by Paula Quinn
“Asked?” Callum barely looked up from securing his plaid.
“Aye, asked,” Kate repeated stubbornly. It was difficult to challenge him on this issue, especially since she wanted to leap out of the bed and fling herself in his arms. But hell, the man was too arrogant for his own good. “I will not be told who I am to marry.”
Now he set his eyes on her and scowled for all he was worth. “You were willing to be told to marry Lord Mortimer of Newbury.”
Mortimer of Newbury! Kate almost slapped her thigh at the recollection of her imaginary betrothed’s name. And what was this? Callum knew it all along? The fact that he remembered the name with such clarity warmed her heart for some odd reason.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Kate blinked at him through dreamy eyes.
Callum glanced heavenward, then back to her. His jaw clenched, and beside him, Graham tried hard to conceal his grin. “Will ye be my wife, Kate?”
Graham slipped out of the room as Kate smiled, nodding her head, and Callum near sprang for the bed.
Callum did not meet Angus outdoors that eve, and the burly warrior was quite astounded to hear his battle-hardened laird’s laughter filling the great hall.
“I’d never be believin’ it if I didna see it wi’ me own eyes.” Angus pulled his head back from its spying position behind the thick curtain separating him from the hall. He snatched his pouch of brew from Brodie’s mouth, spilling a godawful amount on his cousin’s plaid and cursing in the process.
Brodie stepped around Angus’s bulky form and peered around the curtain while his cousin guzzled a long swig, covered his mouth, then belched.
Pulling back, Brodie offered him a look that said he was the biggest dimwit ever to wield a sword and he deserved to be killed for it. “What the hell are ye coverin’ yer mouth fer? He canna hear those swine sounds ye make over all that laughin’, ye drunken fool.”
Angus bristled, his broad shoulders stretching his plaid across his chest. “I was tryin’ to avoid freein’ me delicate breath in yer face.”
Brodie snorted. “The only thing delicate on ye, Angus, is yer swing.”
His neck near broke from the force of Angus’s enormous fist meeting his cheekbone. “Would that be what ye were meanin’ by delicate, eh, Brodie, ye son of a whore?”
His cousin merely shook the stars away from his eyes and then threw the full weight of his body upon Angus. They toppled over backward, taking the curtain with them when they crashed to the ground, already swinging.
Everyone in the hall craned their necks to see what the fuss was and then went right back to their conversations. Only Kate gaped and rose to her feet.
“Good Lord, they are going to kill each other! Callum, do something!” He looked at her like another head had just sprouted from her shoulder. “Are you simply going to sit there?” she demanded.
“Aye.” He nodded. When she folded her arms across her chest and glowered at him, he chuckled. “What would ye have me do, lass? They fight all the time. Dinna they, Graham?”
“Aye, they do,” his friend happily agreed.
Kate could not believe her ears. She had seen them tossing punches here and there while they rode to Skye, but this was preposterous! “Well, if you are not going to do anything about it, I will.” She hefted her skirts before Callum could grab her and pounded off toward the two men hammering each other into the rushes.
“Stop it this instant!” she shouted at them. When that failed, she bent neatly and slapped Brodie, since he was on top, across the back of the head.
Behind her, a collective gasp rang out from the inhabitants of Camlochlin while Callum, Graham, and Jamie leaped over tables to get to her before she found her own face embedded to the back of her head.
“She’s a damn braw lass to put her hands to Brodie!” someone whispered, astonished.
“Aye, I heard she stabbed our own laird in the leg when first they met,” said another.
“I heard the laird is takin’ her fer a wife.”
“A fittin’ choice fer a MacGregor, I’d wager.”
Before Callum reached her, Kate had Brodie up on his feet, his ear painfully pinched between her thumb and index finger. “That. Is. Enough!” She emphasized each word with another harsh tug. “And you, Angus. Get up immediately so that I can get a hold of you.”
The massive MacGregor lifted his head off the floor and turned it toward Callum. His laird’s pitiless gaze told him to do as he was ordered.
When Kate held both men firmly by their ears, she stomped her foot. “This fighting will cease. Do you hear me?” She shook both hands while she made her demand, rattling their heads. “If you both enjoy fighting so much, mayhap a bit more training will do you some good.” Immediately, Angus’s worried eyes darted to Callum. “If I see you hitting each other again, you will have to come outside and wield your swords against me.”
Every jaw in the great hall dropped. “Ye?” Angus looked mildly ill.
“I dinna train wi’ women,” Brodie drawled, then yelped when she tugged his lobe nearly off his head.
“Well, you will with me, Brodie MacGregor. Won’t he, Callum?”
“Nae,” Callum informed her sternly.
Kate’s head snapped around with such force her hair fanned across her face. She regarded Callum with a look he had never seen on her before, and one he would not want to see her wearing while she was wielding a weapon.
“Aye?” he amended.
She nodded coolly and then turned her attention back to his newly tamed cousins.
“Did you both hear that? Your laird has commanded you to fight with me the next time you feel like tossing your fists.” She released them, slapped her hands together, and turned crisply on her heel.
The crowd behind her took a unified step back, but each face wore a smile of respect. Kate’s heart leapt. If she’d known that slapping a few of their most ruthless warriors around would win her their favor, she would have done the like sooner.
Chapter Thirty-Four
KATE LEANED OUT THE WINDOW to steal a glimpse of their guest before actually meeting him. It was the first time in her life she had ever received anyone of import at her home. It was the first time she had received anyone at all, for that matter, save for her uncle and his guard. Her heart raced and her cheeks flushed with worry. What if the MacLeod did not like her because she was a Campbell? Would he consider her a Lowlander? She had learned from almost everyone living in the castle that most Campbells were considered Lowlanders. And no Lowlander was deemed worth his weight in spit. Keddy the cook even went so far as to say Lowlanders were as bad as the English. And Rabbie the tanner called them Protestant whoresons. Kate squeaked with apprehension and patted her cheek with her palm. She looked down at the dozen or so men whose horses clopped up right to the doors.
She chewed her bottom lip while she regarded the lead rider, uncertain, by the looks of him, if he was a bear or a man. He wore a thick fur overcoat of sable brown, which matched his long hair. He was not altogether feral, though. For when he saw Graham, his smile was like a ray of light piercing the gloom. Still, Kate gulped when he dismounted and threw his tree-trunk-sized arms around Callum’s commander. Whether gentle man or savage, Donald MacLeod was enormous.
Callum came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. “What worries ye, lass?”
“Him wanting me dead worries me.” She wrung her hands together. “Did you see the size of him, Callum? Why, he’s bigger than you! I’d say one—”
Callum leaned down and captured the remainder of her words with a slow, sensual kiss. Her body relaxed in his arms. “He’ll no’ want ye dead,” he promised when he withdrew. “Donald MacLeod is one of the finest lairds I know. He took Maggie and me in when we escaped yer grandfaither’s dungeon. He fed us and clothed us, and then he allowed me to build Camlochlin on his land.” Callum released her and moved to the window. “D’ye know the risk he took fer me, Katie? He convinced his clan to live with MacGregors, and
no’ one of them has ever uttered a word that we dwell here. It’s his men as well as the MacKinnons who patrol the shores of this isle, aidin’ in keepin’ us safe.” He reached for her again and kissed her brow, speaking there. “Dinna be frightened of him. He and his sons are good men.”
Kate nodded, keeping the remainder of her worries silent, and followed Callum out of the room.
She almost hightailed it back up the stairs when, reaching the bottom, the great beast of a man lifted his charcoal gaze, and then the rest of his body from where it bent to Maggie, and bellowed. “When are ye goin’ to teach yer sister how to speak like a proper Highlander?”
Kate decided then and there that she could imitate their speech and the MacLeods would be none the wiser. It was clear that she would have to do the like—the man was obviously disturbed by Maggie’s Lowland inflection.
The brute’s eyes narrowed slightly when Callum chuckled at his query. And then Callum MacGregor, giant of a man that he was, was enveloped in a furry embrace that made him look like a boy of twelve. “Ye remember Alasdair, Rory, and Padraig.” The MacLeod turned to his sons, and the three giants standing behind their father swallowed Callum up next. The rest of the men who accompanied the MacLeod were greeted with warm salutations and hefty pats to the back.
When Donald MacLeod’s eyes settled on her, Kate straightened her shoulders and forced herself to smile.
“I dinna believe we’ve met.”
“My betrothed.” Callum appeared at the man’s side. “Katherine Ca—”
“Kate,” she cut him off before he had time to say her full name. No reason to have the visiting chieftain hate her so soon.
Her fingers were gently pried off her plaid by the MacLeod and lifted to his lips. “Well met.” He kissed her hand, then angled his bent head to Callum. “I’m sorely pained that ye didna send word to me of yer betrothal.”
“’Twas sudden,” Callum told him and pounded him on the back. “Come, I’ve opened my best kegs of whiskey fer yer visit.”
They moved on into the great hall, where tankards were dipped into barrels of aged brew and conversations drifted from the coming winter to which clans would be best for raiding in the spring. Some sweet meats and fresh bread were laid out on the tables, but the true feast would come later, after the MacLeods had time to refresh themselves. For now, the men were happy to warm their bellies with good whiskey and their feet by the massive hearth fire.
Kate listened to the clan chief MacLeod’s hearty laughter when, after he had taken a seat beside Callum, Maggie plopped Henry the pig into his lap. Kate decided the MacLeod might not be so bad, after all, as long as she did not open her mouth. Now that she thought about it, he had not even mentioned Lowlanders when he spoke about raiding. She began to suspect that living so far from the iron fist of England’s rule provided the MacLeods with little chance—or desire—to fight. Why, he seemed not to care at all about anything that went on below Fort William.
“Kate.”
Jarred from her thoughtful reverie, Kate blinked her attention to the deep gray gaze fastened on her.
“Tell me,” Donald MacLeod said, leaning back in his chair. “D’ye have any sisters of marriageable age? I’m lookin’ fer a wife fer m’ son, Padraig.”
Kate’s lip twitched. It was about to happen. She had hoped she could get through the morn without speaking, but she had to answer him now. Her eyes cut to Callum, but Donald’s son, Alasdair, was leading him away from the table, back to the barrels of brew.
Kate reminded herself that she had faced far more terrifying men than this one, and cleared her throat before she spoke. “Nae, my laird. I have only a brother.”
He arched a speculative brow at her, then sipped his drink. “I see. Where, might I ask, did Callum find ye, lass?”
Kate remembered to breathe. God help her when the man found out she was a Campbell. She inhaled a deep breath. “He saved me from a neighboring clan who were raiding my land.”
“In?”
“In Glen Orchy, my laird.”
“Och, what in blazes was Callum doin’ in Glen Orchy? Was he warrin’ wi’ the Campbells again?”
Before Kate answered, Callum returned to the table. “Kate, Maggie asks that ye meet her in Netta’s chambers.”
“Of course.” Kate rose from her chair, grateful to be leaving. “I will go right away.”
Callum’s gaze lingered on her as she raced up the stairs.
“Ye love her,” Donald announced, unable to believe what was quite clear to see with is own eyes. When Callum turned to him and nodded, Donald raised his cup to his lips to drink. “’Tis aboot time is what I say, lad. Mayhap now ye’ll find some peace and quit tryin’ to kill every damned Campbell who crosses yer path.”
“Mayhap,” Callum allowed, taking Kate’s seat opposite Donald. “Since she’s a Campbell, and I dinna want to kill her.”
Donald MacLeod sprayed his brew where it belonged after such an announcement—across the room. “What?” he bellowed, wiping his mouth. “Och, saints be wi’ me and tell me I heard ye wrong. She’s a what?”
“A Campbell.”
Donald rolled his head back and shook it at the heavens. When he thought he had gathered enough wits to continue, he returned his stunned gaze to Callum. “Jesus and Mary, a Campbell. Ye fell in love wi’ a Campbell.”
“Aye, the Duke of Argyll’s niece.” That sobered the MacLeod well enough. Callum waited patiently while his friend choked out a few unintelligible sounds. When he deemed it safe to continue, he motioned for Lizabeth to bring the laird more whiskey. “I had planned to hold her fer ransom and make Argyll come to me.”
“Which is exactly what he’s doin’.” MacLeod dropped his head in his hands and sighed.
“Aye,” Callum agreed. “I expected him to come fer her. But I didna expect her to hold my heart the way she does.” Callum downed his brew, then peered at Donald’s bent head. “I willna let her go. I wanted this to end with Argyll, but her brother will be her guardian in accordance with English law when their uncle is dead. He may come against me, but I willna let her go.”
Lifting his eyes to the lad he had come to love like a son, Donald sighed and then nodded. “Ye willna have to. I know I claimed I’d never get involved wi’ yer war, but the MacLeods will stand at yer side if any army comes against ye.”
“Nae, Donald. I’ll take care of this myself. I promised no’ to harm her brother, and if I’m right aboot him, I may no’ have to. Just tell me where Argyll is. He is the one I want.”
“We dinna know. He reached Glengarry and turned east.”
Callum was still taking in that bit of information when Jamie burst into the great hall, his whiskerless face flush with excitement.
“There’s a new MacGregor in Camlochlin!” he shouted. He cut a path to a table, snatched a tankard of brew from Alasdair MacLeod’s hand, quaffed its entire contents, then swooned on his feet for a moment. He blinked and found Callum standing before him. Feeling a belch of immense proportions rising within his innards, Jamie fought to contain it, not wanting to do the like against his laird’s chest. He paled considerably in the process, swooned again, then grinned up into Callum’s face. “Brodie has himself a son.”
“A son!” Callum turned and called out to everyone in the hall. “May the Lord bless the lad.” The hall erupted into cheers of good wishes, and more kegs were opened. “And Netta?” Callum asked Graham’s already inebriated brother.
“She does well. Aileen and Murron are with her. ’Tis Brodie who’ll need lookin’ after. I vow I saw tears in his eyes.”
Callum looked around the hall and lifted his cup to Donald MacLeod. “Another MacGregor!” he called out. “And if I have my way, there will be many more to come.”
The MacLeod chieftain laughed while Callum turned his attention back to Jamie. “Tell Kate to bring the babe doun so we can have a look at him.”
Jamie hiccupped, then blinked to better focus on Callum. “Kate’s no’ with Netta.”
>
Now Callum turned to face him fully. “Aye, she is. Maggie sent fer her.”
Jamie shook his head. “Maggie’s no’ there, either. She wanted to go to the barn, but I told her to wait doun here fer me.”
Callum dashed out of the hall and was outside the castle before anyone had time to follow him. Please, God, let them be in the barn, he beseeched. Hell, Maggie knew better than to leave the castle without Jamie. “Kate!” His voice exploded into a roar that echoed off the wall of black rock behind him. He did not wait for an answer but raced toward the barn.
When he reached it, he heard the sound of women’s laughter. He thanked God silently before plunging inside. Kate sat with her legs curled beneath her in the hay, with Maggie lying beside her. Both women looked up, and when they saw him, Kate lifted her hand to her mouth, fearing the worst by the looks of him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What has happened?”
Callum leaned against the wall, certain that his legs would not hold him up if he didn’t. He ran both hands down his ashen face and then, in the time it took Kate to blink, stood towering over them both.
“What the hell are ye doin’ in here?” Though he shouted, his voice was laden with emotion. “Ye must tell me when ye wander off.” Kate rose to her feet while he turned to his sister. “Maggie, blast ye! How many times must I tell ye to . . .” His words faded into a tight groan when Kate touched her fingertips to his jaw.
She wanted to weep. Not because he shouted, but because he was so frightened for them. For her. “Forgive me, Callum,” she said, barely able to resist the urge to throw herself into his arms.
She did not have to. He hauled her against him, crushing her in his embrace until the breath left her body. Neither one of them heard Donald enter the barn, nor his gentle call to Maggie to follow him back out.
“Callum, I cannot breathe,” Kate gasped into his chest.
He loosened his hold just a bit and bent his head to her until his gaze was level with hers. He had not wanted to tell her. He did not want her to fret over something neither one of them could stop. But she had to know now. She had to know how dangerous it was to be out of his sight. “Kate, yer uncle was seen near Glengarry a few days past.”