My Reckless Love
Page 28
Beside him, his wife breathed out a deep, annoyed puff of air. Inwardly cringing, Calum shut his mouth with a snap and closed his eyes, holding his breath.
The bed moved beneath him as she rearranged herself to sit astride his hips. She laid a hand on his chest. “Look at me.”
Hesitant, he did as she bid and almost closed his eyes again at her dark scowl.
“Trapped?” she growled. “I love you, you daft, foolish man.”
Stunned, he gaped. “Arabella—”
“Nay, ’tis my turn to speak.” Propping her elbows on his chest, she leaned closer. “If I had no wish to marry you, then I would not have. I wed you because I wanted to, Calum. I do not care about the land. My uncle can keep it for all I care.” A slow smile played about her mouth and she stroked a finger over his chin. “Nay, on second thought, we shall keep it for our clan.”
“Aye, our clan.” Calum swallowed against the swell of feeling lodged in his throat. “I love you. With every piece of my heart, I love you. You are everything to me, Arabella.”
“Oh, Calum.” She leaned a hairsbreadth from his lips. “I cannot imagine my life without you in it now. Nor do I want to try. I love you, Husband.”
She brushed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Unable to resist the sweet press of her warm body, he shifted beneath his wife, flipping her onto her back. Moving to settle between her parted thighs, he captured her mouth, pouring every bit of ardor he felt for her into their kiss.
For the first time in his life, everything else ceased to matter—the weight of his duties, the wounds marring his face and body, his doubts and fears. As long as he held his loving wife in his arms, none of it mattered. The two of them would face each new dawn together.
Calum drew back to stare down into Arabella’s darkened, emerald eyes and spoke from his heart. “I’ve waited my whole life to find you, my reckless love, and I shall never let you go.”
About the Author
Melissa Limoges lives along the Gulf Coast with a bossy orange tabby named Mr. Tibbs. Property appraiser by day, romance writer by night, she enjoys anything coffee-related, traveling, and reading a good book in between.
You can find Melissa on her Facebook page at facebook.com/MelissaLimogesAuthor or her website at www.mlimoges.com.
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Sacrificial Lamb
Roigh Hall, Inverness, Scotland, 1666 AD
Glad he’d received no invitation to sit, Ewan Mackinloch folded his arms and scowled at his cantankerous father presiding regally at the head of the Council. “After all the blood spilled o’er the last three hundred years between our clan and the MacCarrons, ye expect me to marry a wench from that cursed tribe?”
The elders gathered around the narrow table in the Chart Room flinched when Laird Duncan Mackinloch leaned forward and brought a gnarled fist down heavily on the scarred wood. “Such an alliance will seal the bargain struck last year at Clunes,” he growled. “How else are we to hold the MacCarrons to the deal and make sure they pay the rest of the seventy-two thousand merks they promised for Loch Alkayg? For hundreds of years we’ve proven time and again that land came to Angus Mackinloch in the year of our lord thirteen hundred and twenty-one, when he married Eva, daughter of…”
Ewan had lived and breathed the history of the feud’s origins his entire life and could recite the story in his sleep. He studied the rafters while his father droned on about Angus Mackinloch fleeing the wrath of the Lord of the Isles, the occupation of the lands by the MacCarrons, the Battle of Drumlui, the confirmation of Mackinloch rights by no less a personage than King David himself.
He clenched his jaw, reluctant to breathe the fetid air that reeked of too many nervous men, and did the unthinkable. He interrupted his father’s monologue. “If ’tis such a good idea, why are ye nay scheming to betroth my brother to the lass?”
“Come now, laddie,” his spluttering father replied, “ye ken only too weel we canna allow a MacCarron to be the wife o’ the laird o’ Clan Mackinloch.”
It was the inevitable answer he’d expected, yet it left a bitter taste. “I’m to be the sacrificial lamb, then?”
His Uncle Jamie spoke up. “It might not be so bad. They say the MacCarron women are bonnie.”
Despite his affection for his soft-spoken uncle, Ewan snorted. “Whereas the several friendly clans of our own Chattan federation boast few comely lasses.”
“No need for sarcasm,” his red-faced father retorted. “The MacCarrons are in agreement.”
Ewan narrowed his eyes. “And how did ye convince them?”
A chill settled on his nape when Duncan averted his eyes and mumbled—something he never did.
Frustrated, Ewan threw his hands in the air and looked to his uncle for an explanation.
“We agreed ye’ll bide a wee in Creag Castle after the hand-fasting,” Jamie told him, “until yer bride is comfortable wi’ traveling to Roigh.”
Ewan rolled his eyes. “Bide a wee? What the fyke does that mean? Ye’re talking hand-fasting now?”
“A twelvemonth,” his father spat. “As is usual.”
A glimmer of hope flickered. After a year and a day he’d be free to abandon his unwanted bride and return home. In the meantime, however, he’d be a hostage in enemy territory. The MacCarrons might not let him leave—alive. He’d have to take a fair-sized contingent of clan warriors. “And I’m to go alone?”
“Nay,” Jamie replied. “The MacCarrons will allow some o’ yer men.” He peeled muck out of his fingernails. “Two to be precise.”
Two!
Ewan bit back a blasphemous retort. “And when does my banishment begin?”
His father looked him in the eye. “Ye’ll leave on the morrow. We must show the MacCarrons we expect them to keep their promise to pay the compensation within two years. Three installments. I myself shared a wee dram and exchanged swords with their chief—dead shortly after, God rest his soul. We must hold his successor to the agreement.”
Evidently, the coin was more important to Duncan Mackinloch than his son’s life. Too angry to speak, Ewan turned on his heel and strode out, resentful he’d gone to the bother of donning his best plaid for the meeting. Arguing further would be a waste of time. He’d less than a day to find bodyguards willing to accompany him into the lion’s den—and one night to bid a fond farewell to his sweet Kathleen.
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