“Oh!” Maria moaned. “My head. It feels as if it might split in two.”
Marsaili hovered over Maria and rummaged through her satchel. “Tell me what to give ye.”
“A pinch of the brown leaves,” Maria instructed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where’s Satan’s son?”
“Dead,” Marsaili replied.
“Ye killed the Grant laird?” Maria gasped.
Marsaili winced, and from behind her, she heard Brice chuckle and then say, “Did ye hear that, Brother? They refer to ye as Satan’s son.”
“Callum lives,” Marsaili snapped. “I thought ye were referring to Godfrey. Callum killed him.”
“I presumed ye would manage that,” Maria chided.
“I would have,” Marsaili insisted as she handed Maria the brown leaves from one of her medicine pouches. “But the man jolted when I tried to stab him, and I hit his shoulder instead of his heart. Come on, then. I’ll help ye up.”
“Nay,” Maria replied. “I feel dizzy from the hit to my head. I need to be carried to a bed for sleep.”
“But—”
“I’m happy to oblige.” Brice stepped forward, bent down, and scooped up Maria. Before Marsaili could form a proper protest, he was striding away. She stood and brushed her skirts, aware that Callum was looking at her. She could not see his eyes upon her in the dark, but she could feel his gaze, just as she always had before.
A tingling began in the pit of her stomach, and something intense flared through her. God’s bones, the man was disturbing to her in every way. She hated him, yet it was painfully obvious to her that her attraction to him had not dulled, despite his betrayal. She didn’t want to contemplate what that said about her nature, for she would not give in to such base desire again. She needed—and wanted—to flee him immediately, yet she could not go without Maria, and Maria obviously needed rest. Plus, if it could be managed, it would be wise to gather some provisions for the road, weapons, and coin. She’d not ask him for these things again, as she’d done in the heat of her earlier anger, so she needed to discover a way to get them. First, though, she needed to ascertain if he would be amenable to her and Maria staying at his home for a few days.
She cleared her throat. “It seems Maria and I may need shelter for a few days while she recovers.” She refused to ask, but if he offered…
“Of course,” he said immediately. “I’ll have bedchambers readied for ye.”
“If ye think to make me yer leman—”
“I dunnae,” he said stiffly.
“But ye said—”
“I lied in an effort to release ye from Cedric’s possession without causing strife for my clan.”
She snorted. “I see ye are still an expert liar.”
His answer was stony silence, which for some reason unnerved her more than if he had given a sharp-witted response. “Will nae yer future wife dislike me ensconced in yer home?” she asked, shamefully wishing to needle him.
“She dunnae have cause to worry; therefore, she dunnae have true reason to dislike my sheltering ye and yer friend. I have given my vow to Coira to marry her, and I will nae break it.”
Hurt streaked through Marsaili, which she masked by saying, “As if a given vow makes a difference to ye, ye foul beast. As far as I can perceive, it’s a habit of yers to make vows to women and break them. Did ye nae promise to wed Edina Gordon? Oh wait,” she growled, sensing her anger was getting the better of her but simply not caring. “Ye pledged yerself to three women. I forgot to include myself. Unless Edina died before ye could wed her?” She honestly had not heard a mention of Edina and Callum since the day Helena had told her of their promised union.
When Callum stared at her in unnerving silence, she said in a purposefully sarcastic tone, “I suppose if Edina Gordon died, then the breaking of that particular vow was nae yer fault—well, the marriage part anyway—as ye did break the vow with me. Ye ken, the part that says yewill be true.”
“I ken,” he said, his voice rigid. “I have to wonder”—he sounded almost angry now—“why ye are so vexed with me. One minute ye say ye dunnae need or want my guilt, and the next ye seem angry, as if ye were betrayed by me somehow.”
“I—” She clamped her mouth shut, belatedly wishing she would have kept it closed and controlled her anger. She tried to think quickly of a plausible explanation for her behavior. “I must admit that even though I used and lied to ye at the Gathering, I did nae care to find out ye had done the same to me.”
He frowned. “Ye used me? Ye lied to me? Do ye care to explain?” he asked, his tone full of disbelief.
She shrugged, her stomach dropping to her slippers. “Ye did nae mean a thing to me. Ye were but a game I played to entertain myself. I forgot ye the day ye left.”
“I see,” he said evenly. “Well, ye certainly were an accomplished liar when I met ye at the Gathering, then.”
How dare he act self-righteous! He was the one who had lied, but she supposed he now thought she had lied, as well, which was what she wanted. “Aye,” she drawled, a physical ache rolling through her. “I suppose that’s why we were drawn to each other—one deceiver recognized the other.”
