‘Go and take cover in the trees,’ Nairna told Marguerite, setting her crossbow on the ground. ‘I’ll stay with Dougal and help the women out of the ditch.’
Callum watched over her and Marguerite sent him one last look. He locked the image into his mind, afraid it was the last time he would see her. Her long golden hair gleamed against the sun and her blue eyes filled with worry. Despite the danger, he didn’t regret the moments he’d spent with her. If he died today, at least he’d glimpsed Heaven.
You’re unworthy of her, his conscience reminded him. All you can offer is your protection.
While more women evacuated with their children, Callum could only hold his position until Marguerite disappeared into the forest. He resumed his place on the bank beside the fortress, the arrow poised to shoot. And yet, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. It wasn’t fear—only the raw anticipation coursing through him.
Nairna’s dog began barking and Callum spun, taking aim at the emerging soldiers. He stretched the bowstring taut, adjusting his aim. Slowly, he waited for the soldier to draw near and when he loosed the arrow, it struck the man’s face.
Too high.
He followed up with a second shot to the heart, dropping the man where he’d stood.
A slight motion caught his attention and, while Callum readied another arrow, he saw Marguerite watching from the trees. Whether it was her thanks or a quiet farewell, he met her gaze with the promise to defend her.
His brother Dougal cried out a warning and Callum seized another arrow. When more men crossed to the opposite side, the boy panicked and fired too soon. The arrow struck the ground, but before his brother could run, Callum sent a steady stream of his own missiles into the charging soldiers, one after the other, each arrow striking its intended target.
He dulled his mind to the fighting and death around him, focusing only on bringing down the threat. For the first time in years, he could defend his clan. With his bow, he was no longer less than a man, but equal to his brothers. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t speak, only that he could wield a weapon.
In this, he had a purpose. And soon enough, the women and children would be within the forest, away from the worst of the fighting.
Behind him, Callum heard the groaning of the keep’s tower, while Nairna brought the last of the women out of the water. He kept his gaze focused on his surroundings and saw his brothers Bram and Alex approaching at a full run.
Bram crossed through the water, helping his wife up the hillside before he pulled her into his embrace.
At the sight of them, a tightness expanded through Callum’s chest. Nairna gripped her husband as if she never wanted to let go. He envied them, for he wanted to be with Marguerite, to reassure himself that she was all right. Letting her go while he stayed behind was the only choice, but he didn’t like it.
A shower of fire sparks drifted in front of him and a prickle of awareness caught him. Behind him, a cracking noise resounded, just as his brother roared, ‘Callum, dive!’
He threw himself into the ditch, just as the tower collapsed. The icy water numbed him, but Callum swam to the opposite side, dragging himself out. His bow and arrows were soaked, and he rested on his knees, catching his breath.
Nairna was pushing Marguerite back inside the forest. ‘He’ll be all right. Take the women up to the ridge and I’ll send him soon.’
Callum’s gaze snapped to hers. She was holding on to Nairna, as if she didn’t want to leave. It seemed that she’d started to lead the women away, only to return when the tower had fallen.
As if she cared about him, despite the danger to herself.
If he could have, he’d have abandoned all else, taking her away from the chaos of battle. But that wasn’t a choice. He was bound to defend his family and the only home he’d ever had.
As if to remind him of that, Bram extended a hand and helped him up. And for a moment, he saw the gratefulness on his brother’s face. ‘Thank you for defending them,’ he said below his breath, so that only Callum would hear. ‘And I’m sorry for every day you spent in captivity. I blame myself for it.’
Though he could make no reply, he squeezed Bram’s hand in forgiveness. After what they’d been through, he knew his brother had done everything possible to free him. Nairna sent him a smile of gratefulness, still standing by her husband.
Before his brother Dougal could join the women and children, Callum offered his sword. The lad needed a weapon of his own, now that he’d spent all of his arrows. After taking it, Dougal disappeared into the forest, just as more enemy soldiers emerged, surrounding them on all sides.
Though Callum wanted to reassure himself that Marguerite had escaped with his youngest brother, he forced himself not to look, for fear of drawing the soldiers’ attention there.
Too late.
One of the archers fired several arrows towards the forest before he could bring the man down. Not all of the women had made it to the top of the ridge, and Callum worried that one of them could have been struck. The thought of Marguerite lying prone, her life ended by an arrow, sent a dark rage pulsing through him.
Bram and Alex split off on either side to meet the men, their shields and weapons ready. Callum kept firing at the enemy archers, dropping as many as he could, until he had only a single arrow left. Alex handed him a shield, but he refused it, needing both hands to wield the bow. They were completely outnumbered by the enemy and he saw no way out.
Nairna held fast to Bram while their enemy awaited the order to kill. Callum held his bow steady, hoping he could take out Cairnross or Harkirk with his last arrow.
Even if he did, there was one unavoidable truth. Today he was going to die.
* * *
Marguerite clenched her hands together, her heart racing. Though she’d made it into the forest, away from the battle, she couldn’t stop herself from returning to watch. She chose an isolated place near the edge of the trees, her heart numb with fear as Lord Cairnross and Lord Harkirk closed in.
Through a haze of tears, she sat, wondering if she could plead with Cairnross for their lives. Was it possible that he might spare them, on her behalf?
No. She’d fled with the MacKinlochs, betraying their betrothal. Though the earl might still want her for his wife, she didn’t trust him to free the others. Especially Callum.
She stood, resting her hand against a tree, her heart sick with terror. Because of her, Cairnross had come. If she’d remained behind, none of these men would have died.
Marguerite took a step towards Callum, but before she could emerge from the trees, she saw Bram explode in fury. His claymore flashed as he brought down man after man and Alex stood at his back to defend him.
They fought for their lives and in the midst of the battle, Callum seized a quiver of arrows from a dead archer. As he released the arrows, one after the other, he moved into the forest, moving straight towards her.
Marguerite didn’t move, not understanding why he was leaving his brothers behind. When he reached her side, he pulled her veil free and dropped it, pulling her to higher ground. She suddenly realised that the white colour had made her visible from below. And she was still in range of their arrows, where she’d been standing.
‘You can’t leave them behind,’ she pleaded, looking back at Bram, Alex and Nairna. ‘They need you.’
Callum’s face hardened and he climbed atop a large boulder, drawing back his bow. He released another stream of arrows toward the enem
y, bringing down one man after another.
Shame reddened her cheeks when Marguerite realised she’d accused him of cowardice. That wasn’t it at all. He’d been moving into a position where he could better defend them.
‘I misunderstood,’ she apologised. ‘I’m sorry for what I said.’ By leaving his brothers and hiding within the trees, he’d gained a more strategic position, fighting where the enemy couldn’t see him.
Callum pointed to the top of the ridge, in a wordless order for her to join the other women. She understood, but hesitated, not wanting to leave him behind. ‘Thank you for protecting me,’ she whispered.
He lowered his bow for a moment. His brown eyes held a steady reassurance, as if he would never allow anyone to harm her. The look on his face was of a man prepared to die.
Marguerite reached down to the fallen veil and brought it to him, binding it slowly around his left forearm. ‘Take this,’ she said. ‘It will protect your arm from the bowstring.’
It was all she could give him. Callum remained motionless while she tied it off, then he covered her hand with his. The warmth of his palm reassured her, and he squeezed her hand in silent farewell. She didn’t know what would happen to either of them now, but she squeezed it back.
The rumble of horsemen approaching caught Marguerite’s attention. She saw two armies of men and, at the sight of the tall man leading the group, her heart soared. The Duc D’Avignois had come at last.
She started to move downhill, but Callum caught her by the arm. ‘It’s my father,’ she explained. ‘I have to see him.’ If she could reach the Duc in time, she might convince him to save the MacKinlochs.
She started to pull free, when something made her stop and turn around. Callum held his bow over one shoulder, his gaze shielded. He gave her a signal to leave, that he wouldn’t stop her. But she realised the truth of what was happening.
The moment she reached her father’s side, everything would return to the way it had been. She would be safe with her family, and likely she wouldn’t see Callum again.
Regret pulled at her, even though she’d known the moments between them were never going to last. They would fade into bittersweet memories.
‘I’ll never forget you,’ she whispered, touching his cheek in farewell.
* * *
Callum drew his bow as soon as Marguerite left the trees, intending to shoot any man who came near her. Two of her father’s guards escorted her to safety and she spoke to them, gesturing toward the MacKinlochs as if to intervene.
He kept low, crouching with his bow as he watched the men. Harkirk was still alive, but the body of Cairnross lay upon the ground, slaughtered by his brother Bram.
He should have been relieved that Marguerite would never marry the earl. Instead, angry resentment filled him up, that Bram had wrought justice instead of himself. He’d wanted to be the one to set her free.
More, he wanted to take the earl’s place as Marguerite’s husband. He touched the veil she’d bound around his arm as a makeshift guard and the softness reminded him of her.
I’ll never forget you.
He didn’t believe that. As soon as she returned to France, her father would arrange another marriage to a nobleman. She would wed the man, bear him children and forge a different life for herself. One that didn’t include him.
Callum watched as they brought a horse for her. He saw his brothers negotiating a truce while Harkirk’s men withdrew and Nairna spoke to the Duc. And just as he’d expected, Lady Marguerite rode away with her father. The evening sunset glinted upon her hair like a fading band of gold.
And he knew he would never see her again.
Chapter Four
Summer—1306
The blue ribbon was so faded it had turned to grey, the edges frayed with time.
‘You’re hurting by being apart from Marguerite, aren’t you?’ his brother’s wife Laren had said to him, only months ago. ‘Surely, she would find it romantic if you were to steal her away, taking her back with you.’
Romantic? Callum didn’t know where she’d come up with that idea, but he had nothing to offer a duke’s daughter. The Duc would murder him where he stood. To prove his point, he nodded to Laren and drew a line across his throat.
‘Aye, her father might kill you.’ She smiled and ventured, ‘But you’d die a happy man.’
Without warning, a laugh broke forth from him. The unexpected sound shocked him and he touched his throat in disbelief.
‘You’ll speak again,’ Laren predicted. ‘And I think you’ll have a stronger reason to, if you find her.’
* * *
The past few months had been frustrating, for he’d not regained his speech, regardless of the time he’d had to heal and train. He’d done everything he could, but the harder he tried, the more the words remained trapped within him. Worse, the other clan members avoided him, treating him as if he were somehow malformed.
And so he was. Aye, he’d been tortured and brought to the brink of death time and again, but by now the nightmares should have stopped. Instead, they’d grown worse, until he could hardly bring himself to close his eyes at night.
His mind was splintering apart and the more he fought the memories, the greater his anger festered inside. He hated his life and the way he lacked purpose. Captivity had ruled his days for so long, he didn’t know what to do with his freedom or how he would ever adapt to a life with no way to speak.
With every day that passed, he isolated himself more from his family, for he couldn’t communicate with them. The anger seethed inside him, the frustration dominating every second of the day.
Nairna took it upon herself to confront him. Cool-headed and firm, she’d taken him aside. ‘Vengeance hasn’t given you peace, has it?’
He stared back at her and she reached for an arrow from his quiver. ‘You’ve fought at our side over the past few months. You helped save Laren’s daughter when she was taken. But I see the anger in you. It’s growing stronger every day.’
Pity filled up her green eyes and she softened her voice. ‘You miss Marguerite, don’t you?’
The words were like a spear thrust into his heart. Marguerite was the one person who had never treated him as if he were weak-minded or less than whole. In her eyes, he had been the warrior he wanted to be.
But she’d returned to the life she had known before him. The life she deserved.
‘Marguerite worried about you all the time you were held captive,’ Nairna continued, never ceasing her assault. ‘If you’re too blind to see the way she felt about you, and you won’t fight to win her heart, then you deserve to lose her.’
She handed him the arrow and ordered, ‘Either go after her or stop sulking.’ A smile warmed her expression, a blend of sisterly love and her own frustration.
She was right. He’d stood back and let Marguerite go, without raising a single protest. It was the mark of a coward, and God knew he wasn’t that.
But how would he ever convince a duke’s daughter to come away with him? It was like trying to bring down the moon.
Laren’s earlier suggestion, that he steal her away, resonated as a definite possibility. But would Marguerite want to leave her family and the vast wealth she had known all her life? He couldn’t imagine it.
Yet, Nairna’s suggestion gave him a purpose. He could stop pacing around Glen Arrin, feeling caged by his lack of speech. No matter how impossible a task, the thought of seeing Marguerite a
gain eased the anger within him.
And so he’d begun the quest.
* * *
Callum shielded his eyes from the sunlight, staring down at the forest below. It stretched for miles, curling around Duncraig Castle, which lay tucked within the hills.
He’d never travelled to this part of Scotland before, but he’d heard from other clansmen that these lands belonged to the Duc D’Avignois, inherited from Norman ancestors. Tall square towers stood atop the hill, the imposing battlements ridged with machicolations.
At the sight of the duke’s holdings, a cold emptiness cast its shadow over him. He didn’t belong here and the fist of doubt squeezed at his courage.
It had taken weeks of sending Dougal to ask questions of the neighbouring clans, but thankfully it wasn’t too difficult to track a French duke with over a hundred retainers.
Callum led his horse Goliath down into the woods, planning to set up his camp within the forest where no one would find him. Thus far, he had no idea how long he would stay. It depended on whether or not Marguerite was here and if she wanted to see him.
The darker part of his soul wanted to abduct her now, taking her away from her father’s wealth and claiming her as his own. As tempting as it was, he owed her the right to choose. The time they’d spent apart might have changed everything.
Callum studied the pathway, skirting the main stretch so as to avoid the castle inhabitants. The trees were thicker now, making it more difficult for the horse to get through. As the shadows lengthened and sunlight gleamed from the west, he found a small stream to water the horse and set up camp for the night.
Uneasiness gnawed upon him as he delayed going to see her. His presence might not be welcome here. It might be best to spend a day watching over her, observing the castle to ensure that she was safe and happy. Besides, even if he did approach her, he couldn’t speak or give any explanation for his presence. She wouldn’t understand, that for the past few months, she’d haunted his mind, tormenting him with memories.
Tempted by the Highland Warrior Page 6