Frustration–and fear–had her stomping her bare foot into the ground. “Ye dinna understand!” she cried. “Ye cannabehere. I dinna want something tae happen tae ye!”
“I can take care of meself,” he said, lifting an arrogant brow.
“Men,” she hissed, throwing her hands in the air. “Ye are all the same. Too foolhardy for yer own good. Too full of yerselves tae realize when the water is lapping at yer neck. Ye are about tae drown, Callum Campbell. And ye dinna even know it.”
“Then it’s a good thing it is that I’m an excellent swimmer.” Blue eyes bright with amusement and not a flicker of worry, he patted Skye’s shoulder. “Come for a ride with me, Mara MacLea. It’s a beautiful morning, and ye are a beautiful woman. I’d be a blessed man tae get tae enjoy both.”
“Aride?” she said incredulously. “I canna take a ride with ye!”
His second brow rose to join the first. “Why not?”
“B-because Skye willna allow it.”
“Are ye sure about that?” With admittedly impressive dexterity given his size, Callum grabbed a fistful of Skye’s mane and swung up onto her back. “Come on, then. The day is a wasting.”
Mara narrowed her eyes at Skye, who stood as docile as a newborn lamb.I’ll deal with ye later, she vowed. Then her stormy gaze cut to Callum. “Can ye manage a horse without a saddle or reins?”
“Can ye?” he asked with a challenging grin.
She propped her fists on her hips. “I know just what it is ye are doing.”
“And?”
It’s working, ye devilish man.
“Move back,” she ordered. “I’ll be in command of me own horse.”
Chapter Six
They rode awayfrom the sea. Away from the restless, crashing waves. Away from the searing cry of the gulls. Away from the sinister call of the cliffs.
Mara sat astride in front of Callum, skirts hitched up past her knees and spine as straight as an arrow to avoid leaning against his chest. But even though her shoulders avoided contact with the handsome Scot, it was impossible to prevent the curve of her buttocks from sliding against his groin with every ground-devouring stride that Skye took.
The friction was maddeningly delightful. Had she less pride, or less concern for Callum’s eternal soul, she might have given in to temptation and melted into the hard concave of his body like a slab of butter spread across a piece of warm bread. But she didn’t want him to be trapped here, as she was. Because even if hewasthe one she’d been waiting for, the one who could break the curse and free her from this castle and the chains that kept her shackled to it, she couldn’t ask him to risk his life for her own.
Not without possibly damning them both.
Using her knees, she steered Skye towards a meadow beyond the view of the keep. It was as far as she was able go without feeling the yank of the invisible iron band around her neck. During the first few years of her imprisonment, she’d spent countless hours here. Testing her boundaries. Biting her thumb at theCaoineag. But as the years turned to decades and the decades to centuries, the meadow became just another barrier.
Bringing Skye to a halt, she went to swing her leg over the mare’s withers to dismount, but her distracted thoughts made her uncharacteristically clumsy, and she would have fallen had Callum’s arm not shot out to catch her.
“Steady, lass,” he murmured, his breath stirring the hair tucked behind her ear. “I’ve got ye.” He lowered her to the sprawling blanket of purple heather, then joined her with an easy jump to the ground while Skye wandered off to find a patch of grass to nibble.
“Thank ye,” she said stiffly, shaking out her skirts. Pieces of horse hair clung to the inside of her legs, making them itch. There was a fresh water stream on the other side of the tree line. Just cold enough that she could almost feel the water. But she dared not bathe in open view of Callum. Not when he was already gazing at her as if she were a sweet treat to be devoured. Letting her dress fall into place, she angled her head away from him, a cord of tension tightening in her neck as she lapsed into a frigid silence. A frigid silence that ended on a squeak of alarm when Callum began to disrobe.
“What…what are yedoing?” she asked as he lifted his arms and pulled off his shirt, revealing a broad chest that tapered to a rigid abdomen and lean hips. Where Hugh had been soft, Callum was hard. His body made not from leisurely sitting, but carved from constant physical exertion. A light dusting of hair covered the top of his chest, and when her fingers trembled with the urge to stroke the downy fleece, she tucked them hastily behind her back.
“Giving us something tae sit on.” Spreading the shirt out, he sat down, knees drawn up with his arm draped loosely around them, and nodded at the empty space beside him. “Willna ye have a sit with me, Mara?”
Swallowing, she perched on the furthest possible corner that she could, her body poised to take flight at any given moment.
“Dinna forget tae breathe,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting with amusement, “or else I’ll be carrying ye back tae the castle.”
“I am breathing,” she said defensively.
“And here I was of the thought that ghosts had no use for oxygen.”
She flicked him a disdainful glare out of the corner of her eye. “Ye probably also think that they can pass through walls.”
