My Reckless Love

by Melissa Limoges

For once, ’twas an order she would not argue with. She accepted the dagger and speared the piece of pork she’d coveted. The first bite was pure magic to her stomach and she nearly sighed in appreciation. Uncaring of anyone’s stare, she ate as though she’d not eaten in a fortnight, which was not too far from the truth. Food had been far from her mind at Penswyck.

  Once she’d eaten her fill, she returned Calum’s blade and sat back with a contented sigh. Of course, the man refused to eat until she’d firmly assured him she could not stomach another bite. She smiled as she watched him dine with relish. Perhaps ’twas odd, but the thoughtful gesture touched her.

  Over his shoulder, Mairi waved at her. The bold woman elbowed her brother in the ribs and he almost choked on a mouthful of meat. He leaned back in his seat and Mairi, heedless of his dark countenance, shoved a tray of tiny pies at him.

  “Pass them over.” She nudged his shoulder. “Try a tart, Arabella. Aunt Elena made them special for you.”

  Despite her full belly, Arabella picked up one of the sticky pastries and bit into the flaky crust. The delectable combination of sweet honey and tart berry lingered on her tongue. Savoring the flavor, she hummed in appreciation and licked the sticky honey from her fingers.

  Calum choked out a strangled noise and she looked over at him. Deep scarlet tinged his cheeks and his chest rose and fell from his labored breaths. Shifting in his seat, he glanced away from her and studied the trencher in front of him with a frown.

  Whatever was the matter with the man now?

  Dismissing his odd behavior, she caught Mairi’s eyes. “These are from heaven. Please let your aunt know how much I enjoyed them.”

  She snagged two more before a brooding Calum placed them out of reach on the table.

  “You can tell her yourself. She’s seated beside Liam.” Mairi pointed past Arabella.

  She peered to her right, around Liam’s bulk, to a robust woman with a mix of stunning graying-blonde hair and striking blue eyes. ’Twas plain to see where Liam had gotten his looks. Elena shoved at her son’s shoulder, urging him to sit back from his trencher.

  “I’m pleased you enjoyed my treats, lass. ’Tis fortunate our Mairi hoarded them away before these two heathens”—she waved a hand at her son and nephew—“had a go at them.”

  Liam tossed his mother a disgruntled scowl. “I take offense. In no way do we resemble heathens.”

  He stabbed a sizeable chunk of meat with his knife and jammed it in his mouth.

  Elena raised her eyebrows. “Humph, you and Calum act like a pair of bairns fighting over a teat.”

  A choked cough flew from Arabella’s mouth. She grabbed her goblet of water and swallowed a deep drink. Clearly, bold tongues affected the females of this family. Once she cleared her throat, she met Elena’s amused stare.

  “You and Mairi have my thanks for arranging such a fine meal this evening, Lady Elena.”

  “’Tis no trouble at all, my dear.” The regal woman beamed at her. “I’m simply happy to have you grace this hall at last. You take so much after your mother.”

  “You knew her?”

  Elena bobbed her head. “Arianna and I were inseparable before she married your father.”

  The information came as a surprise to Arabella. “In truth?”

  “Why, of course we were.” Elena released a tinkling laugh. “Used to run around here teasing your uncle and Calum’s father, Cormac, something fierce. Once you’ve had a bit of rest, I’d be delighted to tell you more of her.”

  A bubble of excitement blossomed in Arabella’s chest. “Oh, that would please me very much. Thank you, my lady.”

  “Oh, come now. Stop all this ‘lady’ nonsense. Around here, people just call me Elena.”

  Arabella felt a tug at her sleeve. She beamed a bright smile at the older woman before she turned to face Calum.

  “Mairi wants your attention,” he grumbled.

  He looked so perturbed she bit her bottom lip to prevent a laugh from slipping free.

  She laid her hand on his forearm. “Thank you, Calum.”

  “Should’ve just seated the lot of you together and been done with it,” he groused as he shifted in his seat and reached for his goblet.

  Mairi pushed at his shoulder, which caused the ale from his cup to spill over onto his tunic and braies.

  She ignored her brother’s growl with a dismissive wave of her hand. “After a good night’s rest, I’ll show you around the keep in the morn. Calum’ll be busy with his swordplay, or whatever he does to occupy his time.”

  Arabella struggled not to laugh at the look on Calum’s face. The man’s eyes bulged, his color darkened a deep red, and his upper lip curled in disgust. In his current mood, he might not appreciate her amusement in the least. She squeezed his forearm, digging in her nails to keep him from throttling his sister.

  “That would be lovely, Mairi.”

  Without warning, the keep’s main doors banged open and all sound ground to a halt. Every head in the great hall swiveled toward the entrance. Beneath her fingertips, the sinews in Calum’s arm rippled as he clenched his eating knife in a white-knuckled grip.

  Cold blasts of autumn air preceded Anthony and another large warrior, garbed in a different yet familiar tartan cloak, into the hall. Two more bulky soldiers followed a few paces behind. Lastly, an aging, barrel-chested warrior with prominent red hair streaked with white paused at the threshold.

  The older man surveyed the hall with an impassive air at odds with the harsh angles of his unforgiving countenance. One hand lifted to stroke his bushy, rust-colored beard, while the other rested on the hilt of the sword at his side. His mossy green gaze swept over the hall before settling on her.

  “Well, girl. Do not just sit there. Get over here and give me a proper greeting.”

  Uncle Hammish.

  Arabella bolted from the chair with such force it toppled backward onto the stone floor. Unconcerned with anyone or anything else in the chamber, she ran across the hall and threw herself into her uncle’s waiting arms. He caught her in a tight embrace, wringing the breath from her lungs.

  “’Tis been far too long, my lass.”

  “Oh, Uncle, I’ve missed you so.”

  He stepped back and held on to her shoulders. His glazed eyes searched over her features. “You’re the very image of your mother.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he stiffened. Donning the familiar harsh guise she recognized from her youth, he hurriedly tugged her behind his back. She’d no notion what had gotten into him, until she peeked over his broad shoulder.

  Calum stood a yard away, regarding her uncle with a pinpointed stare. Hands fisted at his sides, he held his big body rigid and his jaw clenched tight.

  The silence in the hall had grown deafening and racked with tension.

  Hammish nodded. “MacGregor.”

  Calum returned the gesture. “Fraser.”

  For long moments, the two peered squarely at each other. Neither showed signs of yielding in their masculine posturing.

  Exasperated, Arabella stepped in between the pair. That appeared to snap the two of out of their foolishness. She gazed up at her uncle.

  “I do not know what I would’ve done without Calum and his men. I would’ve never made it across the border. That much is certain.”

  Hammish heaved a deep gust of air and extended his hand. “MacGregor, you have my thanks for fetching my niece.”

  After more staring and another pointless pause, Calum accepted with a firm shake.

  Are all men daft? Rolling her eyes, she poked his hard chest and he relented, motioning toward the high table.

  “Come, Fraser. Dine with us. You and I have much to discuss.”

  At the table, Hammish bullied Liam into moving from his seat. Once a bad-tempered Liam settled across the table from them, her uncle sprawled beside her and openly appraised Elena to his right.

  “Still comely as ever, I see.”

  Elena snorted. “Still coarse as always, I see.”


  A servant paused beside Hammish to fill his tankard with ale, but he placed his hand over the goblet, while he continued to stare at Elena.

  “Nay, no ale for me.”

  Elena sniffed and turned her head to her companion on the right, immersing herself in conversation and thoroughly slighting Hammish.

  Arabella narrowed her eyes at the pair, curious at Elena’s cold reception. ’Twas evident something was amiss between the two. She would have to remember to question Mairi about the exchange later.

  “Now, ’tis about damned time you tell me what the hell’s going on, girl.”

  The harsh-spoken speech might’ve startled most, but she’d accustomed herself to her uncle’s frankness at a young age. It would seem little had changed in the years since she’d last seen him.

  Unsure of how to begin, she peered at Calum, as if he might somehow insert the words in her mouth. Thank the Saints, he understood her apprehension and leaned in close. He rested his hand over hers on the chair arm and twined their fingers.

  “Longford. He’s the swine responsible for Iain’s death. His men overtook Penswyck with the king’s approval and held Arabella captive. The arse thought to gain control of Penswyck by wedding her.”

  “The hell you say.” Hammish pounded a fist on the table, rattling tankards and trenchers.

  “We arrived to find your niece escaping from her tower window with naught but a rope of gowns and bed linens,” Calum added in a good-humored tone, which lightened the mood around the table.

  Hammish gaped at her, and then threw his head back and broke into a fit of boisterous laughter. He clasped her free hand between his.

  “Ever the fighter, my lass is. I’m proud of you, girl.” He patted her hand as though he comforted a small child.

  No matter she was a woman grown at a score of years. She imagined he would always treat her as a young girl. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she ducked her head to hide her embarrassment.

  “I could not have managed without Maggie and Dougal.” She met his gaze, her concern for the pair leeching away her mortification. “You have to send someone for them, Uncle.”

  “Dougal’s more than a capable warrior, Arabella. No doubt age has not dulled his wits one lick. He and Maggie’ll find their way home.” He squeezed her hand. “Fret not, lass.”

  Before she could press him to send riders in search of the pair, Liam spoke from the opposite side of the table.

  “That godforsaken beast of hers aided her escape as well.”

  Affronted, she glared at the foolish man. “Do not speak of Devlin in such a manner.”

  Hammish wheezed out a shocked breath. “You still have that unsightly, pain in the arse horse?”

  Arabella shifted her scowl to her uncle. “If you disliked him so much, then why did you give him to me in the first place?”

  “To get him far away from my damned keep. The surly bastard bit everyone. I did not expect you to fawn all over the wretched beast when I tried to rid myself of the eyesore.”

  “Eyesore? He’s not an eyesore.” Her voice rose with her indignation. “And I did not fawn over him. I simply gave Devlin the respect he deserved. He’s a wonderful horse and I shall never find another comparable.”

  “Aye, that’s the God’s honest truth.” Hammish sneered, his disgust plain to see.

  Calum’s muffled snort pricked her ears and she jerked her head around to pin him with a hard stare, daring him to speak against her faithful gelding.

  He lifted his hands in surrender and pressed his lips together in a bid to quell his humor. Across the table, Liam and a few other warriors did not bother hiding their amusement. Their shameless laughter filled the hall.

  To the devil with the lot of them!

  She had enough of them poking fun at Devlin. Slapping her palms on the table, she sprang to her feet.

  “I find myself bored with my present company, so I shall take my leave.” She sniffed and lifted her chin. “I bid you all a good night.”

  Following suit, Mairi rose from her seat. “I think I shall retire as well. I’ll see you up, Arabella.”

  *

  Calum watched as Arabella and his sister retired from the hall with their heads pressed together. Mairi whispered in Arabella’s ear and she tossed her head back and laughed. The feminine sound appealed to his senses. For the life of him, he could not pry his gaze away from Arabella’s swaying backside as she conspired, Christ only knew what, with his sister.

  “You think I do not know what you’re looking at, boy?” Fraser grunted. “You should be thankful I do not remove your eyes from their sockets.”

  Calum cast him a sideways stare. “I’d like to see you try, old man.”

  Laughter broke out around the high table and Elena bolted from her seat, silencing the men. Distaste colored her features. Without a word of explanation, she stormed from the hall.

  Confounded by her behavior, Calum darted a questioning look at his cousin who shrugged. Though the two were far from friends, Elena had never outright scorned Fraser in front of their clans before now. He peered at his ally and lifted his brows, surprised to find the older man’s intense stare fixed on his aunt. Fraser tracked Elena’s every move until she disappeared from sight.

  “And just what are you looking at?” He drawled out the question.

  The other laird blinked a few times, shuttering the force of his gaze. Glancing away from the empty hall entrance, he grabbed his tankard and peered into the contents as if the water might divine some long sought answer.

  Fraser muttered, “Leave it be, Calum.”

  He narrowed his eyes at the out of character response, but afforded the man a reprieve and let the matter lie. For now, at least.

  A few tankards later, most of the MacGregors had retired from the hall to bed down for the night, leaving him in the company of Fraser, Liam, and a score of his most trusted warriors.

  Fraser swallowed a mouthful of water and placed his drink on the table. “Now, tell me more of this whoreson.”

  “From what Arabella’s told us, this man, Longford, struck down Iain in an ambush. Seems he’s had his sights set on Penswyck from the start. He sought a match with Arabella, but Iain denied his request. I presume this led to Iain’s death.”

  Fraser shook his head. “At least the lass is safe now.”

  “True,” he hesitated. “Though, we met with trouble along our journey.”

  “Trouble?” The laird’s sharp gaze met his. “What sort of trouble?”

  “This man, Longford, sent a troop of men after her, if that tells you anything.”

  “More than I wished to know.” Anger darkened his harsh features. “You think the arse would be so daring as to come here and steal her?”

  “’Tis possible.” Liam leaned his elbows on the table. “Without Arabella, he has no legitimate claim to Penswyck.”

  ’Twas not a prospect Calum wished to entertain, but Liam spoke the truth. ’Twas a threat he could not dismiss. Men like Longford, compelled by a single-minded purpose, however ill-fated or irrational, would not relent until they obtained their wicked goals.

  “He’s taken bold measures thus far.” Calum met Fraser’s stony stare. “This will only end with Longford’s death.”

  Fraser reached for his tankard and sighed. “She’s headstrong, my lass is. I’ll need to assign a pair of guards to her at all times. I cannot have her flitting about without a care of the dangers lurking beyond my walls.”

  His walls? The notion of Arabella anywhere else but with him was unacceptable.

  Calum growled. “Nay, she stays here.”

  The older laird cut him a biting look, which would’ve made a lesser man wince. “Is that so, boy?”

  The warriors fell silent, the pointed question ensnaring each man’s attention around the table. Weighted stare after weighted stare landed on Calum, but he dared not glance away from the challenge in Fraser’s eyes.

  “’Tis so.”

  “Did you forget what we d
iscussed before you left?” Fraser stroked his beard. “You understand the meaning of this?”

  By God, he was not daft. Of course he comprehended the meaning. He would not have stated otherwise. Besides, the old goat had already announced the wedding to their clans. A fact that still rankled Calum.

  He lifted his chin, bearing Fraser’s gauging scrutiny. “Seems you’ve already spread word from what Mairi’s told me.”

  “What? I did no such thing.” Fraser sputtered. At Calum’s raised brow, he amended, “I might’ve mentioned…well, ’tis no matter now.” He waved his hand in annoyance. “Saints above, just give me your damned answer.”

  Calum narrowed his gaze. He should make the stubborn laird pry it from him. Would serve him right if he did, but he took mercy. On some level, he understood Fraser’s need to safeguard Arabella with the match. Would he not do the same for Mairi?

  “Aye.” One simple word conveyed a wealth of meaning.

  Fraser straightened, his eyes widening. “Aye?”

  “Aye.” Calum drawled out the single word.

  “Well…” Victory flashed in the laird’s eyes and a smile emerged through his bushy beard. Fraser cuffed his shoulder. “’Tis settled then.”

  “Truly?” Liam exclaimed.

  Calum met his cousin’s astonished gaze. “Aye, I’ve decided to take Arabella as my bride.”

  Roused shouts and hoots rose from the men, chasing away the strained silence and lightening the mood in the hall.

  “You’re going to have to watch her,” Fraser warned. “She’s a mischievous lass. Quiet, but mischievous.”

  Liam chuckled. “No cause to worry. He’ll see that she’s well protected.”

  “Damn right, I will.” Calum scowled at the other laird. “I protect what’s mine.”

  “A mite possessive already, Laird?” Symon smirked.

  Ignoring the jab, Calum slammed a fist on the table, stifling the teasing in the hall. “Look, we have more pressing matters to discuss. Everyone agrees the Englishman must die, aye?”

  Without hesitation, a chorus of ayes rang out.

  “Then we prepare. I’ve no notion what to expect from Longford, but I’m not taking any chances where Arabella is concerned. Sean, Gavin, I want the two of you guarding her at all times. The rest of you, make sure to assign extra men to each watch. Anyone notices anything out of place, you come to me.” When the men nodded, he faced his second commander. “Symon, I have an errand for you. See me before you bed down for the night.”