The Duc eyed her with suspicion. “There is a rumor that a man helped you escape the castle.” His back stiffened, and his gaze became piercing. “Whether or not it is true, I think you understand me perfectly, Marguerite. You will marry as soon as possible, and it is why I chose a man who doesn’t care if his wife is a virgin.”
Her cheeks flamed with humiliation, for he was right. She’d willingly surrendered her body to Callum with no regrets. Never had she experienced anything like his lovemaking, and to her shame, she wanted him again. To wake up in his arms, to share his life and bear him children would mean everything.
Before she could speak, her father added, “You should know, that there are noblemen who refused to have you, after your association with the MacKinloch Clan.”
“Then they weren’t honorable men,” she responded. “I owe a great deal to the MacKinlochs.” Her heart caught as she thought of Callum once more. “I have no regrets over the choices I made.”
With a sigh, he drew his horse to a stop. “You always did have a soft heart, Marguerite. Like your mother.” A faint smile creased his mouth, and her frustration dissolved.
Guy was still the father who had sat her upon his knee, telling her stories. He’d been the only parent she’d ever known, for her mother had died when she was barely two. Though she’d been fostered with another family in Navarre, her relationship with her father had always been close. He’d visited her often, bringing gifts.
“Don’t be afraid of this marriage,” he reassured her. “I believe Penrith can provide everything you would ever want.”
She tried to smile, but he’d spoken the same words when he’d arranged her betrothal to Cairnross. “Can you . . . delay the betrothal a little longer?” she asked. “I want to be certain the earl is a good man.” Once the formal agreement was made, it was nigh impossible to break it.
Her father reached out and cupped her chin. “As I said before, there can be no delay.” He turned back toward the castle, and Marguerite followed him, keeping a slight distance behind. After he entered the gates, she saw other men arriving, friends who had come to witness the betrothal. She held back, feeling uncertain about all that had happened.
A faint cracking noise sounded behind her, and when she turned, she saw Callum upon his own horse, watching them from the trees. What was he doing here?
He beckoned, and Marguerite cast a nervous look back at her father. The Duc might come after her if he discovered her missing. But then, she could spare a moment or two.
Curiosity won out, so she rode toward him. Callum took the reins of her horse and urged both of the horses deeper into the forest, until they were well out of view of the castle gates.
When he drew the horses to a stop, he dismounted and lifted her down.
“What is it?” she breathed. “What has happened?”
His eyes turned fierce, and he framed her face with his hands. Against her cheeks, she felt the warmth of his breath.
“Mine,” he said harshly. His mouth came upon hers, branding her with a kiss that took apart her senses. She kissed him back, glorying in the rush of desire that pooled through her. He touched her spine, his hands moving down to her bottom. She held him close, feeling the sensation of his body against hers.
When she pulled back, her lips felt sensitive and swollen. “Yes, I am yours,” she whispered.
Hearing his voice was a gift she’d never expected. There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but she was afraid she would only frustrate him if he couldn’t find the words. Callum looked as if he wanted to say more, but the only words he could manage were, “Come. Now.”
He wanted her to leave with him for Glen Arrin at this very moment. Upon his horse, she saw supplies to last for several days. And though it tempted her, she could not abandon her father and home without any word of explanation. The Duc would only send an army of soldiers after them, and there was not enough time for them to reach safety.
“I can’t,” she told him. “I need time to convince my father.” When he looked unconvinced, she added, “If I go with you now, they’ll find us.” She rested her palm upon his cheek. “They would hurt you and your family. I can’t let that happen.”
Callum struggled to speak again, and she waited, hoping he could let out the words. In the end, he closed off his thoughts and lifted her back on to her horse.
She rode back to the castle, but he remained behind, watching.
Seeing her with the earl was like a slow poison, blistering him with jealousy. Callum spent the remainder of the day working on countless tasks to distract him from thinking of them together. He’d eavesdropped on the man’s servants, for if there was any hint of cruelty, he would hear it from them.
But most had a jovial mood, behaving as if they were well-treated. They were here to serve Penrith and bring back his bride to England. Callum wasn’t about to let that happen. He’d kidnap her first.
The endless waiting was trying his patience. He didn’t believe Lady Marguerite could extricate herself from her father’s command, any more than she could escape the marriage. The only reason he hadn’t ignored her wishes and carried her off was because it would hurt her. She cared about her father and was loyal to him, just as he was close to his brothers.
But with every moment she spent here, it was too easy for her to fall into their trappings. He was powerless to stop it, and frustration seethed inside him like an unholy creature clawing its way out. His hands itched for a bow and arrows, and as the afternoon waned, he retrieved them. An hour spent practicing might ease the frustration rising inside him.
Callum left the castle gates, starting toward the forest, when he heard voices ahead. It was Iagar Campbell, along with a handful of others. All were armed.
Iagar had mentioned trying to free some prisoners, and although Callum didn’t know the details, it didn’t matter. He yearned for a fight, to use his weapons and release the restlessness plaguing him. Though he was wary of joining them, there was no greater cause than to grant another Scot his freedom.
Deliberately, he stepped upon a dry stick, and the cracking noise alerted the others.
“MacKinloch,” Iagar greeted him. The others stared at him with distrust, and their discussion ceased at once. “Did you decide to join us, then?”
