“We have been declared worthless, nonhuman. A price has been placed on the heads of our men, women, and children! Our lands are free to any taker.”
Tears gathered over the rims of Kate’s eyes as she understood fully the depth of his pride and the reason for it. “It is as if you no longer exist.” She brought her gaze back to his. “You feel forsaken, even by God. Callum, I do understand. And I am so sorry.”
“I dinna want yer pity,” he said, cursing himself inwardly. He should rebuke her, shake her, push her away until she was so afraid of him her fear and hatred destroyed whatever else she felt. “I’ll no’ allow ye to shed tears fer my clan. Ye dinna understand the danger in it.”
She did understand, but at that moment she didn’t care. God’s mercy, she doubted even Robert would forgive her for siding with The Devil, but she wanted Callum to kiss her again. She didn’t want their names to matter anymore. She wanted to touch him and forget laws and proscriptions. But could he ever forget his past and what her family had done to him?
She was sure he could hear her heart pounding. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but her mind had ceased to think of anything save the sheer size of him, the smell of sweat and fury lingering about his flesh, and the longing in his eyes for something unattainable.
He moved toward her, but a knock at the door made him pause and ushered a low growl from his throat.
Kate did not turn to follow his path to the door but closed her eyes instead and chewed her lower lip. She listened while he argued with Ferguson MacDonnell about payment for the table he had smashed. Then she near leaped out of her flesh when the door slammed shut again.
She could feel his eyes on her. Hard, dangerous eyes that had sworn vengeance upon her entire clan. Hot, burning eyes that ached with hunger for her.
“Take the bed,” he snapped.
Turning to him, Kate scowled, frustrated by his deep conviction to despise her no matter how hard she tried to make him like her. “You make it difficult to ignore the true reason you saved my life.”
His expression on her hardened, as if she’d just given him a great insult. “I would no’ have let ye die, even if I killed yer uncle.”
Kate was relieved to hear him say it. She was right about him all along. But . . . “Sometimes it’s difficult to believe you care for my safety when you continue to look at me as if I were your worst enemy.”
“Lass,” he said, and the silken depth of raw desire in his voice made her stagger. “If I cared naught fer yer safety, ye would no’ be standing there.”
Kate’s nostrils flared as she folded her hands into fists at her sides. “Where would I be, then?”
“Ye would be spread across that bed, beneath me.”
Kate’s face burned at the thought. In fact, she felt as if her entire body was about to go up in flames. “Your threats are empty,” she challenged, refusing to believe he would force himself on her. “As would be your eye sockets if you dared touch me uninvited.”
He actually chuckled, mocking her warning as he crossed the room.
She backed away when the distance between them shortened. “Besides,” she said, hastily employing a different tactic to ensure that he remained chivalrous. “You would be making love to a Campbell.”
He walked past her, a slight slant of his lips making her palms moisten and her knees go soft. “Nae, I would merely be havin’ my way with one, which in our case would be just as dangerous.”
Kate said nothing more but climbed into the bed fully clothed. She pulled the coverlet up to her chin and watched him settle down beside the hearth for the night.
Soft firelight danced along the walls. The room was silent save for the crackle of firewood being devoured by flames, along with Callum’s crude promise drumming in her head. Fate was cruel to have cast her into the care of such a cold man, and crueler still because she liked the brute. He despised her, making it perfectly clear that his desire for her was naught more than pure lust in its most basic form.
“You’ve nae more need to treat me cruelly, MacGregor,” she spoke softly in the darkness. “I will do my best to remember who you are from this night on.”
There was a movement from where Callum lay on the floor, and then, like a mad war god rising from the bowels of the Earth, he rose to his feet and stormed out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
KATE ROAMED THE DIM HALLS of the inn, praying that no male patrons were lurking about looking for a wench to warm their beds. She held a small candle to light her way past endless doors behind which laughter and the sounds of harsh groaning echoed and made her cheeks burn.
Logic told her to leave Callum alone. He had every right to want to be as far away from her as he could get. And if she had any wits left at all, she would be glad he stayed away from her. But after the moments spent waiting for him to return had stretched into an hour, she knew her heart was the true culprit, the direst danger to her well being. She sighed tightly, trying to resolve herself to the bare fact that she was obsessed with the man accused of killing her father. Stop it, Kate, she chastised herself, holding the candle in front of her to illuminate a path toward the stairs. He did not kill your father. But he is going to kill your uncle. And then they will kill him. Get him out of your mind.
A woman’s laughter seeped from behind a door to her left, halting Kate’s steps. What if he was in one of these rooms bedding some wench? Visions of his naked body poised over a heated smile assaulted her. What if he was whispering tender words of love into someone’s ear while he . . .
A door opened and Kate almost fled, not wanting to see him exiting the room. The wench exiting the room was a bonny lass with flaxen hair that fell in limp coils around her cherubic face and over the mounds of round, milky breasts she worked lazily to conceal. She offered Kate a pleasant smile while she tied the laces of her gown, then hurried past her and disappeared down the stairs. Kate almost fainted with relief when Graham appeared at the doorway next, adjusting his plaid. She blushed when he grinned at her, a pair of roguish dimples slashing his cheeks, his hazy emerald gaze hooded with spent satisfaction.
“Greetings, lass,” he said and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “I never would have believed he tossed ye out.”
“He did not toss me out,” Kate advised the strapping Highlander with an inquisitive smile of her own. She liked this man. His joy came easily and his brash style was strangely attractive. “Is there a line of women waiting to get into this room, Graham?” she continued when his eyes lit on her in amusement. “How many wenches have you entertained so far this eve?”
