When his hands moved to the laces upon her gown, he stared at her in an unspoken question.
“I can’t,” she whispered. Not now. She didn’t deserve affection or pleasure, when she’d failed to fight the betrothal. The lies she’d told her father and the earl were encircling her, strangling her hold upon honor.
Callum took her face between his hands, staring into her eyes. She saw the dark possession and a hidden frustration within them. He touched his forehead to hers. In his eyes, she saw the future she wanted, the man she desired.
“I will find a way to free myself,” she vowed. “And when I have, I will come back with you. I swear it.”
Her hands moved to thread through his dark hair, stroking the back of his head. She touched him, crossing her arms around his neck, letting her hands slide down his naked back.
His lips pressed a light kiss against her jawbone. It sent a shiver through her, reminding her of the time when he’d kissed her in other secret places
As he got dressed, Marguerite couldn’t escape the thought that something else was bothering him, but he had no words to tell her. There was tension in the way he held himself and a sense of trouble.
She retrieved the pouch and offered it to him. “Do you want me to teach you more words?” She held it out, showing him the quill and ink.
He eyed them but shook his head. Darkness shadowed his mood, and she couldn’t guess whether she was the cause of it.
“Would you rather I hadn’t come?” she asked. “If you’ve no wish to learn more writing, I won’t force it upon you.” She set them down upon the ground, wondering if she’d misunderstood him.
He was fighting against himself, struggling for the words. His mouth moved, but no other sounds came out. The frustration built up higher until he seized a stone and threw it hard into the water, where it splashed and sank.
“Callum, tell me what it is.”
It was the wrong choice of words. He spun on her, his rage filling him up. She realized that he’d been trying to speak but was unable to bring out the words. In his stance, she felt him tremble with anger and frustration.
It hurt to see him like this, and she tried to console him in an embrace. “It’s all right.” As soon as she touched him, she realized that pity was a mistake. He didn’t want her sympathy. She raised up on her tiptoes and brought her mouth to his, hoping the kiss would ease him.
Callum kissed her back, the dark heat of his mouth seeking absolution. When his tongue threaded with hers, she clung hard, tasting his anger, and meeting it with her own guilt. There was a wildness to him, like a man trying to consume her. She shuddered beneath the onslaught and heat, offering herself in solace.
His hands moved to the ties of her gown, and she knew if she remained silent, he would take her again. He would lay her back upon the grass, filling her up and giving her unspeakable pleasure.
Callum bared the nape of her neck and shoulder, causing shivers with the warmth of his mouth. His hands came up to touch her breasts, and her nipples hardened against the silk. She struggled to maintain her composure, but the sweet torment made her hesitate. More than anything, she wanted to be with him again.
You don’t deserve it. Not until you’ve broken free of the earl.
Though it hurt to push him away, Marguerite reached back and caught his hands, drawing them down to his side. “Last night, I signed the betrothal agreement.”
The look of betrayal on Callum’s face made her feel like she’d turned away from him. “I’m going to talk with both of them today,” she said. “I promise you.”
But within his brown eyes, she saw the doubt. He didn’t believe her.
There were no words Callum could say. He’d believed that she would refuse the betrothal and free herself. But it didn’t seem that Marguerite had the willpower to stand up to them.
He saw her step back, watching him. Though he tried to keep his face expressionless, she seemed to sense the frustration beneath.
“I blame myself for being too afraid.” Her voice was anguished, and she turned away from him. “But if I make a wrong move and reveal my feelings, my father will hunt you down and kill you. Possibly your family. I can’t risk that.”
Though he wanted to move forward and touch her shoulders, he forced himself to remain in place. Each day here was another moment in purgatory. Heaven lay just within his reach . . . but until she broke the ties, he could do nothing.
“You’re angry with me, I know.” Still, she didn’t turn around to face him, keeping her gaze downcast.
“Not . . .” with you. He stared at her hollowed shoulders, the broken posture.
“I wish I could have done something to stop the betrothal from happening,” she admitted. “But I was powerless.”
Aye, he understood that feeling. Her words conjured up the harsh memories of last night and the dead soldiers. Innocent men had been slain, and he’d done nothing to stop it from happening. He’d ignored the premonitions he should have heeded, mistakenly believing Iagar’s false words.
And it had resulted in murder. The bleakness crept over him once again, strangling him with the wish that he could go back and change it.
