“I should have you beaten for your disobedience,” Lady Beatrice said coolly. “Never have I seen such behavior from you. I can promise you, your father will hear of this.”
Marguerite held her shoulders back, holding her silence. She had decided not to answer any of their questions, nor to make excuses for what she’d done. Like Callum, she intended to lock away her words.
“You’ve caused everyone a great deal of trouble,” her aunt continued. She took Marguerite by the wrist, squeezing so tightly a bruise would form. “I can’t understand why you would go off into the forest alone. Unless you went with someone.” She pulled Marguerite toward the stairs, forcing her to return to her chamber.
When they reached the door, Beatrice stopped. “The guards outside your room confessed that they saw a man who took you. A Scot, they believe.” Her aunt’s gaze grew cunning. “Or am I wrong?”
“And where would I have found such a man?” Marguerite countered, unable to hold her silence any longer. “I know none of the nearby clans.” She stared up at her aunt. “Perhaps I was the one to free myself. The men would be too ashamed to admit they were bested by a woman.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
No, but she refused to endanger Callum by letting anyone believe he was involved in her escape. So far as she knew, only the guards had encountered him, and the lie might work. It was all she had.
“I don’t expect you to believe anything I say.” She walked into her room and sat down before the fire, warming her hands.
Her aunt closed the door behind her. Beatrice’s mood seemed to discolor the air with rage. She took deep breaths, as if to control her temper. “You spent two days away from the castle. You, who can hardly dress yourself, much less take care of a household. Your father entrusted Duncraig Castle to me, and he gave strict instructions about keeping you here.”
“Imprisoning me, you mean.” Marguerite stood up and faced her aunt. “I’m not as helpless as you think I am.”
“You’ve never done anything except wield a needle and smile prettily at your father. He indulged you in anything you wanted, after your mother died.”
“I was grieving—”
“And so was I,” Beatrice snapped. “She was my only sister.” Her face twisted with frustration. “When my husband died, the Duc might have brought me into his household, but I won’t stay in a barbaric country such as this. Soon enough, I’ll coax him back to France where I belong.” Her aunt sent her a calculating smile. “I have your father’s favor, you know.”
From the insinuation in Beatrice’s voice, Marguerite suspected precisely what sort of favors the matron had granted the Duc. It sickened her to think of the pair of them together.
“He can’t wed you,” Marguerite argued. “It would be against the laws of the Church.”
“There are many ways he can provide for me.” Beatrice crossed her arms beneath her voluptuous bosom. “And believe me when I say that he will do anything I ask of him. You had best remain in your room for the next sennight if you want me to hide your secrets from him.”
“I have no secrets.”
“Liar.” Beatrice reached out and cupped her chin. “Even if it wasn’t in the past two days, you’ve been touched by a man. You might have taken a lover. What do you think your bridegroom will say if he finds out you are no longer a virgin?”
In spite of her efforts, Marguerite couldn’t stop the flush on her cheeks. She had allowed Callum to touch her in ways he shouldn’t have. She had given in to temptation, and the guilt weighed upon her.
“I am a virgin still,” she said quietly. But had she remained with Callum, she doubted if she could have kept her virtue. She wanted him more than any other man. And she didn’t know how to get out of her betrothal agreement to the Earl of Penrith.
“Get out of my chamber,” she ordered her aunt. “And cease treating me like a prisoner.”
“You will be guarded at all times,” Beatrice said. “Until your father returns.” She crossed the room and stood at the door. “And as for your former guards? They each received fifty lashes on your behalf, Marguerite.” Venom laced her tone and she finished by saying, “Remember who holds the power here.”
After her aunt had gone, Marguerite closed her eyes. Somehow, she had to find the courage to gain her own power.
Callum stood in the shadow of the trees, far below Duncraig Castle. Though Marguerite hadn’t wanted him to follow her, he wasn’t going to let her go alone. He would watch over her and somehow gain a means of protecting her within the castle.
You’re unworthy of her, the voice inside him mocked. There’s no place for you here.
He knew it, but he wasn’t going to dwell among the trees like an animal. He wasn’t going to abandon Marguerite, despite the danger to himself. Already he had endured the worst; he would do it again, if it meant keeping her safe.
The afternoon light skimmed over the hills, casting shadows over the castle walls. He cleared his mind of the doubts, steadying his resolve. From the size of the castle and the men he’d seen during his first encounter, it was a large household with many servants. Surely they would need another. And although he couldn’t speak, he could show the others that he was strong enough for any task. Sometimes actions held more weight than words.
His pace slowed as he neared the drawbridge. Inside the gates, he saw the soldiers guarding their post, and they locked their spears, barring his way.
At first, they spoke French, and he shook his head, not understanding their words.
“What do you want?” one demanded, in heavily accented English. They were eyeing his horse, for that made it apparent he wasn’t a beggar. Callum met their gaze evenly and held out empty hands. Then he touched his mouth, in an effort to make them understand.
