Kate curtseyed and did her best to conceal her amusement over his loss of composure. “Thank you, Callum.”
She tilted her face to study his profile as they began to walk together toward the great hall. He was so tall, so broad compared to her. When he slid his eyes to her and caught her obvious awe, she blushed a true shade of crimson.
“I’m still angry with you,” she said in defense of the teasing smile slanting his mouth.
“Truly?” He traced her profile with his bemused gaze. “Ye look rather joyous to me.”
Kate shrugged her shoulders. “That is because soon I will be reunited with my beloved betrothed.”
“Aye.” Callum nodded. “His name has slipped from my memory. Lord Newton of Manchester, is it?”
Kate almost paused in her steps. Hell, what was the name she had given him? It wasn’t Newton, was it? “His name is of no importance,” she said haughtily, not about to confess that she didn’t remember. “There is a more pressing matter I wish to discuss with you.”
“Ye have my ear,” he said, keeping his gaze ahead.
“It is about my uncle.” She cut him a quick side glance, expecting him to scowl or mayhap storm away. He did neither. “I am concerned for you.”
“Ye insult me.”
“I don’t really care.” Och, he was scowling now. “Insult will not kill you; Cromwell’s army will.”
Callum’s mouth hooked into an arrogant half smile that made her insides burn. “If his army finds me and comes here, they will die at the hands of MacGregors, MacLeods, and MacKinnons. I intend to kill Argyll, Kate. Nae one will stop me. No’ even ye.”
“What about Maggie? She does not want you to kill him, either.”
He was quiet for a moment, but then he shook his head. When he spoke again, the hard edge in his voice told her this conversation was about to end. “My sister knows who I am.”
What in damnation did that mean? “Will you at least consider—”
“Nae.”
Och, but he was a stubborn man. “You are making it terribly difficult to like you, MacGregor.”
“You like me well enough, Campbell.”
She heard the smile in his voice and turned to look up at him. Her steps faltered at the warmth of his gaze. His mask was gone, momentarily tantalizing her with the bare truth of his emotions. His expression darkened with unspoken yearning so replete she drew closer to him, wanting to fling herself into his arms.
“’Tis a burden, to be sure,” he said, “but I am willin’ to suffer it.”
Kate’s brow rose sharply, the slow curl of her lips a direct challenge to his beguiling grin. If he insisted on keeping up his air of detachment, which his eyes told her was a facade, she was not going to make it easy for him. With her heart racing, she reached for him, fitting her hand into his much larger one. She hid her satisfaction when his composure seemed to desert him again, and she leaned in closer to him.
“Though your suffering might be great, I will grant you no pity.”
Instead of pulling away, he twined his fingers through hers, binding her to him more intimately. “Ye’re a fierce opponent, lass. I’ll grant ye that.” He took his time looking her over, letting his smile carve into a slow, seductive smirk. “But I’ll no’ be beaten by a Campbell.”
Blast him, but he would not give up! “Aye, as your scarred leg can testify,” she replied tartly.
He actually threw his head back and chuckled. Kate stopped walking and gave his hand a tug. Now he stung her pride. If there was one thing she was good at, it was wielding a sword.
“Why do you laugh, Callum? Do you not think I fight well?”
“Aye, I’ll admit ye fight well, fer a lass. I saw ye fight against the McColls.”
“For a lass?” She snatched back her hand and folded her arms across her chest, drumming her fingers on her elbows. “I could beat you, Callum MacGregor.”
Humor danced across his handsome features. Even though it made Kate angry that he found her amusing, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his arrogant mirth.
“Let me out of this heavy plaid and meet me outside.”
