Not only did she have unforgettable eyes but the lass was all lush curves and softness. She had a body that God had created to be loved by a man. But for all the outer beauty she possessed, he sensed her inner beauty down deep to his very bones, and it drew him to her. It was the sort of beauty that would not fade with age but grow ever brighter, ever warmer, and would guide a man in his darkest hour and heat him on the coldest nights. He had to find out if what he had sensed was indeed true.
He strode toward her, anticipation filling him at claiming the victor dance with her. When he reached the dais, he inclined his head to her father, skimmed his gaze dismissively over the earl—whom he did not care for at all, even after just one meeting—and settled his focus on her. He allowed himself a long breath to soak in her beauty. He bowed to show her the respect she deserved. “I’ve come to claim my first dance rights.”
Her eyes widened with surprise, with delight, and then shadowed with worry. He was uncertain what had caused the last, but each emotion proved what he had suspected: she was a complex lass, a knot to be untangled, and he itched to do so.
Her father scowled, as if he wanted to deny the request, but Marsaili rose, almost hastily, and descended the dais without so much as glancing at her father. Callum set his fingertips to the delicate slope of her back, and it felt right to guide her. He could not explain it. He did not want to explain it. He simply wanted to discover what these feelings were and where they might lead.
The floor was littered with couples dancing and did not lend the space for any sort of private conversation. Yet, when their palms met to begin the dance, it was as if he’d been struck by a powerful gust, and he could not resist one question. “Does any man have yer heart, Marsaili Campbell?”
Those expressive eyes showed her shock at his question, but then a lovely shy smile touched her lips. “Nay,” she replied in a low voice. “Why do ye ask?”
He slid his arm around her back to twirl her in the motions of the dance. For one spin, their bodies were pressed together, hardness to softness, man to woman. He finished the circle, and before releasing her into the next motion, he whispered in her ear, “I needed to be certain there was nae a man I needed to kill.”
Her shy smile became a grin, and she released a throaty chuckle. “And why would ye be killing a man if he had my heart?” she whispered.
“Because,” he said, wishing more than anything that they were alone, “I’ll nae tolerate a man trying to claim what I ken is mine.”
“By whose authority is my heart yers?” she asked, her look serious but her tone teasing.
“By God’s.” He snagged her hand in his and pressed her palm against his heart. “I recognized it here the moment I first saw ye.”
“Marsaili!” her father’s voice barked to Callum’s right. “The dance has ended. Bid Callum good night.”
She broke contact immediately and curtsied.
An almost desperate feeling came over Callum. “My lady,” he called to her back, fearing that he might never see her again.
She turned quickly, looking over her shoulder once at her father, who was still striding through the crowd.
“What say ye, my lady, to what I told ye?”
She bit down on her lip, and for a moment, he thought he had overstepped, but then she said, “I say it is as I told ye. The stream to the east of the castle is verra picturesque in the early-morning light. If ye wish to find a spot to be alone, it is most recommended. I often go there myself.” With that, she curtsied again and scurried after her father, who led her to the earl.
Callum watched her as she danced once with the man, who looked entirely too engrossed with her for Callum’s taste. But Marsaili appeared miserable, which assured him that she did not care for the earl’s attention. When her father fetched her from the earl, she seemed eager to leave, and Callum wondered if her father often made her dance with men who leered at her. It set his teeth on edge with anger, but as she was leaving the great hall, she smiled at him, and his anger dissipated. When he could no longer see her departing figure, he made his way to his bedchamber to dream of her, what tomorrow would bring, and all the days after that.
Marsaili awoke at dawn, giddy with the prospect that Callum might venture to the stream to see her. She sat up in her bed, waiting for the sun to fully rise so she could make her way there without it seeming peculiar. As she sat there, she thought on his words from last night and of how a man she had only just met could fill her heart with such hope. She’d spent her life cast in the shadows. When she was younger it had hurt her greatly, but she had learned that the shadows were the safest place to dwell. She did not want to live the rest of her life cowering in shadows, though, unable to find happiness.
She had been a fool. She had not escaped her father’s notice; he had been biding his time until he was ready to use her as he wished. All her life he had made her feel ugly and unwanted, and she knew in her gut it had been purposeful. Mayhap, he had wanted her to be so grateful to leave home someday that she would do whatever he bid without argument. She would have to do as he insisted when it came to the earl so she could protect Maria, but she wished to know the tender touch of a man she desired, of a man who looked at her the way Callum had last night. If she must be chained to the earl for life, she would steal a taste of what true passion would have been like.
Anticipation swelled and with it, unexpected hope. She did not try to quash it as she usually did. Instead, she allowed it to take hold and spread like a vine within her chest. What if she and Callum fell in love? What if he wanted to wed her and she could take Maria with her, offer a position, and be free of this place and her father? She pressed her fingertips to the smile she felt on her lips, and she chuckled at herself. It felt good to laugh and to hope. However foolish it was, however unlikely, today she would pretend that her future was not yet plotted. She was the weaver of her fate for this day, even if it was the only time she ever was. With that in mind, she arose, dressed, and made her way into the great hall, where she rushed through breaking her fast and then departed for the stream.
When she entered the courtyard, her silly, foolish fantasy immediately came crashing down around her.
“Ah, Marsaili,” the earl boomed. “I’m glad to see you before I have to take my leave.”
Elation burst within her. “I did nae ken ye had to quit our company so soon,” she said, hoping her voice did not reveal her happiness at the news. Perhaps she had failed to sway the earl to her as her father had wished. She sent a quick prayer up that this was so.
“One of my men arrived late in the night with an urgent message from my physician that my wife is finally dying.” She sucked in her breath as his callousness. His gaze widened fractionally, and he said, “You cannot imagine what it has been like for me, Marsaili, married since my youth to a woman who has always been ill. She’s never had vigor nor beauty as you do.”
“My lord, please,” she said, disgusted that he could talk so about his wife.
“I see my compliments make you blush,” he said, running a hand down her cheek. “I very much like your modesty, Marsaili.”
“I blush,” she said, through clenched teeth, “because I am disheartened to hear ye speak of yer wife in such a cold manner.”
A dark scowl swept his face. “Don’t be, my dear. If you knew her, you would understand. She revels in being a burden, but soon I will be done with her. You are the exact sort of woman I always wished to have for a wife.”
“I’m certain I am nae,” she replied, desperate to change his mind.
“See,” he said, smiling, “this is what I told your father this morning when I formally asked to make you my mistress and wed you once my wife is dead. You are modest about your own attributes.”
“My lord, I fear ye are mistaken about me. I have spent a great deal of time in the penance cell for my stubbornness.”
“Yes,” the earl said, a twisted smile coming to his lips. “Your father told me. I rather like the idea of punishing yo
u if you cross me.”
The earl’s eagerness at the prospect of punishing her made her cringe. Her father had to know the sort of man the earl was but simply did not care.
“With my wife,” the earl continued, “I had to fear reprisal from her father, but from your father, I have no such fear. We will suit perfectly, Marsaili. If my wife should not breathe her last breath within a sennight, I will settle the nuisance in the country and send for you. I’m finished waiting patiently for her to die.” With that, he pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his in a wet, sloppy kiss. He broke it as abruptly as he had started it, mounted his horse, and waved for his men to depart. She was left trembling with rage and disgust in the empty courtyard.
Her thoughts tripped over themselves, and in time, her mind settled on one: seeing Callum. She rushed to the stream, disappointed to find that Callum was not there, yet she clung to the hope that he would appear. As the sun shone down on her, she removed her slippers and sat in front of the water, listening to the wind rustle the trees and the trickling of the stream. After a long while, her certainty that Callum would come began to fade, and that’s when a twig snapped behind her. She turned as he kneeled, his warm gaze assessing her. “I was starting to think ye would nae come,” she admitted.
“A legion of warriors could nae have kept me away, though yer sister did delay me,” he replied as he sat next to her.
His thigh pressed against hers, but she did not move. She reveled in the strength his powerful legs displayed. Her belly tightened, and her breath quickened. This was desire. She knew it instinctually. She welcomed it, even if it was sinful. This could well be her only chance to ever experience it.
Still, she frowned. “My sister? What did she want with ye?”
Callum looked suddenly uncomfortable, and Marsaili’s cheeks flamed. She knew Helena well. She was a born seductress, and men succumbed willingly to her desires. She was beautiful whereas Marsaili was plain.
“I see,” Marsaili said slowly, jealousy burning within her. “If my sister wishes yer attention, I’m surprised ye’re here.”
“Ye should nae be,” he said. His gaze glittered as he studied her. “Yer sister has a skin-deep beauty. It will fade. It dunnae reach her soul.” He gently rubbed his thumb against her right temple. “In yer eyes, I see goodness, kindness, and courage. I see beauty that will nae fade and reaches all the way into ye to envelop ye.” He brought her untried senses to life, and the very air around them suddenly was buzzing, as if a storm were approaching. Yet it was not a storm; it was possibility and hope.
“I want to kiss ye,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“I want ye to, as well,” she whispered. His hands cupped her face, and a delicious shudder heated her body. As he brought his lips to hers, the thudding of her heart drowned out the wind and the stream. The touch of his mouth to hers was velvety and warm. He deepened the kiss, and she responded with every ounce of desire that he had brought to life within her.
His ragged groan filled her ears as his lips became more insistent, more searching. She parted her mouth, wanting to taste more of him, to become one with him. Their tongues met and circled as he possessed her with demanding mastery. When they finally pulled apart, her breaths came in short gasps, and it pleased her to hear he was affected the same way.
Without a word, he held his hand out to her, and she slipped her palm into his, interlacing their fingers. “Ye will be mine,” he said simply.
Her heart clenched with joy. “I believe I shall,” she replied, willing it to be so.
The Gathering was to span two fortnights, planned this way by her father so there would not only be time to talk politics and pledges but for the men to go on lengthy, overnight hunts. When Callum was at her home and not away on an excursion, they met at the stream at first, and then they began to meet in a secret spot that Marsaili had discovered long ago where a cliff overlooked the loch, surrounded by thick brush. Purple heather encircled the grass on that spot and took her breath away every time she went there. It was the perfect place for her and Callum to become acquainted without fear of her father discovering what was occurring.
Each time a messenger arrived at the castle, she feared it would be a summons from the earl, but so far, no word had come. She considered it as a blessing from God, who she decided had finally remembered her and was giving her time with Callum. Time to know each other, time to forge a possible future before it was too late.
Every moment they shared strengthened the invisible bond between them, and it was this ever-growing bond that stirred guilt in her that she had not confessed to him her father’s plans regarding the earl, plans that may well affect Callum’s clan if her father decided to declare the Grants an enemy, which would most assuredly occur if she and Callum were to run off together. Of course, he had not asked her to wed him, but she hoped he would.
Then one night, while Callum was away on a four-day hunt, a letter arrived from the earl. His wife had still failed to succumb. Those were his exact words. He still intended to settle her in the country, but he had been called to his father, King Edward. He expected a delay of a fortnight, perhaps two, before he could carry out his plans. Marsaili was ecstatic. There was still a chance they could change the course of the future.
The morning Callum returned from the hunt, she raced to their secret spot on the faint hope he would be there. When she reached the top of the ledge and saw him looking out over the loch, her heart rejoiced. He turned toward her, face bronzed from the sun and dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. He was even more alluring than he had been four days before.
She had not so much as taken a step when he was upon her, arms encircling her, hands in her hair, and his lips capturing her mouth. “I missed ye,” he said between kisses.
“And I ye,” she replied as his lips traced a shivery path down her neck to her collarbone. “Tell me of the hunt,” she urged, trying to silence the voice in her head that demanded she tell him of the earl.
He shrugged. “We killed a wild boar.” He looked at her. “I dunnae care to kill animals.”
“Truly?” she said, heartened to learn he had such compassion.
He nodded. “Aye, truly. But my father so shamed me for the weakness when I was younger that I forced myself to become an expert hunter. I dunnae mind killing near as much when it is for our food, but the sport of killing…” He shrugged again. “I dunnae have any desire for it. When I am laird of my clan someday, I will nae call for hunts for sport, only for need. Does that make ye think me weak?”
She pressed her body to the length of his and leaned her head against his chest. “I think ye perfect and strong.”
“Would ye wish to wed a perfect, strong man who dunnae care to hunt unless it is necessary?”
She looked up at him, her heart stuttering. “Are ye asking me to wed ye?” Her hopes and fears crashed within her.
“Aye,” he replied, his eyes growing dark as the ancient trees that surrounded them.
Happy tears welled in her eyes as joy, wonder, and love overtook her.
He pressed kisses to her nose, her forehead, and her lips. “I will need to travel home and speak with my parents first, but I kenned the moment I met ye that ye’re the women for me. What say ye?”
She wanted to say yes, but she still needed to tell him of the earl. “Ye dunnae really ken everything about me,” she said, her voice softly wavering.
“It’s true we have only kenned each other for fewer than two fortnights, but I have learned ye,” he said. “Ye dunnae like winter, but summer. Ye prefer the night to the day, as ye love gazing at stars. Ye kinnae swim, either, I think, aye?”
“Aye,” she said with a nod. “How did ye ken that?” She had thought she hid it well.
“I will tell ye.” He took her hand, led her to the grass, stripped off his plaid, and laid it down. He motioned for her to sit. She swallowed the knot of desire that formed in her throat at the sight of his bare chest. Once they were both sitting, he lay
back, crossed his feet at his ankles, and cradled the back of his head in his hands. “Come,” he said in a most persuasive voice, “lie beside me and lean yer head on my shoulder.”
She did so, soaking in his heat and his nearness. She felt utterly protected when he was close, which was a foreign feeling for her. “How did ye ken I could nae swim?” she asked again.
“Simple,” he said. “Ye dunnae ever do more than dip yer toes in the water, and yer shoulders become tense as ye near the loch. Why is it that ye are afraid of the water?”
“My brothers,” she muttered. “They used to push me under the water when I was younger and hold me there. The one and only time I managed to swim for even a brief moment, they caught me and held me under so long that I almost drowned. I was too scairt to venture back in after that, so I did nae ever learn to truly swim.”
“Yer brothers deserve to be beaten,” he said with a scowl, but then he smiled. “I will teach ye to swim when we are wed.” His words held a powerful intensity of emotion.
Her heart clenched. She tilted her face up to his and felt something uneven brush against her cheek. Pushing herself up on her hands, she glanced down at his shoulder and found a short, jagged scar. “How did ye get this?” She traced the white line with the tip of her finger.
“From my first battle,” he replied, then caught her hand and tugged her back down to him.
As she snuggled against him, she said, “Tell me of it.”
“It was against the MacDonald clan. Their leader, the Lord of the Isles, has long attacked our clan ever since King David—or his advisors, really, since the king was but a lad at the time—gave Urquhart Castle to my father for services rendered.”
“The MacDonald wanted the castle?” she asked.
When a Scot Gives His Heart Page 3