The man wasted no time backing out of the chamber, leaving Geoffrey in solitude. The bloodied dagger slipped from his hand and clanked on the floor at his feet. He inched backward until his thighs bumped the bed’s oak frame and he slumped on the edge. Suddenly weary, he sank back into the feathered mattress and stared at the cross beams overhead.
The dead guard cooling at his heels mattered little to his conscience. He had far more pressing troubles than the death of one undisciplined wretch. First and foremost, he needed Arabella. Without her, he would never gain lawful control of Penswyck. She was the one, crucial piece to achieving his goal.
Despite the girl’s constant defiance, he had to admit her spirit impressed him. But some wills were made to be broken.
The image of her on her knees, a broken, little dove yielding to him as her master stirred his manhood to life. He relished the thought of her submission. May the Saints show her mercy, for once he got his hands on her, he would have none to offer.
Chapter Four
Calum shifted in the saddle and rolled the aching muscles in his shoulders. Days spent on horseback had taken its toll. His stiff body protested each move he made while his mind struggled to ward off a fog of weariness. Neither of which boded well for their group’s welfare. Despite his weariness, fear of pursuit drove him to place as much distance as possible between them and England, pressing his group to ride hard through the night. Once he safely delivered the lass to Fraser, then he’d fall into his soft, warm bed and sleep for a sennight.
Regardless of his desire to reach the border posthaste, when he’d caught sight of Arabella wavering in her saddle, he relented and sent his second-in-command off to scout a suitable campsite. Unease nagged at him to push on, but the woman had earned a respite. He arched the rigid sinews of his back. So had he, for that matter.
Slowing his mount, he dropped back to ride alongside Arabella’s gelding and searched her features. Heedless to his frank inspection, she slumped in the saddle, her brilliant, emerald gaze dulled to a lifeless green. Dark circles beneath her eyes were evidence of her languor and they stood out against her pale, drawn skin in stark contrast. A mess of red-gold curls framed her delicate, tired face. With her brother’s death and her imprisonment, no doubt she’d gotten little rest in the past fortnight. Calum frowned at the notion, rueful he’d pushed her beyond her limit.
Since fleeing Penswyck, she’d remained quiet and withdrawn, following his orders without as much as a murmur. He expected her grievances, but her continued silence surprised him. In his experience, women tended to complain overmuch. His sister and aunt, in particular, sprang to mind. The thought wrung a shudder out of him. At times, the pair possessed the ability to drive him barking mad.
The lass possessed spirit. Of that, he had no doubt, especially after the woman nearly trampled him with her blasted horse the night before. But the fires had long since waned. Naught but a worn, defeated, young woman rode alongside him, which unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Symon appeared from a copse of trees and reined his mount beside Calum’s. “There’s a clearing just ahead, Laird. A good distance from the thoroughfare.” His stern commander nodded his head at a thicket several yards north. “There’s a tolerable stream as well.”
Calum cut a wry glance at his commander. “Tolerable?”
Rolling his eyes, Symon motioned to Arabella. “For the woman.”
He bit back a grin and raised a hand to bring their group to a halt. “Prepare to make camp for the night.” He glanced over his men. “Daniel, Alex, Tavish, take first watch.”
Their small party moved through a dense patch of forest until the wood parted to reveal a small meadow tucked well away from the main thoroughfare as his commander described. The gurgling brook hummed through the glade while a light breeze rustled fallen leaves. Fading rays of sunlight peeked through a veil of trees, casting an orange glow over the campsite.
He drew his mount to a stop near the edge of the clearing and dismounted. As he stretched his sore limbs, he immediately sought out Arabella’s slight form amongst the men. She lagged behind, tottering in her saddle.
Liam, with his usual doltish grin in place, leaped from his horse and strode toward the lass. A twinge of feeling Calum could not quite name prodded at his tough hide of indifference. What game was his cousin playing at now?
Plenty of women tossed their skirts up for the fool. If Liam thought to add Arabella to his flock of fawning admirers, then Calum had a mind to rearrange the man’s all-too-perfect face. The lass was under his protection for the time being. He would not see her harassed by his skirt-chasing cousin.
Thoroughly vexed, Calum tossed his stallion’s reins to his man, Gregor, and stalked toward the pair. With his hands curled into fists, he shoved Liam aside, ignoring his cousin’s wide-eyed astonishment, and stepped alongside Arabella’s gelding. For a fleeting moment, her startled gaze met his before flitting away. In spite of her clear distress, he plucked her from the saddle and placed her on the ground with care. Grasping her upper arms, he waited until she gained her legs. She ducked her head to stare at the ground beneath their feet.
He studied the mass of copper curls surrounding her bowed head and resisted lifting his hand to test its softness. Scant traces of rose drifted up his nose, teasing his senses. Standing in front of him, wrapped in his mantle, she was easily the comeliest lass he’d ever set eyes on.
“There’s a stream just ahead through the trees if you care to refresh yourself,” he offered. “I can have one of my men escort you, if you wish.”
When she remained silent with her gaze fixed on the ground, a knot of unease perched in his gut and blood gathered in his cheeks. The old wound marring his visage licked a path of fire down his body as it had done years before when he met with the sharp end of his enemy’s axe. A spate of self-doubt collided with his reason, heightening his discomfort. Surely, the sight repelled her.
’Twas not the first time a female found the sight too distasteful to look upon. The knowledge shouldn’t astound him, but the simple gesture stung his pride. Desperate for a bit of distance, he dropped his arms and spun away from her. He managed a step when the lass spoke.
“Thank you, sir.” He strained to hear her soft-spoken voice. “I desire a bit of privacy, if you please.”
Slowly, he faced her and met her direct, emerald stare.
“My name is Calum MacGregor, not sir.” The words poured from his mouth harsher than intended.
Why it should matter, he knew not, but he craved hearing the sound of his name pass her lips.
“If I’m to call you Calum, then you must call me Arabella.” She tilted her head a degree and narrowed her gaze. “I remember your name from the tales my brother used to tell me. You knew him well?”
“Aye,” he agreed. “We trained together under Fraser for many years.”
Her delicate brow creased. “I seem to remember a tale of a goat. What was it again?”
He almost laughed out loud. Of course, she would recall that one. “I’m sure you do not wish to hear such foolish tales now.”
“Oh, I would. Please, Calum, tell me.” For the first time that day, a faint sparkle entered her weary gaze.
How could he refuse? “’Twas long ago. Iain and I could not have been more than four and ten summers. After a long day spent training, we used to liken your uncle to a”—he cleared his throat—“well, to a goat.”
A small smile played at her lips.
Swallowing, he continued, “One eve, your brother and I got a notion in our heads to place a goat in Fraser’s bed. How the devil we managed to get a goat through the kitchens, up the servants’ stairs, and then in to Fraser’s bedchamber without anyone’s notice is still a wonder. As soon as your uncle entered his room, the blasted beast stood atop his bed, eating the linens.”
A laugh tumbled out of her. “What did my uncle do?”
“Well, he knew right off Iain and I were to blame.” Calum snorted. “As punishment, he
had the pair of us pulling a wagon full of grain back and forth over the training fields all day.”
She tossed her back and laughed, drawing his attention to the fine bones of her neck. Her soft laughter catching, he found himself grinning.
“Thank you for sharing the tale.” Her humor dwindled to solemn features. “I miss him very much.”
He placed a hand to his chest. “You have my deepest sympathies, my lady. It grieved me to learn of Iain’s death from your uncle.”
A shroud of melancholy lingered in her eyes, but she forced a polite smile that threw him off balance.
She clutched his mantle tighter around her body. “I’m surprised you and I have not crossed paths before now. I’ve passed many summers of my youth with my uncle.”
Oh, he remembered her with startling clarity. He’d been a young lad in his first year of training and she not much older than a bairn. The little terror had thrown a fit in her mother’s arms when she had not gotten her way, kicking and shrieking loud enough to raise the dead. In fact, he had her to thank for his wariness around little ones for many years to come after that chance encounter. However, he wagered she might not welcome that particular tale at present, so he wisely kept his mouth shut on the matter.
She looked over his men setting up camp. “If all is well, I shall take my leave and seek a bit of privacy.”
He tipped his head with a bow. Unable to glance away from the woman, he stood rooted to the earth and watched as she gathered her belongings from her saddlebag then slipped into the forest. Her walking away shouldn’t trouble him, but it did.
With no small amount of reluctance, Calum dragged his gaze from the patch of wood she disappeared into and strode to his mount’s side. He busied himself settling his horse for the night, but his mind strayed to Fraser’s request before he and his men departed Scotland.
Marriage. To her.
Before he left, his answer had been an irrefutable nay, but now…
’Twas commonplace—an alliance to strengthen their clans. Not to mention, the MacGregors would prosper from the dowry Fraser offered. The coin and rich land holdings would see his clan through several long, harsh winters ahead.
He’d eyed the bountiful northern tenement for years and tried everything under the sun to acquire the parcel, but Fraser remained firm in his decision to hold on to the land. Of course, the old goat saw fit to offer it now, with the sole condition Calum wed the man’s niece.
For a passing moment, he wondered what Arabella might think of the arrangement. Not that she truly had a say in the matter.
Guilt flew on the wings of his last thought and he froze, holding his saddlebag in midair. His sister was of marriageable age. Somehow, the notion of forcing Mairi to accept an unwilling match unsettled him. He doubted Arabella would be any more gracious.
Hell, what was the matter with him?
Annoyed, he hurled the satchel to the ground and glared at the offending item. When the devil did he brood over anything, especially females? On principle, he steered clear of the lot of them. He’d do well to remember why. Nay, marriage was not for him. No matter how tempting the bounty, or the woman.
He spun on his heel and almost collided with Liam, whom his sister had likened to a fallen angel. The familiar roguish grin his cousin wore broadened. To avoid clouting the arrogant arse in the nose, Calum crossed his arms over his chest.
“Mind on the lass, Cousin?” Liam lifted one blond brow. “I know mine is.”
A low growl slid from Calum’s throat. “Wipe that absurd grin off your face and make yourself useful.”
“Oh ho, so you’ve noticed her.” Liam’s booming laughter resounded in his ears. “I do not fault you one bit. I vow if Fraser’d asked me to wed the lass, I just might consider condemning myself to marriage.”
Calum gritted his teeth and waved a dismissive hand. “Leave me be. I’ve more pressing matters to worry over than your senseless babble.”
The smile on his cousin’s lips faltered. “What matters?”
Most likely ’twas naught to fret over, but with Iain’s death—a detail he’d yet to share with Liam—and Arabella’s circumstances, Calum chose to err on the side of caution. Until he spoke with her and learned more information, ’twas in their best interests to listen to the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind.
“I’m uncertain, but we might run into company along the way.”
“Why? What’s amiss?”
“Naught’s amiss. I simply wish to prepare for the prospect.” Calum shrugged. “Tell the men to be on their guards, and I want an additional man on each watch.”
Liam nodded. “I shall pass the word. Has the lass spoken of what happened at Penswyck?”
“Nay.” Calum watched as his men moved around camp, settling in for the eve. “I’ll question her when an opportunity presents itself.”
“You just had an opportunity,” Liam huffed.
“What would you have me do, Cousin? Demand the tale from her? She barely looks upon my face as it is,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
As soon as the careless words fell from his mouth, he silently cursed himself a fool. Without a doubt, his cousin would seize upon the slip.
“Christ’s bones, Calum. The poor lass just fled her home. She’s frightened and knows naught of us.” Liam stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Stop being daft, man. ’Tis naught to do with your blasted face. Besides, when have you ever cared what anyone’s thought before?”
Calum matched his cousin’s glower with a scowl of his own. Few comprehended how deeply the wounds on his body ravaged his confidence. He strove to conceal the weakness. Warriors did not concern themselves with such trivialities. Alas, vanity knew no bounds and, at present, the vicious feeling consumed too much of his thoughts. He raked a hand through his cropped hair and shifted his glare from his cousin to the stretch of forest where Arabella had disappeared.
’Twas her. She was causing him to think too damned much.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll question her after she’s had a bit of rest.”
Liam nodded and his smile settled in place once more. Satisfied their talk was over, Calum bent to retrieve his saddlebag.
“So…”
Of course, his cousin had more to say. When did he not?
Straightening, he released an irritated sigh. “Aye, Liam?”
“Have you changed your mind?”
Calum glanced up at the trees hanging overhead. He had half a mind to ignore the ridiculous question, but Liam would pester him unmercifully until he answered. In that instant, his tolerance reached an end.
“Nay,” he snarled. “Now leave me be before I crack your skull in two.”
Humor gleamed in Liam’s eyes and his grin split wider. Unconcerned with the warning, he cuffed Calum’s shoulder, winked, then ambled away to join the rest of the men while whistling a bawdy tune.
Calum silently beseeched the Lord above for a measure of patience. Little good it would do though. Between his kin, Fraser, and now the lass, he foresaw his waning reserve drained within a sennight. Reconciled to his fate, he stomped over to Gregor and shoved his bag at the man.
He grunted. “See to my horse.”
Without waiting for a response, he trudged into the forest in search of Arabella.
Chapter Five
Near the brook’s edge, Arabella tugged off her boots and winced at the sharp bite of pain. She cringed when she caught sight of the cuts and scrapes covering her feet from heel to toe. Remnants of dried moss had stained her soles and infection had set in. She should’ve asked the men to stop so she might tend to her feet sooner, but she had not wished to be a bother. Truth be told, the vise squeezing her heart since Iain’s death loosened as the distance between her and Penswyck or, more importantly, Longford grew.
Shedding her clothes, save her shift, Arabella grabbed the soap from her bag and hobbled into the stream. Clutching the bar in her hand, she waded in and fought the immediate urge to bolt from the icy water. With n
o small amount of effort, she gathered her will, sucked in a deep breath, and plunged beneath the surface.
Once the initial bone-chilling jolt faded, she relaxed and stretched out her limbs. She closed her eyes and let the frigid water soothe her weary body. If only the brook could ease the incessant twinge in her heart as easily.
The loss of Iain was a raw wound, festering inside her with each passing day. After their mother and father’s deaths, the two of them vowed to watch over one another. Guilt and sorrow hung around her shoulders, the weight almost too much to bear. While Iain upheld his pledge, she had failed in her duty to him.
Shoving aside her grief, she opened her eyes and began to wash with the cake of soap Maggie had packed in her saddlebag. Bless the dear woman, Arabella thought with a wrench of sadness. ’Twas her greatest hope Maggie and Dougal left Penswyck long before Longford arrived. Otherwise—
Arabella slapped the water and promptly shook the ridiculous notion from her head. Maggie and Dougal would make it. Of that, she had no doubt.
With her feet braced beneath her, she rose from the stream and waded out. After a hasty glance around the wood, she peeled off her shift and rushed to dress in the change of garments she pulled from her bag. She perched on a boulder beside the brook and tucked her sore feet beneath her. To ward off the chill, she wrapped herself in her borrowed mantle.
At first, she balked at wearing the blasted thing but, now, she was rather pleased to have the added warmth. Even after the day’s hard ride, the cloth still held hints of leather, pine, and Calum. As she rubbed the coarse fabric between her fingers, her thoughts strayed to him.
Something about the Highlander drew her notice. How could he not? He exhibited such a degree of quiet strength and confidence. A warrior in his prime, his powerful frame evidenced hard work and training. Truth be told, his rough-hewn manner attracted her. Despite the wounds marring his face, she found him uncommonly handsome.
His stony behavior did not frighten her in the least. A lifetime spent in the company of harsher men such as her Uncle Hammish and Dougal had accustomed her to poor manners and even worse dispositions. She smiled and twirled the mantle around her finger. Perhaps, she might claim the length of cloth for her own, as a token to remember the glowering Highlander once they parted ways.
My Reckless Love Page 3