Fraser sneered. “’Tis as I thought. What’re you waiting for? To plant a bairn in her belly first?”
The insult caught Calum unaware, allowing Fraser a chance to push around him. The man knocked into Calum’s shoulder as he stormed from the stables.
Christ’s bones, he should’ve rushed after Fraser and rebuked him for disparaging Arabella in such a manner. Instead, he scrubbed a hand over his scruffy face, at his wit’s end with the infuriating mess. Did he not have enough to worry over without this trouble with Fraser, too?
He grabbed his saddlebag, tossed the sack over his shoulder, and started from the stables. He’d sort out the matter with Fraser later. For now, a dip in the loch would cool his temper. Especially before he set eyes on Arabella once more.
Once he reached the loch on the edge of the forest, he pulled off his soiled clothing, grabbed a cake of soap from his bag, and eased into the chilled water. He ran the soap over his body, scrubbing away the sweat, dust, and grime from his labors. Dunking his head beneath the surface, he welcomed the initial sting of the frigid water.
As the sun gave way to the moon, he waded onshore and redressed in fresh clothes from his pack. Finished with the chore, he gathered his belongings but paused a moment to stare into the darkening forest just beyond the loch.
The time for stalling was over. This eve, he’d tell Arabella of their upcoming wedding and hope for the best. ’Twas little else to do but hope.
Inside the keep, he passed off his saddlebag to a servant and strode into the great hall. Several head nods, raised hands, and words of greeting from the clan met his entrance. Of course, his step faltered when he caught sight of Fraser, slouched at the high table with a tankard of ale in his hand and his face set with a deep scowl.
Clenching his teeth, Calum proceeded to his usual seat at the center of the high table. He waved over a servant to fill his goblet with ale. Given his frayed wits, the brew would calm his burgeoning temper.
More of the clan filed into the hall for the eve’s meal—save Elena and Arabella. Though his cousin and sister heeded the open hostility between him and Fraser, the pair wisely chose the safety of silence. In fact, most of the hall sensed the tension rife in the air and spoke in hushed tones or murmurs.
As he sipped his ale, his gaze swept over the chamber and, to his annoyance, landed on the dour laird seated three trenchers to his right. Saints help him. He’d had enough.
“If my hall displeases you so, you’re free to take your leave.”
Fraser slammed his tankard on the table, rattling trenchers and drawing the uneasy stares of clan members. Gripping the chair arms, Calum sat forward and opened his mouth to reprimand the man, but a shuffle of feet at the hall entrance gained his attention. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Arabella, comely as ever.
A frown marred her features. She worried her bottom lip and glanced around the quiet chamber. He rose from his chair and the legs scraped over the stone floor, drawing her gaze. Once their eyes met, she rushed toward him without hesitation. As he settled her beside him, he allowed his hand to linger on her arm. The heat of her skin beneath her sleeve warmed his fingertips.
Long moments lapsed before Arabella broke through the wall of tension. With a shy smile, she peered from him to her uncle. “I’m pleased you both have returned.”
Fraser dipped his head but remained quiet.
Though Calum did not speak, he reached beneath the table and grasped her hand. For days, he’d craved her touch. For now, this small concession would have to do.
Aside from the clatter of trenchers and hushed babble, much of the meal passed in relative silence. ’Twas apparent everyone in the hall guarded the mounting enmity between Fraser and Calum.
“Please, excuse me,”—Arabella disentangled their hands and stood—“I wish to retire for the eve.”
Left to grasp naught but air, Calum lifted his goblet to keep from reaching for her. Inwardly, he cursed himself for letting another opportunity slip through his fingers.
When she drew near the entrance, Fraser clumsily rose from his chair and beckoned after her. “Wait, girl.”
The hair at Calum’s neck stood on end. A sick foreboding swept down his spine to settle in his gut. He swallowed against the lump suddenly lodged in his throat.
Arabella paused and turned to her uncle. A questioning look creased her features.
Despite the swift thump in his neck, time slowed as Fraser lifted his tankard and swung to face him.
“Allow me to be the first to offer a toast on your choice of bride, MacGregor. ’Tis far past time you’ve chosen a wife.”
Calum heard her faint gasp over the ringing in his ears, and his heart dove to the floor beneath his seat. His gaze flew to her wide, green eyes. He leaped to his feet. “Arabella.”
She spun on her heel and fled the hall.
Fury burned in his blood. He sprang to his right and clouted Fraser soundly in the jaw, knocking the arse off his feet. Heedless of the startled stares of his clan and the cursing old fool laid out amongst the rushes, Calum rounded the table and quit the hall in search of Arabella.
He rushed outside the keep’s opened front doors and lifted his chin at a one of the guards posted. “Which way did the lass go?”
The guard tipped his head. “The stables, Laird.”
Alarmed, Calum took off at a run. Saints, he had to find her before she saddled her horse and bolted to God only knew where.
Fortunately, he found her alone inside, leaned against her mount’s stall. She buried her face in the crook of her arm while she stroked her gelding’s muzzle. The beast nudged her shoulder, blowing strands of red hair with each breath. Her muffled sobs tore at Calum.
Moving closer, he reached for her, but she shook off his grasp and that infernal beast of hers tried to bite him. Another time, he might’ve applauded the animal’s protection of his mistress. In his current mood, not so much. He glared at the gelding and reached for her once more.
“Leave me alone,” she croaked, swiping at the tears in her eyes.
“We must talk.” Calum grabbed her hand, but she wrenched free and spun to face him.
“Were you ever going to tell me you’d chosen a wife?”
“Arabella—”
“You made me believe that you…” She shook her head. “Saints, I’ve been such a fool.”
Christ, he should’ve told her sooner and spared her the anguish. “I’m not.”
“You’re not what?” she shouted.
He swallowed. “Wedding another.” Why the blasted hell could he not just say it?
Her brilliant eyes hurled daggers at him. “My uncle just said so.”
Damnation. ’Twas not how he wished to bear the news. At a loss, he lifted a hand to rub the tingling at the base of his neck. Finally, he simply blurted the truth. “’Tis you. You’re the wife I’ve chosen.”
She stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “W-what do you mean?”
Calum blew out a breath. “I agreed to wed you on our return from England.”
Arabella blinked at the information and her brows furrowed, a frown tugging at her lips.
He explained. “After Iain’s death and the trouble with Longford, your uncle worried you were in need of a protector. Fraser approached me with the match before I left for England, and I accepted once we returned.” He paused, then warily added, “Whether you wish it or not, you do need a protector, Arabella.”
Her mouth flapped open and closed thrice before snapping shut. Scorn twisted her features and darkened her cheeks.
Christ, no wonder he’d put this off. Flaming furious, that’s what the devil she was.
“’Tis not your choice, nor my uncle’s. ’Tis mine. My choice. I will decide what man I wed. And I can assure you, I’m in no need of a protector, least of all, one such as you!”
She stomped past him and he snagged her around the waist before she had a chance to flee. The enraged woman kicked and twisted in his arms, but he grabbed her hands and tug
ged them across her chest. He yanked her back to rest against his frame, unwilling to let her go. At least until he offered a proper explanation.
Once she winded herself, he leaned down to speak near her ear. “Be quiet and listen, will you?”
Arabella yanked her head forward and jerked back, whacking him in the collarbone with the base of her skill.
“Oww! God’s blood, stop!”
“Let me go.” The vulnerability in her tone nearly cleaved him in two.
“Do you not understand yet?” Calum held her tighter. “I cannot. I will not let you go.”
His words had the desired effect and she slumped against him. The beat of her heart pounded beneath his palm. He dropped his mouth to the delicate curve of her neck. The bare scent of roses tickled his nose.
“Do you truthfully believe I would force you to wed me?” He eased his hold and lowered his hand to her belly. “I did not accept Fraser’s arrangement out of duty. I was not being noble. I did not do it for him, or you. I did it for me, Arabella. I agreed to take you for my bride because I want you. More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.” Tracing his lips over the column of her throat, he admitted, “Truth is, I’d hoped…you might come to…want me.”
Arabella turned in his arms and luminous pools of green gazed up at him. He swiped the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks, removing the evidence of her tears.
“’Twas not my intention to cause you such distress. Please, do not cry anymore, Sweetness.”
Her arms slipped around his waist and she laid her head on his chest. She mumbled, “I know not what to believe anymore.”
Calum cupped the back of her head and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Believe this—I want you, Arabella—by my side, in my bed, for the rest of our lives. Say you’ll be my wife.”
Worrying her bottom lip, she pulled back to stare at him, her measured gaze weighing his words. She yielded with a faint nod, but ’twas not enough.
He framed her face in his hands. “Speak the word. I need to hear you say it.”
“Aye.”
Sheer relief crashed into Calum. He’d never imagined a single word might be his undoing, but his weak knees bore testament. Gripping the back of her neck, he pulled her closer and latched on to her mouth. He thrust his tongue past her parted lips, teasing with bold strokes. Her muffled whimper stirred a flood of white-hot lust. Overcome with desire, he guided her backward to lean against the stable wall.
As he ravished her mouth, he eased a hand around to the soft curve of her belly. Beneath her gown, her stomach quivered under his fingertips. With deliberate leisure, he slid his hand up her waist to the underside of her breast and swept his thumb over one stiff peak.
Arabella tore her mouth free with a gasp, wrapping her hand around his wrist. When he thought she might pull away from him, she pressed the plump globe into his palm, urging him to touch her.
Emboldened by her response, he worked fast to loosen the lacings of her dress. While he nipped at her lips, he pushed the gown and chemise down over her shoulder and arm to expose a pale, rounded breast. Desperate for a taste, he leaned forward to catch one rosy bud.
Smooth, creamy flesh filled his mouth. His tongue circled over the hardened tip and laved at her breast. She moaned low in her throat and dug her fingers into his shoulders, feeding his hunger. Writhing against him, she raked her nails from his neck to his scalp and gripped his shorn hair in her hands. The action sent a trail of fire rippling to his groin.
Saints, he burned for more—for everything.
Releasing her breast, he moved his hand to the curve of her hip and tugged up her skirts. Her warm breath puffed against his neck, drawing a shiver from him. Slowly, he traced his fingers up her legs to the junction between her thighs until he found the soft curls shielding her center. Panting, she arched against him, her nails scoring his flesh.
Through the mist of desire, he attempted to steady his breathing, but Arabella drove him wild. His lass was molten fire in his hands, and the last of his control splintered in two.
To hell with waiting any longer. His lust-addled brain could not bear the torture, nor could his aching member.
Trailing kisses up her neck to her ear, he slipped his fingers through her slick folds, preparing her to accept him. A cry tore from her throat and he fumbled with the laces of his braies, impatient to bury himself deep inside her.
“Laird! Have you found Lady Arabella?”
His commander’s shout cut through the sensual fog and Calum froze, ceasing to draw breath for a few rattled moments.
Annoyed with himself, he banged his forehead against the wall. Like a callow youth with his first lass, he’d nearly taken her against the damned planks of timber, right then and there. Arabella deserved better than a quick tumble in the stables.
Outside, muffled voices sounded and his frantic heart leaped in his chest.
In a mad rush, he withdrew his hand from the temptation between her thighs and set their clothing to rights. Her wide, glazed eyes darted to his, and he planted a quick kiss on her swollen lips.
“’Tis fine. No cause to worry.” With an arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward the front of the stables. “Come along, Sweetness.”
And none too soon since Mairi, Liam, and Marcus met them just outside the doors.
His sister frowned at the two of them. “Is everything all right?”
Clasping Arabella’s hand, Calum nodded. “Aye, Arabella’s agreed to become my wife.”
“Holy Mother, ’tis about time,” Mairi exclaimed.
Liam’s gaze swept over Arabella, from head to toe, no doubt noting her disheveled appearance. He arched a brow at Calum. “I assume this’ll be a quick affair.”
Chapter Sixteen
After a vexing, restless eve, Arabella found herself held captive in Calum’s solar by a group of women wielding swathes of cloth and needles. Heartha, the clan’s weaver, along with some of the other women, insisted they must begin work on Arabella’s wedding gown. So there she stood, uninterested and weary from lack of sleep. With each pinprick and prod, the dull pain in her head swelled.
’Twas Calum’s blasted fault.
As soon as he announced their intention to wed within a fortnight, a wave of excitement rippled through the MacGregors. The clan’s men whooped and howled their approval, while the women set about making immediate plans. Already that morn, to Arabella’s dismay, Mairi had sent out several missives inviting other clans to the festivities.
The MacGregors merely wished to celebrate the memorable occasion but, frankly, ’twas downright terrifying to her—at the forefront, on display to a flock of strangers. The ache in her head increased twofold with the thought. A simple exchange of vows in the keep’s small chapel would serve well enough for their wedding day. Too bad others had not agreed, Calum included. Of course, he was not the one presently surrounded by a group of high-spirited women brandishing thread and needles.
As for Uncle Hammish, his marked absence had not gone unnoticed when Calum made the announcement last eve. From the start, had he wished to marry her off so he would not have to worry with her?
And what of Calum? What did he expect of a wife? She peered at the flurry of women encircling her with fabrics. Was she to take up such frivolous pursuits as sewing to appease him? What did he truly want of her?
A needled jabbed her hip. “Oww!”
Heartha clucked her tongue. “Hold still, lass. Just a bit longer.”
At the end of her tether, she cried, “Enough. I cannot stand anymore.”
The startled weaver reared her head back. A swift flux of guilt pummeled Arabella.
“Forgive me, ’tis just that I’ve had little sleep and I’m not myself. Honestly, I do appreciate your efforts.”
Heartha’s features softened and she patted Arabella’s hand. “Why don’t you go warm yourself by the fire, lass? We’ll manage without you for a while.”
Grateful, Arabella smiled at Heartha and hurried across the ch
amber to seat herself in front of the fire. As the women clucked back and forth over hues and patterns, she stared into the flames and tried to banish the overwhelming thoughts from her head, but to no avail. Her mind spun with dozens of questions and concerns.
At least she took solace in one small revelation. Considering her encounter with Calum in the stables, the marriage bed might not be as dreadful as she feared. ’Twas truly unimaginable, the feelings he awakened within her. Even now, the thought of him touching her in such a familiar manner sent a shiver down her spine.
But what did she know of pleasing a man? She’d no notion how to proceed with the bedding any more than she knew how to be a wife. ’Twas naught she could speak of with her future husband or her uncle. She suspected Mairi might offer assurances, but modesty prevented her from speaking of such a bold matter. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she longed for Maggie’s presence. The older woman would’ve dashed away her worries with a quick, simple explanation.
Speaking of Maggie, where was she? Should she and Dougal not have arrived at her uncle’s by now? Had Longford’s men captured them as they’d tried to do with her?
The solar door creaked open and Elena stepped inside, cool and composed, as if she had not a care in the world. ’Twas a far cry from the hysterics Arabella had witnessed days before.
Mairi tossed aside the fabric in her lap, sprang to her feet, and ran for Elena, wrapping the older woman in a sturdy embrace. Arabella rose and moved toward to the pair. Upon closer inspection, she noted the heavy shadows beneath Elena’s eyes. Within moments, she found herself dragged into the circle of their arms.
Mairi stepped back to scan her aunt’s face. “Why would you not leave your chamber? You’ve worried me and Arabella so.”
Elena grasped one of their hands in her own. “No worries, my lasses. I just needed a bit of time to myself to sort through a troubling matter, but I’m perfectly fine now. See?”
Her bright smile scarcely hid the burden she carried. Arabella itched to question her further but feared Elena might retreat to her chamber once more.
“Word ’round the keep is Calum announced your wedding at last.” Elena squeezed her hand. “I had to come see the bride for myself.”
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