Four
Callum could not order his thoughts, nor could he form words to answer his brother, who’d now asked him twice what was wrong with him. Confusion and disbelief swirled in his mind as he strode several paces behind Cedric and Marsaili.
Marsaili.
It could not be. She was dead.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, sure that she’d be gone when he opened them, nothing more than a figment of his imagination. But when he opened his eyes, she was still there, in the flesh and as familiar as a woman would be if a man had committed every detail of her to memory. Yet, there was something different about her with the time that had gone by.
He rubbed his suddenly aching chest as he weaved in and out of the crowd, acknowledging people who spoke to him with a simple nod. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brice give him a confused look as they continued the progress toward the arena of grass where they’d both fight Cedric, but Brice did not ask him again what was ailing him. Callum locked his gaze on the source of his troubles—Marsaili Campbell,notLamont. He had no notion why she was going by that name, but he intended to find out as soon as he won her and got her alone.
Desire and yearning flowed through him at the thought of having her to himself, touching her, kissing her, learning what had happened, and—“God’s teeth,” he swore under his breath, halting to take a deep breath and gain control. He could question Marsaili, but that was it. The touching, the kissing, the wish to take her in his arms and feel her welcome him into her body and heart once again would never be—couldnever be. By God’s grace, she was still alive, but that did not change the future before him. Her father had been his enemy since the day the Campbell had refused to offer aid to Callum’s clan, and now the Earl of Ainsworth was Callum’s only hope for an ally to stand against the MacDonalds and the Gordons.
“What the devil is the matter with ye?” Brice demanded, cutting into Callum’s thoughts.
Callum motioned toward Marsaili, who was twenty paces ahead with Cedric, the man’s grimy hand still locked around her arm. Hot rage poured through Callum. He was going to enjoy beating Cedric into the ground. It was the least he could do for Marsaili after the way the man dared to speak to her and handle her. Callum had the strong desire to kill Cedric, but that certainly would cause them to lose the earl as an ally.
The good of the clan comes first.
The muscles of his heart seemed to grow taut like a bow as he stared at her. She wasalive. It seemed impossible, yet there she was, just across the clearing with her long mahogany hair he had dreamed many a night of running his hands through. Presently, her locks were not shiny and tumbling in inviting waves around her shoulders as he remembered them to be. Her hair was dull and matted in clumps around her dirt-smudged face. Her blue eyes still shone brighter than water glistening in the sun, yet now they seemed lit with anger. Her body had changed, as well. Her hips had become a bit rounder, and his fingers twitched to grip them. Her breasts appeared even fuller than they had been before, her voice huskier, and when she spoke, desire shot from his head to his groin.
He was uncertain of much, but the fact that she still possessed the ability to incite yearning within him just by being near was not in question. Never had a woman enticed him as she did. His father had always said that every man had one weakness that had the potential to fell him, and Callum had nary a doubt that Marsaili was his.
“Callum,” Brice growled and elbowed him hard in the side. “Ye’re standing there gaping, nae responding to a word I say, and ye look as if ye just saw someone rise from the dead.”
“Aye,” Callum said with a nod, unable to tear his gaze away from Marsaili. If Cedric so much as pulled, yanked, or raised a hand to her again, Callum feared he’d kill the man with his bare hands.
“What in God’s name do ye mean, ‘aye’?” Brice asked, exasperation heavy in his voice.
Callum forced himself to look at his brother. “That woman, from the tent—”
“The one Cedric won? The wench—”
“She’s nae a wench,” Callum bit out.
Brice frowned. “The lass—”
“The bonny lass,” Callum inserted, inwardly cursing his fool tongue when his brother’s lips parted with surprise.
“Aye,” Brice agreed. “She’s bonny, but she does need a good washing afore I’d—”
“Dunnae ye dare utter any foul insinuation about what ye would do or wish to do with her.” Callum’s heart seemed to be working four times as fast as it had been one breath ago. Blood rushed so loudly in his ears, it sounded like the roar of crashing waves. “That is the lass I plunged our clan into war for,” he said in low tones, though they were not standing close enough to anyone for them to hear.
Brice’s eyes widened, and he looked back and forth between Marsaili and Callum. Then Brice motioned Callum to follow him. Callum nodded, and his brother strode to a tree across from where Cedric had stopped. The man handed Marsaili off to a guard who was also gripping the arm of Marsaili’s companion, a silver-haired, green-eyed lass. Callum frowned. She looked too young for the odd color of her hair.
“I wonder how yer lass—”
“She’s nae my lass,” Callum interrupted, though the denial made his gut knot.
“Well, she was, and the only reason ye gave her up is because ye thought she was dead,” Brice growled. “Do ye mean to tell me that ye will deny yerself the lass now that she’s here in front of ye like a gift from God? She has risen from the dead.”
Callum glared at his brother. “She did nae rise from the dead, and ye ken it. ’Tis plain to see that her father lied about her death.” The question was why, and was it at her request?
“What will ye do?” Brice asked, jerking Callum’s attention back to the present. Brice was stripping off his plaid to prepare to fight. Callum did the same, as an opponent could grab it to aid them in bringing the other off his feet. Callum turned to lay his plaid behind him and nearly groaned at the crowd that was gathering. He had hoped to fight this particular battle without Coira knowing about it, but he would simply have to explain to her that he could not stand by and allow any woman to be wagered like a belonging.
“Did ye hear me?” Brice said. “I asked what will ye do?”
“I’ll win my fight, as ye better. And then once we have sent Cedric on his way, I’ll have ye attend Marsaili and her companion safely home. I dunnae ken how she ended up here, but I dunnae believe anyone from her clan is here to attend her.” He heard himself talking so matter-of-fact, but inside, he felt like the waters of a storm-ravaged loch. His thoughts dipped and tumbled. Had Marsaili’s father lied because she’d asked him to? Or had he learned of their affection and become enraged because of his plan for her to marry the Earl of Ulster? Or mayhap something altogether different had compelled the lies.
