Just as he'd given her everything she'd ever desired, whether it was a silk gown or a purse filled with gold. She'd adored him as a young girl, believing that it was her purpose in life to comply with his every dictate. But the past few months had unsettled her, regarding the decisions he'd made. No longer was he the benevolent ruler whom she obeyed without question.
And suddenly, she felt the urge to defy his intentions again. At the last moment, just before she won the race, Marguerite pulled her horse to a hard stop, letting her father ride past.
The Duc turned the horse and sent her a surprised look. "You cheated."
"Oui, I did." She sent a mischievous smile, adding, "Don't deny that you were about to do the same."
He shrugged and came to join at her side. "A father is allowed to grant favors to a beloved daughter, is he not?"
She reached out and took his hand. "I suppose I'll have to come and visit you in France, after I wed."
"I'll hold you to that vow." But in his face, she could see the shadow of concern.
"What is it you haven't told me?" Marguerite asked him. "You're hiding something."
He let out a sigh and guided her back toward the castle to join the others. "Nothing of any import, I suppose. The Earl of Penrith is a good friend of the king's. He will, no doubt, grant every wish you could have." But his smile lacked sincerity, setting her mood on edge.
She followed her father back to join the hunting party awaiting them, her mind distracted. What wasn't he telling her? As they rode out into the forest in search of game, she fought the anxiety that edged her spirits.
The woods blurred in a golden haze of sunlight filtering through the trees. Though she continued with the others, her mind was distracted and not at all interested in the hunt.
"A boar!" one of the men shouted, pointing toward the forest. The riders quickened their pace, and Marguerite held back, letting her father take the lead. Although she didn't doubt that the hunters would prevail, she wasn't about to get in the way of a boar. The aggressive beasts had vicious tusks, and more than a few men had been gored by them.
Along with her father, a dozen men and women rode past, while Marguerite remained on the outskirts. The others were so intent, no one seemed to notice her absence.
Then, she heard a scuffling sound coming towards her. Marguerite turned her horse around, only to see a second boar racing toward her.
Mon Dieu. She urged the horse faster, trying to get away from the animal. No one else noticed, and she turned her mare deeper into the woods, trying to escape. Her horse reared up, and she struggled to hold her seat.
Arrows sliced through the air, embedding within the boar. Marguerite stared at them, her heart racing when she saw the black feathers. Then suddenly, someone dropped from the tree behind her, landing on her horse. The man's arms came around her, and he forced the horse into a gallop, leading her away from the others. The instinct to scream died down in her throat, for she already knew the identity of the hooded, silent man.
When the woods grew so thick her horse could no longer make it through, he dismounted and lifted her down. Beneath the shadowed hood, she saw the dark eyes of the man she'd dreamed of over the past few months.
"Callum," she whispered, unable to believe it was him.
He said nothing, but took her hand, guiding her through the woods for what seemed like a mile. Marguerite didn't care that the others might miss her presence. She could think of nothing but the man who was with her now.
When at last he stopped, she spied the remains of a camp site, and the ashes of a fire. Before Callum could stoop to rekindle it, Marguerite threw her arms around him. He gripped her hard, his face buried in her hair. She melted against the planes of his body, unable to believe he was here at last.
"It's been so long," she breathed. "Are you well? How is your family?"
His eyes stared into hers, but there was no reply. She understood then, that his speech had not returned.
But he had his own way of speaking, in a way that captivated her.
Callum removed her veil, sliding his hands into her hair. She caught her breath as he moved his palms down to her shoulders, resting them upon her hips. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver of longing through her.
"Why have you come?" she whispered.
He didn't have to answer for her to know. Despite the months that had been lost between them, it was as if nothing had changed. She touched his smooth cheek, marveling at the difference. No longer did he have the starving look about him, but his face had filled out. There was no doubting the strength in his arms, nor the quiet assurance he exuded. He'd kept his hair long, and the dark strands grew past his shoulders, like the wild Scot that he was.
The stirrings of interest caught at her, forbidden thoughts of the time they'd spent together months ago. She remembered his mouth upon hers and the shocking desires he'd evoked.
Feeling suddenly shy, she stepped back and he took a moment to rebuild the fire. Though she couldn't stay with him for too long, she would steal whatever moments she could.
When the fire burned brighter, she sat down on a fallen log and told him of the months they'd traveled from northern Scotland down to the southwest.
"My father has arranged a new marriage for me," she admitted. "I'm to wed the Earl of Penrith."
