Her tears broke free, in spite of her resolve not to cry. “Do you think I want to see you hanged, your head cut off like a traitor?”
Callum caught her hands, and his mouth tightened with his own anger. She tore her hands free, the tears running freely down her face. The fury and fear gripped so hard within her, she was shaking. “What happened that night?"
Callum crouched on one knee, brushing the pine needles away to reveal the dirt beneath. After thinking for a moment, he wrote: Prisuners.
Marguerite shook her head, not understanding. “But there weren’t any prisoners there. It was just a small outpost.” Taking the twig from him, she adjusted the word he’d misspelled.
He shrugged and wrote again: Not my kil.
“Then why did they find one of your arrows there?”
Angry.
“Who was responsible for it? Were my father’s men involved?” She stared at the dirt, waiting for his answers.
Scots.
A hundred more questions crowded inside her, but she stopped asking. There was no point to it.
She wanted to rest her cheek against his chest, holding fast to the man who held her heart. But if she dared to defy her father now, the Duc might accuse Callum of leading the attack upon the garrison. And he would die for it.
He came to stand before her. Although she couldn’t look him in the eye, she felt the quiet intensity of his presence. She continued to let out the tears, wishing he could somehow talk to her.
But there were no words at all. Only the quiet stare of a man whose silence would be viewed as guilt.
“You can’t defend yourself,” she whispered, finally meeting his gaze. “They’ll take you prisoner, and I can’t do anything to stop them. Not if you can’t speak.”
And though he had spoken on a few occasions, it seemed he had little control over the words. Whatever had caused him to lose his voice was still holding him captive.
“You should leave now,” she ordered, feeling broken at the thought. “Go back to Glen Arrin before they find you.”
He shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t try to save himself. Didn’t he realize what he would face?
A faint noise caught her attention, and she froze, as if someone were watching them. Whether or not it was an animal, she needed to return.
Marguerite reached for his hands, her pulse racing. “I know you don’t want to leave, but you must.” She stared into his deep brown eyes. “You saved my life in the battle. Now let me save yours.”
He threaded his hands into her hair, but his expression was inscrutable. “No.”
“Why? Would you rather die?” She gripped his head, the anger blazing through her. “Do you think I’ll stand aside and let that happen?”
“If . . . leave, you . . . wed him.” His brown eyes were nearly black with his own shielded frustration, and she pressed herself closer, trying to use any means possible to convince him.
“I would wed Satan himself if it kept you alive.” She raised her mouth to his, needing to show him without words, what he meant to her. Their lips mingled and in the strength of his arms, she felt whole. She wanted Callum to stay, to help him break through the wall of his silence. He was starving for words, and he needed her help. But there was no choice. He had to leave or face his death.
Callum kissed her hard, his arms holding her close as if he could capture her spirit. As he slid his tongue against her mouth, she opened to him, her hips molded against his. Every last thought in her mind disappeared when his tongue slid against hers, reminding her of the way he’d made love to her. His body went rigid, his hands moving over her bottom, bringing her closer.
Marguerite surrendered to the instincts roaring inside, her swollen lips kissing him hard as his erection strained against her softness. She was trembling in his arms, wanting so much more than she could have. Her breath quickened in her lungs, and desire clouded the thoughts spinning in her mind.
“Marguerite,” he said, pulling back to look at her. In his dark eyes, she saw the man who held no fear at all for their future. He didn’t seem to care that she was betrothed to another.
In his eyes, she saw that he wanted no other woman but her. And though she wanted to fight to be with him, never would she let him die. Not when she could save him.
“Do you want your father to know?”
Marguerite turned around from the door to her chamber. In the hall stood the captain of her father’s guards, Xavier.
“What do you mean?” She turned to face the man. His thin face was smug, and she didn’t trust him at all.
