When a Scot Gives His Heart

by Julie Johnstone

  “I do,” she snapped. “You will not do as I have asked. You will not rid this castle of that woman! I am but a pawn, used by my father and not even wanted by you!”

  She stood, and as he thought to reach for her, Brice appeared in the door. Callum let Coira depart the dais as he focused on his brother. Brice met her midway in the center aisle. They faced each other for a moment, and then Brice said something as she swiped at her cheeks, nodded, and then left the great hall. Callum rose as his brother strode toward the dais.

  “What’s occurred?” he asked before Brice even came to a halt.

  Brice scowled at him, which surprised Callum. “I’m nae certain. I found Mother in the healing room. She’s been knocked on the head.”

  “What?” Callum shoved out of his seat, his pulse racing. “Ye left her there? What of Marsaili and her friend?”

  Brice shook his head. “Maria is there, awake now. She came to while I was helping Mother to her feet. Maria is a healer herself and is caring for the cut on Mother’s head. Marsaili was nae in the room. I sent men out to search for her and then came straight here to tell ye.”

  Callum nodded and moved to depart, but Brice gripped his forearm. “I was against ye marrying Coira, but if ye are determined to do it, she deserves yer respect. If the clan suspects ye have affection for Marsaili, that ye place her above Coira, they will give Coira less respect. I think we judged her too quickly, Brother. She has good qualities.”

  “I dunnae doubt it,” Callum replied. “But we kinnae seem to rub along well.”

  Brice frowned. “Perhaps it would be best if ye let me deal with Marsaili.”

  Callum’s body tensed at the suggestion, his mind rebelling against the notion. His brother had only made a point that Callum himself had considered, yet he could not agree. “I will decide what shall be done and by whom after I have spoken with Mother and find Marsaili.”

  “Be careful, Brother, that ye dunnae accidentally shame Coira. Ye are too honorable for such actions.”

  Callum nodded, knowing his brother spoke out of concern. “It is good of ye to try to learn her, though I ken ye believe I am doing wrong by this union.”

  Brice nodded. “Aye, I do believe the union is nae good for ye, but if ye will nae be swayed, then I will ken her and give her respect.”

  “I will take a care for Coira as well,” Callum promised. “Now tell me, what does Mother say happened?” he asked striding toward the door. He gave the signal for his men to stand down as they had been trained well and clearly were aware that there might be a problem. He did not want to sound an alarm before knowing if one was necessary.

  When the door closed behind them, abruptly silencing the cacophony, Callum swung toward his brother who had yet to answer him. “What does Mother say?” he demanded.

  “She says Marsaili hit her on the head because she caught the lass about to flee with stolen daggers and coin.”

  “Marsaili would nae have left Maria,” Callum said in disgust. “If she’d wanted to flee, she would have tried to do so in the woods rather than return here, to a castle armed with my men, to wait for her companion to be able to depart. Mother is lying.”

  “Aye,” Brice agreed. “Any notion why?”

  Callum motioned his brother to start walking, and they fell into step side-by-side, making their way down the passage toward the steps. Callum paused at the steps that led down to the healing room. “Nay. I’ve nae told Mother who Marsaili was to me, so—”

  Brice cringed, and then his cheeks flushed. Callum groaned. The only time his brother ever turned red was when he felt bad about something he’d done. “Tell me ye did nae reveal who Marsaili truly is to Mother.”

  “I’m happy nae to tell ye,” Brice said slowly, “but I fear ye’ll only be even more vexed if I keep it a secret.”

  “God’s bones, Brother,” Callum muttered, taking the stairs three at a time. “Did it nae occur to ye that Mother would nae welcome kenning that the woman I broke my first promised union for was actually alive and in our home?”

  “It occurred to me,” Brice shot back.

  Directly outside of the healing room’s closed door, Callum grabbed his brother by the forearm. “Ye thought to purposely stir trouble?” he accused.

  “Aye,” Brice replied, holding Callum’s stare. “Ye are making a grave mistake marrying Coira. Ye dunnae have any tender feelings for that lass, and she dunnae have any for ye.”

  “I am grateful for yer concern, Brother, but stay out of it,” he ordered. “I dunnae want to speak to ye about this again.”

  Brice scowled. “Fine.”

  Callum made his way into the small healing room, which smelled distinctly of mugwort and anise. Maria was crouched over his mother but straightened at the sight of him, her green eyes narrowed and her mouth pressed into a thin line. The woman’s silver hair was in a tight coil atop her head, and the few strands that had escaped, she shoved back with her hand, then motioned to Callum’s mother.

  “She is a deceiver,” Maria announced.

  Callum flicked his gaze to his mother, who sat up with a look of outrage on her face. “Callum, I command ye nae to let this woman speak to me this way!”

  “Sit down, Mother,” he ordered when he saw her sway on her feet. He looked for signs of serious injury and saw none—just a bump and small cut on her right temple, and the faint traces of a purple bruise that would surely darken. He walked over to her, kneeled, and caught her gaze. “So ye came into the room and Marsaili was in the process of fleeing? Is that what occurred?”

  His mother nodded. “Aye, that is exactly what occurred. She had two daggers in her hands and a pouch full of coin. I tried to stop her, and she hit me on the head.”

  He had to clench his teeth momentarily on calling his own mother a liar. “She hit ye with a dagger?”

  “Aye!”

  “So Marsaili held a dagger in each hand along with the leather pouch?” Brice asked, standing directly behind Callum.

  “I…” His mother nibbled on her lip for a moment, as if considering her words before speaking them. “Aye.”

  Callum scooped up the leather pouch sitting beside his mother. “Is this nae yer pouch?”

  “Aye. She must have stolen it from my room.”

  “She’s verra fast to have found yer room in the short time from when I left her and when I watched ye depart to go to her,” Brice commented.

  She looked away. “Aye, she must be verra quick,” their mother mumbled.

  “She’d have to be,” Brice said. “And she’d require the ability to vanish like a ghost.”

  Callum frowned, and their mother whipped her gaze back to Brice. “What do ye mean?”

  Brice squatted beside Callum and picked up the longer of the two daggers on the floor. “This is my dagger,” he said. “And it was in my chamber when I left for the great hall. And I went to my chamber after I left ye to wash before supper. Unless the lassie can make herself unseen, she did nae come to my chamber and take this dagger, which means someone else did, Mother.”

  The news didn’t surprise Callum, nor did his mother’s eyes popping wide or the tense look that crossed over her face. Silence stretched the room, and Callum chose to let his mother squirm in her seat for a moment and think seriously about how she wanted to proceed.

  “Tell me truth now, Mother,” Callum ordered. “I’m sorry to have done things in the past to make ye so verra fearful that I’ll make a greedy choice now, but ye dunnae need to fash yerself. I will nae ever put my desires above the needs of the clan again.”

  His mother stared back at him, her hands twisting together furiously in her lap. Suddenly, Maria shoved past him, snatched his mother by the arm, and hissed, “Listen carefully, old woman. If ye dunnae spit out the truth, I’ll curse ye!”

  His mother gasped. “Ye’ll curse me?”

  “Aye,” Maria replied, her eyes shining bright. “I spent some time in the company of some ban-druidh, and I ken well how to deliver a curse that will haunt ye
for the rest of yer life.”

  Callum couldn’t tell whether Maria was being truthful or not, but his mother had gone white as snow. She wrenched her arm free. “She wanted to leave!” she wailed. “And I wanted her to, as well.” His mother swung toward him. “Callum, Son, I could sense she would ruin everything for ye, for our clan, so I, er, I demanded she depart, and she said she was only too happy to do so. But she refused to without weapons and coin.”

  Regret for all that had occurred, all that could have been for him and Marsaili, assaulted him. He clenched his hands by his side, struggling to keep his emotions within. “Why, then, would she hit ye on the head if ye brought her what she asked for?”

  “How am I to ken the woman’s mind?” his mother wailed.

  Something in her demeanor, perhaps the way her eyes kept darting about, made him certain that she was not offering the entire truth. “Consider this: if I discover ye are lying, I will break ties with ye. I will set ye away from me and ban ye from the castle to dwell in a cottage on the outskirts of my land to live out yer life alone and miserable.”

  His mother’s hand fluttered to her neck. “Ye would banish me over a lie intended to protect ye? One born out of love?”

  “Lies are nae born of love, Mother,” he bit out, his conscience niggling at the fact that he had not told Marsaili the truth of his feelings for her. But that was different. It did not endanger her to be ignorant of it, and he could not change their future anyway. “If ye are purposely putting Marsaili in peril—”

  “Enough!” his mother shouted. “When I came to bring her the daggers and coin, I found her struggling with a man.”

  A cold knot formed in his chest, and his hand went directly to his sword. “The man hit ye?”

  His mother nodded. “So I kinnae say what happened to Marsaili,” she mumbled, her tone defensive.

  “Mother,” he clipped, the urge to shake her senseless strong, “what did the man look like?”

  “I couldn’t say,” his mother muttered.

  Callum studied her. She was perfectly still, yet her eye twitched as if she was using great effort to repress things. “Mother, ye are lying.”

  Her nostrils flared, and very slowly she said, “I believe he had a shaved head and gray eyes.”

  “Lucan!” Maria cried out. “Yer mother just described the Black Mercenary who seized us, brought us here, and wagered us away.”

  “Ye were stolen?” Callum growled, realizing belatedly he never had gotten Marsaili to reveal how she had come to be here. “How did the man manage to breach the Campbell hold and snatch the two of ye?” It was an important question, as it seemed the man had also slipped into Urquhart Castle unnoticed.

  “He took us when we were nae in the castle,” Maria said.

  “For what purpose?” Callum asked. “Had he intended to travel here for the tournament but did nae have coin to wager so he thought to use the two of ye?”

  “Nay. He was hired by the Steward’s wife, Euphemia, to take Marsaili.”

  Callum frowned. “What grudge does the Steward’s wife hold against Marsaili?”

  Maria shrugged. “Marsaili said the only thing that she could think of was that her sister, Lena MacLeod—”

  “MacLeod?” he interrupted in surprise.

  Maria gave a firm nod of her head. “Lena and Euphemia were—or rather, are—enemies, as Euphemia had a past with Lena’s husband, Alex MacLean.”

  “MacLean?” Callum knew the laird of the MacLean clan and liked him well enough. “I did nae ken he had married, nor did I ken Marsaili had any sister other than Helena, especially nae one who was a MacLeod.”

  “Helena is dead,” Maria said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Lena, the sister I speak of, is Marsaili’s half sister, and the laird of the MacLeod clan, Iain, is her half brother, as are his three brothers. They share the same mother but nae the same father. The Campbell is still, unfortunately, Marsaili’s father.”

  “God’s blood,” Callum muttered. There was so much he did not know about Marsaili. Had she withheld all of this from him purposely, or had she learned it after their time together? He didn’t know her well enough to say. It struck him then that, perhaps, he had never really known her. Perhaps he had only thought he had.

  Maria’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Ye knew her as well as she knew herself,” Maria said, her tone reproachful and unforgiving. He flinched that his thoughts had been read so clearly on his face. “’Tis she who did nae ken who ye truly were. She thought ye honorable, and that mistake has haunted her.”

  “What do ye mean?” he demanded, even as his thoughts turned to how to track this Lucan and rescue Marsaili.

  “’Tis nae my story to tell,” Maria said. “Ye’ll need to be asking her.”

  “I will,” he answered. “When I find the man who took her.”

  “Callum!” his mother said, clearly dismayed. “Ye kinnae mean to leave here to search out that woman!”

  He barely repressed the harsh reply on his tongue. “I intend to do exactly that. Marsaili was a guest in my home; therefore, as laird she is my responsibility to keep safe.”

  “Let yer brother try to find her,” his mother begged.

  “Nay,” Callum barked. “Brice will stay here and keep the castle safe. I will go after Marsaili, as I am the one our enemies will ultimately look to and think that I could nae even keep a lass safe in my own home.”

  “Ye will jeopardize yer impending marriage!”

  Brice gave him a look that Callum was unsure how to interpret. He knew his brother was against his marrying Coira, yet he also knew that Brice believed that if Callum was going to go through with the union, he ought to leave taking care of Marsaili to Brice. Callum agreed in his head, but his heart would not allow him to turn away from Marsaili. He had loved her body and soul, and he had to ensure that she was safe. “Brice will make a reasonable excuse to Coira for me. All will be well with the union.”

  “Callum, ye will destroy the union,” his mother wailed.

  “Nay,” he replied. His departing would anger Coira, but Brice had a silver tongue. He would make her understand. There was no possible way Callum would leave Marsaili to the fate of a Black Mercenary, nor would he send his brother out against such a foe. Brice was a good warrior, but Callum was better. He was a better tracker, as well, and time was critical. “Do ye have any notion why Lucan would have returned for Marsaili?” Callum asked Maria.

  She shook her head. “Nay. To receive coin from Euphemia, he was to wager Marsaili away to a man who would make her life horrid. Once that had been done, he departed, and even if he did hear that ye had won her, I dunnae believe he would have returned for her as his task was completed, regardless of what occurred after.”

  “Agreed,” Callum replied, fear for Marsaili making it impossible to slow the rapid thudding of his heart. “Mercenaries care only about coin. For this man to return here, there had to somehow be gain for him.” As the words left his mouth, a disturbing clarity overcame him. “Ulster…”

  “Aye,” Maria said grimly. “I had the same thought. Godfrey was nae alone at the Campbell hold to do Ulster’s bidding. He had three other knights with him.”

  “They must have tracked Godfrey here or planned to meet here,” Callum said.

  “Aye,” Maria agreed. “We’ll make our way to Ulster’s home and hopefully overcome Lucan and Godfrey’s men.”

  “Nay,” Callum replied. “I’ll make my way. Ye will slow me down, and I kinnae have that.” He had to save her. He would not be able to tolerate it if something happened to Marsaili.

  Nine

  After two days as Lucan’s captive, Marsaili could hardly think past the hunger gnawing at her belly, the thirst clawing at her throat, and the burning of her eyes from lack of sleep. Lucan had given her small sips of liquid since taking her, and a few bites of bread and cheese, but not much else. And when they finally stopped for Lucan to rest, Marsaili forced herself to stay awake for a chance to escape.

  She watch
ed him as he built a fire, hoping that if anyone was coming to her aid, they would see the flames or even the smoke. Night had descended, smothering all light from the woods but a sliver from the moon and the orange flames that now danced in the shadows and cast a small beacon for anyone who might be looking for her. She doubted Callum or anyone else would be searching for her, though. The only people searching for her were ones she did not want to find her.

  Callum may have shown that he still desired her, but he had never cared for her. It took the latter to risk one’s life for another. Pity rose inside her, but she ruthlessly shoved it down. She would not allow pity. Her son was out there, and he needed a strong mother, not one who wallowed in her problems.

  Lucan didn’t speak as he worked the fire, but she’d grown accustomed to him not saying much. In their time together, he had communicated with her in mostly grunts and glares, except when he threatened her. When he finally sat down, he did so close to her, but not so close that he touched her.

  He turned to her, eyes narrowed. “Dunnae make me come after ye this night. Ye’ll regret it.”

  She’d come to hate the words ye’ll regret it, which Lucan repeated every time he warned her not to do something. She didn’t know if the threat meant he’d kill her in cold blood as he had the earl’s knights or if it meant he’d beat her, but she did not intend to find out. If—no, when—she got loose, she wouldn’t stay around long enough to learn.

  She held up her right ankle, which he had tied to a tree, and then her bound wrists. “I believe ye’ve ensured that I’ll nae be going anywhere this night.”

  “A wise choice,” he replied, his tone ominous.

  “As if it is a choice,” she muttered as he closed his eyes.

  She watched him, looking for signs of sleep and fighting her own drowsiness. The air had cooled, which helped keep her awake somewhat, but as tired as she was, it was not helping enough.

  His chest began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, but she could not say with a fair amount of certainty that he was asleep. She’d likely only get one chance to escape Lucan, and she could not afford to ruin it by trying to do so too soon. When her vision blurred with the need for her own respite, she started counting stars. When she reached 150, she heard Lucan snore. Immediately, she wiggled her wrists to try to loosen the ropes that encircled them.