Chapter Fourteen

"What the blazing hell happened to him?" Rebbie asked, staring down at the bloody corpse of MacFadden, mostly covered in a plaid. But from what he could see, his throat and one of his arms looked mangled.

" 'Twas the wolves, m'laird ," one of the guards said, his face a grimace of disgust. "We came upon them in the wood. Had to scare the depraved beasts off the poor bastard."

"Damnation." Rebbie ground his teeth. What a horrible fate for the man. Aye, he was a traitor and caused Calla to be captured and hurt, but Rebbie had never wished this sort of gruesome death on him. And of course, now he couldn't question MacFadden about Claybourne's plans.

"We also found this lying a few feet from the body." The guard handed him a heavy sack of coins.

Rebbie frowned. 'Twas a lot of coin for a man such as MacFadden to be carrying about. He opened it and found large gold and silver coins, along with a small piece of folded parchment. He took it out and read it, rage crawling through his veins. A note in which Claybourne promised to pay MacFadden ten-thousand pounds if he rescued Lady Stanbury, his betrothed.

Bastards. A lot of good this scheming had done either of them.

"Does MacFadden have family hereabouts?" Rebbie asked.

"Aye, a cousin in the village. We sent a man to tell her."

Rebbie nodded. He would use this pouch of coins to pay for any burial expenses required, then he would divide the rest between the family of the guard MacFadden had killed, the guards who had brought MacFadden in, and his cousin.

The guards wrapped the plaid tightly about MacFadden's body and carried him through the gates, toward the village.

"Hell," Rebbie muttered, wishing he could dispel the sense of grisly dread hanging over the place along with the gray morning mist.

***

Mistress Hillman bustled into Calla's bedchamber carrying a tray of food. "A good morn to you, m'lady," she said in a somber tone.

"Good morn. Is everything all right?" She'd wondered at the housekeeper's distressed tone earlier just before Rebbie had rushed out.

"Well, I suppose I can tell you since he was the cause of you being kidnapped and injured. MacFadden is dead."

"In truth? Who killed him?"

The housekeeper frowned, looking worried. "I'd best let the laird tell you what happened."

"Very well." Calla was unsure how she felt about MacFadden being dead. He was an odd man, to be sure, and he'd tricked her into going outside so Claybourne's men could snatch her. But she hadn't imagined someone would kill him for it.

"And how are you feeling this morn?"

"Better." Calla pushed herself up and sat back against the pillows. 'Twas true, her head didn't pain her as much.

Mistress Hillman placed the tray containing a wooden bowl of porridge, bread, and a cup of ale before her. "Do you think you can manage it?"

"Aye. I thank you."

"Oh, no thanks necessary, my dear." The housekeeper's kind and affectionate tone touched Calla. "We're glad to have a lady in the castle again and we're hoping the laird makes you the official lady of the castle very soon."

Calla's face heated. Instead of commenting, she took a bite of the porridge. 'Twas indeed bland, but she supposed 'twas for the best considering her stomach was not in the best condition after her head injury and the dizziness.

Mistress Hillman straightened the items on the bedside table. " 'Tis clear to me he cares for you a great deal."

Calla shrugged, though the very thought that Rebbie might care for her near made her giddy.

"And you care for him, do you not?"

She could not lie. "Aye. He is a good man."

"That he is. And he's in need of a lady wife. You two make a fine looking pair."

Unsure how to respond to that, she kept silent and ate faster.

"I think I'll speak to his father about it."

Calla almost choked before she got the bite of bread down. "Oh. Nay, I wish you wouldn't. ' Twould be very awkward." She well knew that Laird Kilverntay would never wish his son to marry her. His dark look of disapproval said it all. He wanted Rebbie to marry an innocent young virgin with a large dowry. Calla hadn't been one of those in many years, nor did she wish to be. She loved being a mother. And of course she had no property, dowry or otherwise.

"Well… I suppose I'll just have to have faith, and pray that Laird Rebbinglen comes to his senses and marries you. Why, you should've seen him after you disappeared last night. He was beside himself, woke the whole castle, he did, demanding that you be found." Mistress Hillman shook her head, a mist of tears in her eyes. "And when he returned, carrying you in his arms as if you were the most precious treasure on earth…." She blinked and dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. "You should've seen the look on his face, m'lady."

Calla was near speechless. She dropped her gaze and cleared her throat, uncertain how she felt about all of this. Her heart danced with delight at the mere thought that Rebbie might care for her more than he did any other woman, but at the same time, she knew naught could come of it. Too many circumstances, and people, stood against them.

***

While Calla rested and recovered, Rebbie attended Graham's—the guard MacFadden had killed—funeral in the wee village kirk, not too far from the castle. Rebbie left before MacFadden's funeral, which was to follow it.

MacFadden was to be buried in the kirk yard with a view of Tummel Castle in the distance. Rebbie could well imagine the troubled man's spirit haunting the place and gazing out toward the beloved castle, but never able to possess what he coveted most.

Rebbie truly did feel sorry for the man. At one point, he'd almost liked him, but then he'd proven himself a malicious traitor by leading Calla out to Claybourne. He wished things could've turned out differently. Wished, most of all, that Calla hadn't been hurt.

Walking alone back to Tummel through the cool, damp air, he prayed Calla would heal and return to normal very soon. He'd come so close to losing her, he couldn't even comprehend….

One thing was certain—she was precious to him. He knew not when he'd become so attached to her, but sleeping with her last night, he'd felt like he was home for the first time in many years. He'd needed naught more than to hold her, inhale her feminine scent, and listen to her breathing.

After they'd broken their fast that morn, he'd gone back into Calla's room and told her how MacFadden had died. He knew ' twould frighten her because Calla and Rebbie had almost been attacked by wolves as well. She was terrified of the creatures, and rightly so. 'Twas not safe for anyone to go wandering about alone.

When Rebbie passed through the portcullis and approached the castle, someone yelled out, "What is this, Robert?"

Rebbie found his father standing at the corner of the castle where the new tower was being constructed. He shifted direction and headed toward him.

" 'Tis a new tower MacFadden started."

His father gave him a perplexed look.

"I ken what you're thinking. He was a bit mad."

" Hmph . Well, at least you don't have to finish it."

Rebbie studied the fine stonework of the half tower, obviously created by a skilled mason. "I want to."

"Why?"

"MacFadden convinced me of its value. 'Twill improve the castle. I plan to spend time here in the future. The hunting in autumn will be good. I'll need more bedchambers for all my guests."

He shrugged. " 'Tis up to you. Your grandfather—your mother's father—owned the castle and had a great fondness for it. I'm sure such a thing would've pleased him."

Rebbie nodded, remembering Papa Stewart and his long white beard.

"Take a walk with me, son. I think we should talk."

Guessing what his father wanted to talk about, Rebbie ground his teeth. "Very well."

Once beyond the portcullis, they strode along the glimmering loch's edge where the grazing sheep had nipped the grass short. The leaden clouds overhead matched Rebbie's mood.

"What is going on between you and Lady Stanbury?" his father asked.

Of course, he'd known the conversation would be about her. "Is it not obvious? I'm helping her. Trying to keep her safe from that knave, Claybourne."

" 'Tis not all. You're bedding her as well. I ken you're still sowing your wild oats, but you must consider that she is the cousin and companion of the woman you are to marry. 'Twill surely cause strife."

Annoyance bordering on anger heated Rebbie's veins. "As I've said already, I won't be marrying Lady Elena. I was on my way to tell Barclay that when I had to rescue Lady Stanbury."

"So, you intend to marry her ?" His father flung a hand toward the castle.

"I've not decided to marry anyone as of yet," he snapped. "I see no need to rush into anything."

"Rush? Ha!" His father raised a dark brow. "I've ne'er seen such a procrastinator."

Damnation. Rebbie wanted to pull his own hair out, but he allowed his father to see none of his frustration. "I don't want to be like you, marrying four times. I but want to marry one time."

His father shrugged, obviously trying to pretend Rebbie's comment hadn't bothered him. "Well, if you decide to marry that one, you'll not gain any dowry."

"I'm well aware."

"And if you do break the contract with Barclay, you must pay whatever he asks. He's a friend and I'll not make an enemy of him."

Rebbie glared. "Although you should be the one paying him in recompense, since you signed the damned contract, I will do it. 'Tis a matter of honor to me."

His father narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying I'm not honorable?"

"You didn't keep your word to me. I didn't realize we'd need a signed contract between us saying I would choose my own bride."

"Robert." He sighed. "I've indulged you the whole of your life, giving you anything you wished. I was at my wit's end. 'Tis a father's responsibility to find spouses for their children. For years, I've searched for the most advantageous match for you. You rejected two dukes' daughters. At least a half dozen earls' daughters. All you want to do is gallivant across kingdom and continent."

He hated that his father saw him as little more than a wastrel. "I value my freedom. 'Tis not a crime."

"Nay, but I lie awake nights, worrying," his father said in a tired voice. "What if you get killed in some senseless skirmish with your friends? What if I die? What if you never sire a son? We are the last two males in a direct line to the first Marquess of Kilverntay . Four hundred years of MacInnis history is entwined with Scotland's history and 'tis important to me. I would like to think our ancestors would be proud of what we've accomplished, what we've added to the titles and estates. Sometimes I get the feeling you don't care one whit about any of that."

Damnation, he detested when his father talked this way, as if Rebbie didn't deserve a life outside of his duty or his title. And he well knew his father had hoped to sire more sons, but Henrietta had given him four daughters instead. "I do. I value our history."

His father threw up his hands. "So you say, but I've seen no evidence of it."

"I care about it, but 'tis not the most important thing on earth to me."

"Of course! You care far more about traveling to the ends of the earth with your friends, seducing the lasses, and gambling, than about our proud heritage."

Rebbie didn't see it that way at all. His father made him sound like a frivolous gallant. But he'd had good reason for traveling with his friends. They'd needed his help and he was glad to provide it. He valued those friendships highly. "Lachlan and Dirk are like brothers to me, and they needed my help. 'Twas why I traveled with them. Mayhap you cannot understand that. And if not, I'm sorry I've been a disappointment to you. 'Twas never my intention."

Studying him, his father drew his mouth into a thin line. "Not a disappointment, son. I'm proud of you. 'Tis only… I wish so much more for you. I want only the best of everything for you. That is why I've searched out the highest-ranking, most beautiful bride for you."

"I thank you and I know you meant well, but 'tis not always the best way to find a bride."

His father's brows drew together. "How would you know how to find a bride?"

"I've watched my friends. Lachlan, Dirk, Keegan… they're happy with their wives. Some people suit well, and others don't."

"So, you want to fall in love, do you? I didn't realize you're a romantic," his father said dryly.

Rebbie shrugged. He only knew marriage should be a joy, not a burden.

His father inhaled deeply and studied him. "You're already in love with her," he said in a calm voice. Lifting a brow, he waited. "Are you not? 'Twas obvious, the way you rode out hell-bent last night."

Rebbie would never admit such a thing to his father. Besides, he didn't know as of yet. 'Twas true he could not get enough of her. Most likely, he was smitten, but did that mean he loved her? He didn't comprehend his own feelings. "I care about her. People have mistreated her and she deserves so much better."

His father looked annoyed and exhausted. "And what does that mean?"

"I intend to keep protecting her from that bastard, Claybourne! Her husband owed a huge debt to the man and was unable to pay it before he passed. Claybourne now wants to take Lady Stanbury hostage and… you can guess the rest, given how beautiful she is."

His father nodded and grimaced.

"I'll kill him if he comes near her again."

"Is he a powerful man?"

"He's a wealthy merchant and an untitled laird, simply because he owns land. I know very little about him."

His father shook his head. "Well, you can't depend on a woman like her for your heir. Claybourne had her captured. He could've raped her. She might well be carrying his bastard."

"Nay. She said Claybourne didn't rape her."

"Well, of course she's going to say that. She's trying to trap a wealthy earl in her web."

Rebbie let out an annoyed breath. "She's not like that."

"Love is blind, son. Love is blind."

Rebbie tensed, his teeth clenching. "I'm sure you would know."

"Indeed, I do."

Rebbie snorted, knowing full well his father had loved none of the women he'd ever married or bedded.

"I loved your mother," his father said in a quiet tone. He gazed forlornly out over the loch for a long moment, his dark eyes glinting with the painful memory. "I could never forget her. I tried, as you ken. But, in truth, none of the other women could measure up to her."

Rebbie crossed his arms over his suddenly aching chest. "Why have you never told me this?" Such knowledge would've meant a lot to him. And he would've regarded his father with a lot more respect when it came to his four marriages.

His father shook his head. " 'Twas too hard to talk about her. Besides, you wouldn't have understood. But now, I think you might." At the edge of the loch, he paced away, leaving Rebbie feeling restless and annoyed.

***

Although Calla didn't truly want to, she joined Rebbie and his father at the high table for supper that evening. Of course, she wanted to eat with Rebbie, but his father had been casting a critical and displeased eye upon her since his arrival. He had a stern look about him with those silver streaks running through his dark hair.

"I hope you're feeling better this eve, Lady Stanbury," Kilverntay said, taking the chair beside hers. Though his words were polite, they were not exactly friendly. And with those dark eyes, he scrutinized her.

"Aye, my headache is not quite as severe."

He gave a slight nod. "I hope MacGrath and Draughon will find your son unharmed."

"I thank you."

Rebbie sat on her other side, thank goodness. Still, her head pounded again, simply because she sat so close to his father. She was always aware he was a powerful marquess and member of parliament who could easily turn her life into a living hell if he knew her secret. She prayed he would never find out.

"Lachlan and Alasdair will determine where the lad is," Rebbie said in a reassuring tone and squeezed her hand beneath the table. "If Claybourne has him, they'll do everything in their power to rescue him."

"I know." She prayed Claybourne had never set eyes on Jamie and that he wouldn't need rescuing.

She loved the feel of Rebbie's warm hand around hers, but it was too soon gone as their food was served.

"This Claybourne must be a madman," Kilverntay grumbled. "How much do you owe him?"

Heat washed over Calla and she wanted to vanish beneath the table. Rebbie must have told him of the debt, the reason for Claybourne attempting to abduct her.

"Da, 'tis not something the lady wishes to discuss," Rebbie chided.

"I beg your pardon," Kilverntay said in a sincere but annoyed tone. " 'Twas rude of me to ask," he added dryly and began eating.

Had Rebbie told him he intended to pay off Claybourne? Or did he think she'd latched onto Rebbie because of his wealth? She'd been accused of using men for their money since she was a lass of fifteen, and she was well and truly sick of the assumption. Calla forced herself to take a bite of bread, hoping it would settle her queasy stomach.

"Who is your son's guardian since his father passed?" Kilverntay asked.

Calla chewed and swallowed. "The Earl of Glenhaven ."

"Ah. A decent choice."

Regardless, she'd had no say in the matter. Stanbury alone had made the decision. Not that she knew of anyone better to act as male guardian to her son. "His wife is Stanbury's sister."

"I see."

Calla cut a bite of roast venison, put it into her mouth and chewed, praying the man would cease his prying chatter.

"What do you think of my son?" Kilverntay asked. "He is quite a catch, is he not?"

Calla almost choked. She coughed, swallowed and took a sip of wine. Oh, dear Lord. Was the man determined to embarrass her at every turn?

"Da!" Rebbie growled.

"Pray pardon. What must we talk about, then? You choose the topic."

Rebbie blew out a hard breath. "Naught. 'Tis best that we simply eat."

"How dull," his father muttered.

The air around her was fraught with tension, but Calla forced down a few more bites, despite her headache. Finally, she said, "If you will both excuse me, I think I will lie down again. The pain in my head has returned."

"Of course. I'll escort you." Rebbie stood and offered his arm.

"Goodnight, my lady," Kilverntay said.

Taking Rebbie's arm, she ground her teeth. How could he and his father be so different? In disposition, Rebbie must have taken after his mother.

Upstairs, Rebbie lingered in the corridor for a moment before he opened her bedchamber door. "I'm sorry my father is being such a beast." His soothing tone went a long way in calming her agitated nerves.

" 'Tis not your fault."

"He has no manners."

"He's trying to protect you… from me." She sent him a tight smile.

With soulful dark eyes, Rebbie studied her in the dimness. "I don't want or need protection from you." He leaned down and kissed her lips softly, briefly, then pulled back a few inches. "Does your head pain you terribly?"

"Not as much now. 'Twas the tension." What she wanted now was for him to kiss her again, but 'twas a foolish thought. She needed to focus on recovering.

He opened her door. "Get some rest. I'll send a maid in to help you."

"Very well."

When he leaned in for another kiss, she wondered if he could read her mind. This kiss was gentle, but more than a peck, and it grew hotter by the moment. His tongue teased at her lips and she gladly gave into his wishes, for 'twas the same thing she craved. He delved into her mouth, moaned, then drew back, breaking the kiss too soon.

" 'Tis time for you to rest," he murmured.

She nodded and stepped into the room. Once the door was closed between them, she leaned against it and stared into the near darkness of the cool room. Touching her burning lips, she hungered for more of him. His hot, hard body sliding against her own. She yearned for him to come back later and sleep with her.

***

After his father retired for the night, Rebbie slipped to Calla's chamber and knocked on the door. That kiss earlier had made him crave far more, but he well knew she was not up to any sort of bedsport . Still, he wished to see her before going to sleep.

Calla opened the door a crack to peer out at him, then smiled and opened it wider.

"I wanted to tell you goodnight."

"Do you want to come in?" she asked, looking far too inviting in her ivory smock and dressing gown.

"You ken I do." He entered and closed the door behind him. "How does your head feel?"

"Better, now. Mistress Hillman gave me some willow bark tea."

He nodded, loving the way she was observing him, with interest, though she tried to hide it. He was surprised to realize he could easily tell when she wanted a kiss, simply from her expression and the heated look in her darkening eyes. He wanted to sleep here with her again, but knew he would have a devil of a time keeping his hands off her. Last night, he'd been fearful of how bad her injury was. Tonight, she was much recovered, thank the saints, but not enough for physical exertion.

He easily saw her blush in the candlelight. Did she know what he was thinking? He wanted to do naught but pick her up, deposit her on the bed and kiss her until she was breathless. Then make love to her for the rest of the night. But he couldn't. Shoving a hand into his hair, he paced to the fireplace. Seeing it was burning low, he knelt and added two pieces of wood.

He drew in a deep breath and tried to clear his mind of the lust crowding it. "I'd like to head back to Draughon the day after tomorrow. Do you think you'll feel well enough by then?" He stood and faced her.

"Aye. I have a knot on my head and my shoulder is still sore, but otherwise I feel almost normal. I'd like to go as soon as possible to see how Jamie is."

He could only imagine how it must feel to have a son who might be in danger. "You must be very worried."

"I am, but I trust Lachlan and his brother to help him."

"They will do everything in their power."

Her brows drew together in an anxious frown. "Mayhap we could leave in the morn."

He stroked a thumb gently across her cheek. "Are you certain you're up to it?"

"Aye."

"We'll see how you feel in the morn. In the meantime, get some sleep." He kissed her forehead and inhaled her clean scent of lavender and roses. He wanted to kiss her lips… and every inch of her, but he couldn't. He drew back, bid her goodnight and forced himself to leave the room, unsure if he would get any sleep himself for wanting her.

***

The next morn, Mistress Hillman was in tears at their departure. She'd had the servants prepare extra foods they could eat while traveling, including bannocks, apples, plums, dried venison, hard yellow cheese and bread.

The housekeeper pulled Rebbie aside and spoke in a low voice. "Now, m'laird , you must not let that sweet, beautiful lady slip through your fingers. She is a keeper, that one." She blinked back tears.

" Och , Mistress Hillman, you are a dear." Refusing to respond to her heartfelt words, he kissed her on both cheeks. "I trust that you will keep the castle in order until I return."

"Of course, of course! I'll make certain 'tis spotless."

"I thank you. I'll have supplies sent."

She followed them outside and after she'd hugged Calla one last time, he lifted her to his horse, then mounted himself.

"You remember what I said, lad," Mistress Hillman called out to him and waved her drooping white hanky.

"I will, indeed." He winked.

Aye, Calla was a keeper. He agreed with that. He now wondered if it would ever feel right again to ride his horse alone, without her warmth against his back, and her slender arms around his waist. He stroked her clasped hands.

His father rode beside them, while his retainers and some of Lachlan's who'd stayed to help, rode behind them. Almost twenty, in all.

Multiple times, he asked Calla how she felt and each time she replied that she was well. He hoped she wasn't lying to him, for he was still concerned about her injury.

Rebbie was happy to see they didn't run into Claybourne, nor did any wolves attempt to attack them in the ruin as they tried to sleep that night. He got only a few hours himself, then awoke to the dawn light shining upon Calla's bright hair on the opposite side of the cold fire pit. Unmoving, he watched her sleep for a few minutes, so beautiful with her long lashes resting against her cheeks. The dark circles beneath her eyes told him she'd not had enough time to rest and recover, but he well knew she would do anything for her son, even travel before she should.

Her lovely full lips, relaxed in sleep, lured and tempted him. He'd love to steal a kiss this morn, but didn't know how he could with so many men about. For the moment, 'twas enough to simply watch her.

His heart pounded hard against his chest and the deep yearning he'd felt hints of during the last few days grew to extraordinary proportions. Hell! He didn't like emotions. Didn't understand them. He only knew if he and Calla were alone here in this ruin, he'd pull her into his arms and hold her close, warm her. And he'd be happy, lying on a dirt floor with the Scottish breeze wafting through the open windows. Aye, in that moment he knew, all he required for happiness was Calla beside him.

God's teeth! He'd surely gone daft. He turned onto his back and stared up at the vaulted stone ceiling, grinning like a madman.

Calla.

Did he love her? Damnation, man, don't think such thoughts.

Turning his head, he studied her again, so bonny and angelic in sleep. He inhaled deeply, trying to dislodge the tight, vice-like grip on his chest.

I might love her. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a curse beneath his breath. Having never experienced the emotion before, he knew not what love was. He was like a blind man blundering through a forest, stumbling over rocks and fallen trees. He hoped he didn't happen upon a bog or river and drown… figuratively speaking, of course.

Frowning, he recalled that he still didn't understand the secrets he glimpsed lurking in her eyes sometimes. At Draughon , he would try to uncover them. And after he broke the betrothal to Lady Elena, he might consider… Nay, don't even think it. He pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He was not yet ready for marriage, was he?

Too antsy to remain still, he shoved himself to his feet and strode outside. After he relieved himself behind the bushes, he washed his hands and face in the icy stream, then checked on Devil, grazing with the rest of the horses and two of the guards watching over them.

After speaking to the two men, he drew the cool morning air deeply into his lungs, trying to dispel the damnable raw emotions churning within his chest. Was this what Lachlan had experienced when he'd married Angelique, and then Dirk when he'd tried to keep away from Isobel after he'd rescued her? Damnation, no wonder they'd been grumpy and temperamental arses .

After breaking their fast on the day-old bannocks, Rebbie and their whole party quickly mounted and headed south again. Calla was withdrawn and quiet, and his irritable father looked as if he'd gotten little sleep on the hard-packed floor of the ruin. 'Twas obvious they all simply wanted the trip over with. Rebbie knew he did.

When a light rain started an hour later, it only added to their misery. But at least their wool plaids and Calla's wool cloak would shed some of the water. Getting wet wouldn't affect him much, but Calla might not be as used to it. He hoped she didn't catch an ague .

The closer they rode to Draughon Village, the tenser he became, expecting Claybourne and his men to leap from the wood on either side of the trail and attempt to snatch Calla away from him. He didn't know what the bastard might do next, but Rebbie sensed that he wasn't finished in his efforts to get his hands on Calla.