Laird of the Mist

by Paula Quinn

  “Nae,” Callum replied succinctly while he carefully fit his hand over Kate’s mouth. He’d felt the slight tightening of her shoulders and knew she was about to let his clan find out what a fearless little hellion she was. No MacGregor took kindly to being insulted, and especially by a Campbell. “She’s drunk.”

  Suddenly he jerked his hand back and shook it as if he’d been burned. “Christ, ye near took off my finger!” he bellowed at her.

  “She bit him!” someone shouted. A dozen men moved forward ready to protect their laird. The rest simply stood there gaping.

  “Stand doun,” Brodie warned, stepping in front of the men before they reached Kate. “’Tis no’ the first time she’s wounded him, and I’m guessin’ ’twillna be the last.”

  “Aye.” Kate’s glassy eyes blazed at Callum. “And if he ever muzzles me again”—she paused to lift her fingers to her lips and burp—“I shall do more than bite him.”

  “She’s a fiery wench,” a male inhabitant called from the crowd.

  “Will ye be claimin’ a Campbell, Laird?”

  “Nae, I willna be,” Callum called out over the sudden throng of dissatisfied voices.

  “Of course he won’t,” Kate responded in kind. “I am already betrothed to a lovely man.” She tossed Callum a pert smile when he scowled at her.

  “A lovely man?” Even Angus had to question that.

  “He’s English,” Callum explained.

  “I love him!”

  Callum didn’t actually smile in front of his clan, but his eyes warmed considerably at Kate’s announcement. “Good, then ye’ll be pleased when yer brother returns ye to him.” He did not give her the opportunity to reply but called to one of the lasses hanging off Graham’s arm. “Glenna, take her to a room.”

  He watched Kate reluctantly leave the hall, turning over her shoulder to glare at him one more time. Hell, she was spitting mad.

  Callum grinned.

  Brodie snickered while Angus pushed through the dispersing crowd and headed for the buttery.

  Callum looked around the hall as the people returned to their duties. He hadn’t seen her among the faces, and he turned toward the doors to check the barn.

  “Brother?”

  He heard her voice, slight and soft behind him, and his heart slowed as he turned.

  Margaret MacGregor’s frame was small, almost frail compared to her brother’s brawn. Her back was slightly hunched. Her short, pitch-black hair pointed out in all directions and was littered with straw.

  “Greetins, fair lass.” Callum bowed slightly to his sister. When he stood to his full height a moment later, his eyes grazed over the top of her head. “I see ye were lyin’ in the barn again.”

  She did not return his smile, but Callum knew she was happy to see him by the tears glistening over the tips of her long, dark lashes.

  “Did you find him?”

  “Nae,” Callum told her, knowing who she meant. “He fled.”

  She nodded and scratched her small, dirty nose. “Why did you bring her here?”

  “She is his niece.”

  His sister looked toward the stairs, pondering his words. After a moment she turned her enormous blue eyes on him, knowing his reason. “So he will come to ye.”

  Callum nodded and looked away. For she saw who he was. She had seen what became of him when he gave up his soul to take her from hell. She hated the thought of him killing anyone, even a Campbell. “It will end with him, Maggie.”

  She lifted one small hand to his face and the other to the tears streaking her cheeks. “Nae, it will end with ye,” she said, wiping her face.

  Callum took her hand and kissed it. He did not bother telling her that was what he meant. When Argyll was dead he would stop warring with the Campbells. He would explain it all to her later.

  “Jaime’s been pickin’ flowers fer ye again,” he said, wanting to lighten the mood of their reunion. He crooked her arm through his and led her toward the great hall. “When last I saw him, he was headin’ fer yer chambers with an armful of daffodils. Those are yer favorites, nae?” he teased and was rewarded with a scowl as dark as his own.

  “Ye know they aren’t, Callum. Why did ye not tell him that my favorites are orchids?”

  “Orchids dinna grow well in the north.”

  “That is why I like them best. They are delicate.”

  “Like ye,” Callum said, smiling at her.

  Margaret quirked her lips, looking much like the imp their mother used to call her. “What flower would ye pick for Katherine Campbell?”

  Callum snorted. “I wouldna pick flowers.”

  “Ye let her take a bite out of ye.” Maggie looked up at him, then cut him off when he opened his mouth to speak. “Ye fancy her. What flower would ye pick for her?”

  “Tulips,” he mumbled, ignoring her knowing smirk. “Come, let us get somethin’ to eat.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not hungry. You go, brother, and then please share a word or two with Keddy about keeping ducks off the supper trenchers.”

  “He’s already agreed to keep mutton off them,” Callum reminded her.

  “I know, but it upsets Matilda.” She smiled when he finally promised to speak to the cook.

  Chapter Twenty

  KATE SAT AT THE EDGE of the bed and watched in silence while Glenna hurried around the room, plumping cushions and opening shutters to air out the room. That the Highland woman did not utter a word to her during her work was uncomfortable enough. But worse, every time Glenna looked at her, her eyes seethed with anger.

  Kate knew why. She was as unwanted a guest at Camlochlin as the English were in Scotland. Damnation, she was tired of people despising her because of her name.

  Her head was beginning to pound. Hadn’t she vowed never to drink Angus’s whiskey again? Och, she was no good at keeping promises. But Callum surely was. Unfortunately, the effect of Angus’s brew had worn off enough for her to recall Callum’s smug reply to her when she said she loved lord whatever his damned name was. She also remembered the way he had kissed her before they entered the castle. She touched her fingers to her lips. It was even better than before, if that were possible. His mouth had caressed hers, his gaze so gentle and full of meaning. Almost as if he . . . Och, stop it, Kate. You were drunk, you fool!

  She slammed her palm down on the mattress, and Glenna looked up from filling a basin with fresh water and glowered at her.

  Kate offered her a repentant smile. “I was pondering something. I did not mean to startle you.”

  “I’m no’ afeared o’ Campbells,” Glenna snapped.

  “Of course not. That isn’t what I . . .” Kate shook her throbbing head and began again. She’d never fought with a woman before and didn’t fancy the thought of having her eyes clawed from her head. “You fancy Graham,” she said instead, hoping to steer the young maiden toward more pleasant conversation, since she was finally talking. “He’s quite handsome and—”

  Glenna dropped the basin to floor. In truth, she delivered it to the rushes with a vigorous smash.

  “Keep yer hands off him. He’d never touch the likes of ye.”

  Kate’s mouth fell open, but before she could form a fit reply, someone else spoke behind her.

  “Glenna, go fetch some rags to clean up your mess. Graham is already occupied with Lizbeth, so there’s nae need to make haste.”

  Kate turned to the dulcet voice as Glenna strode out of the room. What she saw nearly made her recoil.

  “She believes Graham is in love with her.” The woman hunched beneath the doorway turned to watch Glenna leave. She sighed and shook her head with pity. “And they say I’m dense.”

  Kate was still reeling from the sight of her when the woman—or was she a child?—she was certainly small enough to be one—turned to her. Whatever she was, she was surprisingly beautiful. Kate wasn’t certain if it was the dirty streaks covering parts of her round face that made her eyes glimmer like clear blue ice, or if it was their size that mad
e them so stunning.

  “I am Margaret. But I prefer to be called Maggie. I already know who ye are.”

  Kate’s stomach twisted with sorrow and then shame. God’s mercy, this was Callum’s sister. Her hair was a mass of dark tangles and her spine, misshapen and bent like that of an old woman. Was her grandfather responsible for this? Kate could barely stop the disgust in her heart from spilling forth. Unfortunately, Maggie took notice.

  Those brilliant eyes narrowed on Kate, and then, with a scowl as fierce as her brother’s, Maggie turned to leave. “My brother awaits ye in the great hall after ye freshen up.”

  Stunned and saddened by Margaret’s appearance, and sorry that the poor lass had misread her contempt, Kate bolted to her feet and rushed after her when Maggie left.

  “Please, wait!”

  Maggie didn’t even pause in her steps but continued straight down the hall and into another room. Kate followed her, coming to an abrupt halt at the entrance.

  The room was large! There was a heavy wooden bed against the south wall big enough to fit three people, but by the crisp look of it, no one slept in it. Daffodils, fresh and old, festooned every table, every window niche. The walls were painted with lush green vines, and in the corner was a small tent fashioned of dyed leather, long sticks, and heavy rope.

  Maggie pushed the flap away from the opening of the tent and disappeared inside.

  For a moment, Kate had no idea what to do. The room, the tent, Maggie’s appearance . . . everything overwhelmed her. But she had to apologize for hurting Maggie’s feelings. She went to the tent and knelt beside it.

  “Please come out,” she prodded gently. “I didn’t mean you any insult.”

  “Callum awaits ye in the great hall. Off with ye.”

  Kate wrung her hands together trying to find a way to make her come out so that she could speak to her. “I . . . I feel as if I know you already.” She leaned closer to the flap. “Jamie has told me much about you.”

  Maggie’s face appeared where the flap was, momentarily startling Kate. “What did he tell ye?”

  “That you like yellow daffodils.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes heavenward. “Mother Mary, I do not like them. I like orchids.” She crawled out of the tent and sat facing Kate. “I told him I like daffodils because he picks so many for me.”

  Kate had the sudden urge to smile, but first she needed to apologize. “It was a long journey here. I did not mean to treat you unkindly.”

  Maggie studied her for a moment, and then arrived at some conclusion that softened her features with a smile. She lifted her fingers to wipe a smudge of dirt from Kate’s brow even while her own face was streaked with it. “Ye were not hurt, were ye? Callum would never let ye be hurt.”

  “I was not hurt,” Kate assured her. She could not keep herself from thinking about the years Maggie had spent in a dungeon, and what had happened to her there. Amazingly, though, there was tenderness and innocence in Maggie’s eyes that Callum lacked. “You said you already knew who I was. Then you know I’m a Campbell?” Kate added hesitantly. When Maggie nodded, Kate pushed on. “And you don’t hate me?”

  Maggie patted her cheek, then stood up. “My brother has enough hate in him for both of us. D’ye want to come to the barn with me?”

  The change in topic was so abrupt Kate didn’t answer her right away. Then, “The barn?”

  “Aye, it’s verra peaceful there.”

  Kate smiled and rose to her feet, accepting Maggie’s outstretched hand.

  Though her body was bent, Maggie MacGregor had no trouble almost racing down the stairs, still clutching Kate’s hand, of course. The delicious aroma of food wafting through the air made Kate’s stomach ache. Panic filled her suddenly when she realized that Maggie was leading her to the great hall. Hell, Callum and his entire clan would probably be there and she had not even washed her face. It didn’t matter that they had all seen her less than an hour ago. Surely they expected her to wash the grime from her body after traveling for so long. Och, she must look like a village wench! She ran her free hand through her hair and yanked at some of the tangles, but it was no use. She was a mess. She also realized that this was the first time in her life she was concerned with her appearance. The idea pleased and disturbed her at the same time. It was wonderful to want to look pleasing, and even more wonderful to have someone to look pleasing for. Sadly, the man she wanted to please didn’t even like her. But he certainly had not kissed her like a man who held her in contempt . . . unless he was just so happy to be home.

  His home. God’s teeth, what would her uncle think if he knew she was in the MacGregor holding? She looked around, soaking up the thick tapestries that provided warmth to the castle. The long corridors were illuminated in the soft glow of sconced torches. The furniture was plain but tremendously big. Exactly what a wondrously big man like Callum would choose, although poor Maggie likely ceased to exist when she sat in one of the carved walnut chairs sprinkled throughout the halls.

  The two women rounded a corner that opened into an endlessly long great hall with a vaulted ceiling that rose upward two full landings. Kate’s face paled when she saw dozens of ladies, all with clean, untangled hair and unwrinkled gowns, seated at the long trestle table with Callum’s men. The light from the central hearth did not help her position, either. Every eye seemed to fall on her curiously being led by the hand by a wee hunched-back woman. Self-consciously, Kate ran her hand over her gown to smooth it and then wondered if breaking free of Maggie’s surprisingly strong grip and running for the doors would make her look even more foolish.

  She spotted the object of her affliction and forgot everything else. Callum MacGregor stood a good head taller than the other men, save Angus. His long, dark hair was neatly combed and hung loose over his shoulders, the shadow of stubble gone now from his ruggedly chiseled features. He wore a loose-fitting white tunic unlaced at the neck and tucked at his waist beneath his folded plaid. He stood with Graham and a female of ample bosom and sultry green eyes.

  Kate tightened her grip on Maggie’s hand, not wanting to go any further.

  When he looked up from the flaxen-haired wench’s coy smile, Kate knew it was too late to flee, though she was no longer sure she wanted to. Callum looked pleased to see her. That is to say, he was not scowling. His eyes swept over her, his gaze a tender caress. But Maggie had stepped in front of her, and Kate wondered if he was looking at her or his sister.

  “Greetings, Callum!”

  Callum lifted his goblet and finished off its contents in one swallow, then returned his sister’s greeting.

  “Did ye drag Kate oot of her room before she could bathe?”

  Kate’s smiled vanished. If Maggie weren’t holding her hand so tightly she would have fled the hall and Camlochlin itself.

  “She does not need to bathe,” his sister huffed. “She needs friends, so I am going to introduce her to Matilda and the others.”

  Callum looked over her head at Kate. “Mayhap Kate would like somethin’ to eat first.”

  Kate was torn between smiling like a dreamy dimwit into his beautiful eyes, or smashing a trencher over his head for not even caring if she was in love with an Englishman.

  “Later.” Maggie tugged on her hand, pulling her away from Callum. “I’m sure she will not want to eat Keddy’s supper after she meets Henry and the others.”

  Kate felt Callum’s eyes on her, but she did not turn around as they exited through a small door at the other end of the hall. They entered the kitchen, and Maggie threw the burly, chubby-faced cook a glare as menacing as her brother’s on his angriest day. Kate plucked an apple from the chopping table just before she was hauled through another door. She completely missed Keddy’s scathing glare.

  A cool, salty breeze whipped through Kate’s hair when they stepped outside. But for the distant roar of whitecaps forging toward the shore, the only sound in the utter stillness of the surrounding mist was Kate’s own breath.

  “It is beautiful here,�
�� she said, gazing at the twilight wonder around her. “But we should go back inside. It’s too difficult to see.”

  Maggie yanked on her hand. “Follow me.”

  A few more steps and Maggie pulled on another door just off the eastern wall of the castle. The wood creaked, weathered on its hinges. Kate followed her inside what she assumed was the barn, if the sounds of squawking made by various farm animals were any indication. Finally Maggie released her hand and reached up to retrieve a small lantern hanging low on a wooden rafter. She lit the candlewick inside, and Kate drew in a short gasp. It was a barn, but like none she had ever seen before. Fresh hay littered the floor, and bags of oats and nuts hung from hooks on the walls. There were no cages to house the animals. Instead, they roamed freely, nibbling at scattered cornmeal and sliced apples strewn along the floor. There were not many animals here. A duck was either very happy to see the two women or quite displeased, for she waddled at them honking loud enough to wake the dead. A pig followed the duck in hot pursuit, snorting just as loudly. An old horse crunched on a carrot in the corner, and he, too, looked up when Maggie and Kate entered. A gray and white cat leapt from the rafters and startled Kate.

  “Bertrid, this is Kate, my friend,” Maggie informed the purring cat and then sat down on the floor. “Well?” She glanced up at Kate. “Are ye not going to say hullo back?”

  “Greetings to you, Bertrid,” Kate replied politely, feeling silly. She felt a tug on her skirt.

  “Come doun here. ’Tis less threatening to them. They do not know ye yet, Kate.”

  Kate bit into her apple and glanced around at the corn strings decorating the barn from rafter to rafter. Crisscrossing the corn were strings of blackberry, elderberry, and various nuts. Animals were carved into the wood, and dried daffodils fragranced the air. It was positively enchanting. “You did all this?”

  “Jamie did it for me. Now sit.”

  Kate obeyed and waited for the next introduction.

  “This is Henry.” Maggie became the perfect chatelaine as she introduced the snorting pig to her newest friend. “He likes to be pet behind the ears. And that’s Matilda. She honks aplenty, and though I vow she rants louder than Angus, ’tis but her declaration of love. That’s Ahern. He was Callum’s best warhorse. He once belonged to the Earl of Argyll, but Callum took him when we left. Ahern is verra braw, but he’s old now.”