“Nay,” she growled, praying he’d not try to speak to her again. She desperately needed time to compose herself.
She sat tensely, but as the horse’s pace increased and trees blurred by, the repeated thudding of Lightning’s iron-shod hooves striking the hard ground almost soothed her. All the things that had happened—and that she had learned in the last few sennights—tumbled around in her head now that she had nothing to do but think. She’d tried to avoid thoughts of Callum as much as possible, but one question would not leave her be. He’d said he had thought her dead. But why? If it was true, who would have told him that? Her father was the most likely suspect she could think of.
God above, what if he was, in truth, as honorable as she had once believed? What if he had truly loved her? He could be honorable and have loved her, and still take her son from her, a voice in her head reminded her. He had said himself that he needed the alliance with the Earl of Ainsworth, and she knew Coira was barren. Her belly clenched at the thought of finding her child only to have him taken from her again. But she wanted to trust Callum. He had come to her rescue more than once now, but the risk seemed too great. She was not the naive fool as she had been three years ago. Lairds would always choose loyalty to their clan and protecting their clan over love.
The monotony of the motion of the horse, along with her lack of sleep, started to outweigh the questions filling her head. She fought to keep her eyes open, knowing if she fell asleep, she’d likely end up leaning on Callum, but in the end, she lost the battle.
Marsaili slumped against Callum, but he’d been expecting it. He’d watched her head bob to the right and left as she fought sleep, and he had suspected it would not be long until it overcame the lass. When it did, Callum was glad. He didn’t even bother denying why. He pulled her closer to him, circled his right arm tightly around her ribs, and allowed her head to rest against his chest.
God’s blood, it felt so right to hold her. Her soft, womanly curves not only stirred his desire but her delicateness made him even more aware of how very vulnerable she was and how much she needed a protector. And damnation, he wanted it to be him. Yet it could not be so. Who did that leave? He had to ensure she was under the care of someone who would keep her safe, yet the idea of handing her over to another man gutted him. Even if he took her to her half brothers, they would want to marry her off someday. His Marsaili… But she was not, yet in the deepest part of his soul, the space only she had ever occupied, she was his. She would always be his.
He tilted his nose toward her hair and inhaled her fragrance. His throat tightened with emotion, and when she shifted so that her bottom pressed more firmly against him, he had to clench his teeth to fight the wave of longing that washed over him. Did she feel anything for him still? God’s blood! Why was he torturing himself with such ponderings?
As they rode, he thought about all she had been through in the very short time since he had discovered she was alive. And then he thought about her crying over the Black Mercenary and her statement that all children should know their parents. Considering it now, it made sense given she had learned that her mother was not who she had thought. He wanted to speak with her of her discovery and question her about her life, but to do so would be folly. He had to keep his distance. Even now, holding her close, pulled him in a little further. If he was not careful, he’d be in the same position he was in when he first had met her: willing to forsake his duties to his clan for her, the woman of his heart. If she could love him once more, if he could find a way to protect his clan, secure another alliance…
Frustration pummeled him. There was no other alliance available. Even if Marsaili loved him, even if they married, Callum would not want an alliance with her father, not that he would be given the opportunity. Not only had the Campbell proved himself to be dishonorable with all his actions but he was truly aligned with no one, seeking only to do things to put himself in the greatest position of power. The man could not be trusted.
Further, Callum could not, in good conscience, align himself with anyone who had pledged fealty to the Steward. He fully had come to believe King David should remain on the throne, yet as it stood, he was not even certain the king would accept his pledge this time. He had nowhere to turn. It didn’t even matter that the MacLeod laird, Iain, was her half brother. He was the king’s greatest supporter, and until the king accepted Callum’s pledge of loyalty, Callum was an outcast to King David and all who supported him.
His heart and his head pounded equally hard. So many uncertainties, yet a whisper of a thought grew inside him, and with each strike of his horse’s hooves upon the hard earth, the volume of it increased. The only thing he was certain of was that he loved Marsaili still and that he would be a shell of a man without her. He had no answers or solutions, and weariness pulled hard at him. But he rode on until his own eyes grew heavy, and when it no longer seemed wise to press forward, he found a well-hidden spot in the woods by a river bank where they could rest and then wash in the morning.
Marsaili snored as he dismounted with her in his arms, but when his feet hit the ground with a jarring thud, her eyes popped open. “Where are we?” she rasped, pressing a palm against his chest.
He looked into her blue eyes, laced with fright, and his chest squeezed. He wanted to be the man who tried to ensure she never felt fear. He wanted to be the man to protect her if she did. Without another solution to the alliance he needed, he could be neither of those things. Or could he?
Mayhap the answer was to choose uncertainty andthenfind a way. Was that not what made a man strong? The ability to rise up when everything around him pulled him down? Yet, how could he ask Marsaili to endure that uncertainty with him? Her brothers would likely marry her to a powerful man with many allies. The thought put knots in his gut. Oh, how could he face his clan and tell them he had once again broken an alliance that would have protected them?
“Put me down,” she demanded, jerking him out of his own head.
He obliged immediately, though he was loath to do so. “I’ve stopped to rest.”
“I ken that,” she said. “Ye sleep over there, and I’ll do so right here.” She tapped her foot on a patch of grass.
It would be warmer if they slept side by side, but given that his resistance to her was weak at best, he nodded. “I’ll make ye a pallet,” he said, stripping off his plaid to hand it to her so she could use it to keep warm.
“Put that thing back on!” she cried.
He finished tugging his plaid over his head and squinted at her through the moonlight. “What’s the matter with ye?”
She batted at his plaid and took a step back as if the thing would burn her. “I told ye I will nae be dishonoring myself with ye again.”
He tossed up his hands in frustration. His plaid went flying from his fingers and smacked her in the face, where it settled. Her gasp filled the silence. “Ye threw yer plaid at me,” she accused.
“I vow I did nae,” he said, laughter now rumbling from him as he watched her tugging at his plaid, which was apparently stuck and still covered her face.
“Ye and yer too easily given vows,” she grumbled as she reached her hands behind her back. The dark prohibited him from seeing what the plaid was caught on, and he started to move toward her to aid her when she said, “Dunnae ye dare come near me.”
“I’d nae dream of it,” he replied, forcing himself to stop.
She threw the plaid hanging over her face upward and tried—and failed—to get free of it. She growled and turned in a half circle while trying to grasp the edge of the plaid. “Are ye going to simply watch me all night?” she growled.
He could. He could watch her do such simple things as try to unhook herself for the rest of his life, it filled him with such happiness. “If ye say please, I’ll aid ye. Though just so ye are aware, I was offering it so ye could keep warm. I was nae removing my clothes with the thought that ye and I would be joining.”
“Oh.” The embarrassment in her tone made him feel bad for her. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
“I ken what ye thought,” he interrupted. He closed the distance between them, felt with his fingers to discover the plaid had gotten caught on the tip of her sheathed dagger, unhooked the plaid, and then held it toward her. “Dunnae let yer pride keep ye from using this to stay warm while ye sleep.”
“What of ye?” she asked, not yet taking the plaid.
