“Shh, lassie,” the man whispered, even as Cedric began to yell. “Dunnae fash yerself,” the stranger said under the roar of Cedric’s temper.
“Leave go of my woman,” Cedric demanded.
For a moment, there was a small glimmer of hope that the man holding her would be honorable and come to her aid, but he released her and her hope plummeted. And when the stranger said, “Dunnae get churlish over a wee wench,” despair threatened to overcome her. She could ill afford the weakness of such an emotion. She thought of her son, and anger burst forth.
“I’m nae a wench, ye blackhearted swine,” she growled, looking up into the man’s face. Shock hit her hard as her gaze met the soulful brown eyes of Callum Grant. Her lips parted with a jagged breath.
She gasped, her chest tightening with a storm of confusion, memories, and emotion. In the space of a breath, she careened wildly from disbelief, to anger, then to happiness, and back to seething anger. “Ye!”
For a moment, Callum simply stared at her, his own lips slightly parted. His fingers, still encircling her wrist, tightened as his chest rose with a sharp intake of breath. A crease appeared between his thick, dark brows but smoothed immediately when Cedric spoke. “Do you know my prize?”
“I’m nae yer prize!” Marsaili snapped, turning her head to glare at the odious Englishman.
When she felt Callum suddenly release her, she turned her attention to him once more, but he was looking at Cedric. “Nay, I dunnae ken the lass.”
Marsaili’s jaw slid open again. She knew three years had passed since they had seen each other, but a lifetime could have gone by and she would have known Callum Grant, even if age or warfare had ravaged him. He knew her, the foul beast! The only explanation was that he did notwantto admit he knew her. For the second time in her life, Callum Grant had managed to humiliate her so much that she wished she could disappear. To make matters worse, the betrayal that had nearly killed her soul pounded at her once more.
Damn Callum. She had never planned to seek his aid in finding their son, let alone tell him of the child. He was a liar and a betrayer, and she could not trust that he would allow her to keep the child. Still, it was like liquid fire beneath her skin to know that if she had wished to ask for his aid, he obviously never would have given it. She drew herself up to her full height, which felt rather pitiful at the moment, given she only came up to Callum’s shoulder.
“This is Marsaili Lamont—”
“Lamont?” Callum interrupted Cedric. “Are ye married?” His brow knitted, and a vein in his temple was suddenly pulsing.
She pressed her lips together. She was certainly not going to explain to Callum Grant how it came to be that she was perfectly fine going under the false name given to her by that clot-heid Lucan because he hadn’t wanted any trouble. Yet, he was boring a hole into her with his penetrating stare, and she did not get the feeling he’d let the question go unanswered.
“That’s an odd question,” Cedric replied, saving Marsaili from having to answer. “She’s not married, just a wench from a nameless family—no clan affiliation.” Callum narrowed his gaze upon her, but before he could say anything, Cedric went on. “Curtsy to the laird of the Grant clan, wench.”
She stood stiffly, her mind and her body refusing to curtsy to a man who had lied to her and used her. For one moment, confusion flickered in Callum’s dark-brown eyes. She was angry he had denied knowing her, but also glad. When she escaped Cedric—because she fully intended to do so—she would not have to worry about fleeing Callum, as well.
“Curtsy!” Cedric ordered again. He clamped his hand on the back of her neck and shoved her head forward. Pain shot from the point of contact to her eyes and made her hiss.
“Dunnae handle the lass so roughly,” Callum said. Though his tone was even, there seemed to be a tension underlying it. When Cedric released his hold on Marsaili’s neck, she glanced to Callum, but his expression was unreadable. However, another man moved into the tent behind Callum, and his eyes glittered in obvious anger.
“What brings the Grant brothers to my tent?” Cedric demanded.
“I came to see how ye were faring against yer challengers in yer passage of arms.”
Cedric grinned and then smacked Marsaili on the bottom. She swung around and raised her palm to slap him in the face, but he captured her wrist with a chuckle. “I won this spitfire.” He yanked her to his chest and slanted his mouth over hers. She tried to turn her face but to no avail, so with her free hand, she raked her nails down Cedric’s cheek.
Immediately, he broke the kiss with a growl and reared back to hit her. She flinched and tensed, but the hit didn’t come. Callum had caught Cedric’s wrist from behind, and when Marsaili glanced at Callum’s face, the rage twisting his face shocked her. “I’m afraid I dunnae wish to stand here watching ye hit this woman, Cedric.”
“She needs disciplining,” Cedric said, his eyes narrowed on Marsaili.
“Mayhap, what she needs is a gentle touch,” Callum returned, releasing Cedric’s arm. Deep in Marsaili’s mind, unwanted memories of the night of passion she had shared with this man returned like so many unfulfilled dreams to nearly suffocate her. He had been gentle, and patient, and an expert at making her feel pleasure.
Cedric released her wrist and turned toward Callum. “Well, she’s mine, so I’ll do with her as I please. I’ll simply wait until you have departed.”
The mere thought made Marsaili shudder.
“Have ye bested everyone who has challenged ye?” Callum asked.
“Yes. I wish you had accepted the challenge, so I could have bested you, too,” Cedric boasted.
“It would take more than coin to get me to fight ye, Cedric. I dunnae wish to anger yer da by defeating ye,” Callum said with a wink.
Cedric’s hands curled into fists. “Don’t concern yourself with my father,” he snarled. “If you were to win, I’d deal with him, so there would be no need to worry about losing him as an ally.”
“Nay,” Callum said, glancing behind him. “Brice will fight ye, though.”
