She opened her eyes, addling him thoroughly. “I see two of you.” She smiled again but then grew serious.
“Clalum?”
“Aye, lass?”
“If you did not kill my father, then who did?”
Chapter Twelve
KATE WOKE UP many hours later, propped against Callum’s chest while he kept his horse at a slow pace and his arms closed loosely around her. Her head ached from front to back. The bouncing up and down did not help, and she silently cursed his horse and every other horse in creation while they trotted along a rocky incline. She was trying to find a more comfortable position when she remembered that her knight was her captor and she was nothing more to him than bait to catch a jackal. She tried to sit up, but her head felt like it was going to teeter off her shoulders and careen to the ground.
“How do ye fare, Kate?”
The deep voice behind her ears boomed through her head and made her cringe.
“Must you shout?”
“I’m whisperin’.”
“Do not whisper so loudly, then,” she groaned. “I feel like I’m dying.”
Behind her, Callum nodded sympathetically, familiar with the agonizing aftereffects of Gillis’s brew. He laid his hand on top of her head and eased her back against his chest. “Just be still.”
Kate knew he did not like her, but once again, he was comforting her. His hand, one that had killed more Campbells than she cared to ponder, was so achingly gentle when he touched her that it almost made her doubt the conviction of his hatred. She did as her captor ordered and leaned against him, squinting in the daylight at the land around her.
Slopes were fast becoming mountains that rose like great granite curtains around her. When she inhaled, her nostrils tingled. The air was getting thinner. She had never traveled outside of Glen Orchy before, and she began to realize just how much she had missed. The Highlands were an uncharted place, vast and wild with untouched foliage and men who hid atop jagged cliffs, unseen in the mist. It was an untamed land of bursting color. The heather grew here in lush splendor, decorating the braes in rich purple majesty. But there was something more. ’Twas gray. The color of strength. An endless line of mountains rose boldly toward a vast blue sky that hovered so close one would wager his best horse that he merely need lift his hand to the sky to touch it. It was as if the very heavens descended upon this land. Kate decided the Highlands were the most breathtaking, soul-stirring place in creation.
Somewhere overhead, a hawk released a cry that echoed for leagues through deep glens and over rolling moorlands. Kate closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into Callum’s body.
Hard, tight muscles caressed her back. The weight of his shoulders slowly relaxed over hers, enfolding her. Thighs nestled and caressed her now instead of feeling like stones against her hips.
Callum sighed when Kate let out a wee snore under his chin. He had always considered himself hard, not pillow soft or cushioned with clouds. But hell, he was fast becoming this woman’s bed! She was a Campbell. And a nuisance. He tightened his arm around her and stroked her belly with the pad of his thumb. Acts of both protection and possession, he realized, praying for God to grant him strength to keep his wits about him. Protecting her was one thing, but possessing her would be deadly. Deadly for them both. Still, when the wind blew her curls against his face, he closed his eyes and inhaled. He had always thought nothing in the world could ever smell better than the Highlands. He was wrong.
He accepted a wedge of cheese from Brodie, who rode up beside him. They chewed in silence for a few moments before Callum turned toward him. “Brodie, stop starin’ at me and speak yer mind.”
Brodie shrugged his shoulders and tossed back the strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. “I was just thinkin’ how even-tempered ye have become since takin’ the lass.” He let his eyes rove over her form. “’Tis plain to see that she pleases ye,” he continued, even though Callum glared at him. “I was wantin’ to know if ye are thinkin’ o’ claimin’ her.”
“I’ll claim nae Campbell,” Callum answered him, tight-lipped.
“She fancies ye, laird,” Brodie went on. “Listen how she purrs like a kitten all wrapped up in yer arms.” The way Callum tightened his hold on her did not go unnoticed by Brodie. “Have ye no’ considered a way to torture the Earl of Argyll before killin’ him?”
“Nae, but I’m sure ye have thought of naught else,” Callum replied. Brodie was a most ruthless warrior, loyal in battle, but a bit overly bloodthirsty.
“The lass.” Brodie smiled, pointing his chin at her.
“What aboot her?”
“Bed her, and bed her thoroughly. What could be worse fer The Campbell than to have a MacGregor growin’ in his niece’s belly?”
Callum went still on his mount. He hadn’t thought of anything but bedding her for the past se’nnight. ’Twas true, ’twould be satisfying to tell Argyll that MacGregor seed grew in his niece, before Callum killed him. And if he took her to his bed, there would be no marriage between her and the English lord of Newbury. Aye, that thought pleased him well enough. But there was something more to consider.
“And what would become of her when she’s returned to her brother carryin’ my bairn? Ye saw what was done to Rhona MacGregor just fer bearin’ our name.”
“Aye, there is nae mercy fer sympathizers,” Brodie agreed quietly, then eyed Kate pressed so intimately against his laird. “Mayhap, then, ’tis best ye dinna give her back. Fer I fear it may be too late.”
Since she had slept most of the day, Kate was wide awake when Callum and his men settled into their plaids that night. Lying down was fruitless. She blamed the stars for keeping her eyes open, the sound of the leaves rustling for keeping her ears alert. But it was the man sleeping across the campfire who made her heart feel restless. No matter how she tried, she could not stop thinking about his kiss. Lord, but he was dangerous. She hadn’t been able to move in his iron embrace while he touched her so intimately, as if he owned her. And then she didn’t want him to let her go. He’d ravished her, all right, but she couldn’t seem to muster even the slightest bit of anger over it. His mouth took her with ruthless mastery. His hot tongue sliding over hers made her so weak and willing, it frightened her thinking how far she would have let him go had he not stopped on his own.
God’s mercy, he had warned her twice to remember who he was, and she needed to do just that. It was one thing to liken Callum to a champion of his people—for saving her from death—but caring for any MacGregor was considered treason. And the Devil was the most forbidden of them all. She sat up, cursing her wakefulness under her breath, and turned toward the sleeping laird.
