by Emma Prince
The hard lines of his jaw were smooth and firm, his mouth set in a neutral line. But when she met his eyes, they revealed a flicker of the emotion he hid behind his impassive features. Their honey depths warmed on her, then tightened with sadness.
“Ready?” he murmured.
She drew in a shaking breath. “Y—”
“A band of riders approaches, Laird!” one of the guards called from the wall.
“What?” Callum muttered, frowning up at the guard.
“They bear MacConnell colors.”
“Let them in.”
As the portcullis was lifted and the gates opened, Callum handed the mare’s reins to a stable lad and strode from the group of men to face whoever had just arrived. Unsure of what to do, Caroline hung back, peering around horses and the warriors’ shoulders to see what was going on.
Even before the gates were fully open, a dozen mounted men wearing blue and brown plaids rode into the yard. At their front was a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man of perhaps fifty, his graying brown hair whipped into a frenzy around his head from his ride. His bright blue eyes blazed with anger.
“Laird MacConnell, welcome,” Callum said levelly, though Caroline didn’t miss the note of surprise in his voice. “What brings ye to Kinmuir so unexpect—”
The man’s bushy eyebrows winged at Callum’s use of English, but he followed suit without question when he cut in. “I had to see for myself if the missive I received was true,” he said, his sharp words booming over the yard. He swept keen eyes over those gathered. When his gaze fixed on Caroline, his brows shot up again.
“So it is true, then.”
“What is true?” Callum said, some of his composure slipping. “And what missive are ye speaking of?”
“I received word a few days past that ye’ve been harboring a strange woman under yer roof,” Laird MacConnell said, pinning Callum with a withering look. “The missive encouraged me to remind ye of our arrangement—the arrangement yer father believed was best for both our clans.”
MacConnell’s piercing gaze flickered to Caroline before returning to Callum. “I would have yer word, here and now, MacMoran, that ye havenae reneged on our agreement.”
He motioned over his shoulder at his men, who began moving aside. Caroline rose on her toes to try to see what was happening. As the MacConnell men parted, she realized there was another rider on a smaller mount in their midst. A woman.
“Well, MacMoran?” Laird MacConnell demanded. “Will ye keep yer vow and marry my daughter?”
Chapter Sixteen
Callum was engaged?
Caroline took a step back so abruptly that she bumped into one of the MacMoran warriors. Heat climbed into her face and her throat squeezed as if someone had clamped a hand around it.
He turned to her and their gazes collided. Those amber wolf eyes pinned her, trying to communicate…something, but Caroline couldn’t tell what through the storm of confusion breaking over her. All she could do was stand there gaping like a fish.
How could he not have mentioned that he was engaged? How could he have kissed her like that—like a man dying of thirst, and she was the first sip of water he’d had in ages. And how could he have said all those things about wanting more with her, of not being able to stop himself?
Honor demands it. His words drifted back through the maelstrom in her mind. It isnae just yer honor I must mind. My duty cannae stray from my clan.
Of course. His duty to his clan—to marry Laird MacConnell’s daughter and forge the alliance he so desperately needed. In his oblique way, he’d been talking about his honor—or maybe the honor of the young woman sitting atop her horse in the middle of the yard.
Caroline truly looked at her for the first time.
She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, her skin a flawless combination of peaches and cream. Her hair shone in the sun like spun gold. She cast wide blue eyes, the same vibrant color as her father’s, around all those gathered in the yard, a demure blush rising to her cheeks. Even seated in her saddle, Caroline could tell the woman was both petite of build and lushly curvaceous.
A sudden stab of jealousy lanced through Caroline’s gut. Yes. This was the woman Callum would marry. Pretty. Perfect. A woman of his own world.
She wasn’t normally one to become petty when it came to other women. Raised with her family’s unconditional love and the belief that a woman’s appearance meant little compared to her character, she rarely compared herself to others and instead aimed focus on her own goals and accomplishments.
But standing there in a drab green wool gown for traveling, her brown hair pulled back into a simple braid, Caroline felt plain. More than that, she felt excluded. It was as if her life had suddenly become a movie starring other people. She’d had her heart set on getting the hell out of this era since she’d arrived. But for the first time, it truly struck her that life here would go on without her. Callum’s life would go on without her.
That realization made it feel as though her heart was being squeezed by a garbage compactor.
Callum had squared himself to Laird MacConnell once more, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Who sent ye this missive?” he demanded.
“It doesnae matter,” Laird MacConnell countered. “For now that I see its contents are true, I’ll have answers from ye. I ask ye again, MacMoran, will ye see this alliance through, or will ye break yer word and go against Duncan’s wishes?”
“I’d kindly request that ye dinnae throw my father’s name at me in my own damn castle,” Callum growled. “Ye’ll have answers from me soon enough, but at least give me the courtesy of an explanation as to what the bloody hell is going on.”
Callum’s harsh tone made Laird MacConnell draw back slightly. His horse shifted beneath him, and he took a moment to soothe the animal and gather his words.
“In truth, I dinnae ken who sent the missive,” MacConnell replied, somewhat calmer now. “As I said, it arrived a few days past. I didnae think it wise to wait on the matter, so I gathered my men and Aileas straightaway to ride here and see for myself.”
“MacBean,” Callum muttered through clenched teeth. “He kenned of Caroline’s presence at Kinmuir. And he stands to gain the most from inciting discord between us. He kens that once we are allied, reining him in will be our joint aim. No wonder he sought to sow conflict.”
“The fact is, it doesnae matter who sent it,” MacConnell replied tightly. “Ye dinnae deny that ye’ve been harboring that woman—Caroline.” He pointed right at her. “And nor have ye denied that her presence endangers our alliance.”
For the first time, MacConnell seemed to notice the fact that several MacMorans stood behind their Laird, mounts at the ready. “Am I to believe, too, that I have come upon ye in the midst of absconding with her, MacMoran?”
This was all too much. Was MacConnell implying that Caroline was some sort of…whore? And that Callum was running away with her?
Apparently, the implication didn’t miss Callum, either.
“Caroline Sutton is a woman of honor,” he ground out. “She is under my protection from the MacBeans. Breathe another word against her and face my sword.” He drew in a lungful of air, visibly fighting for composure. “And aye, I was about to escort her to…” He searched for the right words for a moment. “To the Lowlands, so that she may continue her journey home safely.”
Laird MacConnell narrowed his eyes on Callum. “Ye arenae going anywhere until we sort this matter out, MacMoran. I dinnae take kindly to even the faintest whiff of unseemliness when it comes to this alliance. The lass will just have to wait.”
“No!” Caroline blurted, finding her voice for the first time since Laird MacConnell’s abrupt arrival. As several dozen sets of eyes shifted to her, she swallowed hard but held her chin steady. She found Callum’s gaze. “You promised to take me, Callum.”
“Forgive me,” he murmured.
Oh, no. This time there was something to forgive, but Caroline wasn’t
giving up so easily. “You promised,” she repeated, her voice low and strained.
Suddenly Eagan had joined the fray. His calm, vaguely smug look from earlier had vanished, to be replaced with deep creases of worry. “Surely ye can send the lass on her own, Laird. She neednae interrupt yer talks with Laird MacConnell.”
“Nay,” Callum ground out. “Girolt MacBean is still out there, hoping for the chance to use her against me. I willnae give him such an opportunity.”
Eagan clasped his hands in front of him so tightly that his knuckles blanched. “Then send a contingent of warriors with her.” He nodded toward the MacMoran men, who stood tensed and waiting for an order from their Laird. “Surely that satisfies yer need to guarantee the lass’s wellbeing.”
“Nay,” Callum said again. His eyes flickered to her, hard as crystalized chips of amber. “I took responsibility for Caroline’s protection, and I vowed to see her safely to the Lowlands. I gave my word, and I intend to keep it.”
He glanced meaningfully at Laird MacConnell at that, then his gaze fixed on Caroline once more. His eyes softened ever so slightly in a silent plea. “In time, I will take ye where ye wish to go, Caroline.”
In time? It had already been nearly three weeks since she’d tumbled through the falls and into Callum’s world. Her sisters were no doubt beside themselves with worry. They’d already lost so much. They couldn’t lose each other now, too.
Hot tears of anger pricking her eyes, she opened her mouth to tell him as much, but Eagan spoke first.
“But Laird, there must be a way to—”
“Enough,” Callum snapped. “Eagan, prepare chambers for our guests. Tilly—” His gaze shifted to the cook, who stood huddled and wide-eyed against the keep’s doors. “—See that refreshments are made ready. Come, Laird MacConnell.” He fixed the man with a flinty stare. “I believe we have much to discuss.”
Chapter Seventeen
As Callum stalked into the great hall, he silently bellowed every foul curse he knew.
Damn it all.
Damn Laird MacConnell for arriving at Kinmuir—with his daughter Aileas, no less—puffing himself up as if he were ready to go to war.
Damn Girolt MacBean for meddling in the MacMorans’ alliance with the MacConnells.
And damn himself for breaking his word to Caroline. The look she’d given him—disappointment and hurt and sadness and anger, all distilled into her ice-blue eyes—had been like a dagger in his chest.
He would still take her to Leannan Falls, he vowed. But until MacConnell could be diverted off the war path, that would have to wait.
Callum halted just inside the keep’s doors, Laird MacConnell close on his heels.
“Tell yer men to wait in the yard,” he ordered flatly.
MacConnell narrowed those sharp blue eyes at him. “Why? So ye can corner me in here with the rest of yer MacMorans and—”
“We are civilized men,” Callum cut in. “We have broken bread many a time in this hall. And as ye’ve reminded me more than once this morn, my father sought an alliance between our clans. I willnae be the first to strike against ye. If ye wish to attack me, however, by all means, bring yer warriors in.”
MacConnell frowned, but after a moment, he gave the order to his men to wait outside.
Callum strode to the table on the raised dais, taking up his chair and pointing to the one across from him.
“This concerns my daughter, too,” MacConnell said. “She’ll hear what ye have to say as well, MacMoran.”
Aileas lingered behind her father, looking around uncertainly. MacConnell shoved out a chair beside himself, and the lass hesitantly lowered into it.
“Verra well,” Callum growled. “But Caroline stays, too. I willnae have her maligned behind her back—or before it, for that matter.”
Caroline had been about to slip up the east tower stairs, but she froze, one foot lifted on the first step. “I don’t need to—”
“Come.” His tone brooked no argument. He gestured toward a chair next to him.
Reluctantly, she walked to the dais and took the chair he’d indicated.
He was afforded a few more moments to gather his thoughts when Tilly hurried from the swinging kitchen door, carrying a tray loaded with bread, cheese, butter, and honey. She also carried a pitcher of ale and several cups.
“Ye must be weary from yer journey,” Callum said, aiming for a calm air.
Laird MacConnell bluntly tore a hunk of bread from the loaf Tilly had brought, shoving a piece in his mouth. But judging from the way his eyes glittered with distrust, this wasn’t a true sign of warming between them. He was satisfying the traditions of hospitality, naught more.
The ritual of breaking bread complete, MacConnell openly glared at Callum.
“Will ye answer me now, MacMoran? Will our alliance move forward, or have…distractions caused ye to lose yer way?” His gaze darted to Caroline before settling on Callum once more.
“I havenae lost aught,” Callum replied. “But I would remind ye that I cannae lose what I never had in the first place. My engagement with Aileas was never formalized, Laird, nor have we pledged ourselves in a handfasting.”
Beside him, Caroline stiffened. He’d wanted to say so much to her out in the yard, but most of all that he hadn’t intended to use or mislead her. It was true, a marriage alliance between himself and Aileas had been discussed three years past. But it was also true that no formal arrangement had ever been made.
“Dinnae disrespect me and my daughter by claiming that we didnae have an understanding,” MacConnell snarled.
“I dinnae intend any disrespect,” Callum countered evenly. “Only to speak plainly of the truth of the matter.”
“It was Duncan’s wish before he passed that our clans be united. Are ye saying that ye would go against yer father’s hopes for a peaceful alliance?”
Callum’s hands clenched beneath the table. “I warned ye once about throwing my father’s name at me in my own home. Aye, it was his wish that we ally our clans through marriage. I believe that in the three years since his death, I have shown that I am more than willing to build upon the peace between our peoples. MacMorans and MacConnells alike have stood along our shared border with the MacBeans.”
“Aye, they have,” MacConnell acknowledged grudgingly. “But ye ken as well as I that it isnae enough anymore, no’ when the MacBeans grow bolder by the day. Standing side by side is all well and good. Yet naught binds two clans as well as blood. Marry Aileas, and yer sons would be my grandsons.”
“I ken that. But I would remind ye again that no such arrangement was ever made formal between us.”
MacConnell pounded a fist on the table, making both Aileas and Caroline jump. “And are ye saying that it willnae be formalized?”
Callum let a long breath go. Bloody hell, what a shite-storm this was turning into. MacConnell was making it clear that the only way he would go forward with an alliance was through an arranged marriage between Callum and Aileas.
In truth, Callum couldn’t fault him for that. Many an agreement between clans had fallen apart over petty squabbles and misunderstandings. But joining through marriage—and blood—made the bonds far stronger. And far harder to break when the winds of fate and fortune shifted.
But every fiber in him screamed not to bind himself for life to the lass sitting across from him. He let himself look upon Aileas. She was bonny, there was no denying it, yet she didn’t stir aught in him. Not like Caroline.
And he didn’t even know the lass. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a girl of fifteen, painfully shy and so quiet he hadn’t heard her speak a single word throughout the feast Laird MacConnell had hosted.
At that feast, Callum’s father had broached the subject of a marriage alliance. Both Duncan and Laird MacConnell had agreed that Aileas was too young. They’d decided that the matter should be taken up more seriously later, but at the time, it had been enough to merely suggest the possibility. That had been the foundation of goo
dwill between the two clans which Callum had been working to build upon ever since.
As the future Laird, Callum had been raised with the understanding that his marriage would be used for the strategic purposes of an alliance—and his wife would likely be a stranger, a lass who could benefit his clan’s position. Naught more.
But everything had changed when Caroline had come crashing into his life. Callum had let himself forget his responsibility. He’d let himself imagine a future with her. A life based on love.
He hadn’t let himself think the word, for some part of him knew it was a fool’s errand to hope for it.
And he’d been right. Laird MacConnell was here to remind him of that—that love must always cede to duty.
Still, some daft, defiant part of him fought to hold out.
“Would ye agree that we have continued to work toward peace between our clans in the years since my father’s death?” Callum asked, avoiding MacConnell’s demand for a plain answer regarding the marriage alliance.
MacConnell eyed him warily. “Aye.”
“That has been enough for the last three years. Why dinnae we table the matter of a formal arrangement, with the understanding that our interests, especially regarding the MacBeans’ overreach, continue to align.”
To Callum’s surprise, Aileas spoke. “Aye, Father, that is wise given—”
MacConnell cut her off. “My daughter is already eighteen! Aye, it made sense to wait when she was just a wee bairn of fifteen, but she is a woman grown now. She ought to be married. There isnae any good reason to delay longer.” Once again, the Laird’s cold gaze slid to Caroline. “Unless yer loyalties have…shifted, MacMoran.”
Callum stiffened, but he managed to bite back the harsh reply that rose to his tongue.
The truth was, his loyalties had shifted. Three sennights ago, he never would have attempted to delay, or outright abandon, the possibility of marrying Aileas to secure his alliance with the MacConnells.
Yet in that short time, his whole world had been turned upside down. Some inexplicable bond tied him to Caroline. Some invisible force had thrown them together and intertwined their hearts.