Instead, Bram had found him. His brother had cradled his broken body, openly weeping as he’d tended Callum’s wounds. He’d kept vigil and prayed over the next few nights when a fever had struck hard, leaving him to fight for his life.
But he’d survived it, at the cost of his voice.
The soft tread of footsteps drew him out of the vision. Marguerite came down the stairs, a determined look on her face.
He was hardly aware of her orders to the guards or why she was here now. The walls seemed to close in on him, heightening his discomfort. She’d been right. He shouldn’t have returned, and the intense need for freedom, was rising higher until it couldn’t be denied. But they wouldn’t let him go.
“I tried to come sooner,” she whispered. “I swear to you, I did.”
He didn’t ask how, but when her arms came around him, he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. When she touched his back, he shuddered at the phantom pain from his memory.
“Are you all right? Did anyone harm you?”
“No,” he managed. He drew her into his lap, his back pressed against the wall. With her in his arms, she pushed away the shadows, bringing him back to the present.
“You’re trembling,” she whispered. “Let me warm you.” Her arms came around his neck, her body nestled as close as she could.
That she’d come this night, risking everything for him, was more than anyone had ever done.
You’re going to “. . . marry him, aren’t you?” The words were harsh in his throat, and he couldn’t quite voice the full sentence.
“You’re speaking,” she breathed, and he heard the surprise in her voice. “I’ve never heard you say so many words before.” She leaned in and kissed his mouth softly.
Only because of her. Marguerite had somehow reached inside him, unlocking the words. He didn’t question how or why, but he repeated the question. “Are you . . . ” going to wed him?
She seemed to sense what he was trying to say. “I’ll do whatever I must to save your life.”
Frustration boiled within him, that she would sacrifice herself. “Don’t,” he commanded against her mouth. He kissed her hard, taking her face within his hands. “You’re mine, Marguerite. Always were.”
“If I refuse, my father will hurt you,” she whispered. “I couldn’t live with myself if I caused that.” Her hands moved down to his back, and Callum cast a look at the door.
“Do they . . . know . . . ” The last few words caught, and he forced himself to slow down. One word at a time.
“. . . know you’re . . . here?” he repeated. He could imagine the Duc’s reaction if he learned Marguerite was with him at this moment.
She shook her head. “It’s the middle of the night, and nearly everyone is asleep. Lord Penrith—” A blush colored her cheeks at the mention of the earl. “He-he gave me the chance to say farewell to you.”
Farewell? As if she’d already made her decision to stay with him? His anger intensified toward the earl, and not for a moment did he trust that Penrith would want Marguerite left alone with a prisoner.
Callum tamped down the resentment and forced himself to respond. “Did he?”
She reached out to his face and changed the course of their conversation. “Who were the other men who killed the English soldiers that night?”
Though he named the others, he had little interest in what happened to them. It was the Duc’s task to seek justice. Even so, Marguerite seemed to commit the names to memory. “I will tell my father.”
It would do no good at all. He took a breath and spoke. “. . . won’t believe you. My word . . . against theirs.”
Callum touched her cheek, watching as she leaned in to his palm. Regardless of whether or not the Duc found the true guilty men, he didn’t doubt that the Duc would find some way of punishing him for the time he’d stolen with Marguerite.
He didn’t care. His life had been worthless enough, but she had been a precious gift. One he’d never deserved.
Marguerite toyed with the glass pendant he’d given her. “I’ll try to get you out. I need to bribe more of the guards.”
It was a fruitless effort, and he knew it. The only way he’d be allowed to leave was if the Duc agreed to it. For now, he wanted this moment with her.
“Stay,” he murmured against her throat. His mouth pressed against the pulse that thrummed beneath her skin. “As long . . . as you can.”
She shifted upon his lap, straddling him. He hardened instantly, remembering how he’d taken her that day on the sand. In the dim torchlight, her eyes were luminous, her body arousing him.
