This was a way of breaking through the cursed silence. If he could tell Marguerite what he wanted . . . if he could somehow convey it in written words, it might bridge the distance between them.
It also gave him a reason to seek her out. A reason to be with her, each day. She held the power to break through his silence. The power to give him back his voice.
In his mind, he conjured up the soft lines of her face and her vivid blue eyes. He couldn’t explain what drew him to her side, binding him in invisible chains. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her if she asked it of him.
He watched the castle for the next few hours as afternoon evolved into twilight. The urge to see her, to know that she was all right, could not be denied. In her father’s absence, there was no way to know what prevented her from leaving.
They watch me, she’d warned. Was that why she hadn’t come?
In his mind, he considered a hundred different ways to get inside the castle, but most involved the risk of discovery. He didn’t know how large the Duc’s retinue was, or whether they would notice him. On the first night when he’d slipped inside the grounds, there had been a large crowd to hide among. Tonight, he would be exposed.
But then his luck changed.
When he spied a man driving a cart filled with casks of wine, Callum moved swiftly from the trees. He caught the edge of the vehicle and pulled himself inside, hiding among the barrels under a covered part of the cart. The merchant greeted the soldiers at the gate and received permission to enter the castle.
Callum remained hidden as the cart drove toward the kitchens. When the cart began to slow, he seized his chance and dropped to the ground, darting into the shadows of a nearby shelter. As men took casks and brought them within the kitchen, he waited for the right moment and joined them, hoisting a small barrel over one shoulder to keep his face hidden.
The men were stacking the casks in the cellar, and after they left, he secured a hiding place behind them. Time was his ally now, and gradually the hours passed until he guessed the others were sleeping.
He ascended the stairs and made his way toward the Hall. Inside, the trestle tables were pushed against the wall, and men were sleeping upon the floor. Callum found a bit of leftover bread and meat on one of the tables and hid it within his tunic for later.
Inch by inch, he kept his back to the wall as he neared the staircase on the far side. He moved soundlessly past the others and trod quietly on the steps, listening for anything that would help him find Marguerite. She would be sleeping within her own chamber, away from the others.
In the darkness, he kept his back to the stone wall, searching for any threat. In his hand, he gripped a dirk.
Ahead, he spied two men guarding one of the chambers. He studied them, wondering if Marguerite was inside. The problem was how to get past the guards. Even if he did manage to distract them, there was no way to know if she was there.
But he had to try.
Her door flew open, and Marguerite sat up from her bed, stifling the urge to scream. Standing before her was Callum, while her guards lay unconscious upon the ground. They weren’t dead, thank God, for one of them moaned, clutching his head.
She threw back the coverlet and ran across the room into his arms. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come to you. I’ve been locked in my room the past two days.” She held him tightly, breathing in his scent. Oddly enough, he smelled of bread. Her stomach roared with hunger, for Aunt Beatrice had given her nothing this day, except a bowl of pottage and sour wine. She’d continued her punishment beyond the first day, and the lack of food had made Marguerite dizzy.
Callum’s face hardened with anger, and his embrace tightened. When he eyed her attire, Marguerite realized she was still wearing only her chemise. She opened her trunk and chose a crimson cote, but Callum shook his head, pointing to a darker blue gown. He helped her to pull it on, and then took her by the hand, leading her out of her room.
Marguerite hesitated. Though she wanted to be free of her imprisonment, she was afraid of what would happen to the guards. Would Beatrice have them flogged, as she’d threatened? But then, it was clear that the guards had not willingly let her go. It might be an idle threat, nothing more. Either way, she wasn’t about to remain her aunt’s prisoner any longer.
Callum led her down the steps, into the darkened Hall. One of the dogs lifted his head and whimpered. Marguerite moved forward, touching the animal’s head so he would know her scent and fall silent. The dog licked her wrist and started to follow, but she pressed him back, whispering for him to stay.
Her heart beat faster, her veins thrumming with fear as she followed Callum outside. “We’ll be seen,” she murmured against his ear. “I don’t think there’s any way for us to get out.”
He didn’t seem concerned at all. Taking her hand, he walked past the first wall, and then motioned toward the soldiers. She didn’t understand what he meant, but all she could do was let him take the lead. He waited a moment while a few guards strode past the entrance. Marguerite held her breath, running with him toward the open gate.
He was simply planning walk out, wasn’t he? When she eyed the guards at the top of the gatehouse, she suddenly realized why. All of their attention rested upon the forest ahead, seeking potential invaders. They weren’t at all aware of what was happening behind them.
Callum wrapped one arm around her shoulders, leading her in front of him. He guided her to the side of the outer wall, and Marguerite pressed her shoulders against the stone, keeping tightly to the shadows. Callum inched his way all along the wall until they reached the far corner. Then he got down upon his stomach, crawling through the darkness toward the ditch.
This is madness, Marguerite thought, as she followed him. Her gown made it difficult to move, and she heard the sounds of insects buzzing around her face as she crept along the ground, following him. When Callum reached the ditch, he waded into the water, up to his thighs. Strong arms reached for her, lifting her over to the opposite side.
Marguerite continued crawling on her hands and knees until she reached the edge of the forest. Once they were inside, Callum led her deeper, making her walk within a stream, presumably so that dogs could not track her scent.
It was miserable, being wet, cold, and hungry. But she forced herself to follow. She walked until the exhaustion heightened her dizziness. Voices of doubt reminded her that this was a grave mistake. Aunt Beatrice would search for her, and when they found her, Callum would suffer.
You should go back while you can, her conscience ordered. But she was so weak from hunger and the despair of the past two days, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
When at last, they reached Callum’s sleeping space, he built a fire for her. She huddled close, trying to hide the tears of exhaustion and fear. He came up beside her, first removing one shoe, then the other. He dried her feet with his own tunic, and placed them across his lap, letting her warm them near the flames.
A thickness rose up in her throat, and she swallowed back the tears. Why had she left? It was foolish, dangerous, and such a mistake. So many people would be harmed by her desire to leave. What right did she have to disobey her family? Defiance would bring nothing except suffering.
