My Reckless Love

by Melissa Limoges

  Before dawn, he assembled half his men, breaking them into small groups of five. One set after another, they advanced on the rocky cliff, using numerous outcroppings of jagged stone as cover. Gathered along the eastern wall, they began to pick off Longford’s men. With a switch of helms and surcoats, Iain’s soldiers assumed their enemies’ roles, one watch at a time, patrolling the grounds as if naught were amiss. In no time, they effectively controlled the bailey without sounding an alarm and fewer men were slain.

  Kneeling just outside of the break in the courtyard wall, Calum locked his sights on the keep’s side entrance near the kitchens. Bursts of frigid coastal air stung his face and dried the sweat on his scalp. A constant drone of waves filled his ears, but the shrill cries of gulls pierced the roar of the sea. The incessant noise bore in his brain, amplifying his agitation.

  Thought after thought sifted through his mind, trying his sorely waning patience. Despite his eagerness to get inside the keep, he urged himself to withstand just a wee bit longer. One foolish misstep could endanger Arabella and Mairi—a risk he was unwilling to take. He glanced to his left where two score or more of Longford’s soldiers sat, bound and gagged. Despite a swollen eye, one prisoner speared him with a one-eyed glower.

  “Well, that’s hardly gracious of you, is it?” Liam said over Calum’s shoulder. He strolled ahead and squatted in front of the trussed up guard, patting the soldier’s cheek with a hard slap. “We allowed you to live. For now. The least you could do is show a bit of gratitude.”

  Heedless of their captive’s harsh glare, Liam rolled his eyes at Calum. “Thankless arse.”

  In spite of the thrumming pulse in his neck, Calum grinned at his cousin. Leave it to Liam to find humor in a humorless situation. Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to the side entrance, eagerly awaiting a signal from one of Iain’s men who’d slipped into the keep sometime earlier. When the first light of day began to inch over the horizon, his nervousness increased threefold.

  A heavy hand fell on his shoulder as Fraser knelt alongside him.

  “What’s taking so blasted long?” the laird grunted with displeasure.

  His dour gaze narrowed on the entrance. No doubt he worried for his niece’s welfare, but ’twas naught compared to the painful knot of unease lodged in Calum’s chest. Too many troubling thoughts tumbled round in his head, adding to the weight in the pit of his stomach.

  What if he was too late to save his family?

  He thrust the unsettling notion away and cast a quick glance at Fraser, who stroked his beard in an absent motion. Taking pity on his ally, he nudged the man’s arm. “Any moment now, old man.”

  Any damned moment.

  By the Saints, if he had to wait much longer, he’d go mad. Eye twitching, he ground his teeth in irritation. Growling in frustration, he shifted from knee to knee, anxious to rise from his crouch. Then he saw it—a glimmer of flame from the keep’s side entrance. Twice more the flicker gleamed like a beacon across the darkened bailey for an instant before disappearing altogether.

  Heart leaping in his chest, Calum straightened and rolled his neck from shoulder to shoulder. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he met Fraser’s keen stare. “’Tis time.”

  And not a moment too soon.

  *

  The marked click and drag of a lock slipping free rang out in the stifling silence. Arabella bolted upright from the small bed and stared at the chamber door. Her heart pounded a swift beat as she waited for Longford to stride through the entrance. When the door remained closed, she frowned in confusion. Had she mistaken the sound?

  Stone scraped over stone, jarring her into action. Despite the painful ache in her head and wrist, she sprung to her feet and spun to face the sound from the wall behind her. She gaped as a section of wall beneath a molding tapestry slid open, kicking up dust in the chamber. A flush of cool, brackish air pushed into the musty room and brushed over her warm face.

  Quiet footfalls shuffled from the other side of the wall, and every sore muscle in her body stiffened. She held her breath, fearful of who, or what, might enter. She barely contained her surprise when a tall, gangly youth pushed aside the tapestry and ducked to enter through the low-hung opening in the wall.

  Arabella cleared her parched throat. “W-who are you?”

  His dark, solemn gaze met hers and he held a finger to his lips. “Connor MacRae, my lady.” He pointed the chamber door. “We must speak softly.”

  Shaggy, brown hair fell over his eyes, which he brushed aside with a sweep of his dirty hand. Cuts and bruises littered his pale face and neck. Blood stained the collar of his threadbare tunic.

  After Longford locked her in the chamber, she promptly discovered any thought of escape was futile. With no window opening and the chamber door barred, she was stuck in the chamber until Longford came for her.

  Thoroughly at a loss, she stared at the disheveled youth, unsure who he was or where he’d come from. She mumbled, “How did you…?”

  “’Tis my home, my lady. I’m privy to its secrets.” Glancing away, he hesitated a moment before adding, “’Twas my brother who took you and your companion.”

  His mumbled words sifted through her weary mind and a surge of anger replaced her confusion. Her mouth dropped open to curse his fiend of a brother.

  “Wait. Please.” Moving closer, Connor lifted his hand as if to touch her, but paused and dropped his arm to his side. “Allow me to explain, please. I beg you.”

  Arabella blinked at the note of desperation in his voice. His soulful eyes reflected a wealth of intelligence, understanding, and pain at odds with his young age. The longer she considered Connor’s request, the more compassion tugged at her heart. ’Twas far too simple to see her husband in the young man—thrust into circumstances not of his own doing.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “All right. Explain.”

  His shouldered slumped in relief. “An Englishman came to our hall, offering a heavy purse for my clan’s aid.” His gaze moved over the chamber rather than meet hers. “I’m sure you can guess for what.”

  Arabella gritted her teeth. Aye, she could.

  “My brother, Aaron, did not wish to help, but my father is…was a greedy man.” Connor balled his hands into fists at his sides. “’Twas his greed that allowed Longford to murder him and seize control of our keep. Longford forced Aaron to do his bidding by holding my life over his head. My brother had no wish to harm you or your companion. In truth, Aaron has no plans to leave you here with Longford. He merely brought you here to free me from Longford’s grasp.”

  The air pushed from Arabella’s lungs. By the Saints, was their no limit to Longford’s evil and deceit? What a wretched cur.

  “Aaron has horses waiting for us. You and I are to meet him along the north side of the beach.”

  She frowned. “But what of Longford?”

  Connor forced a tight-lipped smile. “Do not fear. My brother will see to him.”

  The resigned acceptance in his solemn gaze broke Arabella’s heart in two. She opened her mouth to speak, but he waved at the opening in the wall.

  “We should leave now, my lady.”

  Blinking away the burn of tears, she nodded and stepped forward to follow Connor into the passageway. She lingered near the wall and brushed her fingers over the break in the wall. She’d failed to notice the barely perceptible fissure in the stone in her earlier search.

  “I’d no notion this was here.”

  Connor snorted faintly. “’Tis the point.”

  Wary of the looming darkness, she paused just inside the passageway. “Where does this lead?”

  “To a cave above the beach.” His cold hand grasped hers. “Just hold on to me, my lady. I will not let any harm come to you.”

  He tugged toward the darkness but she resisted. “Wait. What of Mairi?”

  “Aaron’s bringing her to the beach.”

  “But—”

  Connor lifted his brows. “My brother would no more harm her th
an your husband would you.”

  Her lips parted. “Oh.”

  What exactly did that mean?

  “Come along, my lady,” Connor urged. “We need to move before Longford arrives.”

  ’Twas all he had to say to get her moving.

  She rushed inside the passageway and he moved behind her to pull the secret opening closed, throwing the two of them in near darkness. Undeterred, he nudged her deeper into the eerie, stone passageway. Sounds of dripping water and gusts of wind carried along the narrowed tunnel. She shivered against the chill in the briny air.

  “Trust me.” Connor squeezed her hand. “All will be well, my lady. Just follow my lead, and you shall soon be free of this mess.”

  She desperately hoped Connor’s words would ring true.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rising from a short slumber, Geoffrey sank his hands into the washbasin and tossed chilled water on his face to awaken his senses. As the cool liquid ran down his bare chest, he gripped the edge of the table and studied his image in the ripples of water.

  Golden whiskers covered his cheeks and jaw, lending him a miserable, older appearance. Weariness carved deep lines around his eyes and mouth, and he despised every single wrinkle marring his face. For years, many fine ladies at Court complimented him on his good looks, but now he looked a ragged mess.

  Fie! ’Twas Arabella’s fault. Everything was her wretched fault. She continued to defy him, leaving him to pursue her in a land of heathens, while he should’ve been at Penswyck, savoring the fruit of his labors. But no more. The whole cursed affair would soon be at an end. Once he returned with the infuriating woman and they spoke their vows, perhaps he might enjoy a moment’s peace and settle into his new home, at last. ’Twas the least he deserved after the ordeal she’d put him through.

  Afterward, he’d decide what to do with his new wife.

  Pushing away from the table, he strode to his traveling trunk and grabbed a fresh tunic. Pulling on the clean linen, he slipped his jeweled dagger in the sheath along his belt. With a long day of travel ahead, ’twas time to rouse the woman. The faster they left this accursed place, the sooner he could claim Penswyck for his own.

  Geoffrey unlatched the door only to meet the stony stares of Finn and John posted outside his chamber. He tipped his head in the direction of Arabella’s bedchamber, two rooms over. The two soldiers followed his unspoken command and moved down the passage to unbar the door. As soon as the entrance swung open, Geoffrey stepped over the threshold and froze. Disbelief held him suspended for a few wretched moments. Despite a gushing flood of anger, a peel of laughter slipped from his throat.

  The bitch was gone. Again.

  Heat filled out his cheeks as a growing storm of rage burned in his gut. A fine tremor swarmed through his frame, and he barely repressed the urge to destroy everything in sight. He pinched the bridge of his nose, collecting the remains of his withering patience.

  Christ, he’d purposely chosen this pathetic chamber for Lady de Percy. No windows, barred door, no chance of escape—and yet, she still slipped away.

  Collecting his composure, Geoffrey faced Finn and John. “You’ve not deserted your post?”

  The tremble in his voice belied his calm tone.

  Finn’s brows furrowed. “Nay, of course not.”

  “And no one’s entered?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  “Nay, my lord.” Finn had the good grace to appear affronted. “We did as you ordered.”

  Fie, there was an explanation, and he would find the blasted answer.

  Determined, Geoffrey turned his attention to the chamber once more. The room held naught but a small bed and frail wooden chair. A molding tapestry and sconce hung from the wall. Stepping further into the chamber, he searched for anything out of place or unusual.

  On his initial walk through of the MacRae keep, he’d discovered a bolt-hole below stairs. At first, he thought naught of the decrepit mud pit of a tunnel. The tide flooded the passage, rendering it useless. Now, he realized the error of his ways. Of course, there had to be more than one entrance, and no doubt she’d received help.

  Hell, he should’ve slain Aaron MacRae and his whelp of a brother from the start and been done with the lot of them.

  He inhaled a deep pull of stale air, detecting the barest tinge of salt water. His gaze honed in on a scarcely perceptible crack in the far stone wall. He moved closer and ripped away the tapestry, kicking up a flurry of dust. There it was—the faint seam of a door in the wall.

  Waving his hand in front of his face to clear the air, he called over his shoulder, “Bring a torch.”

  Geoffrey shoved the chair aside to examine the sconce. He raked away the cobwebs and gripped the cool iron. After a series of forceful pulls, tugs, and pushes, he found the right sequence. The bracket dropped into place, and the unmistakable slide of a rod slipped free.

  He grabbed the torch from John and nodded at the wall. “Open it.”

  The guard moved around Geoffrey and laid his shoulder against the stone, pushing on the wall. John sprang back when the stone gave way, opening into a low-hung entrance to a tunnel.

  Finn mumbled, “Never knew this was here.”

  Rolling his eyes, Geoffrey ducked beneath the low eave and stepped inside the passageway. The briny air from the sea drifted up his nostrils. A steady trickle resounded off the craggy walls, filling the yawning silence. Aside from the light of his torch, darkness consumed the tunnel from left to right. He watched the faint flicker of the flame to discern his quarry’s course. Waving his men inside the passageway, he motioned Finn and John to the left.

  A flush of anger and anticipation drove Geoffrey down the damp tunnel, while determination guided his clipped pace. Focused on his task, he ignored the men’s hushed murmurs behind him. When he came upon a shallow stairway, he hugged the right wall and descended with haste. At the base, the passage widened into a cavern and a source of light stretched ahead in the distance. The constant roar of the sea whirred in his ears, drowning out the heavy drum of his heart.

  As he followed the light, he held up his hand to silence Finn and John. Tipping his head to the side, he strained to hear muffled voices over the crash of waves. He tugged the dagger from the sheath along his belt and his lips stretched with a smile.

  “I have you now.”

  *

  Aaron stood in the shadow of the servants’ stairway overlooking the great hall. Aside from a few of Longford’s soldiers loitering about, the hall stood idle, which struck him as odd. Mayhap he’d witnessed too many wasted years of drunken revelry each eve. Shaking away the errant thought, he climbed the steps.

  Certain no others lurked in the passage, he slipped down the left landing, away from Longford’s bedchamber to the right. He paused in front of Connor’s door and leaned his ear against the wood, meeting naught but silence. ’Twas a mercy his protesting brother had actually heeded his instruction and fled with Arabella through the secret tunnels to safety. He moved further down the landing and quietly rapped on his chamber door, where he’d stowed Mairi.

  The door opened a crack to reveal one wide, shining, blue eye. When she noticed him, she swung the entrance wider for him to step inside. Barring the door after him, she spun around and leaned against the wood. Her bright gaze swept him over from head to foot. The iron candleholder she clutched in her fist dropped to her side.

  Aaron lifted a brow. “Were you planning to crack me over the head?”

  Mairi glanced at the item in her hand, as if she’d forgotten she held it. One corner of her mouth hitched upward and she shrugged. “Someone probably should.”

  Shaking her head, she tossed the holder on the bed and met his stare. “Is Arabella safe? What of Connor?”

  Unable to stop himself, he paced closer to her. “Connor will flee to the beach as I instructed.”

  A stubborn line tugged at her lips. “But what of Arabella?”

  Aaron lifted a hand and tucked a raven curl behin
d her ear. “Do not fret. Connor is going to take Arabella with him very soon. My brother will keep her safe.” His fingers slid over her flushed cheek. “There are horses waiting for the three of you on the beach north of here.”

  Gazing at him, she wet her lips, enticing him to pull her closer. He slipped his hand around the nape of her neck and rubbed his thumb over the thrumming pulse in her neck.

  “How are we…” Her soft voice trailed off as she swallowed audibly.

  “Through the keep’s secret passageways.”

  “Oh.” She lifted her brows in surprise and he grinned.

  “Well, ’twas a secret. There’s one thing I must do first, then I shall help you through the tunnels. From there, Connor will lead the two of you to safety.”

  Frowning, she searched his gaze. “But…what of you?”

  The concern in her eyes nearly unmanned him. For a fleeting moment, he pretended she cared for him, and the excruciating vise squeezing his heart slackened a measure. She instilled him with courage to carry out his deeds.

  “I must see this through, Mairi.”

  She opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but he struck, seizing her lips and stealing her argument. How could he resist one last taste? Mairi threw her arms around his neck, leaning into his frame. Their bodies flush, the beat of their hearts pounded in accord.

  In the next instant, a thunderous crash of splintering wood and metal hinges flooded the chamber, startling them apart. He hauled her behind him just as an enraged Laird MacGregor pushed aside pieces of the chamber door. His menacing icy blue stare locked on Aaron, promising a long, painful death.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Get the hell away from him, Mairi,” Calum growled. “Now.”

  Infuriated, he stalked forward, his purpose to kill the bastard who dared touch his sister, but Mairi darted around the fiend, stepping between him and his prey. She threw her hands up to halt him, nearly clouting him in the chin, and he jerked his head back to avoid the hit.