“I don’t understand.”
His face held a trace of bitterness. “A lady such as yourself wouldn’t. But I think we would do well together. I like your sense of honor. And you.”
Her gaze lowered to the ground. “Let me go, Lord Penrith. Please.”
“No,” was his answer. Though he spoke the word lightly, she sensed the steel beneath his tone. He was a man who possessed his own authority, one with a resolve to equal her own.
He softened his refusal by giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Consider my offer, Lady Marguerite. A respectable marriage, a strong alliance . . . and a blind eye toward your lover. It should be enough for you.”
Perhaps it should, but it wasn’t. She didn’t understand his nonchalant attitude toward infidelity. Most men would be furious to learn that their brides were no longer innocent. But the earl was unlike the other suitors she’d met.
Lord Penrith returned to the horses and waited to boost her back on to her saddle. He glanced back at her, and in his eyes she saw a man resolved to keeping this betrothal. Though she didn’t understand his reasons for making the marriage, something bothered her about his behavior. “I am sorry,” she told the earl, “but I must speak with my father. I cannot marry you.”
His face was like a block of marble, smooth and unyielding. “Ask, if that is your will, Lady Marguerite. But I have no intention of breaking our agreement.”
Callum spent most of the morning considering what to do. Marguerite’s insistence, that he return to Glen Arrin, weighed upon him. Though he understood that she didn’t want him implicated in the murder, if he left now, she would be lost to him.
She’d signed the betrothal agreement, and her father would coerce her into wedding the Earl of Penrith. He was convinced of it.
Aye, walking away now might save his life. But his life was nothing more than an empty shell without her. He wasn’t willing to let her fears dictate his actions. Why should he hide like an outlaw because her father held power? If he fled, it was as good as admitting guilt.
Callum slung his bow over his shoulders and journeyed the long walk to the castle, intending to return to the stables. At his waist, he carried the pouch of parchment, quill, and ink that Marguerite had given him. Though it might not be needed, at least he could write a few words to defend himself.
Before he reached the castle, he saw a gathering of men, just outside the gates. Among them, he spied Iagar.
“MacKinloch,” came the man’s voice. “We’re leaving Duncraig. You’ll come with us.”
Callum sent Iagar a stare and shook his head. Did the man think he was going to blindly obey strangers? Keeping a neutral expression on his face, he continued his walk when the man blocked his path.
“They’ve taken Sileas for questioning. He’s going to break if they torture him. And who do you think he’ll blame for all of it?” Iagar’s tone turned menacing. “I’m trying to save your ungrateful arse, MacKinloch. Come with us and save yourself.”
Callum kept walking, not even bothering to look at the man.
“You were with Lady Marguerite when you escorted her on her ride the other day.”
At those words, Callum stopped. Was the bastard threatening her? His hand clenched around his bow, and he fought to keep his expression shielded.
“She’s a bonny one, the lass is. What do you think her father will do to her after he learns she’s been with a Scot?” Iagar dropped his voice to a whisper. “Was she good? Should I have a taste of her, after you’re dead?”
Callum spun, his hands reaching for Iagar’s throat. But found instead, the point of a dirk at his throat. “You don’t have a choice in this, MacKinloch. If you stay, you die.”
Not if he could help it. Callum seized the man’s wrist and squeezed until Iagar released the weapon. The man’s face reddened as he struggled to free himself from his grasp. He stared hard, letting the man know he could crack the bone if he wanted to.
“Die, then, if that’s what you want.” He bent to pick up the dirk, and Callum never took his eyes off the man as Iagar retreated.
“But if you betray us, it’s your death. And hers.”
Chapter Twelve
When she returned from her ride with the earl, Marguerite was startled to see her aunt speaking to Xavier, the captain of her father’s guard. The two soldiers who had been her escorts, Thomas and John, were bound with rope.
After she gave her horse over to the stable master, Marguerite hurried forward. Her aunt had a gloating expression upon her face, one she didn’t understand.
“Why are these men being detained?” she asked Beatrice. “They are my guards, are they not?”
“They stole from you, Lady Marguerite,” Xavier answered. “They took pearls from you and tried to use them for their own compensation.”
“Thievery is not tolerated here,” her aunt added. “They will each lose a hand for what they’ve done.”
