“And then we happened upon you.” Liam snorted. “You know, ’tis much easier to use the front doors than a blasted chamber window, you daft lass?”
She glared at the man. “’Tis not as if I had a choice. There were guards posted outside my door.” She shook her head and stared at the glowing embers of the fire. “Truth be told, I would not have made it without Maggie and her husband, Dougal. I begged the pair to come with me, but they did not wish to slow me down. Dougal swore he’d leave with Maggie before Longford arrived, but what if he caught them?” She pinched the bridge of her nose against the burn of tears in her eyes. “What if I never see them again?”
Regret swelled in her chest and a sharp twinge pierced her heart at the thought of everything she’d lost. With a defeated sigh, she murmured, “I’m as much to blame as Longford. Had I just wed him when he asked Iain, then none of this would’ve happened.”
A firm hand beneath her chin forced her gaze up. Firelight shone on Calum’s glittering eyes and the angry wound marring the left half of his visage.
“Enough. You’ll stop blaming yourself right now. Do you understand?”
When she did not respond soon enough for him, he leaned closer, his face scant inches from hers. “Do you?”
She managed a slight nod. “Aye, Calum.”
“Good.” His thumb brushed over her skin. “I can assure you, you’ll not be marrying Longford. He’s a dead man, Arabella. That, I vow to you.”
The determined gleam in his eyes took her breath away. She was uncertain if his stalwart proclamation should trouble or flatter her. When he released her chin, she folded her arms across her middle and hunched over to stare at the fire.
For the moment, the uncertainty of her future frightened her worse than Geoffrey Longford ever would. Her mind spun in several directions, none of which made a bit of sense. What was she to do? Survive off her uncle’s charity for the remainder of her days?
“You know…you should find yourself a strong, sure Highlander to wed,” Liam suggested, as if he plucked the dismal thoughts from his head.
Wed? Saints alive, had she not escaped one unwanted marriage by a hairsbreadth?
“Aye.” Symon nodded. “You’d be well protected, my lady.”
Besides, even if she wished to secure a match, ’twas no longer possible. She sighed. “My home…everything, including my dowry, is gone, Liam.”
He shrugged. “There are some who marry for love.”
Arabella nearly rolled her eyes at the foolish statement. Any who’d sought her hand in the past hoped to gain far more than a wife from the match. Land, wealth, status—’twas what any suitor sought of her. Not one had truly cared for her, or even truly known her. Iain had taken careful measures to safeguard her from the mercenary pursuits of other men, but to no avail. ’Twas not enough to save them both from Geoffrey Longford.
Strong arms scooped her up from the furs, and Arabella almost jumped out of her skin. Calum tightened his hold and spoke softly. “I’ll carry you to the loch to wash your face.”
Frowning, she pressed a hand to her cheek, surprised to find her skin damp with tears. Snapping her eyes shut, she sucked in a deep breath to gather her waning composure. Trouble was, she hovered on the brink of splintering apart.
“You can cry…if you wish.”
Despite the sadness overwhelming her, a smile tugged at her lips. As he carried her through the wood, she laid her head on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his skin. She could not say what set this man apart from others, but the feel of his arms around her felt natural, comforting, safe—as if she’d known him her entire life.
Near the water’s edge, Calum awkwardly knelt on one knee and settled her atop the other. She gripped his shoulders for balance, while he leaned forward and dipped a corner of his mantle in the frigid water. In the same manner one might soothe a child, he wiped the coarse fabric over her face, washing away her tears. His cool gaze appraised every inch of her features. With furrowed brows, he paused his ministrations, resting the damp material against her cheek.
“I do not like seeing you upset.” He spoke the gruff words as if they were ripped from him.
Uncertain how to reply, she blurted the first thing to spring to mind when she found her voice. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
Calum chucked the cloth from his hand and cupped her face in his callused palm. Warmth seeped into her cold cheek.
“Understand this now, Arabella,” he demanded. “You’re not troubling me, nor are you to blame for any of this. Get that through your head. You’re entitled to your despair, but stop wallowing in guilt for the actions of another. What would your brother say if he knew you were behaving in such a manner?”
Hot tears ran from her eyes, clouding the stern lines of his visage. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He would tell me to stop being daft.”
“Aye, he would.” Calum brushed his thumb beneath her eye, swiping away tears. “So…stop being daft.”
Laughter burst from her throat, but soon turned to broken sobs. He tugged her closer into the shelter of his body and tucked her head beneath his chin.
“’Tis all right to weep.” With a soft touch, he stroked his big hand over her hair. “You’ll always be safe with me, lass.”
His kind words breached the invisible wall Arabella had built around her grief and sorrow. Feelings she held at bay surged forward and pushed through the fractures, releasing a flood of heartache and sadness. Her tears flowed unchecked as she allowed her despair free rein at last. She wept for what she’d lost—her brother, their home and, with it, the last ties to their mother and father. She wept for Maggie and Dougal, and even for the regret and guilt she might always harbor, deep in her heart. Through the battering storm, Calum held fast, his sturdy arms encircling her, bestowing a depth of comfort she likely did not deserve, but she clung to him all the same.
When the tide ebbed and her tears ran dry, she rested her forehead against the warmth of his neck. His hand continued an idle sweep from the crown of her hair to the small of her back. Oddly, the feel of his bare skin, coupled with the light touch, calmed her distress and stirred entirely new, different feelings within her.
With a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her head up and washed the tears from her face once more. Moonlight shone on his harsh face while he pressed the damp fabric to her hot cheeks.
Unable to glance away, she studied the lines of his countenance. His broad forehead led to a long, straight nose with a slight bend at the bridge. Midnight whiskers covered the firm square of his jaw. And those entrancing eyes, framed with sooty lashes, remained unblinking while she boldly took in every aspect of his features.
Arabella raised her hand and ran her fingers over the raised, marked skin near the left of his temple. He inhaled sharply, but allowed her hand to travel down the old wound, through his whiskers, down to his parted mouth. She brushed a fingertip along his full bottom lip.
“Thank you, Calum.”
An odd look she could not name glimmered in his eyes. For one small instant, she imagined he might lean the short distance between them and kiss her. Instead, he heaved a deep breath, bathing her finger in warmth, and then glanced toward the loch, away from her.
“The hour grows late,” he muttered. “We should return to camp.”
Shamed by her wantonness and stung by his rejection, she dropped her hand and blood rushed to her cheeks, heating her face to the roots of her hair. He must think her no better than a whore. As he rose to his feet and carried her through the surrounding wood, she fought the instinct to bury her face in her hands.
Calum strode into the clearing and headed for a tree on the edge of camp. Holding her in his arms, he lowered them to the ground. She tried to rise from his lap, but his grip tightened around her middle. Grabbing the furs beside him, he leaned back against the base of the tree and tucked the blankets around them. With a gentle press, he pushed her head down on his chest.
“Go to sleep.”
His deep voice rumbled beneath her ear. She lifted her head to argue, but he pressed her head down again.
“Sleep, Arabella.”
Weary from her bout of tears, she surrendered to his command and found a more comfortable position against him. Surrounded in warmth, she rested her cheek over his beating heart. Soon, the steady thump lulled her toward sleep. One final thought lingered in her mind—kissing Calum MacGregor.
Chapter Eight
CALUM’S EYES SNAPPED open as an eerie sense of warning nudged him from sleep. The hair along his nape stood on end and his heart sped to a restless beat. He’d learned long ago to heed his God-given instincts and, at the moment, they bellowed at him to take action.
His gaze darted over the camp before coming to rest on the woman in his lap, who laid in a deep slumber. With care, he unwrapped her arms from his middle and lifted Arabella away, settling her against the tree beside him. Rising to his feet, he gave her one last lingering look, then strode to the middle of camp and let loose a shrill whistle.
Whether packing for the day’s journey or lost in slumber, each of his warriors snapped to attention, responding to his call to arms. Before he managed to speak a word of warning, his man, Anthony, hastened through the wood from the main thoroughfare.
Between panting breaths, the lad managed to speak between his gasps. “Laird, men approach.”
Calum raked a hand over his head. “So they’ve found us?”
Anthony answered with a grim nod.
Damn, how could he have allowed this to happen? He should’ve pushed them to ride through the night. At least until they reached Scots territory. Little good it did them now.
“How many?”
Liam, Symon, and Gregor huddled closer around Anthony, awaiting his words.
Anthony waved a hand southward. “At least two score. Most on foot. English soldiers, Laird.”
No doubt they’d come for Arabella. Why else would an ample force of English soldiers stray so far north near the Scots border?
“How close?”
“Too close. We cannot outrun them…not with the woman.”
Several choice curses flew from Calum’s mouth. He nodded at Anthony and motioned for his men to prepare for battle. Out of options, they would meet their enemy head on. He and his clansmen had faced far worse odds and met with success. Now should be no different.
Determined, he barked out a string of orders to his men, who jumped to do his bidding. He sent four warriors, a pair east and west, to double back and pick up the rear after their enemy entered the clearing. A quick glimpse in Arabella’s direction prompted his heart to pick up pace. Another round of curses fell from his lips.
Christ’s bones, what the devil was he supposed to do with her? How was he to keep her safe in the midst of a small-scale skirmish?
Calum paced the camp, searching for any place to stow her out of harm’s way. His gaze swept over the encampment twice before landing on her gelding. The beast pawed the earth and tossed his mane as though sensing the imminent danger. As he watched the restless animal, an idea took root in his mind.
“Gregor, bring Arabella’s horse.”
His clansman cast him a dubious stare, but hastened to retrieve the beast.
Calum hurried to Arabella and knelt in front of her. He shook her shoulders until her bleary eyes snapped open.
“I need you to listen closely. Company’s headed our way. ’Tis not the time to argue. Just do as I say.” When she merely blinked at him, he tightened his grip on her shoulders. “’Tis urgent. Do you understand?”
She hurriedly nodded. “Company?”
“English soldiers. More than a few.”
Dread pulled at her features. “You think—”
“Aye, we must keep you safe.”
“Let me grab my bow. I can help.” She attempted to scramble up onto unsteady legs, but he held her firm.
Had sleep addled her brain? The daft woman.
“You’ll do as I say.” He swept away the furs and helped her to rise. “Take your mount and go to the loch. Should something happen, you ride north. Do not stop. Ride until you reach Fraser. Understand?”
It took everything in him to not kiss the pout from her lips. Gregor rushed forward and handed over her gelding’s reins. Calum hoisted her into the saddle and then passed her the leather straps. Before he stepped away, she reached a hand toward him.
“Be careful.”
A burst of warmth filled his chest. The soft words bolstered his confidence. He clasped her hand and squeezed. “All will be well.”
He smiled as she urged her mount toward for the loch. For once, the woman followed his orders without complaint.
Not wasting another moment, he hastened across the clearing to Liam. “You and Symon stay with Arabella at the loch.”
“What? Are you mad? We’re already outnumbered,” his cousin protested. “We’re needed here.”
“What I need is the two of you protecting her, at all costs. If something happens to me, make sure she gets to Fraser’s.”
Unwilling to listen to any more of Liam’s arguments, he sprinted to his horse at the edge of camp and grabbed his sword from the scabbard alongside his saddle. With the cold steel gripped in his hand, he joined his warriors assembled in the middle of the encampment. A short time later, the sounds of rattling chainmail and clinking shields broke through the forest, drawing closer.
“Ready yourself, men. Our enemy has arrived.”
The noisy rabble of English soldiers approached on foot. If their attempt at stealth was an indication of their skill with a blade, then Calum and his men had few worries. Shrugging away his disgust at the enemy’s lack of training, he braced his feet apart and raised his sword, waiting for the first man daft enough to tread too close.
*
CLANGS OF STEEL rang out through the wood, increasing Arabella’s distress. She reached for her mother’s dagger in the saddlebag along Devlin’s hip, and then tucked the blade into a sheath on her belt. She willed her hands to cease shaking but met with little success. The crunch and snap of undergrowth to the right of her set Arabella on edge. She gripped Devlin’s reins in a white-knuckled grasp, ready to spur the animal into a run. As soon as Liam and Symon pushed past the low-lying tree branches, she blew out a sigh of relief.
She frowned at the pair. “You should be helping the others.”
“Tell that to Calum,” Symon grunted.
“He sent you to guard me?” Twin glares answered her question. “’Tis madness. You’re needed with your clansmen. Not here with me.”
Liam cast her a wry glance. “Excellent suggestion, my lady.”
“Go. Help them,” she urged. “I’ll keep my distance. I know how to handle a bow.”
Snorting, Liam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft, woman.”
Arabella quelled the impulse to draw her bow and prove the stubborn arse wrong. Rather than give in to her temper, she swallowed the rebuke on the tip of her tongue and attempted a different approach. “Please, Liam. I could not help Iain when he needed me most. If Calum is hurt or worse…I cannot have that on my conscience, too.”
“You’d rather your death be on his?” Liam countered.
“Please.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “I beg you, Liam. Let me help.”
For long moments, he stared at her through a set of narrowed eyes, while the sounds of warfare bounced off the surrounding trees. At last, he ground out a sound of annoyance. “All right.”
Symon cuffed him on the arm. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
With the point of his sword, Liam motioned toward the camp. “We’re needed there, guarding our clansmen’s backs.”
“Fine.” Symon threw up his hands in frustration. “You deal with your cousin then. I take no responsibility for this.”
Sword grasped in his hand, he shoved past Liam and stalked toward the clearing without a backward glance.
Liam turned on her in a flash. A menacing weight glit
tered in his dark blue eyes. Any trace of the grinning man she’d first met was absent, replaced by a resolute, hardened warrior.
“By the blood of Christ, do not make me regret this. You stay the hell back. At the first sign of trouble, you better ride north like the devil’s chasing you, woman.”
His warning delivered, Liam swung around and trudged after Symon.
Arabella nudged Devlin forward, trailing after them. Once they reached camp, Liam held up his arm for her to halt. At once, she took in the full scene in front of her.
Battle had broken out in their small encampment. The early morning light gleamed on hard steel as men swung their weapons. Shouts and peals of metal rang in her ears. Despite the chaos, she skimmed over the throng of men until she found Calum deep in the midst of the fighting. Arabella’s breath caught in her throat.
Blood stained his hands and leine, while his thick muscles stretched taut with each swing of his blade. Hair clung to his damp head, and those frosty blue eyes of his blazed like a beacon in a raging storm. He cut down one enemy, then charged ahead to meet the next. The man resembled an avenging Celtic god of lore, sprung from the very ground beneath his feet.
Snapping her gaping mouth shut, she peered at one of the enemy, inspecting the coat of arms on their tabards. A rush of anger pushed through her limbs. Just as Calum suspected, Longford’s men. Why send soldiers after her? Had he not already taken almost everything from her? Only one thing remained—her freedom—and she refused to forfeit it to Longford.
Enraged, she bent to retrieve her bow from the side of her saddle. Untying the quiver along Devlin’s shoulder, she grabbed an arrow and nocked the smooth wood in her bow. With a draw of her arm, she lined up her shot, locked her sights on her first target, and then released.
The arrow found its home in the middle of one of the enemy’s back. The Englishman fell to his knees, struggling to reach the wooden shaft. The Highlander he fought turned his wide-eyed gaze on her. A huge grin split his face and he nodded his approval before jumping back into the fray with his clansmen.
Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 75