Tempted by the Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  And his heart sank, not knowing why Marguerite had ignored his command.

  * * *

  She walked slowly, each step filled with purpose. Nairna and Laren had helped her prepare herself, and Marguerite wore her hair down around her shoulders. They had combed it for her, crowning her with a wreath of heather and gorse. Around her throat she wore the blue pendant and her gown was the same shade of sapphire. A golden girdle hung against her hips and her feet were barefoot on the summer grass.

  She’d told Nairna and Laren of her plan and despite the risk, it was all she had. Something had to be done before fighting broke out. And though she had made her decision to stay with Callum, no matter what happened, she would do everything in her power to prevent bloodshed.

  ‘They look as if they’re going to kill each other,’ Laren murmured, clutching her children tightly to her breast.

  ‘They won’t dare attack, with us between them,’ Marguerite said.

  When her father caught sight of her, his visage transformed. There was immense relief, followed by anger and renewed determination.

  She continued walking until she stood before his horse. Then she held out her hands as if to greet him. ‘Will you come and accept my kiss of welcome, Father?’

  Her father did not dismount. Instead, he stared at her. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘I almost died,’ she agreed. ‘Callum found me and brought me back here.’ She turned her attention to the priest, who was approaching. ‘I hope that you have come to join in our wedding celebration.’

  ‘I will not celebrate your marriage to a common Scot.’

  Callum rode up at that moment. The look of vengeance that passed between him and her father made her uneasy, so she offered, ‘Will you accept our hospitality and continue our discussion in private?’

  The Duc said nothing and his silence stood as a refusal. Marguerite wondered if she would ever break through to him. She reached up and took Callum’s hand. When her father still did not speak, she added, ‘Your men may wish to refresh themselves in the castle. If that is agreeable to you, Laren?’ she asked the Lady of Glen Arrin.

  Alex’s wife held on to her babies and nodded. ‘So long as they leave their weapons behind.’

  Her father looked as if he wanted to openly attack the fortress, but Callum met his unspoken threat with a promise of his own.

  ‘I will speak to you, Marguerite,’ the Duc agreed at last. ‘But not with him.’

  ‘You will speak to both of us. Or not at all,’ she countered.

  They were at an impasse and her father looked as if he’d rather give the command to attack.

  ‘I was willing to face death rather than live without Callum,’ she said quietly. ‘If need be, I will face it again.’

  Her father’s hardened expression held disbelief. He stared at her, as if trying to guess whether she would follow through with her threat. Callum dismounted and brought his hand around her waist. At his side she faced the Duc, waiting for his response.

  ‘Please,’ she asked gently. ‘If you love me at all.’

  There was no expression on her father’s face, but eventually, he drew his horse forward in a walk, refusing to lower himself. She led him into the fortress, not at all knowing what she would say to him.

  Nairna busied herself with getting the Duc wine and food, while Laren began changing the orders for the feast. Marguerite held on to Callum’s hand, but in his grasp she felt the tension. He wasn’t about to negotiate with the Duc—he was well past that point. She had to intercede before they killed each other.

  When they reached the Hall, the Duc refused to sit. He stood and faced her. With a discreet signal, Callum ordered the others out. He stood at her side and waited.

  Marguerite squared her shoulders and faced her father.

  ‘You let me believe you were dead,’ he raged. ‘Do you have any idea what that felt like?’

  She saw the pain in his eyes and the anger that went deeper into his heart. ‘I am sorry it had to be this way. But you never listened to me. You dismissed my feelings and behaved as if I didn’t matter.

  ‘And when you made me drink that potion, I realised that you were never going to hear what I had to say. You wanted what you believed was best for me. Never what I wanted.’

  She let go of Callum’s hand and said, ‘When you are ready to see that I am happy here, that I am loved by this man, you are welcome to join in our celebration.’ With a step towards the Duc, she said, ‘For this night, you could be my father again. Not my enemy.’

  The Duc studied her, his face intent. ‘And what have you to say, MacKinloch? I presume you can still speak.’

  ‘Thanks to Marguerite, yes.’ He came forward and rested his hands upon her shoulders. ‘You and I may never come to an agreement. But I would slay a thousand enemies to protect your daughter. I would give my life for hers and I swear I will make her happy.’

  His words filled her with such joy that Marguerite stepped back into his embrace, bringing his arms around her. ‘Let me go, Father.’

  The Duc said nothing, watching her. In the space of a few moments, he seemed to age, his expression holding bitterness. ‘I always wanted the best for you.’

  ‘I’ve found my own happiness. And if you would only bend your convictions, you’d see that.’

  ‘You would truly turn your back on your birthright?’ he asked. ‘On all the wealth you would have possessed?’

  She reached up and touched the flowers in her hair. ‘These will be my jewels now. Will you not put aside your anger?’ She closed the space between them, reaching up to touch her father’s cheeks. ‘For this night, simply be happy for me.’

  ‘And what of the earl? A betrothal cannot be so easily broken, Marguerite.’

  ‘He helped me to the shore,’ she admitted. ‘I let him go, just as he released me.’ At his doubt, she added, ‘He knows, Father.’

  The Duc reached out and took her hand. In that moment, he looked so weary that she didn’t know what to believe. ‘I suppose he must have. Someone pulled up the anchor and the ship drifted for miles before we realised it.’ He squeezed her palm and reached out to touch her hair. ‘You look so much like your mother, ma petite.’

  She sent him a blinding smile, understanding the apology he had not spoken.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Callum stood before Marguerite, still in disbelief that her father was witnessing their marriage. The priest spoke a blessing in Latin, joining their hands together while Marguerite smiled at him. Her blue eyes were filled with joy, while he’d hardly managed to speak the vows that now married them.

  He leaned in to kiss her and his kinsmen cheered. The dark look in the Duc’s eyes wasn’t entirely pleased, but he’d agreed to a reluctant peace between them. Though he didn’t like letting his daughter go, his capitulation had done a great deal to heal the distance between them.

  Callum met the man’s gaze, offering the silent promise to always make her happy.

  Laren and Nairna had created a feast that was nothing short of miraculous. Several of the soldiers had spent the afternoon fishing, and they ate cold mutton, roasted fowl and salmon, as well as oat cakes and bowls of summer berries. There was music and dancing all around them, and later, the Duc agreed to dance with Marguerite. Her face shone with love, and when she looked back at him, Callum returned the same silent message of love.

  ‘What happened to Aunt Beatrice?’ she asked her father.

  ‘I se
nt her back to France. She was causing more trouble and I heard tales from my men that you were right.’ He shrugged. ‘It was her idea about the herbs.’ Touching her cheek, he said, ‘I never should have agreed to it. I ask your forgiveness.’

  She nodded, recognising the sincerity in his voice. He’d allowed his anger to blind him. ‘I’m glad she’s gone.’ Resting her head upon his shoulder, she added, ‘I still owe you the prize from the day I let you win our race.’

  When he said nothing, she raised her head to look at him. ‘Do you remember? I promised to visit you.’

  There was a small hint of emotion in his face. ‘I would like that very much.’ His arms tightened around her and in his arms, she sensed his love.

  * * *

  The night continued with more feasting and music. The Duc expressed interest in the stained-glass window within the fortress he’d spied earlier. After he’d drunk a few more cups of ale, he spoke with Laren about commissioning a glass window for his château in France.

  Though he sat with Marguerite and forced himself to eat, Callum wasn’t at all interested in food. She caught his gaze and her smile faded into the look of understanding.

  She extended her hand to him and he followed her away from the celebration, to the woods that beckoned. They had just entered the trees when, abruptly, Marguerite stopped walking and leaned against one of the tall oaks. Reaching up to him, she pulled him into a deep kiss.

  He took her mouth with his, claiming her with a husband’s right. She met the kiss with her own passion, winding her arms around his neck and offering everything of herself.

  When she withdrew, her breathing was staggered, her mouth swollen. ‘I couldn’t wait any longer.’

  ‘If you hadn’t led me here, I might have carried you off,’ he answered. The need to feel her bare skin against his, to show her how much he loved her, was so strong that he lifted her into his arms.

  ‘Then again, perhaps I will.’

  She laughed against his shoulder as he took her into the forest, the sunset gleaming red and gold upon the horizon. He carried her into their house, closing the door behind them. Then he lowered her on to their bed.

  Marguerite reached for him and Callum worked to free her from her gown while she worked to help him from his own clothing. She reached to lift away the crown of flowers upon her hair, but he took it from her. ‘Wait.’

  He settled back to look at her. With her hair unbound and her beautiful body revealed to him, it stole his senses to think that she was now his wife. He broke off a spring of purple heather from the wreath and brought it to her body. With the rough sprig in his hands, he traced patterns upon her skin.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, gasping when he drew the blossom over her erect nipple.

  ‘You taught me to write,’ he answered. ‘I thought I should practise.’ Swirling the blossom around her breast, he added, ‘The letter S was always hard.’

  ‘I know something else that is hard,’ she answered, reaching for him.

  When her palm closed over his shaft, he inhaled sharply and let the heather fall to the linen sheets. Lowering his mouth to her skin, he began to kiss her, over her shoulders and up to the sensitive place upon her throat. She wanted him. He could sense it in the way her pulse pounded beneath his lips.

  He kissed the column of her throat and brought his hand lower. She tightened her grasp upon him and he wanted her so badly, he fought to control his lust.

  ‘Slow down, sweet.’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t want to.’ Her thumb moved over the crest of his erection, and she sent him a wicked smile. ‘I was abducted this night by a Scottish warrior. I hope to be ravished by him.’

  He removed his clothing, sitting beside her on the bed. ‘If that is your wish.’

  He took her breast in his mouth, suckling hard against the taut nipple. A shocked breath escaped her, along with a sigh of pleasure. Marguerite’s face transformed with need, colour rising in her cheeks. She rolled to her side, whispering against his mouth, ‘You’re a temptation I never could resist, Callum.’ She ran her fingers over his back. ‘Let me touch you for a moment.’

  He stilled, letting her do as she pleased. She guided him to rest upon his stomach and she straddled him, her damp womanhood touching his lower spine. With her hands, she touched the scars of his past, trailing her fingers across his back.

  ‘I remember the day I found you. I was so afraid you might die.’ She bent and touched her mouth to his scars and the motion grazed her breasts against him. It was torment, having to remain still and not touch her, while she caressed him. ‘I think, somehow, I knew we would be together.’

  ‘I thought you were an angel of mercy,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps you were. Because I swear, on my life, this is my heaven.’

  He rolled her over, needing to pleasure her, to worship every part of her skin. He filled his palms with her breasts while, below the waist, he nudged himself between her legs. Marguerite raised her knees up, welcoming him. She gasped as he rubbed against her cleft while his fingers coaxed and fondled her breasts.

  ‘Tell me how you want to be touched.’

  Her breath caught in her lungs when he warmed her skin, awaiting her response. She guided the head of him into her moist passage and he pressed forward within her slick flesh, filling her up.

  He tasted her, nibbling the curve beneath her breast. Her nipple hardened, showing him that she liked his kiss. ‘Tell me, Marguerite.’

  She moved against him, pulling him deeper inside, murmuring in French as she tried to make him move.

  ‘I don’t speak French, a ghràidh.’ But he acted on instinct, thrusting within her until she cried out with shivered ecstasy. Slowly, he moved her hips to the edge of the bed and he stood, still sheathed inside her. With her legs around his waist, he drove inside her, penetrating from a higher angle.

  Her fingers dug into the bed, her eyes wild as she submitted to his thrusts, arching hard. Her walls clenched his shaft and she trembled at the force of his lovemaking.

  ‘I love you, my wife,’ he said, filling her again.

  ‘Je t’aime,’ she responded, reaching for his hips. Callum ground himself against her and saw the renewed look of arousal in her eyes. The intense contact made her shudder. When he began to plunge with a rhythm, pressing his body harder against her centre, she began speaking words of encouragement.

  ‘There,’ she pleaded, telling him how much she loved the touch of him deep inside her.

  The exquisite pleasure of watching her reach for release, her body trembling with need, was making him grow harder within her. She was so wet, so eager, he couldn’t stop the shout that roared from him when her legs tightened around his waist, grasping him with all her strength as the release flooded through her.

  He kept up the pulsing rhythm until his own satisfaction came hard and fast. And when he lay down on top of her, their bodies were merged together as one. Callum held her close, his heart beating so fast, he couldn’t believe she now belonged to him.

  ‘You were mine since the moment I saw you,’ he murmured against her hair.

  She smiled up at him and in her blue eyes he saw the unspoken promise of every tomorrow they would spend together.

  No other words were needed.

  Epilogue

  Four years later…

  A group of messengers rode into Glen Arrin, wearing the insignia representing Edward of Caernarfon, the King of England. When Marg
uerite saw them, she clutched her young infant daughter protectively. From the serious manner of the men, she could not imagine that they bore good news.

  ‘Stay back,’ Callum warned, transferring his bow into his left hand. His three-year-old son Ailric gripped the child-sized bow in his own hand, mirroring his actions.

  ‘Do you want me to take the children away?’ Marguerite asked, unsure of whom the messenger had come to see.

  ‘Not yet. They didn’t come to fight.’ Callum nodded behind him. ‘But keep your distance. Go with your mother,’ he warned Ailric.

  ‘I help,’ Ailric offered, raising his miniature bow. Callum ruffled the boy’s hair, pushing him back to Marguerite.

  ‘Do as I say, son.’

  The men remained outside the gates and Callum walked closer to them. Marguerite held the baby and gripped Ailric’s hand, her heart pounding with fear. Though they had done nothing wrong, she couldn’t guess why the king’s men would be here.

  A few moments later, the men entered the fortress, led by Dougal. The young adolescent had grown into a handsome young man and Marguerite hoped that one day he would find a good woman to wed. He spent far too much time tending the animals instead of sharing time with people.

  ‘Why have you come?’ Callum asked, still keeping his bow in one hand.

  ‘We wish to speak with Lady Marguerite de Montpierre, daughter of the Duc D’Avignois, wife of Callum MacKinloch,’ the first man said.

  Marguerite stepped forward. ‘I am she.’

  Callum remained in front of her, and she didn’t miss the subtle tension in his stance. If needed, he could release half-a-dozen arrows, defending them.

  ‘And you were once betrothed to Peter Warrington, the Earl of Penrith?’

  She nodded. ‘Has something happened?’ Fear rose in her stomach. Lord Penrith had been a good man, one she’d been fond of, even if she could never wed him. After her marriage to Callum, he had written to her from time to time and seemed especially pleased that she’d birthed a son so shortly after she’d wed.