She raced down the stairs and out of the Hall, down another flight of stone stairs before she reached the area where the men were being held. As Penrith had predicted, Callum was with the others. He stood behind them, his arms bound behind his back. A row of seven nooses hung from a scaffold, one for each man. Her father stood near the front, watching as the charges were read.
Marguerite fled to the Duc’s side, and her father gripped her wrist. “The captain of my guard, Xavier, warned me that you had met with the Scot. Is it true that you spent last night with him?”
She couldn’t answer. There were no words that would make him understand. Instead, she bolstered her courage and said, “Execute him, and I will not marry Penrith.”
“I am your father,” he whispered harshly. “All your life, I’ve provided you with everything. And this is how you repay me? By giving yourself to a man who has nothing at all? Who will never give you the life I’ve intended for you?”
“It is my life,” she whispered. “And he would walk through hellfire if I asked it of him. Don’t you know he could have left at any time? He stayed for me.”
“Then your face will be the last he sees when he dies.”
Her blood froze within her veins, her body numb at the thought of Callum joining the other men who swung, already dead. “Don’t do this. He was innocent that night. He tried to stop the others.”
“Marguerite.” Her father’s voice held weariness. “Do you truly believe this is about the murders at the garrison?”
It was about her daring to love a man who was not of the same wealth or class. About her surrendering her virtue for love, instead of duty.
“If you kill him, I will never speak to you again,” she warned. “You will have no part in my life.”
She started to walk toward Callum, while they led the next man toward the gallows. Though he remained still, she saw his eyes searching. He glanced at the row of archers standing a short distance behind him, and then his gaze fell upon her.
Her heart sank, and she drank in the details of his strong face and long dark hair. She didn’t care what she had to do, but she refused to stand and watch him die.
It will be all right, his eyes seemed to say. She couldn’t understand how, for he was surrounded on all sides. Even the Duc stood near the gallows, to witness the executions.
But then, without warning, one of the prisoners broke free of his ropes. Marguerite saw the man rushing toward her father, and horror filled her when she saw the flash of his knife.
The blade glinted as he raised it high to stab the Duc. Her father flinched, holding him back with all his strength.
A moment later, an arrow shot across the inner bailey, embedding into the prisoner’s back. A second followed, and he dropped where he stood.
The entire courtyard grew still, and she saw the bow that Callum had seized from a nearby archer. Somehow, he’d broken free of his own bindings and saved her father’s life.
The Duc stared at him, but there was no gratefulness in his eyes. Instead, he appeared furious that Callum had been the one to rescue him. He crossed the space between them, stepping past the body of his would-be assassin.
Their eyes locked, and Marguerite hurried toward them. Something made her stop, however, when she saw the rage in her father’s eyes.
“I don’t know what role you played in that attack,” he began, “but others say you should be hanged for it.”
“I killed . . . no one,” Callum said. “Too late to stop them.”
The Duc eyed him with a hard stare before he turned his gaze back upon her with an unspoken accusation. Marguerite felt the intensity of his frustration and hatred toward the man she loved.
“So you can speak,” he remarked. “I wonder what else you’ve lied about.”
Callum gave no reply, and Marguerite held her own silence. Both of them realized that one wrong word would mean his death.
Instead, she moved to her father and took his hand. Kneeling down, she lifted his hand to her forehead in a silent plea. Let him live, she prayed.
Guy’s fingers rested upon her veiled hair, and she could feel the trembling anger he held back. “Take him north, into the mountains,” her father ordered, “and leave him there.”
Shock flooded through her, and she stood, reaching for his hand. But the Duc withdrew it, moving away from her without casting her a single glance. His soldiers moved in to surround Callum, who made no attempt to escape their custody.
“I’ll grant you your life, as compensation for mine,” the Duc acceded, “but do not show your face to me again. Or my daughter.”
The statement was like an arrow through her heart, shredding apart her hope. Marguerite never took her eyes from Callum, though they blurred with tears. The soldiers dragged him away, and he fixed his gaze upon her.
Remember, you are mine.
