“Och, but ye have a sharp tongue, lass.” He laughed, making Kate realize that she missed the sound terribly. She studied him for a moment, understanding why the women in the tavern sought his company, for he was fair of face with sunlit hair and a lithe body. Aye, he was quite handsome in a roguish way, she decided. His smile wasn’t as devastating as Callum’s, but it was certainly charming enough.
“What are ye doing roaming the halls at this ungodly hour?” He shoved a thin twig between his teeth and chewed on it. “It’s not safe fer such a lass as yerself.”
She shrugged. “Callum left the room earlier and I . . .” She bit her lip and looked at the doors framing her on either side.
Graham lifted a curious eyebrow at her as understanding washed over him. “A night’s pleasure would do him good. But fear not, he is not inside any of these rooms. Fer come morn, naught will change fer him.”
The candle flame quivered when Kate’s hand shook slightly. She should have been relieved by Graham’s words, but she felt worse than before. “What did my grandfather do to him? Tell me. Please, Graham.”
Graham studied her for a moment, then drew out a long sigh. “He was shackled to a wall fer nine years, sometimes fer weeks at a time without pause, without a day in the sun.”
Kate took a step back and lifted her hand to her mouth. “My God,” she choked on a woeful sob. “He was a child. His scars . . . his wrists . . .”
Graham nodded. “He fought to free himself. He finally did when . . .”
But Kate couldn’t bear to hear another word. She fled down the stairs, needing to find Callum. She rounded a sharp corner and almost bounced off a wall that stood in her way. The candle flickered out, and for a moment she was engulfed in darkness. Then she heard the crackle of fire and slowly turned around. She was in the tavern section of the inn. Light from the great hearth fire just behind another wall sifted through the archway, dimly lighting another path. She followed it, though a voice in her head told her to flee back up the stairs.
Callum slept in a heavy wooden chair in front of the hearth, an empty tankard strewn in the rushes beneath his dangling hand. Kate took a step closer to him until she could see his perfect features in the coppery candescence. He was a warrior, but asleep, the vulnerable tilt of his lips drew her closer. He took her breath away. She let her eyes drift over the broad expanse of his chest, the sleek, smooth sinew that shaped his arms. Her gaze traveled down the length of his body, lingering for a breath on his lean hips and then continuing, with a stifled moan, to his long, muscular legs sprawled out before him. God’s teeth, there was so much of him.
Suddenly, he cried out. “Nae!” He jerked his hands forward, and Kate’s eyes fell to his leather-bound wrists. Was he dreaming of her grandfather’s dungeon? The terror and torment in his voice almost felled her to her knees. Without thinking, she reached for him, wanting to ease his pain and wake him from his nightmare. When her fingertips brushed his wrist, his eyes shot open. His hand snapped up and gripped her arm with such force she bit her lip not to cry out. He pulled her down, almost on top of him, and stared into her eyes with a mixture of anguish and haunting fear, the likes of which she had never seen before and would not soon forget.
“Callum,” she breathed, too afraid to utter anything more.
The wall fell away from his eyes. His dream was over. As quickly as he had yanked her to him, he eased his hold on her arm. But he did not let her go. Her face was close to his, so close she could feel the heat of his uneven breath upon her lips. But it was his eyes that paralyzed her. No longer were they dark with resolve to hate, no longer were they smoldering blue orbs of forbidden desire. Kate’s heart wrenched within her at the stark sorrow staring back at her, consuming her soul, as it did his.
She whispered his name again as the weight of his unguarded gaze struck her full in the heart. Before she could stop herself, she threw herself against his chest and held him.
“I’m sorry for what he did to you.”
He did not answer her right away. First his arms came around her, slowly, as if he feared he might break her. He ran his palm over the length of her hair, down her back, holding her head closer. With her ear pressed so closely to him, she had no trouble hearing the fierce pounding of his heart.
“What are ye doin’ here, lass?” her asked her. Then, as if he realized what he was doing, he gently pushed her away.
Now she did fall to her knees beside his chair. The shadows returned, drifting across the surface of his eyes as he stared down at her. She fought to hold on to whatever gentleness and vulnerability she had just seen in him before it completely disappeared again. She could reach him, mayhap touch him if he would only release his anger and hatred for just a moment.
“I was looking for you,” she told him softly, clinging to the trace of tenderness in his tone.
His features softened again, but he looked away from her and into the flames of the hearth fire. “Return to yer bed, Kate.”
Even against the soft golden hue of firelight, his profile was all hard, harsh planes. Even his eyes gave naught away now about the torment he had suffered. Still, Kate ached to hold him. Part of her knew it would be like reaching her hand toward a ravenous lion. Her fingers could very easily be bitten off. Och, but to touch such a magnificent beast, to touch him and not be eaten alive.
Slowly, casting off her fear, she lifted her fingers to his wrist and touched the leather cuff that covered scars too horrible to look upon. He turned and looked at her and her heart stopped, ready to be devoured. She drew in a deep, quivering breath and straightened her fingers to stroke his wrist. “Do you wear these to remember?”
“Nae, I wear them to ferget.”
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to trap the tears she would shed so unabashedly for him. But they came nonetheless. She expected him to pull away, but he turned his hand in hers until their palms met. Then he closed his fingers around hers. His touch was gentle, whisper soft.
“Cease yer cryin’ fer me. It willna change a moment of the past.”
But she wished she could change it. Even more than that, she wanted to change his future. She wanted him to let go of his hatred and . . . and what? Kate bit her bottom lip, keeping her eyes fastened on his fingers. What did she want? God’s fury, what did it matter? He was a MacGregor and she a Campbell. Their destiny was already written in the law, carved into his flesh. There was naught she could do to change it.
“I dinna want yer sympathy.” The roughness of his voice only intensified the plea beneath.
“But it is mine to give, my laird.”
Above her, Callum closed his eyes. His fingers moved over hers, stroking, caressing. Her hand was so small, so soft. He should send her back to the room before the sight and scent of her drove him completely mad. Then again, mayhap madness would be a welcome respite from the constant darkness inside him.
His heart went soft when he looked down at her bent head. She looked like an angel kneeling beside him, so ready to offer him atonement for what she did not know. “Mayhap,” he murmured, “I should accept what ye offer me.”
