“Aye.”
She had no doubt he meant it. “How would ye make me regret it, Lucan? Ye kinnae kill me,” she said, matter-of-fact. “And if ye wound me, ye risk the earl nae wanting me anymore.”
“Oh, I’d nae hurt ye,” he said, rolling onto his back once more. “Well, nae so much that it leaves a scar. I learned long ago that the best way to hurt someone is to strike at who they love.”
She thought again of her son, but Lucan did not know of his existence. He was safe. “I dunnae love anyone.”
He snorted. “It did nae look that way when ye were kissing the Grant laird.”
Marsaili gaped. “Ye’ve been watching me?”
“Nay, nae since I left ye to Cedric. After I discovered the earl had sent men for ye and I dispensed of them, I was making my way to the castle to collect ye and take ye to the earl. I was verra shocked to find ye in the laird’s arms, but verra glad to discover he’d dispensed of Godfrey for me. It may nae seem it, but I dunnae actually relish killing. I do it because I must.”
Her skin tingled with his words. He believed that. He truly did. And that made him very dangerous. She swallowed hard, an image of Callum floating in her mind. She had loved him with all her heart, and he had destroyed that love. Yet, that did not mean she would ever want him hurt, not truly. “Callum Grant stole a kiss from me. I did nae give it willing.”
“Ye looked more than willing to me—until he called yemo chridhe.Then ye turned wild, much like a woman scorned. I’ve been on the receiving end of that anger enough times to ken what a lass whose heart has been broken looks like.”
“Ye’re mistaken,” she protested, fearful that her heart did still hold some attachment to Callum, her first and only love. She also feared that attachment would somehow cause Callum harm if she managed to escape Lucan.
“I’ll kill the Grant laird if ye cost me my coin,” Lucan said, firmly shutting his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. “Keep that in mind.”
“It dunnae matter to me what ye do to the Grant laird,” she lied.
The only answer was that of the wind and the creatures of the woods. She sat there, tense, her stomach knotted and palms sweating. It didn’t seem to be long before Lucan’s snoring filled the night once again, but this time she waited for a long spell before she moved at all. First, she wiggled her wrists again to see if she could loosen the ropes, and much to her surprise, she could. The rope chafed her skin, causing it to burn, but she ignored the pain and struggled with her left hand until she finally got it free.
When Lucan grunted in his sleep, she froze, her heart nearly exploding. She locked her gaze on his chest, which continued to go up and down in long breaths. Sweat dampened her neck and brow as she bent toward her ankle and released her foot. She curled her knees in and slowly stood, her blood roaring in her ears. Lucan slept with both his daggers clutched in his hands, and his sword was sheathed along the length of his leg. She desperately feared that if she tried to take a weapon, he would awaken. If she managed to obtain a weapon and he woke up afterward, would she be able to kill him? She didn’t think she had the stomach to murder him unless she was defending herself.
The only thing to do was get as far away as she possibly could. Decision made, she turned and crept toward the thick trees, hoping to lose herself in their canopy. When she entered the woods, she stilled and glanced around her. Urquhart Castle was to the east, and she thought Inverurie was to the west, where Maria had said the Summers Walkers would likely be. But if she headed toward her son, she would be abandoning Callum to Lucan’s wrath.
Cursing, she turned toward the east. A branch snapped underfoot, and a roar resounded behind her. “Marsaili!” Lucan yelled, as she began to run. “I’m coming for ye, lass!”
Callum had just finished tethering his horse to a tree so he could take a rest when a man’s voice bellowed Marsaili’s name in the quiet night. Happiness that he had tracked them correctly, and so swiftly, yielded to fury that she was in danger. Callum withdrew his sword as he ran toward the yelling, but before he got more than two steps, Marsaili burst through the trees and collided with him. Instinctually, he caught her in his embrace, the touch of her warm skin filling him with powerful emotions that went well beyond desire.
“Callum,” she gasped, “give me a weapon!”
Without question, he handed her a dagger while reaching to shove her behind him. But she slipped from his grasp, and as the Black Mercenary raced through the very spot she just had, to Callum’s astonishment, she rushed toward the man with the dagger and thrust it in front of her.
“Marsaili!” he called out, alarm spiraling through every part of his body. He moved toward her, but it felt as if time—and he—had somehow slowed down. She stabbed the Mercenary in the chest, and then she screamed as the man reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked her head back, and brought his dagger to her neck.
“Dunnae come closer,” the man grunted at Callum while Marsaili screeched and kicked out to no avail.
Callum came to a shuddering halt, and Marsaili shouted, “Dunnae listen to him! He’ll kill ye, but he’ll nae kill me. I’m too valuable to him.”
“Oh, I’ll kill her,” the man threatened. “To be sure, if ye take another step, I’ll kill her.”
“I’ll nae take another step,” Callum said and threw his dagger. The weapon lodged into the man’s hand, and with a howl, he released Marsaili, who scrambled away from him and toward Callum.
As she did so, the Mercenary withdrew his sword. Without thinking, Callum shoved Marsaili down out of the sword’s path and met the man with his own. Their weapons clanked and slid blade to blade with a screeching noise. Rage pumped through Callum’s veins as he struck a blow to the man’s right leg and then left. Lucan crumpled to the ground, reaching for his shins, which Callum had sliced across. As Lucan rolled onto his back, screaming in pain, Callum raised his sword overhead to deal the man a deathblow.
“Nay!” Marsaili cried, scrambling toward Callum and grabbing at his arm. “Dunnae kill him.”
Breathing hard, Callum kept his gaze trained on Lucan. “Why? Why do ye wish to show him mercy?”
“He kinnae follow us,” she said calmly. “Nae wounded as he is.”
Callum glanced down at the man writhing in agony, then finally looked to Marsaili, who was but a shadow in the dark woods. “He will likely die here.”
“Likely,” she agreed, “but his death will nae be on our shoulders.” With that, she pushed around Callum, kneeled down, and gathered Lucan’s weapons. “I’m sorry yer mother abandoned ye,” she said to Lucan. Callum blinked in astonishment. “Ye did nae deserve that. All children should ken their parents.” She murmured the last sentence so softy that it took him a moment to discern exactly what she had said.
