When a Scot Gives His Heart

by Julie Johnstone

  They hit the water within seconds, the impact taking his breath and jarring Marsaili into him as if he’d hit a wall with his chest. He lost his grip on her legs but grasped her wrist as the force of the water pulled her violently from him. As he recovered his grip, hands suddenly clawed at him. Her panic pierced him through the cold, dark water as her nails scraped him, and then she was pummeling and kicking him. With a jerk, he managed to turn her around and grab her around the chest, effectively pinning her arms so at least she could not hit him anymore.

  She kicked out, though, as he swam toward what he hoped was the surface. When he broke it moments later, he sucked in one large breath of air before pressing his lips to Marsaili’s. It was the quickest way he could think to reach her through her panic. She stilled after a second, and he pulled away, aware they had to flee and put distance between them and the Gordons who would be pursuing. He’d almost certainly killed Robert, and that would not be forgotten, nor forgiven.

  Even in the cold water, the burning heat of her skin caressed him. Fear twisted around his heart at the fever that raged in her. “I love ye,” he said, keenly aware there was not time to say much more. Later would be the time for anger, forgiveness, questions, joy—please, God, that there was time for joy. Callum had a son. A son. His heart swelled with an almost-choking sort of love.

  “I have been a fool to try to turn away from ye. What we have kinnae be denied. We will find a way. Do ye hear me? I love ye,” he said again and kissed her full on the mouth, tasting her salt, her heat, her tears.

  “Ye can kiss the lass later, if we live,” Broch called from the dark beside Callum.

  “Maria?” Marsaili asked weakly.

  “I’m here, dunnae fash. A bit bruised, but I’ll live. And ye will, as well. I managed to keep my medicine bag.”

  “That’s good,” Marsaili said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  A tight knot of fear formed in his throat. He’d be damned if he was going to let her die on him after everything they had been through and all that they had left to experience together. He surged toward the shore on his back, with her resting against his front. At first, she kicked with him, but after a few strokes, she went limp in his arms. The knot in his throat seemed to shoot out darts of pain and fear to his head, his heart, and his chest. He could not reach the shore fast enough, and when he did, he laid her down, straining to see her face in the little bit of moonlight. Rain drizzled down, he realized suddenly, as he pushed her hair back from her face and leaned in to see if she still breathed. Her chest rose in shallow breaths, but it was enough.

  Maria and Broch came to kneel beside him. Maria placed a hand on Marsaili’s head and hissed. “She burns with fever.” She dug in her bag. She produced a small bottle and motioned to him. “Lift her head.”

  He immediately did as commanded, dismayed at the way her head lolled and she did not stir. Maria pressed the bottle to Marsaili’s lips as she opened them and slowly poured in a liquid. Some dribbled out of Marsaili’s mouth, but she seemed to immediately swallow most of it.

  “What did ye give her?” he asked.

  “A potion of coriander for her fever. We need to bring it down. If it rises any higher, she could have a fit, which can affect the brain.”

  He clenched his teeth. “How can we ease the fever?”

  Maria looked at him steadily. “There’s nae much we can do. The potion is our best defense. Other than that, we need to keep her warm, though it may sound odd. Soon, the fever will make her cold and miserable,” Maria explained while running her hands about Marsaili’s head, raising Marsaili’s limp arms to check them for broken bones or cuts, and then sliding her hands along Marsaili’s body. “She dunnae appear injured. I believe perhaps exhaustion, and mayhap hunger, made her weak and more susceptible to fever.”

  He thought of the rabbit he had cooked, but they’d been captured before being able to eat it. “Aye. I dunnae believe she has eaten much since leaving my home.”

  “We have horses tethered just on the other side of the loch,” Broch said. “We’ll ride toward Inverurie, which is a two-days’ journey from here if ridden hard—four if we need to stop often, which we might.”

  Callum nodded. “Once we’re safe, I’ll hunt for food and feed her.”

  “I’ll hunt the food,” Broch said. “I’m her clansman.”

  “And I’ll be her husband,” Callum shot back without thinking.

  Both Broch’s and Maria’s eyes widened, and he could feel their gazes still on him as he scooped Marsaili into his arms, wincing at the shooting pain in his shoulder. He set a clipped pace to the other side of the loch. Above him, torches began to flicker on the cliff, and he ran, stopping only when he reached the horses.

  Broch was directly behind him. “Take the one on the left,” Broch said, indicating the white destrier. “The other is mine. Maria can ride with me.”

  Callum nodded again, and as he shifted Marsaili to swing them both into the saddle, Broch laid a hand on Callum’s arm. “Have ye asked Marsaili to wed ye?”

  “Nae yet, but we’ve a son,” he said, the truth still hardly seeming real. “We will be wed, whether she wishes it or nae.” Though he prayed to God that she did wish it. Now that he had come to realize how futile fighting his love for her was, he hoped he did not have to fight her.

  Broch chuckled. “I’ve been privy to a fair amount of courting of stubborn lasses by the MacLeod brothers, and I can tell ye, if ye approach Marsaili with directives of what she will do, she will likely do the exact opposite.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration,” Callum replied as the sound of shouting grew louder, coming closer. Without another word, he swung onto the horse with Marsaili, situated her in front of him, and took off toward Inverurie, where he prayed they would find the Summer Walkers. He had no notion what they had to do with finding his son, but that is where Marsaili had been heading, so that was where he would go.

  Fourteen

  Hours later, still under cover of night, Marsaili began to whimper and tremble almost violently in her sleep. Callum decided it was safer to halt and seek shelter than to keep riding. They seemed to have lost the Gordon warriors in the mountains, and Marsaili could well die if he pushed on farther.

  “We stop,” he called to Broch. Callum looked around the thick woods, slowed his panting destrier, and led him toward a nearby stream. Once there, he dismounted, steadying Marsaili, then slid her off the beast.

  Broch pulled his own panting charger up beside Callum’s. “I dunnae care to be ordered about,” he growled, dismounting his horse and then helping Maria down. Callum noted the lingering look that passed between the two of them, and he also noted the way Broch’s fingers stayed in contact with Maria’s hip, even after they were both standing and she clearly was not in need of his aid. Something was developing between those two.

  “Tell me,” Callum said to Broch, “how did ye come to be in Maria’s company? I ken that she escaped my castle, but how did she come to meet up with ye?”

  “I’ll tell ye what ye wish,” Broch said in a fairly amicable tone, “but I want ye to acknowledge what I said to ye. I dunnae take orders from any man but my laird, ye ken? So if ye wish for me to do something, propose it, ask it, but dunnae command it.”

  “Fair enough,” Callum said, then strode to where Maria had made a pallet from a plaid Broch had given her and was now waving him over. He squatted and gently laid Marsaili on the plaid that Maria had spread out under some trees. “What should I do?” he asked, his chest tightening with worry that Marsaili had still not awoken.

  Maria waved a hand. “Ye’ll sit and let me wrap yer shoulder quickly, and then ye’ll take yer leave. I need to examine her, and ye and Broch need to hunt. When I’ve a need of ye, I’ll call ye to return.”

  He nodded and did as she bid. Maria made quick work of wrapping his shoulder, and then she gestured for him to depart. But he lingered a moment, so many questions in his mind that he longed to have answered. He knew Mari
a had been Marsaili’s friend and at the Campbell hold with her. “Did ye ken I had a son?”

  “Nae until verra recently,” she replied, “but I saw the child when he was born. He was a braw bairn with a head of dark hair. I marked his foot with an X. I thought his mother was Marsaili’s chambermaid, and that she might reconsider ridding herself of him. If he is still with the Summer Walkers, ye will be able to ken him from that marking.”

  Callum nodded, too choked up to talk. He was reluctant to leave Marsaili’s side, but he knew she needed to eat; therefore, he needed to hunt. He withdrew his dagger and started toward the thick woods. He’d hunted many times at night with nothing more than a shaft of moonlight to guide him, so he was not overly worried that he would not be successful. Broch fell into step with him as Callum shoved through the thick shrubs to find the best spot to conceal himself and wait.

  “So,” Callum said, picking up his earlier question to Broch that had gone unanswered, “how is it that ye find yerself with Maria?”

  “As I was leaving the Campbell hold, a band of four men tried to rob me. I fought them off, killing all but one. He had a MacLeod plaid stuffed in his bag, and with a little persuasion,” Broch said, a deadly tone in his voice, “he admitted he’d taken a plaid from a lass named Marsaili who he’d helped their leader, a man named Lucan, take to yer home to wager away. So I went to yer castle, but on the road that led up to yer home, I found Maria racing away. She saw that I wore the MacLeod plaid and told me what had occurred, and of Marsaili being taken to Ulster.”

  “But the earl’s home is in the opposite direction from here,” Callum said, not ready to trust this man just yet, not totally.

  “Aye, it is. We started toward the Earl of Ulster’s and came across Lucan, who was almost dead.”

  Callum inhaled a long breath. “And?”

  Broch held Callum’s gaze a long moment. “And he told us Marsaili had spared his life. So Maria gave him a potion to aid him and we offered him food and water. I’ll nae undo the good deed of another,” Broch said defensively.

  “Nay, nor would I. So ye started for Inverurie after aiding Lucan?”

  Broch nodded. “We had just gotten to the edge of Gordon land when we came across two bards. We sat to take a short respite, and one of the bards started composing a song he called ‘The Caged Woman of the Gordons.’ I recognized Marsaili’s description in the song”—he smiled—“as did Maria, and we kenned Marsaili had to be here, somehow having been captured, likely when the two of ye were trying to travel to Inverurie. Ye ken most of the rest already.”

  Callum nodded and paused, shoving a low-hanging branch out of his face. “Ye said when ye left the Campbell hold that ye were headed to Inverurie because of learning that the Summer Walkers may well have Marsaili’s—my—son. How did ye ken they might be there?”

  “Marsaili’s half brother Graham MacLeod married Isobel Campbell, who ye surely ken is Marsaili’s half sister on her father’s side.”

  Callum shook his head, feeling the fool not knowing such important things about Marsaili’s life. “I did nae. I still have much to learn about Marsaili.”

  Broch chuckled. “Dunnae fash yerself too much. Isobel, who told me of the Summer Walkers once and where they travel, did nae ever live with Marsaili, so she likely did nae think to mention Isobel to ye when the two of ye kenned each other.” Broch’s face suddenly took on a fierce, angry expression. “Regarding that—”

  The MacLeod warrior shot out his fist so fast that Callum managed only to jerk to the left enough to avoid his nose getting punched again. His right cheekbone, though, felt the Scot’s blow down deep in the bone, which seemed to vibrate with the punch. Seething, Callum grabbed Broch’s hand as the man was pulling back from the freshly delivered hit, and he held him still. “What in God’s name was that for?”

  “That,” Broch said, trying to jerk his fist from Callum’s grasp, which Callum responded to by jerking back, “was for seducing Marsaili when ye were to marry another, getting her with child, and then nae ever returning for her and the child. I dunnae ken why she has nae killed ye yet.”

  “First,” Callum said, releasing the man’s fist, as he did not wish to make an enemy of Marsaili’s clansman, “I did nae seduce Marsaili.” If anything, the lass had beguiled him. “And at the time I met her, I already had broken my promise to wed Edina. I take it Maria is the one who has told ye what ye believe ye ken?”

  “Aye,” Broch confirmed, sounding and looking unconvinced that Callum was speaking the truth.

  “Well, she did nae have good information because Marsaili did nae have good information.” He would have gone through Hell itself to reunite with Marsaili had he known she was alive, but he was not going to speak of such things to anyone but Marsaili. “I was told the lass was dead,” he said instead. “So ’tis plain to see that I did nae ken about my son, either, and she did nae tell me until we just rescued her from the cage.” His pulse sped up just trying to imagine his son, and quickly following that thought was one about Marsaili. How had she felt when she had been told their son was dead? It enraged him to even think upon it. What had she endured and suffered, with child and alone? Had she been shunned? Treated poorly? He wanted to kill her father for all his treacheries. The man had lied to Marsaili, was intent on using her, and had lied to Callum and his parents when he had told them Marsaili was dead, among other things.

  Anger pulsed within him. Three years. He had lost three years he could have been with her. Two years they could have been with their son. His chest squeezed so tightly, he had to suck in a sudden breath. “I will kill the Campbell,” he ground out.

  “Ye will make an enemy of the king if ye do so,” Broch replied.

  “I have to wonder if he dunnae still see me as such from my father’s disloyalty. I have long wanted to pledge myself to his service, to align myself with him, but he would nae take the pledge.”

  Broch nodded. “King David is slow to forgive or forget, and unfortunately, he has put yer father’s disloyalty upon yer shoulders.”

  “Ye speak the truth. I need an alliance,” he said bluntly, allowing his pride to fall away. “I was to wed Coira Ainsworth to gain one, but I kinnae wed her.”

  Broch cocked his eyebrows. “Marsaili?”

  “Aye. I will wed her. Yet my clan still needs an alliance. We have been weakened by constant sieges by the MacDonalds and the Gordons.”

  “I ken,” Broch said.

  “Tell me,” Callum said, thinking on what Broch had said about making an enemy of the king if Callum killed the Campbell. “Why would the king wish to let the Campbell, who tries to thwart him at every turn, live?”

  “Because the king sees many ways to use the Campbell, and as long as the king holds more power than the Campbell and the Steward, then he would rather the man live—for now.”

  “Is yer laird nae close with the king?”

  “Aye,” Broch answered. “Iain says King David is the best choice as king, though still a flawed man. But if ye repeat Iain’s words, I’ll deny them.”

  Callum nodded, and as he did, a darting flash of white caught his attention near the brook. “Rabbit!” he shouted. In a flash, his dagger and Broch’s flew in unison toward the animal, hitting it at the exact same moment. “Ye throw a dagger true,” Callum said, impressed with the man’s skill.

  “As do ye,” Broch returned.

  Callum retrieved the rabbit and the daggers, and after handing Broch his blade, he said, “Iain sounds like a wise laird.” What he really needed to know was if Iain would be an enemy of Callum’s because of whatever Marsaili had done or if perhaps an alliance could be found there. It would be much a needed reprieve if the MacLeod laird could be considered an ally, but if the man meant to punish Marsaili, to set her out of the clan for whatever deed she had done to him, then Iain MacLeod would be Callum’s enemy, which meant the king may well be his enemy, too. What he would do then, he did not know. But he’d come up with a plan somehow. There was no choice. He would p
rotect Marsaili always, and he would find their son, no matter what it took.

  “Why did Iain send ye to find Marsaili?” Callum asked as they started back to Marsaili and Maria.

  “She is his half sister,” Broch said. “Therefore, she is his to protect. And when she was ordered taken by her father, who she forsook and broke ties with in favor of living with and accepting Iain’s protection, it was his duty to find her and bring her back to the fold of the family.”

  Callum nodded. That all sounded good, but… “In spite of her treachery against Iain and the MacLeod clan?”

  Broch glared at him. “What ken ye of what she has done?”

  “Nae much,” Callum said. “She simply told me she had done awful things—things she hoped would be forgiven.”

  Broch grunted. “She did nae make wise choices, ’tis true. Yet Iain kens she did nae do anything more than what any woman would have done when she discovered the bairn she thought dead was actually alive. Her da told Marsaili that he would only reveal where he had sent her child—”

  “My child, as well,” Callum interrupted, his anger at the Campbell roiling in him like a violent wave.

  “Aye, yer child, as well. She was ordered to learn which nobles the king intended to take castles from next and get the information to her da. His goal was to make the Steward’s position stronger so that his position under the Steward would grow stronger, too. He meant to use Marsaili to make this happen.”

  Callum curled his hands into fists. Marsaili had felt she had no choice but to betray the king, but the king would likely not care about that. “Does the king ken what she did?”