by Paula Quinn
“That’s twice I saved yer life.” Callum said tightly without turning to face her. “Dinna give me yer cheek.”
When he reached the room, he shoved the door open and fair flung her inside, then slammed the door shut behind them.
Kate rounded on him, her eyes sparked with fury. “You will tell me what I’ve done to cause your wrath against me! And do not tell me it’s because I’m a Campbell. I did nothing to you!”
Callum stared at her when she shouted at him. A battle played across his features. He didn’t know whether he wanted to throttle her or drag her into his arms, grateful that he was here tonight to save her. Anger lit his eyes like lightning and his jaw clenched with fury, but when he opened his mouth to tell her, he found that he had no words. He turned and stormed toward the window. When he reached it, he whirled on his heel again and raked his gaze boldly over her.
Kate went still. He was touching her. The longing in his eyes shocked her and made her tremble. Never in her life had she felt such a maze of emotions. She was angry with him, and she wanted to run into his arms so badly her legs almost ached with the need. She knew he would not turn her away again. For while his expression was hard, his eyes gleamed with warmth and the promise of complete possession. He wanted her. A flame ignited somewhere in her belly at the thought. God help her, but he was so terribly handsome standing there heaving like a dark dragon on the verge of plundering a village.
“Callum.” She whispered his name, breaking the silence that seemed to stretch on endlessly. “I don’t want to be your enemy anymore. I . . .”
If her plea softened him at all, he made no show of it. His expression was no more forgiving than it had been a moment before. “D’ye no’ understand that my clan has been proscribed?”
“I thought we were safe here,” she tried to explain, but her words faded when he took a step closer to her.
“We? Yer no’ a MacGregor. Ye dinna know what it means to be one, or the dangers of being a friend to one.”
“Aye, I do,” she assured him, understanding now why he’d demanded she stay in the room. He had tried to protect her. “No one may aid you—”
“Upon death or branding!” Callum’s voice erupted into a roar.
Kate turned away. She had to. He was telling her that they could not even be friends, and just looking at him made her want more than that. God, protect her neck from the gallows, she wanted so much more.
“We have been declared worthless, nonhuman. A price has been placed on the heads of our men, women, and children! Our lands are free to any taker.”
Tears gathered over the rims of Kate’s eyes as she understood fully the depth of his pride and the reason for it. “It is as if you no longer exist.” She brought her gaze back to his. “You feel forsaken, even by God. Callum, I do understand. And I am so sorry.”
“I dinna want yer pity,” he said, cursing himself inwardly. He should rebuke her, shake her, push her away until she was so afraid of him her fear and hatred destroyed whatever else she felt. “I’ll no’ allow ye to shed tears fer my clan. Ye dinna understand the danger in it.”
She did understand, but at that moment she didn’t care. God’s mercy, she doubted even Robert would forgive her for siding with The Devil, but she wanted Callum to kiss her again. She didn’t want their names to matter anymore. She wanted to touch him and forget laws and proscriptions. But could he ever forget his past and what her family had done to him?
She was sure he could hear her heart pounding. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but her mind had ceased to think of anything save the sheer size of him, the smell of sweat and fury lingering about his flesh, and the longing in his eyes for something unattainable.
He moved toward her, but a knock at the door made him pause and ushered a low growl from his throat.
Kate did not turn to follow his path to the door but closed her eyes instead and chewed her lower lip. She listened while he argued with Ferguson MacDonnell about payment for the table he had smashed. Then she near leaped out of her flesh when the door slammed shut again.
She could feel his eyes on her. Hard, dangerous eyes that had sworn vengeance upon her entire clan. Hot, burning eyes that ached with hunger for her.
“Take the bed,” he snapped.
Turning to him, Kate scowled, frustrated by his deep conviction to despise her no matter how hard she tried to make him like her. “You make it difficult to ignore the true reason you saved my life.”
His expression on her hardened, as if she’d just given him a great insult. “I would no’ have let ye die, even if I killed yer uncle.”
Kate was relieved to hear him say it. She was right about him all along. But . . . “Sometimes it’s difficult to believe you care for my safety when you continue to look at me as if I were your worst enemy.”
“Lass,” he said, and the silken depth of raw desire in his voice made her stagger. “If I cared naught fer yer safety, ye would no’ be standing there.”
Kate’s nostrils flared as she folded her hands into fists at her sides. “Where would I be, then?”
“Ye would be spread across that bed, beneath me.”
Kate’s face burned at the thought. In fact, she felt as if her entire body was about to go up in flames. “Your threats are empty,” she challenged, refusing to believe he would force himself on her. “As would be your eye sockets if you dared touch me uninvited.”
He actually chuckled, mocking her warning as he crossed the room.
She backed away when the distance between them shortened. “Besides,” she said, hastily employing a different tactic to ensure that he remained chivalrous. “You would be making love to a Campbell.”
He walked past her, a slight slant of his lips making her palms moisten and her knees go soft. “Nae, I would merely be havin’ my way with one, which in our case would be just as dangerous.”
Kate said nothing more but climbed into the bed fully clothed. She pulled the coverlet up to her chin and watched him settle down beside the hearth for the night.
Soft firelight danced along the walls. The room was silent save for the crackle of firewood being devoured by flames, along with Callum’s crude promise drumming in her head. Fate was cruel to have cast her into the care of such a cold man, and crueler still because she liked the brute. He despised her, making it perfectly clear that his desire for her was naught more than pure lust in its most basic form.
“You’ve nae more need to treat me cruelly, MacGregor,” she spoke softly in the darkness. “I will do my best to remember who you are from this night on.”
There was a movement from where Callum lay on the floor, and then, like a mad war god rising from the bowels of the Earth, he rose to his feet and stormed out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
KATE ROAMED THE DIM HALLS of the inn, praying that no male patrons were lurking about looking for a wench to warm their beds. She held a small candle to light her way past endless doors behind which laughter and the sounds of harsh groaning echoed and made her cheeks burn.
Logic told her to leave Callum alone. He had every right to want to be as far away from her as he could get. And if she had any wits left at all, she would be glad he stayed away from her. But after the moments spent waiting for him to return had stretched into an hour, she knew her heart was the true culprit, the direst danger to her well being. She sighed tightly, trying to resolve herself to the bare fact that she was obsessed with the man accused of killing her father. Stop it, Kate, she chastised herself, holding the candle in front of her to illuminate a path toward the stairs. He did not kill your father. But he is going to kill your uncle. And then they will kill him. Get him out of your mind.
A woman’s laughter seeped from behind a door to her left, halting Kate’s steps. What if he was in one of these rooms bedding some wench? Visions of his naked body poised over a heated smile assaulted her. What if he was whispering tender words of love into someone’s ear while he . . .
A door opened and Kate almost
fled, not wanting to see him exiting the room. The wench exiting the room was a bonny lass with flaxen hair that fell in limp coils around her cherubic face and over the mounds of round, milky breasts she worked lazily to conceal. She offered Kate a pleasant smile while she tied the laces of her gown, then hurried past her and disappeared down the stairs. Kate almost fainted with relief when Graham appeared at the doorway next, adjusting his plaid. She blushed when he grinned at her, a pair of roguish dimples slashing his cheeks, his hazy emerald gaze hooded with spent satisfaction.
“Greetings, lass,” he said and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “I never would have believed he tossed ye out.”
“He did not toss me out,” Kate advised the strapping Highlander with an inquisitive smile of her own. She liked this man. His joy came easily and his brash style was strangely attractive. “Is there a line of women waiting to get into this room, Graham?” she continued when his eyes lit on her in amusement. “How many wenches have you entertained so far this eve?”
“Och, but ye have a sharp tongue, lass.” He laughed, making Kate realize that she missed the sound terribly. She studied him for a moment, understanding why the women in the tavern sought his company, for he was fair of face with sunlit hair and a lithe body. Aye, he was quite handsome in a roguish way, she decided. His smile wasn’t as devastating as Callum’s, but it was certainly charming enough.
“What are ye doing roaming the halls at this ungodly hour?” He shoved a thin twig between his teeth and chewed on it. “It’s not safe fer such a lass as yerself.”
She shrugged. “Callum left the room earlier and I . . .” She bit her lip and looked at the doors framing her on either side.
Graham lifted a curious eyebrow at her as understanding washed over him. “A night’s pleasure would do him good. But fear not, he is not inside any of these rooms. Fer come morn, naught will change fer him.”
The candle flame quivered when Kate’s hand shook slightly. She should have been relieved by Graham’s words, but she felt worse than before. “What did my grandfather do to him? Tell me. Please, Graham.”
Graham studied her for a moment, then drew out a long sigh. “He was shackled to a wall fer nine years, sometimes fer weeks at a time without pause, without a day in the sun.”
Kate took a step back and lifted her hand to her mouth. “My God,” she choked on a woeful sob. “He was a child. His scars . . . his wrists . . .”
Graham nodded. “He fought to free himself. He finally did when . . .”
But Kate couldn’t bear to hear another word. She fled down the stairs, needing to find Callum. She rounded a sharp corner and almost bounced off a wall that stood in her way. The candle flickered out, and for a moment she was engulfed in darkness. Then she heard the crackle of fire and slowly turned around. She was in the tavern section of the inn. Light from the great hearth fire just behind another wall sifted through the archway, dimly lighting another path. She followed it, though a voice in her head told her to flee back up the stairs.
Callum slept in a heavy wooden chair in front of the hearth, an empty tankard strewn in the rushes beneath his dangling hand. Kate took a step closer to him until she could see his perfect features in the coppery candescence. He was a warrior, but asleep, the vulnerable tilt of his lips drew her closer. He took her breath away. She let her eyes drift over the broad expanse of his chest, the sleek, smooth sinew that shaped his arms. Her gaze traveled down the length of his body, lingering for a breath on his lean hips and then continuing, with a stifled moan, to his long, muscular legs sprawled out before him. God’s teeth, there was so much of him.
Suddenly, he cried out. “Nae!” He jerked his hands forward, and Kate’s eyes fell to his leather-bound wrists. Was he dreaming of her grandfather’s dungeon? The terror and torment in his voice almost felled her to her knees. Without thinking, she reached for him, wanting to ease his pain and wake him from his nightmare. When her fingertips brushed his wrist, his eyes shot open. His hand snapped up and gripped her arm with such force she bit her lip not to cry out. He pulled her down, almost on top of him, and stared into her eyes with a mixture of anguish and haunting fear, the likes of which she had never seen before and would not soon forget.
“Callum,” she breathed, too afraid to utter anything more.
The wall fell away from his eyes. His dream was over. As quickly as he had yanked her to him, he eased his hold on her arm. But he did not let her go. Her face was close to his, so close she could feel the heat of his uneven breath upon her lips. But it was his eyes that paralyzed her. No longer were they dark with resolve to hate, no longer were they smoldering blue orbs of forbidden desire. Kate’s heart wrenched within her at the stark sorrow staring back at her, consuming her soul, as it did his.
She whispered his name again as the weight of his unguarded gaze struck her full in the heart. Before she could stop herself, she threw herself against his chest and held him.
“I’m sorry for what he did to you.”
He did not answer her right away. First his arms came around her, slowly, as if he feared he might break her. He ran his palm over the length of her hair, down her back, holding her head closer. With her ear pressed so closely to him, she had no trouble hearing the fierce pounding of his heart.
“What are ye doin’ here, lass?” her asked her. Then, as if he realized what he was doing, he gently pushed her away.
Now she did fall to her knees beside his chair. The shadows returned, drifting across the surface of his eyes as he stared down at her. She fought to hold on to whatever gentleness and vulnerability she had just seen in him before it completely disappeared again. She could reach him, mayhap touch him if he would only release his anger and hatred for just a moment.
“I was looking for you,” she told him softly, clinging to the trace of tenderness in his tone.
His features softened again, but he looked away from her and into the flames of the hearth fire. “Return to yer bed, Kate.”
Even against the soft golden hue of firelight, his profile was all hard, harsh planes. Even his eyes gave naught away now about the torment he had suffered. Still, Kate ached to hold him. Part of her knew it would be like reaching her hand toward a ravenous lion. Her fingers could very easily be bitten off. Och, but to touch such a magnificent beast, to touch him and not be eaten alive.
Slowly, casting off her fear, she lifted her fingers to his wrist and touched the leather cuff that covered scars too horrible to look upon. He turned and looked at her and her heart stopped, ready to be devoured. She drew in a deep, quivering breath and straightened her fingers to stroke his wrist. “Do you wear these to remember?”
“Nae, I wear them to ferget.”
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to trap the tears she would shed so unabashedly for him. But they came nonetheless. She expected him to pull away, but he turned his hand in hers until their palms met. Then he closed his fingers around hers. His touch was gentle, whisper soft.
“Cease yer cryin’ fer me. It willna change a moment of the past.”
But she wished she could change it. Even more than that, she wanted to change his future. She wanted him to let go of his hatred and . . . and what? Kate bit her bottom lip, keeping her eyes fastened on his fingers. What did she want? God’s fury, what did it matter? He was a MacGregor and she a Campbell. Their destiny was already written in the law, carved into his flesh. There was naught she could do to change it.
“I dinna want yer sympathy.” The roughness of his voice only intensified the plea beneath.
“But it is mine to give, my laird.”
Above her, Callum closed his eyes. His fingers moved over hers, stroking, caressing. Her hand was so small, so soft. He should send her back to the room before the sight and scent of her drove him completely mad. Then again, mayhap madness would be a welcome respite from the constant darkness inside him.
His heart went soft when he looked down at her bent head. She looked like an angel kneeling beside him, so read
y to offer him atonement for what she did not know. “Mayhap,” he murmured, “I should accept what ye offer me.”
Kate did not understand what he meant, but she remembered the heated emotion in his eyes before the innkeeper interrupted them earlier that night. She tried to pull her hand away, but his fingers closed around hers more tightly. Kate’s head reeled. She had the feeling of falling off one of his giant Highland cliffs, and his hand, so strong and steady, was all that could save her.
“You frighten me,” she told him, still not daring to meet his gaze. “Yet I feel safer with you than anyone in my life. How can that be?”
“I wouldna hurt ye, Kate.” The husky timbre of his voice felt so tender to her ears.
With breath held, she lifted her head and set her eyes on his. He held her searching gaze for a moment before she found the strength to speak again. “Do you like me, then?”
Before she had a chance to guard her heart against it, Callum’s smile washed over her. It hit her full force and she felt dizzy, muddleheaded. She was almost glad that he smiled so rarely, for surely she would lose her heart to him completely, clutched in his vengeful fingers.
“Aye, I do like ye, Kate Campbell. I must be daft, but I do.”
“Truly?” And then she grinned at him and watched, delighted and tingling all the way down to her ankles as his smile widened into a torturously resplendent grin of his own. A new spark of hope lit Kate’s eyes. “Does this mean you will forget about killing my uncle?” When his grin vanished and he turned away, she tugged on his hand. “They would never stop hunting you.”
“’Tis late,” he said and stood to his feet. “We’re leavin’ at first light, so ye best get some sleep.”
He pulled her to her feet and took up his steps behind her when she headed back toward the stairs. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The gentle sway of her hips as she climbed the steps drove him to distraction. She was the granddaughter of the man who destroyed everything Callum was. He should feel naught but contempt for her. Instead, he found himself aching to hold her again. To tell her of the dreams he had given up years ago. Kate Campbell was carving her way through his flesh as deeply as the gouges that encircled his wrists, and he had to stop it. He would never allow her to reach his heart the way the cold, cutting metal of Liam Campbell’s shackles had. Still, when she turned to look at him over her shoulder, he felt his heart quicken.