“Callum!” came a shout.
The dangerous look in her lover’s eyes made her lower her leg. “I may have to murder my younger brother, sweet. Stay here while I go and kill him for interrupting us.”
Marguerite straightened her skirts and sat down on the bed, hardly able to stand. “Quickly, then,” she answered with a smile. Inside, her body was molten, aching for him. She tried to calm herself and when she heard their voices outside, she wondered what this was about. A moment later, Callum returned to her and retrieved his bow and a quiver of arrows.
The look upon his face was harsh and unforgiving. The foreboding within her stomach took root and swelled. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Soldiers gathering from the west.”
Her heart sank, and the tremulous fear rose up so hard, she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. “English?” she ventured.
He shook his head slowly. “It’s your father’s men, come to invade Glen Arrin. Stay here, Marguerite. Whatever happens, don’t leave this house.”
Callum rode out with his brothers, cold rage cloaking his mood. He didn’t know what had prompted the Duc to make this journey, but he intended to face down the man and make him leave.
It was better if he believed Marguerite was dead. No doubt the Duc had come to make sure of it.
He joined with Alex and Bram, while Dougal stayed with the women. The other clansmen armed themselves, positioned on every side of the fortress. There had been time to evacuate the rest of the women and children to Bram’s house at the top of the hillside.
“Do they know she’s here?” Alex asked.
Callum could only shake his head. “Let them believe that she’s dead. It’s her only hope of gaining her freedom.”
“Where is Marguerite now?”
“She’s hidden in the forest in our house.” He drew his horse forward, riding toward the army of men. It infuriated him that the Duc would come this night, the night that they were meant to marry. Was there no way the man would ever let them be?
“Steady your temper, brother,” Alex warned.
Bram came along the opposite side, his expression grim. “The priest is with them.”
Callum let out a curse. If they’d found the priest, then the man might have confessed the truth, that Marguerite was here and they would be married tonight.
“Somehow, I don’t believe the Duc came to witness our marriage,” he said. More likely to prevent it.
But still, he kept moving forward until the army spread out. He reached into his quiver for a black-feathered arrow, and nocked it to his bowstring. Let them come, if they would.
“What do you want to do?” Alex asked.
“Allow them to make the first move.” Callum kept the arrow fitted, waiting for the Duc to make his decision. “We’ll make no assumptions until we know why they’re here.”
The soldiers behind him were armed for a battle. They wore chainmail armor, and all had spears, bows, and other weapons. A second row of horsemen stood, prepared for a fight.
Neither army moved, and time slowed as they stared at one another. Callum realized that the Duc would not believe him if he claimed Marguerite was not here. He would turn over every stone, searching in every house until they found her.
He didn’t want to kill Marguerite’s father or be placed in a position where he had no choice but to take the Duc's life. The silence weighed upon both sides, but a quarter of an hour later, movement attracted their attention.
Callum saw a group of women walking in the space between the two sides. Nairna had changed into a loose-fitting gown of silk, and she struggled to walk with her swollen belly. Her hair was braided back with flowers woven into the strands. Beside her Laren walked even more slowly, carrying both babies. Though Alex’s wife had her arms full, she, too, was clad in wedding finery. Behind them, he could see nothing but the glint of golden hair.
His heart sank, for Marguerite had ignored his command. Why would she do this?
She walked slowly, each step filled with purpose. Nairna and Laren had helped her prepare herself, and Marguerite wore her hair down around her shoulders. They had combed it for her, crowning her with a wreath of heather and gorse. Around her throat, she wore the blue pendant, and her gown was the same shade of sapphire. A golden girdle hung against her hips, and her feet were barefoot on the summer grass.
Marguerite had told Nairna and Laren of her plan, and though it was a risk, it was all she had. Something had to be done before fighting broke out. And although she had made her decision to stay with Callum, no matter what happened, she would do everything in her power to prevent bloodshed.
“They look as if they’re going to kill each other,” Laren murmured, clutching her children tightly to her breast.
“They won’t dare attack with us between them,” Marguerite said.
