She waited for Callum, growing more apprehensive as the moments passed. Why did she send for him, she asked herself, dipping the cloth into the bowl. He had probably cleaned the wound himself. Why did she tell Aileen to make haste? God help her, she loved him. She lifted her hands to her throat. Loving him would most likely get her killed . . . or branded. Nae, Robert would never allow it. But what in damnation would become of her? Callum didn’t love her. She was going back to Glen Orchy, or to Kildun. Once her uncle was dead she would never see Callum again. Her use to him would be over. She remembered his kisses and patted her flushed cheek with her wet hand. Callum MacGregor was passionate in his hatred—and his kisses. Her gaze drifted over the bed, and she quivered. She wrung the cloth until it was almost dry again. “God’s breath, he makes me feel feverish.”
“I hope the ‘he’ ye refer to is me, lass.”
Kate whirled around, nearly knocking over the bowl of water. Callum stood in the doorway, blocking out the light from the hall. When he stepped inside he wore a smile that was becoming as familiar to her as his fearsome scowls, and even more mesmerizing. He closed the door behind him, coiling Kate’s nerves into a springy mess. “Ye sent fer me?” he asked when she didn’t answer his first query.
“I . . . I remembered your wound and meant to clean it.”
His eyes fell to her trembling hands when she plunged them in the water again and snatched the cloth. She held it up, dripping water down her elbow. “See?”
He raised one dark brow and nodded, then crossed the room. Kate watched him check on his sister as she had. When he turned to face her, his expression unguarded and achingly tender, Kate saw the victory in this battle. She wanted it. She would have it.
“Where d’ye want me?”
“Closer.” She let her heart speak for her.
“Careful, woman,” he warned, his voice a deep-throated rasp. “Ye tempt me to throw ye on that bed and kiss ye until ye faint in my arms.”
“I fear,” she said, casting all she had left to win him to the battle winds, “if you do not kiss me, I will faint that much faster.”
He was already moving toward her, helpless to resist. Cupping her face in his hands, he tilted her head upward. He gazed deep into her eyes, laying bare the tortured remnants of his heart while he swept his thumb over the delicate curve of her lower lip, parting her lips to receive him. He covered her mouth with his, caressing her, breathing her, consuming her, surrendering to her.
Kate opened her mouth to take him fully, clutching his plaid in both hands as his kiss deepened with barely checked desire. His arms closed around her, enfolding her in his protection, his strength, his desire. Here was what she longed for, to be here with him, just like this, cherished and treasured.
“I love you,” she whispered when he pulled back slowly, searing her nerves with his hungry gaze. “I cannot stop myself, no matter what our names are. No matter who protests it.”
He withdrew from her, and she watched in sorrow as he closed his eyes, distancing himself from her again. “It was difficult.” She fought to keep her voice light. “You are not an easy man to care for, Callum. And Maggie loves you, as well. How can you not know that? Let us love you and prove you are no devil.”
A low-pitched moan drew Kate’s gaze back to the tent.
The flap opened, and Maggie left the comfort of her safe haven. She stopped upon seeing her brother. Kate paled at the hollow, vacant look in Maggie’s large eyes. Maggie stared at Callum but didn’t seem to see him at all.
A moment later, Kate knew the horrible truth of it. Maggie did see him, and she was afraid. She was terrified.
“They were dead,” she said in a quivering voice that teetered on the edge of madness. “All of them were dead.”
Callum did not blink. In fact, Kate was stunned to find his gaze on his sister almost as empty as Maggie’s.
“His head. His head fell away.”
“Kate?” At the sound of Callum’s voice speaking her name, Kate near leaped off the floor. “Ye should leave now.”
“Nae.”
“Callum.” Maggie’s voice shattered on a throaty sob. She swiped her hands over her face. “The blood was on me!”
“Aye, Maggie, I know,” her brother whispered on a strangled moan of his own.
“Nae more!” she shouted. Huge tears teetered on her lashes, and her bottom lip trembled. “’Twas on my hands.” Suddenly she ran to her brother and he caught her up in his arms. “Ye must cease! Please, cease!”
Callum held her, but he did not speak, and Kate knew it was his own guilt that silenced him. He had caused this terror.
“Cease, Callum!” Maggie screamed, and he closed his eyes, helpless to do anything more.
“Oh, dear God.” Kate breathed, seeing the images of what happened that day. Callum had carried his tiny sister over his shoulder while he hacked at men from every direction. Nine years of torture, of watching his sister suffer, of hearing her scream, helpless to stop it. He lived in hell and had become a monster painted red with the blood of his victims.
“Please . . . nae more.” Maggie’s wails faded into a muffled sob. “Or they will surely kill ye.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie, m’love.” Callum groaned into her hair. He was only faintly aware of Kate slipping quietly from the room.
