He put his desires, his feelings for her into the kiss, not caring about anything else but this moment. The woman he'd dreamed of was standing before him, and he intended to savor the forbidden moment.
"Will I see you again?" she murmured.
He nodded and pointed toward the fire, where he'd set up camp. She could come to him at any moment, though he knew better than to seek her within her father's castle.
"My father is leaving for England at dawn," she told him. "I'll try to come after he's gone."
As she spoke the promise, Callum saw the hint of worry in her eyes, as if she were afraid of someone discovering their secret. He didn't care at all, for she'd given him a shred of hope.
And for that, he'd risk everything.
Chapter Five
“Good morn to you, Marguerite.” Her mother’s sister, Lady Beatrice, opened the shutters, revealing the morning sunlight. The matron was plump with blond hair the same color as her own. A silver cross nestled between her large breasts, likely to draw attention to them. “You’d best hurry to say farewell to your father. He’ll be leaving for England within the hour.”
Marguerite sat up, murmuring a polite response, while her mind wandered back to the nightmare from last night. Beneath the coverlet, her hands were clenched, her heartbeat unsteady. Although it was only a dream, there was enough reality to frighten her. In her vision, she’d been with Callum, kissing him deeply. He’d laid her back upon the grass, and she’d welcomed him into her arms.
Only to have him seized by her father’s men and killed for touching her.
Fear took command of her, for she knew it could easily happen if she were not careful. It was dangerous to meet with him or let her defenses weaken. Callum was a man her father would never approve of. Wild and fierce, he was a fighter who had survived a torturous life. And yet, she could not deny the desire he’d awakened inside her. She wanted desperately to see him again, but now she questioned whether or not to go.
“I’ve brought the silk and samite for you, along with the earl’s measurements,” her aunt continued. “You can begin sewing this afternoon.”
“Sewing?” She’d missed the first part of the conversation, and frowned at the sight of the blue material.
“For his wedding tunic,” Lady Beatrice reminded her. “Your father wishes your husband to see your accomplishments, and what better way than for you to make the earl some new garments, embroidered by your hand?” The matron sent her a bright smile. “He’ll be proud to wear something made by his bride.” She began setting out lengths of silk upon the small table near the window. “If you work each day, you’ll finish by the time he arrives from England. The Duc did not wish you to be bored in his absence.”
Normally, spending several hours sewing would have been a pleasant way to spend the day. Today, however, it made her want to cry out with frustration. She suspected Beatrice had done this in an attempt to keep her confined in her room.
But she had other plans for this morn.
Marguerite allowed Lady Beatrice to help her get dressed while she eyed the outside sun with longing. “I will do as my father commands, of course,” she lied. “But after he leaves, I was planning to ride.”
“That will not be permitted,” Beatrice said, shaking her head. “We have our orders that you are to be kept safely inside the castle.”
“Like a prisoner?” Marguerite mused.
Her aunt’s face clouded with confusion. “It’s for your safety, Marguerite. We wouldn’t want you to be lost or worse, be abducted by a Scot like you were last time.” She shivered, gripping her arms. “I can only imagine what you must have endured.”
Marguerite said nothing, recognizing that Beatrice would never understand. She moved to touch the fabric, examining the tight weave. Though it was a saffron-colored gown she wore on ordinary days, it was costly. The price of the silk might have fed the MacKinloch Clan for a year, which was sobering.
She’d never stopped to think of how her father’s wealth surrounded every part of her life whereas Callum’s family struggled for their food and shelter. During the battle a few months ago, their fortress at Glen Arrin had burned. Had they managed to rebuild their homes? How many had died?
Though she had dwelled with them for only a short time before Lord Cairnross and Lord Harkirk had attacked, she’d been accepted as one of them. Nairna and Laren had worked alongside her, almost like sisters. And the freedom had been like nothing she'd ever experienced. Here, she could hardly walk below stairs without a man guarding her. It was stifling, living this way.
Her aunt began chattering once again, but Marguerite didn’t hear the words. Her mind was consumed with how to find a way out of the castle for a few hours, in order to meet with Callum. Her best opportunity would come as soon as the Duc departed.
“Come, Marguerite,” her aunt insisted. “Your father will be waiting below stairs. He’ll want you to wish him safe journey.”
She took Beatrice’s hand and followed her, casting another look at the blue silk and samite. Somehow, she had to make her escape.
She came on foot. Through the trees, Marguerite’s saffron gown bloomed like a golden flower caught within the forest. Callum stood waiting for her, near his tethered horse Goliath. Upon his shoulder, he carried his bow and quiver of arrows to protect them from any harm.
The sight of her made his pulse quicken, and he was torn between wanting to steal her away and discovering how to win her heart. She’d kept her promise to return, but he hardly knew what she thought of him.
Ever since the first moment he’d seen her, he’d felt the invisible pull binding him to her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Marguerite if it kept her safe and made her happy.
Though her fine gown marked her as a duke’s daughter, when he looked upon her face, he saw the woman who had saved him from death. She was a quiet beauty that he couldn’t relinquish.
