God, she needed to believe him. “Are you injured?” she asked, rising to go to him. Blood stained his plaid and smudged his jaw, but it was clearly not his own. For while his voice fell heavily on her ears, the unbending steel of his emotions remained.
“Dinna concern yerself with me, Kate,” he answered before turning to leave, this time on foot into the trees.
She watched him go, and though she knew he had been victorious in his endeavors the night before, he walked with the weariness of a man defeated. Was he simply a heartless rebel, bent on killing Campbells because he felt they’d treated his clan unfairly? Or was the Devil a man with a greater cause? Keeping our name alive and avenging the wrongs done to my kin. She recalled his words at the Cameron holding. God’s mercy, he fought to avenge too much. She picked up her steps and followed him, wanting, needing to know if her grandfather had truly kept him locked away in a dungeon when he was a child. And if so, how far would he go to right that wrong?
Coming upon him a few moments later, she studied him from between the tangle of branches that separated them. He stood naked and alone at the edge of a loch, its surface set aflame by the morning sun. His plaid and tunic, along with one crumpled boot, lay in a heap at his feet. His left boot flew over his shoulder and just missed Kate’s head when she left the sanctuary of the trees, her gaze fastened on his bare back. Though every muscle that fashioned him was honed and defined by years of toil and battle, it was not the sheer beauty of him that drew her closer but the ugliness of long, jagged scars covering one end of his expansive shoulders to the other.
They were deep, angry imperfections carved into stone. The sight of them brought tears to Kate’s eyes. How old was he when he had received them? Had it been her grandfather’s hands that had produced them? In that moment, Callum MacGregor became more than an avenging warrior to her. He was a man who had lived through the merciless torture of a barbarian. His purpose was made even stronger by his pain.
Paralyzed by the poignant power before her, she watched him stalk into the sun-dappled current like Poseidon returning home from war. She had felt his body against hers, hard as granite. But never had she seen a naked man before, and never one so finely made. She did not blink as the water caressed his shapely calves, then rose upward to his thighs as he waded deeper into the loch. Mesmerized by his sheer masculine glory, her gaze continued up over the perfect roundness of his buttocks. Her mouth went dry, and her heart pounded so loud in her chest she feared he might hear it.
He tilted his face toward the sun. The splay of muscles in his upper arms rolled under his skin as he spread his arms at his sides, skimming his palms over the cool, satiny surface. It was then, while she stared almost longingly at the length of his fingers, that she noticed he had removed the leather cuffs that normally covered his wrists. She lifted her hands to her mouth to still a sob welling in her throat. Pocked skin, almost worn down to the bone, bore evidence of the irons that had held him captive.
“D’ye have somethin’ ye wanted to speak to me aboot? Or were ye plannin’ on just starin’ at me while I bathed?”
Kate thought hard about running then. But it was too late; he was already turning around to face her. She was thankful, at least, that half his body was covered in water. That is, until his eyes found hers.
How could they chill her blood and sear her flesh at the same time? They drew her in, inviting her onto a battlefield for which she had never practiced. Looking into them, she wondered what victory would gain her if she was braw enough to engage.
“Would ye care to join me?”
Her heart near beat right out of her mouth with the thought of it. She felt her face burn and almost turned away, but he seemed to be enjoying her discomposure. She suspected he was quite used to terrifying everyone around him. But she was not everyone.
Folding her arms across her chest, she forced herself to look him straight in the eye. “Nae, I would not care to join you. But I do appreciate the consideration you afford me by bathing. It would be better for us to speak when you are not covered in blood.”
He said nothing but continued to trace the curves of her body with his bemused gaze. Kate thought he might be trying to provoke her anger. She was certain he had no idea how he was making her insides tremble.
“Well?” he asked after another moment passed with her staring at him.
She blinked. “Well what?”
“What is it ye want, besides me to look more appealin’ fer ye?”
“I can assure you I care not how you look, MacGregor,” Kate argued, irritated now that he had turned her meaning into something entirely different. “Were you beaten for your pride?”
He nodded, and though the slight humor hovering around his lips was arrogant indeed, Kate was dreadfully sorry for her words the moment she spoke them.
Finally she lowered her eyes. “I did not mean—”
“Speak yer mind, Kate Campbell,” he drawled and lay back into water, exposing his sculpted chest to the sun. “If my scars please ye, then say it and let us be honest enemies.”
Kate took a step forward. Her hand came to her chest. “Please me?”
He lifted his head to squint at her. “Aye.”
“They horrify me!” She watched him paddle away from her on his back and was tempted to reach her hand out to bring him back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were the Devil MacGregor?”
“Ye didna ask,” he called back.
Oh, the man was completely insufferable. Kate looked around for a rock to fling at him while he swam farther away. “MacGregor,” she called out. “Did my grandfather truly . . .” God, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him, to even think of it. It didn’t matter. He had no intention of answering her. She moved closer to the edge of the loch.
“Did you kill him for what he did to you?” She gritted her teeth when he continued to swim away. “I am trying to talk to you!” she shouted.
Still nothing.
“If you would just . . . MacGregor!” she called out louder while he drifted. “I believe you did not kill my father. Are we to remain enemies simply because of our names?”
“’Tis the only reason we need,” he called back, sunning himself.
