Callum was not sleeping but sat propped against a tree, his legs outstretched before him and crossed at the ankles, his eyes on her.
She cast him a diffident smile. “Sleep eludes me.”
He did not move, but his expression appeared to soften beyond the glimmering firelight.
He was a stranger to her, and yet the chill of midnight tempted Kate to move closer to the familiar warmth of his body. She drew in an uneven breath instead. “I fear I will never sleep at night again if I keep sleeping in the day.”
“A burden, to be sure,” he agreed, his voice light and teasing. “But if the restive sparkle in yer eyes tells the tale true, ’tis one less troublesome than the one I will be sufferin’ again on the morrow.”
Kate’s eyes flashed at him, and a hint of a smile etched her lips to match his. “Suffering indeed. If you had to endure the tedium of traveling with an insolent ogre day after day, you, too, would bless unconsciousness when it came to claim you.”
His eyebrows rose with surprise, but instead of scowling at her as she expected, he grinned and set her heart to pounding. “Have ye always been so braw, Kate Campbell?”
“Nae,” she assured him. She tucked her legs beneath her and turned her gaze to the flames. “When I was a child I was very much afraid of thunder. The ground rumbled much the same way when the Highlanders raided. But Robert always promised to protect me. He was quite gallant, even as a boy.” She smiled, remembering. “My father often mused that my mother should have named her son Galahad.”
“One of King Arthur’s knights who fought against the Picts.”
Kate slanted her gaze at him. “You know of them?”
Callum nodded, “Graham once spoke of them. Men whose armor shone with the radiance of righteousness.”
“Aye.” Kate met his steady gaze. “They believed in what they fought for. Robert used to tell me it is not the victory but why a man fights the battle which makes him a hero.”
Callum regarded her in silence. A play of the light across her eyes it was not: he saw himself, and who he might have been, in their shimmering reflection. He cast his glance downward. “I have naught in common with such men. ’Tis late.” He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. “One of us needs to sleep, else we’ll ride my horse into a tree.”
Kate lay back down and stared up at the treetops. A moment of silence passed before she broke it again. “Robert used to tell me tales when I could not sleep.”
“I am no’ yer brother.”
She sighed and turned to her side to find a more comfortable position, then . . .
“My faither was a hero. He led the Griogaraich against his enemies with Hamish Grant at his side fer many years before he was killed. When we were lads, Graham and I once . . .”
Kate closed her eyes and let the sound of his rich, lilting voice carry her away to her dreams.
Chapter Thirteen
WHEN THEY STOPPED at an inn two nights later, Kate was so deliriously happy at the thought of sleeping in a bed, she didn’t notice the possessive way Callum kept his fingers clenched around her wrist after they dismounted.
Callum had agreed to stop here because they were at the edge of MacDonnell country, and though none were permitted to aid the MacGregors, most Highlanders did. His men could use a hot meal, and mayhap if Kate slept in a bed this night, she would cease falling asleep in his arms. Every time she pressed her cheek against his chest, as if she belonged there—or when she looked into his eyes like he was her champion—she tempted him to forget all he lost in her grandfather’s dungeon and imagine that something new and wonderful was still possible in his life. Hell, he was going daft, and the dulcet sound of her breath, the achingly sweet comfort she found in his embrace were to blame. He had to find a horse for her to ride and get her out of his arms. And fast.
But this night he kept her close to him because even though the innkeeper, Ferguson MacDonnell, was his friend, the price on a MacGregor head was too high for some to resist. And since Kate traveled with him, she was considered his. Her life, forfeit.
He could have entered the inn with caution, but if there were enemies inside, their fear of him would keep Kate alive. So, feeding what they knew of The Devil, he brandished his sword and kicked open the door. He stood beneath the entryway like a wraith freed upon the swirling mist. The inn grew silent while he raked his powerful gaze over every face, warning death swift yet painful should any come against him.
Angus let out a loud belch, stepped around his laird, and entered the inn first. He sauntered over to a large trestle table where a group of ruffians sat, their cups paused in midair at their lips. He hovered over them with dark, bloodshot eyes. “What ails ye, ye bunch o’ sorry knaves? Have ye never seen a MacGregor before?”
“Aye, we have,” said the leader of the group. “But none as ugly as you, Angus MacGregor.”
“Archie MacPherson, I thought ye were dead.” Angus laughed and grabbed hold of the man’s forearm to haul him out of his seat and into his arms. “’Tis good to see ye, old friend.”
Flanked on all sides by Callum and the rest of his men, Kate watched, relieved that the men were not enemies, for one would have to be a fool to cross the mighty brutes surrounding her. She was also surprised to find more friends of the MacGregors. It pleased and comforted her to know they were not hunted everywhere.
Now that the threat of bloodshed was over, she relaxed and took in the sights around her. The inn was more like a tavern, with rooms above stairs to accommodate patrons and the wenches who served them with coy giggles on their lips. The scent of ale and sweet wine flooded Kate’s lungs and made her gag at first, but then, oddly enough, the place began to smell cozy.
“M’laird, welcome,” a small man with a bulbous nose and thick, unruly red hair greeted when he reached them. He turned his pale green eyes on Kate, giving her a hungry looking over that made her shift closer to Callum.
His response was to toss his arm around her and drag her to him. “MacDonnell.” Callum’s voice was an octave above a growl. “If ye dinna quit starin’ at her, I’ll be forced to stop ye myself.”
