“I willna have ye sleepin’ on me, Kate.” He closed his eyes, letting the potent brew warm his muscles. When he opened them again, she was gone. Against his will, his gaze scanned the campsite until he found her again, sitting on the ground a few feet away, her knees drawn up to her chest. She watched Jamie start the small fire between them and shook her head when Angus offered her some of Mae Stewart’s black bread. Callum studied the shape of her face, the bonny luminance of her deep, dark eyes, the sensual fullness of her mouth. Fire flushed through his veins. Damned whiskey. He ran his hand over his stubbled jaw. He would never compromise his convictions by bedding one of his enemies. No matter how enticing she’d felt nestled between his thighs for the past day and night. When she rubbed her arm, he felt a sharp sting of pity for her. She had not complained once about her wound, though he knew it pained her. He quaffed another long drink from the pouch, determined to douse the embers of desire and mercy she ignited in him. If he had any sense at all, he would leave her here in the morn.
Her eyes shimmered like the gabbro of the Cuillins when Jamie’s flames finally sprang to life. As if sensing his silent vigil, she shifted her gaze to his. Callum’s knees buckled beneath him. Of course, his weakened state could be blamed on the whiskey he’d consumed and not on the tender look she aimed at him. Damn her, where was the seething contempt in her eyes? She was a Campbell, for hell’s sake! Why was she looking at him like he was anything but her worst enemy? If she hurled a few oaths at him, cursed his clan to hell, he might not find her so pleasing. His back slid down against the trunk, and he landed with a heavy thump that rattled his teeth. God help him, he felt like grinning at her.
“A few more swigs of me brew and ye willna feel a thing,” Angus chuckled. Callum leaned his head back, preferring not to watch Graham’s sword heat to bright orange.
“You are not going to . . .”
Callum heard Kate’s voice and closed his eyes again. He liked the sound of her, the dulcet huskiness that carried an undercurrent of strength so deeply rooted, she did not even fear the Devil.
“You cannot mean to sear his flesh with that!” she screeched, causing Callum’s shoulders to bunch up around his ears.
“Sit ye down, lass,” Graham said softly. “There’s naught else to be done.”
Callum looked at them and blinked at the three scalding swords in Graham’s hands. One. He dragged his hand across his eyes. His friend held only one sword. One glowing, sizzling iron rod that would soon . . . He guzzled more brew and braced himself for what was to come.
“Well? What are ye waitin’ fer?” he demanded a moment later when Graham simply stood there staring down at him.
“I’m thinking I should tie yer hands first,” Graham admitted.
“Do it.”
And still Graham hesitated. Callum MacGregor was mighty indeed. If he swung that fist and made contact with Graham’s face, the commander was sure he would not awaken for a se’nnight. Years of hard labor and torture had made Callum stronger than any man Graham knew, but ’twas the torture he had endured and the scars that still marred his body that made Graham hate the task at hand.
“Graham,” Callum warned impatiently.
The blade descended. For a moment, the entire world went black. Callum clenched his teeth and threw his head back, but he did not make a sound.
Kate stood aghast, unable to move while the sickening smell of burning flesh wafted through her nostrils. Graham dropped his sword and strode away, swearing as he went. The instant he was gone, Kate bolted forward.
When Callum opened his eyes, he was not sure if he couldn’t form a rational thought because of the pain ripping through his entire body, or because of the beautiful goddess kneeling before him, looking like she was about to weep all over him.
Without warning, she snatched the pouch from his fingers and dumped a goodly amount of its contents over his leg.
Callum reacted instantly. His eyes widened and blazed with both fury and agony that made him writhe. He clutched her shoulders and fought the urge to fling her across the campsite. “Christ!” he shouted between gasping breaths. “What the hell did ye do to me?”
“The whiskey will cleanse the wound,” she explained, but Brodie yanked her from Callum’s arms and hauled her to her feet.
“Ye will stay away from him.” His dark hair eclipsed even darker eyes that impaled her while he pulled a dagger from his belt. “Have ye no’ done enough damage to him? Will ye no’ be satisfied until ye have killed him?”
“Nae!” Kate took a step back, feeling her mettle begin to fade for the first time. These men surrounding her were warriors of the most savage ilk. Their laird meant to deliver her to safety, but they looked only too eager to hang her from the nearest tree. “I did not mean to cause him injury. I saw him riding toward me and I thought he was coming to fight on the side of the McColls.”
“Why in hell would we fight on the side o’ the bloody McColls?” Brodie raised his voice at her. “Are ye daft?”
The mighty chieftain hiccuped. “’Tis understandable. She’s a Campbell.”
“Aye, she’s a Campbell.” Angus agreed and spat in disgust. “Stick a knife into a MacGregor’s guts as quick as her men kin would.”
“Treacherous she is.”
That insult was enough to strengthen Kate’s mettle back to full force. “I did not stick a knife into his guts, but his thigh. And as for my men kin, at least they are not cowards who slice men from behind like your kinsmen did to my father. They do not go around raping and pillaging innocent people and starting wars that last for centuries.”
“We didna rape anyone innocent,” Angus argued.
“Shut up, Angus.” Callum groaned against the tree. He rubbed his forehead. “And what in blazes is in this brew? I feel like my head’s floatin’ off my shoulders.” He attempted to stand, held on to the tree for a moment until the ground stopped moving, then tried again. He nearly fell on top of Kate. Grasping her waist to right himself, his heavy body almost caused her to fall with him. He groaned when a bolt of pain shot through his leg.
“And we wouldna kill a Campbell from behind.” Brodie moved closer to them, his voice hard as steel. “We would look him in the eye and—”
“Brodie, step back before I take my sword to ye,” Callum warned, trying to fight the effects of Angus’s whiskey.
