My Reckless Love

  She blew out a harsh breath. “I love him.”

  Mairi snorted. “Well then. Get your arse up and let’s head back to the keep. The sooner you and Calum speak, the better.”

  Mairi grabbed her injured arm and Arabella cried out.

  The other woman snatched her hand away. “What? What’s amiss?”

  “I was felled by a wretched piece of wood.”

  She laughed at the ridiculous statement, while Mairi stared at her as though she’d taken a blow to the head.

  “I think I merely wrenched my wrist when I fell.” She sat upright, careful not to bump her arm.

  Mairi rose to her feet and bent forward, wrapping her arms around Arabella’s back. “We’ll pay a visit to Elena on our way back.”

  Once Arabella managed to stand, she cradled her sore wrist against her stomach. By the Saints, nature must despise her. First, moss. Now tree branches. She opened her mouth to mutter a complaint to Mairi, but her friend raised her hand for silence.

  Distant thumps grew into thunderous roars along with a snap and crash of limbs. As four mounted warriors tore through the forest and headed for them, she threw an alarmed glance at Mairi, who stared in shock.

  “Grab them,” one rider shouted over the clamor.

  Mairi’s surprise melted into a look of pure rage. She forcefully tugged Arabella’s gown.

  “Run!”

  She wasted no time doing as her friend bid. The two of them charged around the men and ran for the keep. Despite the ache in her arm, a healthy measure of fear pushed her onward. Her heart hammered in her chest as she forced her legs to carry her faster, desperate to reach the safety of the keep—to reach Calum.

  They broke through the forest and raced over open pasture. There, in the distance, was the village and keep. Just a bit further, she told herself, over and over, as her greedy lungs dragged in breath.

  Mairi’s piercing scream rent the air, raising the hair at Arabella’s nape. She threw a glance over her shoulder to see her friend fighting in earnest with her captor. The grip of terror squeezed her chest and her step faltered. She nearly pitched head first but caught herself, struggling to gain speed as she fled for help. ’Twas the only way to save Mairi.

  Suddenly, a rider blocked her escape and she smacked into a solid bulk of horseflesh. She stumbled backward but managed to say on her feet. Her gaze darted to the rider and dread roiled in her stomach. Bile rose in her throat when she recognized one of Longford’s men.

  A knowing grin spread across his lip and she scrambled backward, but not quickly enough. The soldier reached down and snagged her injured wrist. Pain seared up her arm and she shrieked in agony. Black dots swam before her vision, threatening to drag her under. She struggled against the darkness closing in, but to no avail. She stumbled over her own feet, and the man hauled her over his saddle in front of him. Brute force knocked the air from her lung as she roughly landed on her stomach. Robbed of strength, she surrendered and allowed blackness to claim her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  With a parry, deflect, and thrust, the tip of Calum’s sword rested against the column of Patrick’s neck.

  Audibly swallowing, his friend pushed the sharpened edge away with his fore and middle fingers. “You’re relentless this morn.”

  “I suppose I’m simply exhilarated by the day.” Calum lowered his weapon.

  Patrick snorted. “By your new bride, you mean.”

  Unashamed of the truth, he laughed. “Aye, ’tis probably true.”

  Patrick sheathed his blade and slapped away dirt from his braies. “Probably? Oh, I’m sure of it.”

  Amused, Calum passed off his sword to one of his men and grabbed a skin of water for a long drink. His old friend had the right of it. Somehow, the day seemed much brighter and full of promise since he’d awoken beside Arabella. He smiled remembering her mumbled words before she fell into a deep slumber. ’Twas a sheer testament of strength to leave her side that morn. Even now, he plotted a means to escape his duties and return to his wife.

  His bellowed name pulled him from his musing. He spun around to see his Elena cut a direct path for him. Heedless of the warriors sparring around her, she picked up her skirts and rushed around the men. Her stricken features abated his good humor in a flash. Unconcerned of others’ stares, he ran the remaining distance to reach her.

  “What is it? What’s amiss?”

  Elena grasped her chest while panting to catch her breath. After several deep pulls of air, she managed to speak. “’Tis Arabella…me and Mairi…” Her chest rose and fell. “Arabella overheard us speaking of the dowry.”

  Hell.

  “How did you find out?” As soon as the question left his lips, he cursed. Fraser. He waved away her attempt to explain. “Where is she?”

  “She ran off before I could explain. Mairi went after her.” Elena grabbed his forearm. “I’m worried, Calum. Arabella was so upset.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. Christ, he should’ve known Fraser would not keep his damned gob shut. When did the man ever? The old fool gossiped more than a woman.

  Saints, what must Arabella think? He shifted from foot to foot before kicking at the ground, wishing he could kick his own arse instead. Why did he continue to ruin things between them? Hell, would she ever trust him again after this?

  His dropped his hand. “Where have they gone?”

  “I do not know.” Elena shook her head. “They ran into the forest, north of my cottage.”

  The waterfall.

  ’Twas the only place she might’ve fled. He wheeled around and nearly smacked into Patrick. He met his friend’s solemn stare.

  “What can I do?” Patrick offered.

  “You and Liam grab your mounts and follow me.”

  Patrick nodded and hurried away in search of Liam.

  Not waiting for the pair, Calum bolted for the stables and made short work of saddling his stallion. His mind spun with a hundred different ways to make amends with his wife, though none seemed remotely adequate. He scrubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. Of course, he’d dismissed Sean and Gavin of their duties the previous day. Now, because of his own carelessness, his wife and sister were outside the keep—alone and unprotected.

  If something happened to either of them…

  “Any notion where they’ve gone?” Liam’s query jarred Calum from his grim thoughts.

  “Aye, let’s go.” Calum vaulted into his saddle.

  Spurring his mount on, he galloped from the stables and through the courtyard with Liam and Patrick close behind. Desperate to find Arabella and Mairi, he led the two men across freshly reaped fields and browning pasture into the woods. With an adept sense of his surroundings, he steered the men along a twisting course until they reached the remote patch of forest. Once they entered the glade, a twinge of foreboding stabbed in Calum’s gut.

  He leaped from his stallion and scanned the area. “Where are they?”

  “Christ, I’d forgotten this place.” Liam spoke with a note of disbelief.

  Calum ignored his kin and strode across the clearing, searching the forest floor for any sign of the two women.

  “Calum, here.”

  Patrick’s shout snagged his attention. He hastened to his friend’s side where he knelt. Calum’s hand shook as he plucked the scrap of cloth from Patrick’s palm. Upon closer inspection, air rushed from his lungs and his heart plummeted to his feet.

  Blood.

  Dread crept up his spine. He crushed the bit of fabric in his fist and redoubled his efforts, scouring the forest floor for anything out of place. When he came upon the telling marks of torn earth, a vise gripped his chest in a tight squeeze, threatening to drop him to his knees.

  A born tracker, Patrick crouched beside him, examining the ground. “Looks to be four riders.” He straightened and followed the disturbed patches across the glade. “The tracks lead out into the forest. Follow me.”

  The three of them mounted their horses and
retraced the riders’ tracks through the dense woods and out into a sheep pasture. Patrick raised his hand, drawing them to a halt, and dismounted. With knit brows, he sank down on his haunches and studied the trampled brush and torn earth.

  “There was a struggle.” Patrick rose to his feet, paced ahead, scanning the tracks, and then pointed. “The tracks head north.”

  Christ, he knew it with every ounce of his being. “Longford has them.”

  If Liam or Patrick spoke, he did not hear them over the incessant ringing in his ears. His eyes squeezed shut as fear dug its talons deep. He gripped the pommel as the sting of bile rose in his throat.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye,” he croaked.

  Liam’s curse split the air. His horse sidestepped, but he brought the animal under control. “Then we ride.”

  Patrick swung into the saddle and they raced for the keep. The thunder of hooves pounded in Calum’s ears as his mind reeled. Where had Longford taken Arabella and Mairi, and how the devil was he to find them? Curse after curse hurtled through his head. Christ, he had to get them back.

  Once they reached the village, Liam and Patrick broke off toward the camps, while Calum galloped through the bailey, ignoring the alarmed stares of his clan, and reined his mount near the keep’s front steps. At the foot of the staircase, Elena stood side by side with Fraser. The two wore matching frowns.

  “Any word?” he called out.

  Eyes downcast, Fraser shook his head. “They have not returned.”

  Calum threw his leg over the saddle and slid down onto his feet to sag against his stallion’s side. The weight of his loss hung around his shoulders, dragging him deeper into despair.

  “Longford has them.” The words tumbled out of him in a garbled rush.

  Genuine shock flitted across Fraser’s features. “What? How?”

  “I do not know,” Calum said. “But I would wager my life on it.”

  Rage flared in Fraser’s mossy gaze. “Assemble your men. I’ll see to mine. ’Tis a blessing many of our allies are here. They will aid us.”

  Fraser swiped the tears from Elena’s eyes and bent to kiss her cheek. He stepped in front of Calum and laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “We will get them back. I vow it, lad.”

  Without another word, his ally donned the mantle of laird, barking out orders to his commander, like the seasoned warrior he was. For long moments, Calum stood rooted the spot, envious of Fraser’s cool composure. In a fog, he watched a flurry of activity go on around him in the courtyard, but he could not force his limbs to move. Dread close to crippling him, one thought flared in his mind.

  What if he failed his wife and sister?

  Just as he had his father.

  He lifted a hand to rub at the ache in his chest. This time, his heart would not survive the loss.

  “Calum!”

  Liam’s shout jarred him into movement. He spun to find his cousin and commanders barreling straight for him. No doubt, their daunting scowls did not boast good tidings.

  “I have news.” A steely glint blazed in Liam’s gaze.

  “Tell me,” Calum commanded.

  “It would seem our ally, the MacRaes, were in a rush to pack camp and leave this morn.”

  “Apparently, their small party headed north,” Symon added. “A bit of chance, eh?”

  Calum grunted. “The MacRaes?”

  For the life of him, he could not place a face with the name. Not an especially known clan in the Highlands, he did not recall meeting any MacRaes at the banquet. Of course, his bride had occupied his thoughts at the time.

  ’Twas not sheer chance the clan had fled north that morn.

  “Find out what you can of the MacRaes from the others,” he spoke to Marcus. “Symon, gather the men and supplies. We ride north within the hour.”

  Once his commanders rushed away to do as bid, Liam hesitated. He frowned at Calum. “Do you still suspect Longford is involved?”

  “Aye,” Calum admitted. ’Twas hard to explain, but the sinking feeling in his gut told him the truth. Longford was to blame. He had no notion how the MacRaes played into the plot, but he would soon have answers. “All I can ask is that you trust me.”

  “I trust you with my life, Cousin.” A faint smile ghosted over Liam’s lips. “I’ll see to the men with Symon and Marcus.”

  Left to his own devices, Calum paced the courtyard, struggling to grasp on to his composure. His muscles strained from the rigid set of his shoulders. Time dragged on at a tedious crawl, heightening his unease.

  He shot repeated glances toward the front gate, noting the growing number of men. Back and damned forth he paced, stuck waiting for everyone else. All the while, his insides compressed in a tight knot with each passing moment wasted. He spun on his boot heel, but halted mid-stride as Patrick pushed his way through the gathered clansmen. The stern set of his features alerted Calum to something amiss.

  “We have a wee bit of trouble.” Patrick held the hilt of his sword in a white-knuckled grasp.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Patrick cast a wary glance at the front gate. “I think you should have a look.”

  Hell, what now?

  Christ, he did not have time to deal with nonsense. With a growl of frustration, he waved Patrick onward, trailing after him.

  Once they weaved through the men, Calum stopped dead in his tracks as his heart stuttered over several beats.

  A substantial force of soldiers, waving the blasted king of England’s banner, advanced toward the MacGregor keep.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When Arabella swam into consciousness, she wrenched against her captor’s hold, but swiftly learned the futility of her efforts. She twisted to catch sight of Mairi, but his thick arm spanned taut across her waist, locking her in place.

  “Enough.” His harsh Gaelic rumble ceased her movements.

  Too frightened and weary to argue, she slumped against the man and cradled her injured wrist against her stomach. Throughout the bone-jarring ride, she attempted to distinguish her surroundings, but to no avail. Blots of green, brown, and gray blurred past in a dizzying rush that made her aching head spin.

  Time slipped away as tall pines blended into rough crags. The sun hung low in the sky when the horses slowed and began an uphill climb. Arabella squeezed her eyes shut, fearful one of the animals might misstep. Gravel crunched beneath each hoof beat, while frigid wind howled in her ears. Once the horses stepped on level ground, she peeled her eyes open, surprised to see moonlight peeked through the clouds.

  Ahead in the distance, a gloomy pile of stones jutted up from the earth. The scent of saltwater tinged the air, signaling the proximity of the sea. As they drew near the keep, fear spread throughout her limbs, forcing her to tremble. Soon, they passed beneath an aging archway at the front gate and rode through a barren courtyard, pausing near the keep’s entrance.

  In the next instant, Arabella found herself tossed from the saddle and restrained by another set of arms. She met Mairi’s angered gaze for a brief moment before rough hands hauled her and Mairi up a crumbling stairway. Inside, their captors led them down a dank passageway and into a meager hall. Wrinkling her nose against the offensive odor, she slid a quick glance over the chamber. As soon as she spotted the man seated at the high table, her heart constricted in her throat and her stomach dropped to the floor.

  Geoffrey Longford.

  Torchlight gleamed on his golden hair as he rose from his seat. A slow smile stretched across his perfectly-formed features, while triumph glimmered in his dark eyes. That look froze the blood in her veins. Behind her, the guard nudged her forward and she resisted, desperate to flee in the opposite direction, but strong hands held her in place.

  “Oh come now, dove. I should think you’d be happy to see me.” Grinning, Longford sauntered across the hall.

  Each step he took closer, her legs threatened to give out beneath her. The stifling air in the chamber practically suffocated her. She stared into the
face of her own doom.

  Longford halted a few feet away, casting a curious glance at Mairi. “And who do we have here?”

  “MacGregor’s sister,” the dark-haired Scot holding Mairi offered. “Our agreement, Longford?”

  Lifting his brow, he heaved a sigh and untangled a key from beneath his surcoat. He passed it over to the man who’d grabbed her that morn. “Finn, bring the boy.”

  The Scot’s hold slipped from Mairi’s middle and she seized the opportunity, elbowing him in the ribs. She thrashed to free herself but he quickly regained control.

  Longford laughed. “I see why you grabbed her.”

  Mairi lunged forward, spitting in Longford’s face before the Scot restrained her against his chest. “My brother will see you burn in hell.”

  Jaw clenched tight, he wiped his face with the sleeve of his tunic. He aimed a wrathful stare at Mairi. “See to your bitch before I do it for you. Get her out of here.”

  Arabella looked on in dismay as the Scot tossed Mairi over his shoulder, while she kicked and screamed, and hauled her up the main stairway, vanishing from sight. A resounding slam of a door cut off her litany of curses.

  Longford stepped in front of Arabella, his dark gaze pinning her in place. “Come along, my dear. You’ll need your rest before we leave for Penswyck on the morrow.”

  Mindful of her precarious situation, she offered no resistance as he guided her up the stairs. He gripped her forearm, tugging her down the right passageway, away from Mairi’s muffled shouts to the left. Longford stopped her in front of a bedchamber and reached to unlatch the door, swinging the heavy wood wide. He released his grasp and pushed her in.

  “Go.”

  Her heart thumped wildly in her chest when he entered the chamber behind her, shutting the door with a faint clank. Wary of his presence, she bit her lip and stared ahead at the somber stone wall. The hair at her nape stood on end as his soft footfalls drew closer.