaw clenched tight.

  The silence in the hall had grown deafening and racked with tension.

  Hammish nodded. “MacGregor.”

  Calum returned the gesture. “Fraser.”

  For long moments, the two peered squarely at each other. Neither showed signs of yielding in their masculine posturing.

  Exasperated, Arabella stepped in between the pair. That appeared to snap the two of out of their foolishness. She gazed up at her uncle.