Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Her eyes wouldn’t open. Marguerite felt a man’s body against hers, and she snuggled instinctively into his warm skin. Inside, her stomach was aching from lack of food, but she lacked the strength to speak.

She’d glimpsed the peaceful Heaven that awaited her, and the temptation to leave behind the pain and suffering was strong. But he kept talking to her, telling her stories about his boyhood. The familiar voice was chaining her to him, pulling her away from Death’s arms.

“Marguerite.” The voice of Callum broke through her reverie, reaching toward her. She felt his lips against hers, and a cool liquid entered her mouth. Was it water? She tried to taste it, and when she moved her lips, she heard his encouragement.

“Drink, a ghràidh,“ he urged. “That’s it.”

The sweetness of the water reminded her of the waterfalls from the mountains. Clear and pure, it quenched her thirst. Though she couldn’t yet open her eyes, the touch of Callum’s mouth captivated her.

Something else moved against her mouth, and she tasted a broth. This time, she drank too fast, and choked. She coughed to clear her throat, and he rubbed her back, trying to help.

At last, she opened her eyes and saw him holding her. Callum’s face held weariness, and his long black hair hung against his shoulders.

“You look terrible,” she managed. As if he’d been imprisoned once more, his face was gaunt, the sleeplessness etched in the shadows beneath his eyes. “You ought to bathe.”

The thankfulness eased across his face in a relieved smile. “I’ll let you bathe me, a ghràidh, when you’ve regained your strength.”

With that, he gathered her in his arms and held her close. In his embrace, she felt the fierce love, and she tried to lift her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry to have been so much trouble,” she said. “I don’t remember what happened after I jumped from the ship.”

“You spent hours without shelter,” he told her. “I didn’t find you until morning, and you nearly died.”

“I remember . . . how cold I was.” The exertion of speaking was starting to hurt, and she rested her head against him.

“You’re safe now. We brought you back to Glen Arrin.” There was a gruffness in his voice and a moment later, he sat up, tucking her into the bed. “When you’ve recovered, you’re going to wed me.”

“I am?” Her voice was weak, but his proclamation amused her. “You’re not going to ask me?”

“No.” He rested both hands on her shoulders. “If I have to chain you to my side, I’ll be wedding you. You won’t have a choice in this, Marguerite.” His expression had darkened, and she saw the suffering he’d endured over the past few days.

“I love you,” he said. The words washed over her, filling her with light that pushed away the shadows of the past. Callum’s eyes held the look of a man who would worship her for the rest of her life. And it was enough.

Lifting her hands to his face, she drew him down to kiss her. It was a kiss of welcome, of a promise to stay with him.

“I will marry you,” she promised. “Nothing would give me greater happiness.”

The wedding was delayed by the early birth of Laren’s twins. Marguerite was enchanted by the tiny infants, and when Alex handed her his newborn daughter to hold, she felt awkward and clumsy.

The girl’s head was no larger than her palm, and when she tucked the sleeping infant beneath her chin, she marveled at the soft skin. Callum came up behind her and drew his arms around her waist. “She’s a wee one, isn’t she?”

“She’s beautiful. I’m half-afraid I’ll drop her.”

“If you’re wanting me to, I could give you one of those,” he offered against her ear. “Tonight, after we wed.”

At the reminder, Marguerite’s face flushed. It had been weeks since she’d first lain with him, and she sensed that he would be insatiable once they were together again. She kissed the babe upon her forehead, and passed her back to Laren.

To Callum, she murmured, “I wouldn’t mind having a child.” Standing on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear, “I cannot wait until this night.”

She deliberately let her lips graze against his ear, and Callum took her hand, starting to lead her away. Marguerite laughed at his eagerness. “Not now,” she protested. “I want to go and visit with Nairna.”

“She can wait.” Callum continued walking, ignoring his brother and Laren. Marguerite blushed, for she’d only just regained her strength a few days ago. He wasn’t planning to . . . seduce her, was he? In spite of her attempt to remain calm, she wanted to feel his hands upon her, to surrender her body beneath his.

“Where are we going?” she asked, trying to sound calmer than she felt.

“To see the house I built for you.” Callum led her outside the fortress, into the hills. The sun was shining, and it would only be hours until the visiting priest arrived. Then, they could marry and enjoy feasting with the rest of the clan.

He led her past the small gathering of huts, toward the pathway that led into the forest. About a mile into the woods, she saw a small clearing with a newly finished thatched house. The smell of fresh wood shavings made her smile, and he led her inside, showing her the hearth and the bed against the far wall.

“When we have children, we’ll make it larger,” he promised. “But for now . . .” In his expression, she saw the shadow of regret, as if he’d wanted to give her more.

“It’s perfect,” she said, moving into his arms. And it was. She didn’t care that it was nothing but a simple home with four walls and a roof. It reminded her of the forbidden days they’d spent together in the forest, and she knew they could be happy here.

But though she drew her arms around Callum to kiss him, she couldn’t let go of the sense of unrest. She’d fought hard to love this man and share her life with him. Yet, the shadow of fear lurked within her.

His mouth came over her lips in a fierce kiss, his hands moving down her spine. “Tonight, you won’t sleep, Marguerite. For I’ll be inside you, showing you all the ways I love you.”

She couldn’t catch her breath as his tongue invaded, stroking hers with sensual promise. Her body seemed to melt into his, wanting more.

“I’m going to touch you all the ways I’ve been dreaming about, these past few weeks,” he swore.

The length of his body rose hard against her, pressing at the juncture of her thighs. She lifted her leg against him, her heart pounding faster as his hand moved under her skirts, feeling for the bare flesh. His rough palms moved over her bottom, and when he reached between her legs, she felt two of his fingers pushing inside her.

A ragged curse came from him as he rubbed her intimately. “You’re wet for me, Marguerite. God above, I could sheathe myself in you right now.”

In answer, she reached for his trews, stroking the thick heat of him through the wool. He withdrew and entered his fingers in a slow rhythm, making her close her eyes as the sweet torment claimed her.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “Look into my eyes while I touch you. I want to see you come apart.”

She clung to his shoulders for balance, a sigh escaping as her body strained against his touch. Over and over, he moved his hand, his fingers caressing deep within. The ecstasy was making her tremble, her breathing coming in short pants as he thrust again and again.

She moved against him, seeking the pleasure he was trying to give, until finally, his hand moved in a faster rhythm, shattering her apart. Her release was a shimmering ecstasy that convulsed within her. She reached for him, wanting desperately to give him the same fulfillment.

“Callum!” came a shout.

The dangerous look in her lover’s eyes made her lower her leg. “I may have to murder my younger brother, sweet. Stay here while I go and kill him for interrupting us.”

Marguerite straightened her skirts and sat down on the bed, hardly able to stand. “Quickly, then,” she answered with a smile. Inside, her body was molten, aching for him. She tried to calm herself and when she heard their voices outside, she wondered what this was about. A moment later, Callum returned to her and retrieved his bow and a quiver of arrows.

The look upon his face was harsh and unforgiving. The foreboding within her stomach took root and swelled. “What is it?” she whispered.

“Soldiers gathering from the west.”

Her heart sank, and the tremulous fear rose up so hard, she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. “English?” she ventured.

He shook his head slowly. “It’s your father’s men, come to invade Glen Arrin. Stay here, Marguerite. Whatever happens, don’t leave this house.”

Callum rode out with his brothers, cold rage cloaking his mood. He didn’t know what had prompted the Duc to make this journey, but he intended to face down the man and make him leave.

It was better if he believed Marguerite was dead. No doubt the Duc had come to make sure of it.

He joined with Alex and Bram, while Dougal stayed with the women. The other clansmen armed themselves, positioned on every side of the fortress. There had been time to evacuate the rest of the women and children to Bram’s house at the top of the hillside.

“Do they know she’s here?” Alex asked.

Callum could only shake his head. “Let them believe that she’s dead. It’s her only hope of gaining her freedom.”

“Where is Marguerite now?”

“She’s hidden in the forest in our house.” He drew his horse forward, riding toward the army of men. It infuriated him that the Duc would come this night, the night that they were meant to marry. Was there no way the man would ever let them be?

“Steady your temper, brother,” Alex warned.

Bram came along the opposite side, his expression grim. “The priest is with them.”

Callum let out a curse. If they’d found the priest, then the man might have confessed the truth, that Marguerite was here and they would be married tonight.

“Somehow, I don’t believe the Duc came to witness our marriage,” he said. More likely to prevent it.

But still, he kept moving forward until the army spread out. He reached into his quiver for a black-feathered arrow, and nocked it to his bowstring. Let them come, if they would.

“What do you want to do?” Alex asked.

“Allow them to make the first move.” Callum kept the arrow fitted, waiting for the Duc to make his decision. “We’ll make no assumptions until we know why they’re here.”

The soldiers behind him were armed for a battle. They wore chainmail armor, and all had spears, bows, and other weapons. A second row of horsemen stood, prepared for a fight.

Neither army moved, and time slowed as they stared at one another. Callum realized that the Duc would not believe him if he claimed Marguerite was not here. He would turn over every stone, searching in every house until they found her.

He didn’t want to kill Marguerite’s father or be placed in a position where he had no choice but to take the Duc's life. The silence weighed upon both sides, but a quarter of an hour later, movement attracted their attention.

Callum saw a group of women walking in the space between the two sides. Nairna had changed into a loose-fitting gown of silk, and she struggled to walk with her swollen belly. Her hair was braided back with flowers woven into the strands. Beside her Laren walked even more slowly, carrying both babies. Though Alex’s wife had her arms full, she, too, was clad in wedding finery. Behind them, he could see nothing but the glint of golden hair.

His heart sank, for Marguerite had ignored his command. Why would she do this?

She walked slowly, each step filled with purpose. Nairna and Laren had helped her prepare herself, and Marguerite wore her hair down around her shoulders. They had combed it for her, crowning her with a wreath of heather and gorse. Around her throat, she wore the blue pendant, and her gown was the same shade of sapphire. A golden girdle hung against her hips, and her feet were barefoot on the summer grass.

Marguerite had told Nairna and Laren of her plan, and though it was a risk, it was all she had. Something had to be done before fighting broke out. And although she had made her decision to stay with Callum, no matter what happened, she would do everything in her power to prevent bloodshed.

“They look as if they’re going to kill each other,” Laren murmured, clutching her children tightly to her breast.

“They won’t dare attack with us between them,” Marguerite said.

When her father caught sight of her, his visage transformed. There was immense relief, followed by anger and renewed determination.

She continued walking, until she stood before his horse. Then she held out her hands as if to greet him. “Will you come and accept my kiss of welcome, Father?”

Her father did not dismount. Instead, he stared at her. “I thought you were dead.”

“I almost died,” she agreed. “Callum found me and brought me back here.” She turned her attention to the priest, who was riding a mule nearby. “I hope that you have come to join in our wedding celebration.”

“I will not celebrate your marriage to a common Scot.”

Callum rode up at that moment. The look of vengeance that passed between him and her father made her uneasy, so she offered, “Will you accept our hospitality and continue our discussion in private?”

The Duc said nothing, and his silence stood as a refusal. Marguerite wondered if she would ever break through to him. She reached up and took Callum’s hand. When her father still did not speak, she added, “Your men may wish to refresh themselves in the castle. If that is agreeable to you, Laren?” she asked the Lady of Glen Arrin.

Alex’s wife held on to her babies and nodded. “So long as they leave their weapons behind.”

Her father looked as if he wanted to openly attack the fortress, but Callum met his unspoken threat with a promise of his own.

“I will speak to you, Marguerite,” the Duc agreed at last. “But not with him.”

“You will speak to both of us. Or not at all,” she countered.

They were at an impasse and her father looked as if he’d rather give the command to attack.

“I was willing to face death than live without Callum,” she said quietly. “If need be, I will face it again.”

Her father’s hardened expression held disbelief. He stared at her, as if trying to guess whether she would follow through with her threat. Callum dismounted and brought his hand around her waist. At his side, she faced the Duc, waiting for his response.

“Please,” she asked gently. “If you love me at all.”

There was no expression on his face, but eventually, he drew his horse forward in a walk, refusing to lower himself. She led him into the fortress, not at all knowing what she would say to him.

Nairna busied herself with getting the Duc wine and food, while Laren began changing the orders for the feast to accommodate more guests. Marguerite held on to Callum’s hand, but in his grasp, she felt the tension. He wasn’t about to negotiate with the Duc—he was well past that point. She had to intercede before they killed each other.

When they reached the Hall, the Duc refused to sit. Instead, he stood and faced her. With a discreet signal, Callum ordered the others out. Then he stood at her side and waited.

Marguerite squared her shoulders and faced her father. Though she tried to keep her expression calm, her insides felt like ice.

“You let me believe you were dead,” he raged. “Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

She saw the pain in his eyes and the anger that went deeper into his heart. “I am sorry that it had to be this way. But you never heard what I had to say. You dismissed my feelings and behaved as if I didn’t matter.

“And when you made me drink the potion, I realized that you were never going to hear what I had to say. You wanted what you believed was best for me. Never what I wanted.”

She let go of Callum’s hand and said, “When you are ready to see that I am happy here, that I am loved by this man, you are welcome to join in our celebration this night.” With a step toward the Duc, she said, “For this night, you could be my father again. Not my enemy.”

The Duc studied her, his face intent. “And what have you to say, MacKinloch? I presume you can still speak.”

“Thanks to Marguerite, yes.” He came forward and rested his hands upon her shoulders. “You and I may never come to an agreement. But I would slay a thousand enemies to protect your daughter. I would give my life for hers, and I swear I will make her happy.”

His words filled her with such joy, Marguerite stepped back into his embrace, bringing his arms around her. “Let me go, Father.”

The Duc said nothing, watching her. In the space of a few moments, he seemed to age, his expression holding bitterness. “I always wanted the best for you.”

“I’ve found my own happiness. And if you would only bend your convictions, you’d see that.”

“You would truly turn your back on your birthright?” he asked. “On all the wealth you would have possessed?”

She reached up and touched the flowers in her hair. “These will be my jewels now.” Stepping away from Callum, she asked, “Will you not put aside your anger?” She closed the space between them, reaching up to touch her father’s cheeks. “For this night, simply be happy for me.”

“And what of the earl? A betrothal cannot be so easily broken, Marguerite.”

“He helped me to the shore,” she admitted. “I let him go, just as he released me.” At his doubt, she added, “He knows, Father.”

The Duc reached out and took her hand. In that moment, he looked so weary, she didn’t know what to believe. “I suppose he must have. Someone pulled up the anchor and the ship drifted for miles before we realized it." He squeezed her palm and reached out to touch her hair. “You look so much like your mother, ma petite.”

She sent him a blinding smile, understanding the apology he had not spoken.