An unexpected laugh broke forth from him. Though he supposed she was serious, he hardly cared at all. Any language was better than the endless silence. Callum pointed to her and then to himself.
“Both?”
He nodded and took the stick back. She adjusted his fingers to help him with the grip. “I can try. But it takes time. More time than we have.”
He didn’t care how long it took. He would practice until his fingers bled, if he had to. Reaching for her hand, he threaded his hands with hers.
But there was a shadow in her mood. “They watch me, Callum. I may not always be allowed to come and see you. “
He drew her up to stand before him, cupping her face in his hands. She covered his fingers with her own, but didn’t pull back. Instead, she closed her eyes, and he rested his forehead upon hers.
“I’ll do what I can to help you,” she promised.
“Where were you?” Lady Beatrice demanded, when Marguerite returned to the castle.
There was no answer she could give. Her hair was still wet, and she knew her gown was bedraggled and damp. Instead, she offered no explanation, walking through the Hall and up the winding stairs to her chamber.
Inside her room, she found pieces of silk cut out and laid upon her bed. Seeing the physical reminder of her impending wedding made her stomach twist. She didn’t want to be given to a man, like an offering. She didn’t want to lie meekly upon her wedding bed, letting a stranger take her virginity.
“You left the castle,” Beatrice accused, closing the door behind her. “Against your father’s orders.”
Marguerite took a comb and struggled to free the tangles from her hair, letting her aunt grumble as much as she liked.
“You seem to believe that you can do as you please,” The matron remarked, lowering the bar across the door. “But you are greatly mistaken. While your father is away, he left me in command of this castle.” Her eyes glittered with fury. “You have no right to defy me, Marguerite.” A tight smile edged her aunt’s face. “And there will be a punishment for your behavior.”
The comb caught in a snarl of her hair, and Marguerite said quietly, “You cannot have me beaten. My father would never permit it.”
“No,” Beatrice acknowledged. “But there are other ways to gain your submission. The Duc has been entirely too yielding when it comes to discipline. You left the safety of Cairnross to go and live with the Scots.” Disgust filled the woman’s face, as if Marguerite had dwelled among rats. “He should have punished you for that. But his heart was always too soft. You will not find the same leniency with me.”
Marguerite rested her hands in her lap, meeting her aunt’s fury with a passive look. She’d never witnessed such a temper from her mother’s sister and half-wondered if there was another reason for it.
“Your door will be guarded,” Beatrice informed her. “You will spend the rest of this day and all day tomorrow sewing. If you try to leave, your guards will receive fifty lashes.”
“Why would you threaten innocent men for my actions?” She couldn’t possibly understand why Beatrice would do such a thing.
“Nothing at all will happen to them, as long as you remain in your chamber.”
Marguerite stared at the matron and a chill faltered within her skin. She didn’t care about her own punishment, but she couldn’t let another man suffer on her behalf. It was clear that her aunt had guessed as much.
“Furthermore, you will not eat for the next day. Your hunger will serve to remind you of your duty.”
It was too much. Marguerite stood up and confronted the woman. “What gives you the right to deny me food? My father will hear of this, if you dare.”
“He may not agree with my methods, but by then, it will be too late, won’t it?” With a dark smile, her aunt departed.
Marguerite ran to the door and opened it, only to find two men armed with spears. They barred her path, and she saw that one of the soldiers was an older man. He wouldn’t survive fifty lashes.
With great reluctance, she closed the door again. And wondered how she would ever get out.
Chapter Six
A day passed and there was no sign of Marguerite. Callum explored every inch of the forest, wondering if she’d remained absent by choice or necessity. He watched over the castle gates, but as the morning went on, there no sign of her.
When the second day passed and she didn’t come, his suspicions went on alert. If she hadn’t come, then there was a reason.
Idly, he reached down and picked up a twig from the ground, trying to hold it in his hand like a quill. He’d spent most of the night practicing, trying to memorize the patterns of lines and curves that formed her name.
He needed her to show him more. Two years had passed without him being able to speak, and he was impatient to learn a way of communicating. Although none of his brothers could read, they could learn.
