My Reckless Love

by Melissa Limoges

  “Did you honestly believe you could best me?”

  Warm breath heated her ear and she started. The calm question scarcely hid his anger.

  “N-nay.” She balled her hands into fists, regretting the tremble in her voice.

  Longford stepped around her, pausing long enough to glare, before he resumed pacing around her in circles. “You’ve caused me a world of trouble, Arabella. You will pay a heavy price for the offense once we’re married.”

  “Married?” she blurted.

  His rumbled chuckle sent a chill down her spine. He stopped in front of her, once more, searching over her features. “What did you think would happen?”

  Her mind screamed in protest.

  “Why? Penswyck is yours,” she cried in outrage. “You’ve murdered my brother and taken our home. What more do you want?”

  “Everything,” he shouted within a hairsbreadth from her face. “You foolish girl. Half-measures gain naught. There will be no question of my claim to Penswyck. Our marriage will ensure that.”

  Anger filtered through her veins, granting her a ration of courage. She met his gaze with a defiant glare. “I cannot wed you. I have a husband.”

  Fast as lightning, he grabbed her jaw in a tight grip, digging his fingers in. “Do you believe that matters in the eyes of the church? Your marriage to that Scots bastard is a mockery.”

  “I will not marry you,” she gritted out.

  He tightened his grip and she grunted in pain. “Aye, you will, if I have to drag you to the altar by your hair.” He released her face with a shove and she stumbled back a step. “Afterward, I care not what happens to you.”

  He brushed past her, moving toward the door, and she nearly crumpled to her knees.

  “I suggest you learn obedience,”—his harsh voice stretched across the chamber—“Or you shall meet your brother’s fate sooner than you wish.”

  The door slammed, rattling on its hinges, followed by a bar sliding in place, locking her in the bedchamber. The earth titled beneath her feet and she swallowed down the urge to retch. Unsteady on her feet, she stumbled the short distance to a small bed against the wall and collapsed on her side. She curled into a tight ball, cradling her hurt wrist to her chest, and cried.

  Saints, what was she going to do now?

  *

  “Damn it, stop,” Aaron roared.

  Mairi rounded on him, renewing her struggles to break free. Exasperated with the woman, he overpowered her. Pressing her back to the cool, stone wall, he locked her arms at her sides and pinned her legs with his thighs. Panting and seething in anger, she’d never looked comelier.

  “You need to listen to me. I cannot help you and MacGregor’s bride if you do not.”

  “You flaming arse. Why should I listen to you? Do you have any notion what you’ve done?” Her glare would slay a lesser man.

  “Allow me to explain.”

  “You’ve condemned us to die, you shameless coward.”

  Out of time, he shook her hard. “By the Saints, that whoreson murdered my father and threatened to do the same to my brother if I did not bring him the woman. I did what I had to do.”

  Doubt flickered in her eyes.

  “The only way I could free my brother was to bring him MacGregor’s wife. Believe me, if I could’ve spared Connor, you, and her, then I would have, but there was no other way.” He lowered his head close to her flushed face. “Forgive me, but I could not allow my brother to die, Mairi.”

  Conflict warred in her bright, blue gaze. “Why did you not tell me? I could’ve helped you. My brother—”

  “Nay, there was no other way,” he drew out each word. “Longford would’ve killed Connor out of spite.”

  “But—”

  “Just listen. When my brother is safe and out of Longford’s reach, I will make certain you and MacGregor’s wife are freed, but I need your promise first. I need you to promise no harm will come to Connor.”

  She frowned at him in confusion.

  He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. The heat of her skin scalded his palm. “Your brother will come for you and his wife. You must protect Connor from your brother’s wrath.”

  “What? Calum would never.”

  “Connor is innocent of my crimes. Do not allow him to be consumed by your brother’s thirst for vengeance.”

  “But…” She searched his gaze. “What of you?”

  “My life is forfeit, Mairi. I’ll make sure the three of you are safe, then I’ll accept my fate.” Aaron moved his thumb over her silken cheek. “If things had been different…”

  He did not bother finishing the words. There was no need wishing for another life. No reason to think on what might’ve been. Fate had set him on this course, whether he wished it or not.

  Tears gathered in her beautiful eyes. “I know.”

  Mairi surprised him by rising on her tiptoes and pressing a gentle kiss on his mouth. Seizing the moment, he dipped his head and sank his tongue past her parted lips. Light—she was absolute light. Slowly, he drew back and swiped the tears from her eyes.

  “I must go,” he said.

  Nodding, she wiped any lingering wetness away with the sleeves of her gown.

  He moved toward the door and glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll come back for you once I get Connor to safety. Bar the door after me.”

  “Aaron?” She paced a step closer. “Be careful.”

  He offered her a faint smile and slipped outside the chamber. Leaning against the door, he calmed his thudding heart and waited to hear the lock slide in place. Once she did as he bid, Aaron sucked in a few steadying breaths and pushed away from the door. The end drew near and he had much to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Caught fully unaware, Calum gaped at the substantial force of English soldiers amassed outside the keep’s walls. Unease slid down his spine as he watched their numbers grow. Sunlight gleamed on row after row of plate and mail-clad men, while the blasted king’s banner waved like a shining beacon in their midst.

  Why the devil was the damned king at his door?

  The muscles in his shoulders stretched taut as he clenched his fists. He ground his teeth together to withhold a host of curses. By the Saints, he had more pressing matters to attend to that did not involve avoiding a cursed battle with the English. And a fight it would be—if the affronted voices of his clansmen and wedding guests around him were any judge.

  For a moment, Calum simply stood immobile and strove for some semblance of control. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tucked away the impulsive urge to release a battle cry that would hurl his kinsmen into outright war they had no chance of winning. With a loose grasp on his remaining patience, he dropped his arm and turned to regard the crowd gathering behind him.

  Man after man donned the face of a hardened warrior. Wrapped in their tartan mantles, every Highlander brandished swords, axes, or bows. Their severe demeanors displayed a savage, imbued desire to draw blood. The slightest provocation and these men would fly into battle at will, but ’twas not what Calum wished. ’Twas not the time, nor the place. He needed each and every man to join his fight against Longford.

  Struggling for discretion, which he severely lacked at present, he sucked in a lungful of chilled air and shifted his feet to widen his stance. Over the rattle of weaponry and the drone of displeasure, he addressed the men.

  “I ask more than many of you wish to give, but I beseech you to temper yourselves.” His gaze stretched over the disgruntled crowd. “I do not know why the English have paid us a visit, nor do I truly care. What matters to me the most is the safe return of my wife and sister and, for that, I need your help. Save your sword arms, brothers, and let me handle the English. Afterward, we ride.”

  Despite a few angry murmurs or glared daggers, his clansmen grudgingly yielded to his request, lowering their weapons. In truth, he understood their discord and understood it well. ’Twas a man’s place to fight his battles and protect his own but this particular fight was not his
.

  Steeling his nerve, Calum spun on his heel and strode to the front gate. He scanned the mass of unwelcomed visitors, while his mind spun with a reason for their untimely arrival. To be honest, the reason scarcely mattered. The faster he rid himself of their presence, the sooner he would see his family returned.

  Within moments, his commanders, Liam, Fraser, Patrick and even Dougal joined him at the gate. Their strong, unspoken show of unity pleased Calum, infusing him with a store of confidence he desperately needed before facing his foes.

  Sword gripped at his side, he rolled his shoulders to loosen the tense set of his back. He tipped his head toward the English. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Fraser grunted. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  Forcing his hands to rest lax, Calum looked on at the ranks of mounted knights and foot soldiers as he and Fraser stepped outside the front gates. Despite their considerable number, the English stood at ease, uncaring of his and Fraser’s advance.

  Amid the two opposing groups, the distinct cry of a hawk overhead shattered the yawning silence. Trickles of movement surfaced from within the English ranks as three mounted riders emerged from a sea of men. The middle rider swayed in his saddle, and the two soldiers with him shifted closer to his flanks. The trio halted scores of feet away and raised a hand to signal no further advance.

  Wary, Calum slid a glance at Fraser who nodded once. The old laird puffed out his barrel chest and strode ahead with Calum. Their dogged strides closed the remaining distance in no time, pausing mere paces away from the three mounted soldiers. Uneased hung thick in the chilled air, but he held his stance firm, not blinking when the middle rider managed a clumsy dismount. His two companions hurriedly descended their horses to move to the rider’s sides to balance his wavering frame. Calum passed a dubious eye over the plate-covered knight as the tall man shuffled closer.

  The unsteady rider lifted his arms, his armor groaning from the motion. With a slight shift in footing, Calum adjusted his stance and tightened his grip on the cool hilt of his sword. From the corner of his eye, he caught Fraser’s subtle shift of position as well.

  Slowly, the rider removed his helm and lowered his arms.

  Stiffness drained from Calum’s body and his hand slid away from his weapon. He gaped at the pale, gaunt face of a man he thought dead.

  “Iain?” he mumbled in disbelief.

  The pallor alarming, Iain’s face bore signs of weariness and pain. The bulk of his mass had all but vanished, accounting for the odd fit of his armor and his wavering form. ’Twas God’s truth, the man looked as though death hung around his neck.

  Fraser’s elbow to the ribs shook Calum from his stupor. The two of them rushed forward, fitting their shoulders beneath Iain’s frame before he fell flat on his face.

  “You gave this old man a start, boy.” Fraser’s voice faltered. “Your sister…” The words died in his throat.

  Iain’s sharpened gaze snapped to his uncle’s. “Where is she?”

  “Later.” Fraser barked out.

  From the laird’s drawn features, ’twas evident he did not wish to burden his ailing nephew with bad tidings. Neither did Calum for that matter. Christ, ’twas a wonder Iain survived the journey from England in his condition.

  Ignoring the question, Fraser nodded at Calum and they shouldered Iain’s weight, but he asked them to wait. With an awkward glance behind him, he ordered his two companions to set camp for the eve. Calum shared a look with Fraser over that bit of information. All but carrying Iain through the courtyard, they hefted him inside the keep and through the great hall. They deposited him at a trestle table in a clank of rattling armor, and Iain groaned in relief.

  At once, Calum signaled a servant to bring water. However, before Iain swallowed a drop, Fraser asked the question burning in Calum’s mind.

  “We believed you dead. How is it you live?”

  “By the skin of my teeth.” Iain weakly snorted. “Longford was not as practiced with his blade as he believed. Now, where is Arabella? I was told she sought refuge with you.”

  With the same mossy green eyes as his sister, Iain pinned his uncle with a hard stare, but Fraser showed no outward sign of relenting. For a man who scarcely kept his blasted gob shut, the old man remained silent as a mouse. He dropped down on a bench across the table from his nephew.

  Calum lifted his chin at Iain. “Tell us how you are here, and with the king’s men no less.”

  “Damnation, just tell me where she is.” Iain bared his teeth.

  Concern bled through the anger on his pale features, and Calum sympathized with his old friend. With a heavy sigh borne of frustration, he plopped down in a chair beside Iain and met his unwavering gaze.

  “I believe Longford has Arabella and Mairi.”

  Rage twisted Iain’s features. “What the devil does that mean? You believe?”

  “The MacRaes grabbed them and headed north after the wedding. I’m certain Longford is involved.”

  Iain bit out a harsh curse. “The servants said the bastard fled north with half his men.” More curses rent the air. “Who the devil are the MacRaes and what wedding?”

  Calum raised a brow. “Arabella’s.”

  Iain speared him with a fierce glare. “The hell you say. Who would dare wed my sister?”

  “I would.” He growled in challenge.

  “You?” Surprise widened Iain’s gaze. “In truth?”

  “Aye,” he affirmed with a narrowing of his eyes.

  Iain bellowed another harsh curse and struggled against the weight of his armor to rise to his feet. “Then why the devil are you sitting here? Christ’s blood, you should be out there getting them back. Longford will kill them.”

  Annoyed, Calum placed a staying hand on his plated shoulder. “I damned well know that. My men and I were prepared to leave when you showed up with a cursed army of men. Hell, do you think I’d rather sit here, imagining what might’ve befallen my sister or my wife instead?”

  Any remaining color drained from Iain’s face. “I should’ve sent a messenger ahead to bring word of my approach. Forgive me for not thinking, Calum.”

  Fraser rapped his knuckles on the wooden table across from them. “Listen, boy, tell us how you’re alive and here, with the king’s men at that. Be quick about it, won’t you?”

  Iain did not hesitate. “Longford left me for dead along the main thoroughfare from London. By God’s grace, a passing peddler heard my moans of pain and carted me to a nearby convent, or I would’ve died on that road. ’Twas the nuns’ goodwill that spared my life. Fever and infection ravaged my body for a fortnight, but when I was strong enough to gain my legs, I took a cart to London to speak to the king, revealing Longford’s lies and deceit. He offered me a number of men to retake Penswyck, but Arabella was gone. Along with Dougal and his wife. I was told they escaped north, so I came as fast as I could. Christ, ’tis my fault for not protecting them. If anything happens to Arabella…”

  “Enough.” Fraser ground out. “No more of that nonsense. Naught will happen to either of our girls.”

  Calum met Iain’s troubled gaze. “I will bring them home, Iain.”

  “You know,”—Fraser scratched his beard—“’Tis good you’ve arrived. Might as well put some of your men to good use.”

  “Of course,” Iain agreed. “Anything you need. Give me a few moments to rest and I’ll be ready to ride.”

  Calum squinted. “You can scarcely keep yourself upright, man. How are you to swing a sword, much less stay astride your mount?”

  “I can hold my own.” Iain glared at him. “I’ll not be left behind.”

  Calum rolled his eyes heavenward. “By the Saints, I know you can, and I understand your need to accompany us. Truly, I do, but we do not have time to ride at a slower pace. You’re in no condition to ride north. Hell, ’tis a blessing you made it this far from England. Stay here and heal. Trust me to take care of matters, Iain.”

  His friend sighed in defeat and leaned his e
lbows on the edge of the table for support. Resigned, he dropped his head in his hands. “Take what you require of the men. Hell, take them all. I do not care. Just bring Arabella and Mairi back safe and sound.”

  Studying the sickly man seated before him, he wondered if Iain would ever return to the days of his former self—the sturdy, capable warrior Calum had once known. He cuffed his friend’s shoulder. “You have my thanks.”

  Across the table, Fraser slapped his palms flat on the wooden planks. “So, before we charge onto MacRae lands, what’s our plan?”

  Despite the heavy weight in his heart, Calum almost smiled. “Come, let’s ready the men to ride, and I’ll tell you.”

  Fraser narrowed his eyes but held his tongue, for once.

  After they bid farewell to Iain and strode to the hall entrance, Elena rushed in between the two of them.

  Fraser snagged her around the middle. “Take care of him, will you, love?”

  Nodding, she patted his chest. “Aye, Hammish.” She worriedly glanced from him to Calum. “The pair of you be safe and bring our lasses home.”

  The old laird leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips. “As you wish, my lady.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  With a force nearly two hundred strong, Calum, his clansmen, and Iain’s soldiers had ridden hard throughout the day, arriving on MacRae lands at nightfall. Bordered by the sea to the north and west, the keep held a strong, defensive position atop a steep cliff. Below, a beach ran along the rock wall, permitting Calum and his men shelter, out of the line of sight, to prepare their next move.

  ’Twas in the shadows of darkness when he, Symon, and a handful of his kinsmen scouted ahead, searching for any points of weakness they might exploit to gain entry inside. From the poor state of the MacRae keep and its crumbling, surrounding walls, it had not taken Calum long to root out a collapsed area in the eastern wall.

  Mindful of the night watch, he and his men snuck through the opening, hiding themselves away in the courtyard to observe the movement of foot patrols. Soon, he devised a plan to get into the keep without raising alarms. To his surprise, the English soldiers in his company would work to their advantage.