Iagar paled, his face tightening. ‘Then you, of all men, have a reason to want vengeance.’
Callum kept a veiled expression on his face. He was here for Marguerite, not to start another fight with the English.
Iagar offered, ‘Come and join us. We have a small hut outside the castle grounds and we could use another Scot. Another man we can trust.’
He started to shake his head, but Iagar urged, ‘Take some time to make your decision.’ He eyed the scars upon Callum’s wrists. ‘There are other prisoners left, not far from here. I think you remember what it was like, living in English captivity. We’re going to free the rest of them. No matter what the cost.’
* * *
Over the next few days, Marguerite sensed Callum’s presence everywhere she turned. At meals, he served her food. In the morning, she saw him standing outside her window, leading horses out for the hunters. And today, when she walked through the garden, she had seen her name written in the earth beside the herbs she tended. It was as if he’d countered her declaration with a defiance of his own.
I’m not leaving.
She knelt down and touched the dirt where he’d printed her name. Seeing his awkward handwriting reminded her of when she’d taught him the letters. Guilt pressed against her conscience, for she’d not been able to give him any more words to communicate. It felt as if someone were tearing her in half. Her heart was with Callum and her mind here. And she didn’t know how to respond to the way he was fighting for her. Until her father returned, she could do nothing.
Sweeping the dirt clean, she began writing his name in the space. He might not recognise it, but he would understand that she’d answered his silent message.
‘What are you doing, Marguerite?’ came her aunt’s voice from behind her.
She dropped to her knees, hiding the words beneath her skirts. Reaching out to pull a weed from the herb garden, she answered, ‘I believe it’s obvious enough.’
‘You should be sewing your bridegroom’s wedding tunic,’ Beatrice chided. ‘He will come in a few days, and you’ve barely finished any of it.’
Because I don’t want to marry him. Because I have to find a way to reason with my father.
She held her silence and a moment later, her aunt gripped her by the arm, jerking her up. ‘Answer me when I speak to you, or I’ll have you locked in your room again.’
Marguerite’s anger blazed. She pried her arm free from her aunt’s grasp and felt the rush of indignation filling her up inside. ‘Try it again and see what the others think of you. Already they despise you for what you did to those soldiers.’ Though she hadn’t seen either of the men, it dismayed her to think of how they’d suffered after her escape.
‘It was your fault,’ Beatrice corrected. ‘Had you stayed in your room and obeyed me, it never would have happened.’
Marguerite was so stunned by her aunt’s self-righteous attitude, she could make no reply. There was no sign of remorse upon Beatrice’s face.
‘It would not be wise to make an enemy of me, Marguerite,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll expect to see you in your chamber within the hour.’
She stared at the woman, her shoulders squared. Beatrice turned and left her there, and Marguerite wondered exactly how much damage the woman had done in the Duc’s absence. She’d been so concerned with Callum, not once had she paid heed to the castle inhabitants.
Behind her, two guards shadowed her, as if she were about to run away again.
‘Come.’ She beckoned to them. They were different from the first two men who had guarded her, but she suspected they would have the answers she needed. ‘I would like to know what happened to the two men who guarded me in my room.’
The taller guard was bearded, his brown hair cropped short. ‘They were whipped, my lady.’
‘Did they survive?’
The second man nodded. ‘Barely. Thomas has been abed since it happened. He was too old to receive fifty lashes. John took twenty more of them, on his behalf.’
Marguerite shuddered at the thought. She took a breath and asked, ‘Do they blame me for it?’
The bearded guard shook his head. ‘They know it was the fault of that peau de vache.’
Marguerite knew she ought to chastise him for comparing Beatrice to a cow, but she let the insult go. ‘I would like to see the guards who were injured, if I may.’
‘She will not allow it,’ the first man protested.
‘Do you not believe those men deserve compensation for what they have suffered?’ She fingered the pearls upon her bodice, as if to remind them of her wealth.
They exchanged a wary glance and she pressed further. ‘My father would never allow food to be denied me, nor innocent men be punished. Beatrice has stepped beyond her authority and I intend to see it stopped.’ She held out her palm. ‘Give me your knife.’
The bearded guard obeyed and Marguerite cut off four pearls from her bodice. Giving two to each of them, she added, ‘Your loyalty belongs to me. Not to her.’
The two men were listening now and she continued, ‘In front of my aunt, you may accompany me at all times. But when she is gone…’ she cut off two more pearls and handed one to each ‘…allow me my freedom to go or stay as it pleases me.’
The guarded bowed his head in obedience. ‘Oui, my lady. And if you so desire, we can take you to the two wounded guards so that you may speak to them.’
She nodded her agreement and began walking back towards the tower, with the guards following behind. When she crossed by the stables, she saw Callum against the far wall, holding the reins of her father’s destrier. She sensed him watching her, though he kept his head averted. His silent rebellion unnerved her, for she remembered the strength of his arms and the conquering touch of his mouth upon hers.
As she moved past him, her body grew sensitive, remembering how he’d awakened her with his touch.
And something within her snapped. What good was it to push away the man she wanted, behaving like a coward? She had precious time before the others arrived. Was it not better to steal whatever moments she could?
As she followed the guards to go and tend to the wounded soldiers, her mind raced with ideas on how to seize what she wanted.
* * *
At dawn, Callum heard Marguerite enter the stables. She ordered the stable master, ‘Prepare my horse. I am going riding this morn.’
‘But, Lady Marguerite, what will your aunt say?’ Jean protested. ‘I thought your orders were not to leave the castle grounds while your father was away.’
Marguerite smiled. ‘The guards are outside my bedroom door. According to them, I am still inside sewing.’ She nodded towards Callum. ‘I will take one of your men with me, as an escort. That one will do.’
That one? Callum sent her a sidelong glance, wondering what she was up to. She was behaving as if she’d never seen him before and his suspicions deepened.
Marguerite didn’t spare him a glance, but when the stable master began to argue again, she pressed something into his hand. ‘I’ve been held prisoner for days now. If I am gone for a few hours, no one will know. And you will be rewarded for your silence.’
The stable master inclined his head. ‘As you say, my lady.’
Callum finished saddling Marguerite’s horse and his own mount, leading both outside the stables. He assisted Marguerite on to the animal and she rode forth from the gates with him behind her. He let her take the lead, but instead of going through the forest, she rode west, towards the sea. He hadn’t realised they were so close, within only a few miles.
Marguerite stopped to let the horses drink, before continuing towards the coast. Not once did she speak to him and he couldn’t guess at her reasons for bringing him here. She clearly did not want anyone to eavesdrop on their conversation.
When she drew her horse to a stop, he saw the grey waters of the sea and dark clouds hovering above. Seagulls circled the rocks, while the hill descended into a large stretch of sand. Marguerite dismounted and let the hor
se graze while she walked downhill. He followed, but as she continued her slow strides across the beach he caught her hand.
Why? he asked in silence.
She reached within her bodice and withdrew the silver chain and glass pendant. ‘You never left. Even when I asked you to.’
In answer, he touched her chin, cupping her soft cheek. Golden hair rested upon her throat and she reached up to remove her veil, tossing it on the sand. ‘I don’t know what will happen when my father returns. It frightens me, what he will do if he finds out about us.’
Her hands reached to cover his and she continued, ‘But I have a few days left with you. I don’t want to lose them before I have to.’
The words fired up a hope he hadn’t dared to feel. He captured her palm with his and led her down towards the sea. Marguerite leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked and he drew her closer.
Beneath her calm demeanour, he sensed the unrest simmering. Tension lined her face, mingled with defiance. She’d brought him here for a reason, but for what, he couldn’t guess.
She let go of his hand when they reached the shoreline. Driftwood and shells lined the sand, along with a fallen log. He followed Marguerite there and she leaned down to pick up a stick.
‘I promised to teach you more words,’ she said, offering him the stick.
But he didn’t take it. Instead, he reached out to touch her chin, wishing he could read her thoughts. Something was making her anxious, but she wouldn’t reveal it to him.
‘If you want, I’ll try to teach you more writing,’ she blurted out, her words rushed. ‘Or perhaps you could give me another lesson in swimming?’
There was an edge to her voice, a nervousness about her demeanour. Though she might believe swimming was a way to spend time together, it wasn’t a good idea. The moment he saw her slender body, wet from the waves, he’d want to touch her again. And God help him, if he did, he didn’t think he could stop.
The summer air was cool and he motioned for her to wait a moment. He built a fire for them and when it was burning bright, he picked up the stick again and sat beside her.
‘Show me the letters you remember,’ she said.
He wrote out the alphabet that he’d spent countless hours memorising. Some of the shapes still eluded him, but his hand was growing steadier with the practise.
She bent to help him with the letter S, her hand upon his. When she leaned so close, her delicate scent ensnared him. He wanted to lay her back in the sand naked, touching her body until he learned what made her sob with pleasure.
The stick nearly snapped in his hand and he forced himself to concentrate.
‘You’ve learned so fast,’ she remarked, kneeling beside him. ‘It took me years to do as much as you have.’
He took the stick and wrote her name, then his own.
‘You saw it,’ she murmured. ‘I wrote it for you in the garden, hoping you would find it.’
At her timid smile, he set down the stick and faced her. Her hands moved up to touch his shoulders and she rested her cheek against his in a light embrace. ‘I’m sorry for what I said a few days ago. I was afraid that if you stayed, you would be in danger.’
He’d known that, but hearing her say it made him hold her closer. Words stumbled in his throat, yet he couldn’t get them out.
But now he had another way. Pulling back from her, he picked up the stick and thought for a moment. He struggled to remember the shapes of the letters and the spelling.
Finally, he wrote in the sand: Mine.
Her expression softened with emotion. ‘Yes. I am yours. For as long as I can be.’
It wasn’t the promise he wanted. He wanted her for always.
The words revealed the truth he’d suspected. Despite what there was between them, she was still her father’s daughter. Her loyalty to her family was stronger than any feelings she held towards him.
It was sobering to know that he was asking her to choose between them.
But then she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips were soft and in the touch of her mouth upon his there was a decision. She’d found a way to come to him, and no matter how long it lasted, he intended to make the most of it.
A breathless sigh escaped her when he bent to kiss her jaw and the delicate skin of her throat.
‘I want this day with you,’ she demanded. ‘A few hours with no one to stop us. No one to tell me what sort of man I should wed.’ She stared hard at him and a dark blush covered her cheeks. ‘I want to feel the way you made me feel a few days ago when you touched me.’
She was playing with the fire of his lust and God only knew where it would end. Callum stared at her, letting her see how badly he wanted her. Taking his hands, she brought them to the back of her gown.
‘Help me take this off,’ she murmured. After he loosened the laces, she raised her arms. As he removed each layer, he saw the gooseflesh cover her skin.
When she was in her chemise, he paused, not knowing how far she wanted to go. ‘Leave it for now,’ she answered. ‘Teach me to swim, and then…’ Her words trailed off, her shyness overcoming her.
He wasn’t about to let his mind ponder what she meant by those words. Instead, he removed his tunic and took her into the water. The waves moved against her, and she clung to him for balance.
‘It’s c-c-colder than the lake, isn’t it?’
When they reached a depth that was just above her waist, he lifted her up, stretching her on her stomach. She struggled against the waves, but tried again to swim. With her hair dipping below the water, she fought, churning her arms and kicking her legs. He released her without warning and, as she continued to move, she suspended herself in the water. It wasn’t smooth or particularly strong, but she did manage to swim.
‘Look!’ she cried out to him. ‘I’m not sinking.’
He gave a slight smile, moving into a different position that forced her to swim to him. When at last he stopped, she moved her arms and kicked until she caught his waist and stood up. ‘It wasn’t so bad this time. At least I remembered to move my arms and legs.’ Her teeth chattered, but he warmed her in his embrace. A breathless smile lit up her face, as her arms came around him.
She was shivering and when he pointed to the water, asking if she wanted to swim again, she shook her head.
‘I want you to help me get warm,’ she whispered.
Her body pressed against him and he wondered if she knew what she was asking. The waves sloshed them, but he guided her out of the water. Sand caked their legs and she shivered, holding on to him.
Callum led her back to the fire to get warm, adding more driftwood to increase the heat. He took her discarded cloak and spread it out before the fire, gesturing for her to sit upon it. Marguerite ignored him, standing before the flames with her hands outstretched. Her expression had gone distant, as if she were lost in thought.
She turned to look at him, a question in her eyes. In that moment, he saw the uncertainty in her face, mingled with fear. He met her gaze with unyielding strength. No matter what happened, he would remain at her side. She was the woman who had risked everything to save his life, the woman who had brought him back from the brink of madness. The woman he would die for.
And then she stared straight at him, her hands lifting her chemise away until she stood naked before him, wearing nothing except the glass pendant.
Chapter Nine
Marguerite could feel the hunger in his eyes, the desire for her. A thousand voices were crying out within her head, warning her not to do this. She was promised to another man and she had no right to betray her intended husband.
But the idea of letting a stranger claim her virginity felt so wrong. Callum was the man who held her heart and she wanted to be with him. If her new husband learned she was not a virgin, he might cast her out. Or refuse to marry her, if she revealed it.
It was a way out of the betrothal.
The idea of surrendering to Callum, letting him become her lover, was a dangerous move, one t
hat could destroy both of them. But if her efforts failed and she could not avoid the marriage to the earl, at least she could give this part of herself to Callum. He would never hurt her and it was something they could share together.
‘You should remove the rest of your clothes,’ she murmured. ‘Let them dry by the fire.’
He moved before her, and she saw his eyes lingering upon her bare skin, drinking in the sight. Though she felt awkward revealing everything to him, she made no move to cover herself. She watched as Callum removed his own clothing. When he stood naked before her, she was struck by the power of his body, the fierce lines of heavy muscle and skin. As an archer, his arms were lean and strong. She ached to touch him, to discover how to bring him the same pleasure he’d given her.
Callum hadn’t made any attempt to come near her and she realised he was waiting for her to grant permission. She took his palms and laid them upon her breasts. His hands filled up with her, cupping the smooth weight of them. The warmth of his touch sent another shiver through her. His thumbs moved across her nipples and they hardened beneath the caress.
She hardly felt the cool air of the wind, transfixed by him. His dark hair fell over his shoulders, down his back. There was nothing tame about him; he was like a wild creature who wanted to possess her.
Marguerite rested her hands upon his chest muscles, exploring the hard flesh, watching the way his face transformed. He did the same to her, fingering her erect nipples and stroking her breasts. Then he lowered her to the cloak, resting upon his side as he made her comfortable.
His eyes turned dark, wicked, as he took her hands and lifted them above her head. He locked them in place, while he bent his mouth to taste the bud of her nipple. A surge of need echoed between her legs, causing moisture at her intimate place. She felt the hard length of him against her thigh and wondered what it would be like to take him inside her.
He released her wet nipples and took the glass pendant, rubbing the smooth shape upon her erect tips. The sensation was foreign and he used it, along with his tongue, to torment her further.
MacKinloch 03 - Tempted by the Highland Warrior Page 12