“Have I done something to offend you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“No.” She searched for the right words, to make him understand. “But you have journeyed a great distance on my behalf, and I do not believe I would make a good wife for you.”
He stopped walking. “And why is that? I have been here only a few minutes.” His gaze narrowed upon her, and before she could speak, he predicted, “Or do you have feelings for someone else?”
Slowly, she nodded her head. “You deserve a wife who could love you.”
A half-smile twisted his face. “I have little interest in love, Lady Marguerite. It matters not to me whether we have feelings toward one another. Many a strong marriage has been built upon friendship.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that, and now was not the time to admit that she’d given herself to another. The earl’s statement confused her, for she’d believed he would be angry or bothered by the fact that she cared for someone else. Instead, he didn’t appear to mind at all.
They finished their walk, but as Marguerite passed the stables, she couldn’t stop herself from looking back. Callum was no longer there.
When she reached the entrance to the keep, she saw the knowing eyes of her aunt Beatrice.
“She’s a fine lass, isn’t she?” Iagar remarked, later that night. Callum stood near the back of the Hall with the other men, eating a large piece of bread the cook had given him. He didn’t have to ask who Iagar was talking about but ignored the statement.
“You were gone with her for a while,” Campbell continued, a leer upon his face. “Did the Lady Marguerite take a liking to you?”
He stood and gripped Iagar’s throat, shoving the man against the wall. Rage filled every part of him, that the man would suggest anything against her. Even if it was true.
Callum held Iagar just long enough to warn him, before dropping him to the ground. The man coughed, gripping his throat. There was a flash of anger on his face, but he quelled it.
“You should put your strength to another use, MacKinloch. We’re leaving tomorrow night to raid a garrison south of here,” Iagar told him. He kept his voice low, adding, “You could help us free the prisoners.”
Tension knotted inside Callum at the mention of captives. He didn’t want to be involved with the other men, to stir up trouble with the English. And yet, he remembered the restlessness he’d endured while in chains—the feeling that no one would come for him, and he would die, locked away from the world.
Upon the dais, he spied Marguerite sitting with her betrothed husband, the Earl of Penrith. Jealousy sank its claws into his mind. He didn’t like the man watching over her, fascinated by his bride.
The thought of the earl touching Marguerite, sent off a blaze of fury inside him. Without realizing it, he was gripping his own knife. A primitive side of him wanted to abduct her from her father’s castle and take her deep into the north where no one would ever find them.
She belonged with him. Only she had been able to unlock the years of silence, letting him speak again. And after the morning he’d spent in her arms, he wasn’t going to let her go.
His companion sensed his distraction and pressed further. “Join us at Sineas’s home, when the castle is abed. We’ll talk further.” Iagar started to walk away, but he turned back. “You remember what it was like, MacKinloch. Hoping someone would free us. And season after season, we were in chains.”
The man’s words brought back the nightmare of those years. Callum sobered, remembering well enough what it was like to pray for help when none came. Each day of suffering was like a scar upon his mind.
But he refused to agree to Iagar’s request, for he was here for Marguerite. He stood against the back wall for hours, watching her. And only when she retired for the night, climbing the stairs, did he finally retreat to the stables.
Chapter Ten
Tangled dreams warred within Callum’s mind. He was standing atop a stone tower, watching as his brother Alex fought to save his daughter’s life. Lord Harkirk had taken the young girl hostage, baiting them in an attempt to slaughter both Alex and Bram.
The bow felt awkward in his hands, though he’d never ceased practicing. From this distance, he couldn’t strike Harkirk without the risk of harming the child.
His brothers fought below while he held his arrow steady, waiting for an opportunity. In the eyes of Harkirk, he saw a man who reveled in torture and death.
Then, he saw Lady Harkirk and the pain upon her face. She had been trapped in her marriage, just as he’d been imprisoned and at her husband’s mercy. But she had been the one to save him, convincing Harkirk to accept the bribe and release him.
The brave courage in her face reminded him of Marguerite. Without hesitation, Callum released the arrow, watching it strike down the man who had been responsible for so much suffering. At last, Harkirk was dead.
The memory shifted again, and they rolled over Harkirk’s body. But instead of the baron’s face, he saw the frozen expression of Lord Penrith.
Callum awakened from the dream, shaken by what he’d seen. He’d killed Harkirk, months ago, just as he’d sworn to do. But instead of setting him free from all the nightmares, the death had plagued him for an unknown reason.
And then, to imagine killing Penrith . . . it made him wonder what sort of man he was becoming. It had enraged him to see Marguerite walking with the man, resting her hand upon his arm. The pair of them made a striking couple, both of them wealthy and attractive. The earl had looked upon her with the eyes of a man who appreciated what he saw.
While Callum was forced to watch them together. He didn’t know if he could remain here, not knowing whether Marguerite would find a way to escape the marriage. Violence and unrest simmered within him, and he might provoke a fight if he saw them together. He had to find a way to release the anger building inside him before he did something he regretted.
