For a moment, she simply gawked at the open doorway and attempted to digest the maid’s words. She shifted her gaze to Calum, who stood in the middle of the chamber with his arms crossed. His fresh tunic clung to his broad shoulders and the beard he’d worn during the journey was absent, revealing the full range of the old wound marring his visage. When he noticed her stare, the muscles in his jaw tightened and he turned the left side of his face away as though he wished to hide the sight from her. His evident insecurity tugged at her heart.
“I should not have…” He shook his head and started for the door. “I’ll leave you to your privacy.”
“Calum,” Arabella called after him.
He paused in the entrance with his back to her.
“It does not bother me, you know.” Several moments passed and she thought he might leave, but then he turned toward her. Despite the blank face he donned, doubt lingered in his cool eyes.
“I’m not so vain, Calum. The wounds you bear are the mark of a courageous man. Wear them with pride.” She pushed an errant curl behind her ear. “Will you not take a seat? ’Tis your chamber after all.”
His features relaxed and he crossed the room to sit in a high-backed chair near the hearth. They held each other’s stares until she forced herself to glance away while fiddling with the comb in her hand. ’Twas so easy—almost too easy—to lose herself in his intense, blue gaze.
“It does not bother me either, you know.” A faint smile curved his lips. “You in my chamber.”
“I did not know until Florie told me.” Her cheeks heated. “I can move to another.”
He waved away her words. “Nay. Please, stay.”
Nodding, she peered at the fire and returned to combing her hair out. Sitting before the hearth, a short distance from a man in his bedchamber—alone—should have unsettled her. But in truth, she felt at ease in Calum’s company and the silence between them was comforting.
However, a few matters did trouble her.
She lowered the comb to her lap. “What did Florie mean?”
“Who knows?” He snorted. “The woman’s daft as far as I can tell.”
“Well, how did she and Mairi know I was to arrive with you days ago?”
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Fraser, I wager.”
She narrowed her eyes. “But how would he know you decided to bring me here?”
“I know not. I must’ve mentioned so before I left for England.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “Honestly, does it matter, Arabella? We’re here and we’re safe. At the moment, ’tis all that concerns me.”
How was she to argue with his logic?
Heaving a sigh of her own, she plucked at the comb in her lap. Why must the man always be right?
Granted, she was more than grateful for Calum and his men’s protection, especially after the attack on their camp. She might’ve never reached her uncle, much less the Scots border without them. Her fate would hang in the balance, were it not for Calum. Aye, safe was a much more agreeable fate.
Yet, another matter entirely lingered in her mind.
She set the comb aside and shifted on the stool to face him. He reclined in the chair with his elbows resting on the arms and his legs stretched out. His full attention was trained on her. Under such close scrutiny, her courage wavered but the need to know the truth overshadowed her cowardice.
“Do you regret kissing me?”
Seemingly surprised, he straightened in his seat while a slight frown played about his mouth. Her heart picked up pace as she waited in anticipation for his response.
“Nay.” He cleared his throat. “Why would you think so?”
“You’ve hardly spoken a handful of words to me in days. When you embraced Mairi, I thought…” Despite her embarrassment, she admitted, “I thought she was your wife.”
She failed to mention how much the false assumption stung. Just the thought of him with another woman provoked a feeling she scarcely experienced—jealousy.
“I can assure you, had I a wife, I would’ve never touched you, Arabella. I’d never dishonor my wife or myself in such a manner. When I speak my vows, they’ll be spoken in earnest. As will my bride’s.”
The solemn words, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, sent a shiver down her spine. He spoke as if he meant…
An odd flutter unfurled in her stomach, as if hundreds of butterflies flapped their wings.
Unable to glance away, she wet her lips. “Then why did you avoid me?”
*
A thousand excuses sifted through his mind, yet Calum remained silent. The perfect opportunity presented itself. He should tell her of his decision to take her as his bride, but the words stalled on his tongue. Instead, he sat there like a fool, his gaze fastened on the plump, bottom lip Arabella continued to worry.
’Twas far too simple to imagine capturing that supple, pink flesh between his teeth. The sweet sound she’d make…
At the thought, a fervent wave of lust swept through his body. He clenched his jaw as his shaft hardened against his thigh. Gripping the chair arms, he shifted in his seat to ease his discomfort. He resisted tugging at his tunic, which had grown taut round his neck. Moisture clung to his brow. Either from the stifling heat in the chamber, or mayhap her, he was uncertain.
Saints, what the devil was he to say? He knew naught of wooing women. Naught of the flowery words or amorous deeds females desired from men. Horses, weapons, running a keep—’twas what he knew.
“Why, Calum?” The bare whisper brushed over his skin like the faint caress of a lover.
Why had he avoided her? Why?
Because when she flashed a shy smile at him, an odd twinge settled in his heart. Because in her company, his self-control deserted him. By God, because he wanted her more than his next breath.
“I was not avoiding you,” he lied. “’Twas merely that we were pressed for time, and there was little time to talk.”
She raised an incredulous brow. “I do not believe that for one instant.”
“I know,” he muttered. “’Twas foolish of me to think you would.”
“Then why?” Her gaze searched his. “’Tis important to me, Calum.”
“Why does it matter so?” He could dance around the truth as long as she could.
“Because…” A comely blush stained her cheeks before she glanced at her hands in her lap. “Because, ’twas my first kiss. I just…I’d hoped it might’ve meant as much to you as it did me.”
His heart leaped in his chest, robbing him of breath. First kiss? By God, he would be her last if he had his way.
When he did not respond quickly enough, she lifted her gaze and the uncertainty in her eyes hit like a punch to his gut.
“I should not have spoken—”
“Aye, you should have.” He swallowed his bout of nerves. “I would rather show you how much it meant.”
With a false sense of calm, he rose from the chair and managed the few steps until he stood over her. He extended his hand, offering her a choice—one last chance to escape him.
She lifted her hand to accept, but he stopped her.
“Be sure this is what you want, Arabella.” She needed to understand, once he began his pursuit, retreat was not an option.
That tempting pink tongue darted out again to wet her lips. She settled her small hand in his palm, sealing her fate.
He helped her to her feet, then tugged her forward, into his arms. She landed against him with a gasp, her hands resting on his chest. Firelight danced on her red-gold tresses, and he threaded his fingers through the lush curls. Her soft form molded to his, the feel sheer perfection, as if she’d been made solely to fit him. As soon as Arabella parted her lips to speak, he struck, seizing her mouth with the same ardent vehemence throbbing through his heated body.
Far beyond the point of gentleness, he kissed her with fervor, his tongue sliding into the warmth of her mouth. He caught her muffled whimper and drank in her sweet flavor. He slipped a hand down to the cur
ve of her backside and pressed her firmly against the aching length in his braies. When her nails sank into his leine, digging into his skin, ’twas his turn to bite back a whimper.
Christ, this woman…the things she made him feel.
Shaken to his core, he claimed her the only way he knew. He poured every drop of passion she roused in him into their kiss—longing, desire, his hopes and dreams, even his fears, the dark places inside he buried from the light of day. With this one amorous exchange, he asked for her acceptance of him as a man. Not the wounded warrior others saw on the surface, not the laird burdened with responsibilities, or the patriarch of his family, but merely a man. Naught more.
Thank the sun and moon, his common sense soon put in an appearance. He fumbled for the reins of his control before he did something foolish, such as guide her to the edge of his bed across the chamber. He pulled away, releasing her mouth. Her swollen lips and rosy cheeks were enough to tempt a saint. He rested his forehead against hers, and their panting breaths mingled.
“Do you see? I had to keep my distance from you or I would’ve demanded more than you are willing to give.”
Almost absently, her fingers traced over the old wound on his cheek and down his neck. The innocent touch raised gooseflesh along his arms. He forced his gaze to remain fixed on her, though he yearned to lean into the touch.
She murmured, “You might’ve simply said as much rather than avoiding me. I did not know what to think.”
“Aye, I should’ve spoken to you. I’m sorry to have caused you senseless worry for naught.”
A pretty smile curved her lips while a mischievous twinkle sparked in her shining eyes, which caused his heart to kick in a swift thump. “Even though a demonstration was not necessary, I found it quite enlightening.”
Calum barked out a laugh. With a quick kiss to her forehead, he stepped away from her tempting form, but clasped her hand as he led her from the chamber.
“Come, Sweetness. We’ve tarried here long enough. Let us go below for the evening meal. My clan is eager to meet you.”
Chapter Eleven
Geoffrey downed the tankard of weak ale and waved a serving maid over to refill his goblet. Her hand shook as she poured, splashing ale over the rim and onto his hand.
Swiping the liquid away with his tunic, he shot the wench a harsh glare. Her cheeks burned deep crimson and she dipped her head.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she stammered out.
Another time, he might’ve had the wench flogged, but his mind remained on more pressing matters. He flicked his hand. “Be off with you.”
The homely maid backed away and darted to the kitchens as if hounds nipped at her heels.
Transferring his displeasure from the wench to the two Scots standing before his table, he raked each man with a measured stare. By all appearances, the pair wore the same attire as other soldiers in his employ, bearing no hint of their Scottish descent, but their direct gazes set them apart from the rest. A certain boldness every Scot displayed—a quality Geoffrey both admired and loathed at the same time.
“Before Renard’s accident this afternoon, he revealed I had two Scots in my employ. Is this so?”
The pair shared a quick look before the larger of the two men spoke. “Aye, John and I are from Clan MacRae.”
He wrinkled his nose at the man’s broad Scots accent. “And you are?”
“Finn, my lord.”
Christ, he despised tossing his lot in with the two heathens, but what choice did he have in the matter any longer? He needed the pair if he stood a chance of getting his hands on Arabella again. And he damned sure would. He’d not come this far to fail.
Curious, he asked, “Why did you leave your clan?”
Finn shared another glance with John, then shrugged. “Coin, my lord.”
Despite the fault of their birth, Geoffrey could appreciate the honest statement. Had he not clawed and scraped his way up from the dregs himself?
“Do either of you plan to return to your clan when you’ve earned enough coin?”
Not that he cared, in truth. ’Twas merely a matter of understanding where the men’s loyalties lie. It mattered not. The pair of heathens was naught to him but a means to an end.
“Nay,” John spoke for the first time. “’Tis naught to return to. The laird cares not about his people.”
For the first time in days, Geoffrey grinned at the welcoming piece of information.
“Well, if ’tis coin you seek, then I have a proposition for the pair of you.”
*
As Calum guided Arabella along the torch-lit passage toward the main stairway, his words soaked into her reeling mind. She dug her heels in and attempted to pull her hand free, but his grip tightened. Pausing near the top step, he slanted her a questioning frown.
“What’s amiss?” Concern deepened his voice.
She bit her lip. “Why should your clan be eager to meet me? They know naught of me.”
“I suppose they’re anxious to meet the woman who makes Fraser soft.”
Arabella blinked. Soft? Uncle Hammish soft? He could not mean the same harsh, rough-spoken man from her youth. What a silly notion.
“I’m afraid your clan is mistaken. I assure you, he most likely thinks me naught more than a troublesome female.”
“Aye, well, I could see why he’d think as much.” A playful smile tugged at his lips.
Affronted, she scowled and the big-headed giant had the audacity to laugh.
He amended, “Although, I’m certain you do make him soft.”
Prepared for more of his teasing, she snapped. “Why is that?”
His clear gaze seared through her. “Because…you make me soft.”
Speechless, she stumbled on the edge of the first step and pitched forward. Thankfully, Calum was quick to act, darting his hand out to wrap around her upper arm. He tugged her into his side, righting her near miss.
“Careful, Sweetness. I’ve got you.”
Faith, but the man left her senseless and off balance. She grasped ahold of his strong forearm. Somehow, the tanned skin beneath her fingertips and the nearness of his warm body tethered her to the earth. Of course, the close proximity did little to stop her head from spinning in circles.
His large hand settled over hers as he aided her down the stairs with care. “In truth, Fraser was beside himself with worry when I left. The sight of you safe and sound should set his mind at ease.”
She nodded, but the truth was, unease settled in her chest and doubt crept into her thoughts. Many years had passed since she’d last visited her kin. With Iain’s duties at Penswyck and errands for the king, there had been no time for the two of them to travel north. Would Uncle Hammish welcome her with open arms as he once had done?
Her distress intensified when she realized she and Calum paused at the entrance of the great hall. She craned her neck to peek inside, and her heart began to thump wildly. Several MacGregors had assembled in the hall, awaiting their laird’s arrival. Her stomach tied in knots. She tried to lower her hand from Calum’s arm, but his hold tightened.
“My clan’s full of fine, honorable people, Arabella. There’s naught to fret over. Trust me.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Shall we?”
With a deep breath, she gathered her courage and nodded. Together, they strode across the threshold into the hall, only to be met with deafening silence. Every gaze in the large chamber fastened on the two of them and her step faltered.
Apprehension burrowed beneath her skin and raised the hair at her nape. In an instant, her confidence withered into a fine powder and she sidled closer to Calum’s side. Surely, the entire clan heard the pounding drum of her heart. Digging her nails into Calum’s forearm, she wavered on the brink of outright panic.
“Well, ’tis a mercy! I might’ve starved to death waiting for the pair of you.”
Liam’s voice boomed to the rafters, diverting the hall’s attention from her and Calum. Mairi burst into a fit of giggles an
d the rest of the clan promptly followed suit, exchanging grins and laughter.
Before Arabella had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, Calum slipped his hand to her lower back and softly nudged her forward. They moved through the center of the hall, passing rows of packed trestle tables. As they passed, clan members extended kind smiles, nodded their heads, or spoke words of welcome. Her unease melted with each genuine show of hospitality.
Once she and Calum made it across the chamber, he helped her onto a cushioned, high-backed chair near the middle of the high table. When he seated himself beside her, Mairi leaned forward from his left and beamed a bright smile.
“I’m pleased you joined us.”
“Aye, about blasted time.”
Arabella glanced to her right where Liam sprawled beside her. With a lazy grin, he winked. ’Twas then she realized his outrageous exclamation had been deliberate, to spare her discomfort. Suddenly more at ease in her own skin, she relaxed and settled back in her seat.
She peered around the hall, anticipating the MacGregors’ curious stares, but most carried on with idle chatter. Servants flitted from table to table, filling bare trenchers and pouring ale. A short, stout maid paused between her and Calum with a serving tray of roasted meat. The scent wafted up to her nose, eliciting an angry growl from her empty stomach. Calum shot her an amused glance from the corner of his eyes, and she lifted her shoulder with a shameless shrug.
Perhaps ’twas unseemly, but days spent eating naught but plain fare such as bannocks and dried meats had grown unappealing. Calum heaped an array of cooked meats and vegetables onto the trencher in front of him. Mouth watering, she leaned closer, eyeing a particularly appetizing morsel of pork.
Suddenly, the plate shifted to her face and she sat back in surprise. Her gaze darted to Calum’s and she narrowed her eyes. Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes and a carefree grin touched his lips.
“You must be famished. Eat, Arabella.” He presented her his eating knife.
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