She handed him the arrow and ordered, "Either go after her or stop sulking." A smile warmed her expression, a blend of sisterly love and her own frustration.
She was right. He'd stood back and let Marguerite go, without raising a single protest. It was the mark of a coward, and God knew, he wasn't that.
But how would he ever convince a duke's daughter to come away with him? It was like trying to bring down the moon.
Laren's earlier suggestion, that he steal her away, resonated as a definite possibility. But would Marguerite want to leave her family and the vast wealth that she had known all her life? He couldn't imagine it.
Yet, Nairna's suggestion gave him a purpose. He could stop pacing around Glen Arrin, feeling caged by his lack of speech. No matter how impossible a task, the thought of seeing Marguerite again eased the anger within him.
And so he'd begun the quest.
Callum shielded his eyes from the sunlight, staring down at the forest below. It stretched for miles, curling around Duncraig Castle that lay tucked within the hills.
He'd never traveled to this part of Scotland before, but he'd heard from other clansmen that these lands belonged to the Duc D'Avignois, inherited from Norman ancestors. Tall square towers stood atop the hill, the imposing battlements ridged with machicolations.
At the sight of the duke's holdings, a cold emptiness cast its shadow over him. He didn't belong here, and the fist of doubt squeezed at his courage.
It had taken weeks of sending Dougal to ask questions of the neighboring clans, but thankfully it wasn't too difficult to track a French duke with over a hundred retainers.
Callum led his horse Goliath down into the woods, planning to set up his camp within the forest where no one would find him. Thus far, he had no idea how long he would stay. It depended on whether Marguerite was here or if she wanted to see him.
The darker part of his soul wanted to abduct her now, taking her away from her father's wealth, and claiming her as his own. As tempting as it was, he owed her the right to choose. The time they'd spent apart might have changed everything.
Callum studied the pathway leading into the woods, skirting the main stretch so as to avoid the castle inhabitants. The trees were thicker, making it more difficult for the horse to get through. As the shadows lengthened and the sunlight gleamed from the west, he found a small stream to water the horse and set up camp for the night.
Thoughts gnawed upon him as he delayed going to see her. His presence might not be welcome here. It might be best to spend a day watching over her, observing the castle to ensure that she was safe and happy. Besides that, even if he did approach her, he couldn't speak or give any explanation for his presence. She wouldn't understand that, for the past few months, she'd haunted his mind, tormenting him with memories.
At nightfall, he moved to the outer edges of the trees, studying the castle and its defenses. A moat encircled the structure, and thick stone walls stood taller than the height of a man. Two square towers guarded each side, and both gates were heavily guarded. He listened and heard the sound of . . . was it music?
Callum hadn't heard music in so long, the sound seemed to wend its way through the forest, drawing him closer. He kept low to the ground, hiding within the darkness, until he reached a place in the wall with a crevice small enough to see through. Inside the castle, men and women celebrated with tankards of ale, laughing amid the lilting song. Callum rested his cheek against the cool stone, taking in the sight.
It had been so long since he'd had anything at all to celebrate. Watching the people with their smiling faces made him long to be a part of it.
Especially when he spied the familiar figure he'd been searching for the last few weeks.
Marguerite's long golden hair was veiled, but it spun out as she whirled in a dance with the others. Callum saw the men watching her, and a possessive air came over him.
Seeing her again after so long was like a balm to his broken spirits. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her, and without meaning to, he started walking forward. He needed to go inside, to satisfy the need that had tormented him since the last time he'd watched her walk away.
Fate intervened when a group of men and women approached the drawbridge. Callum moved from his hiding place by the wall and drew his hood over his head. Disguised among the villagers, he entered the gates.
Marguerite danced with the other women, but her movements held less energy, as though she didn't want to be there. He drank in the sight of her, memorizing her beautiful face and the way she moved.
The music shifted again, to a softer, more plaintive tone. Marguerite stepped away from the dancing, her face flushed. As the others gathered around the musicians, she leaned back against the wall.
Callum never took his eyes from her as he moved through the crowd, keeping out of the torch lights. And when he was an arm's length from her, the sweetness of her scent pressed a dark aching through his chest. If he could stand in her shadow for the rest of his life, it would be enough.
She turned toward him, her eyes narrowed. He saw the moment she grew aware that she wasn't alone. Though he could have lowered his hood, revealing himself, he spied the Duc watching over Marguerite.
The young woman clutched her waist, taking a step back toward the people. His opportunity was disappearing, and Callum could say nothing to stop her. But he needed to tell her that he was here.
When the sound of laughter resonated from the crowd, Marguerite's attention flickered for a split moment. It was all he needed.
The swift motion caught her off-guard, and as he left the castle, he pressed a single, frayed ribbon into the palm of her hand.
He was here. He'd come back to see her.
All night long, Marguerite had held on to the ribbon, like a faded memory. She didn't know why Callum had traveled to Duncraig, but the unexpected surge of anticipation broke through her disconsolate mood.
