Eleven
Marsaili awoke abruptly to rain, thunder, lightning, and Callum looming over her. She blinked the water out of her eyes and tried to clear her groggy mind.
“We need to seek shelter,” he half shouted over the torrential downpour.
Before she could answer him, she found herself swept into his arms, her legs dangling, and her shoulder pressed against his chest as he strode through the woods toward what appeared to be a cave in the distance.
“Put me down,” she gasped, vexed at the immediate heat that flared within her for this man.
“Nay,” he returned, grim faced. “I’ll nae take the chance of ye falling and hitting yer head on one of these rocks.”
An odd warmth spread through her belly at his concern for her. She wasn’t helpless, by any means, but it was nice to feel that someone was there for her, if only for a moment. It was not true, but she indulged in the fantasy for a few breaths.
When they got to the cave, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Now, ye may put me down.”
He obliged by setting her on her feet. “Wait here,” he commanded, tossed his plaid at her, and shot out of the cave before she could say anything.
With lightning illuminating the sky, she could track his progress to the tree where his destrier was tethered. He turned, reins in hand, but as he did, lightning struck a nearby tree and cracked it in half. The horse reared, kicking its legs very close to Callum’s head.
“Callum!” she shouted, fear gripping her.
He stepped to the side of the beast as its hooves struck the ground. He pulled sharply on the reins and then set a steadying hand on his horse. He leaned close and appeared to whisper in the beast’s ear. Then he led his wild-eyed destrier through the pouring rain and into the cave. He tethered the horse to a small boulder and turned to her.
His hair dripped around his face, and when he reached up to slick it away, she found herself staring at his arms and the way his biceps moved. He was a powerful man, and not just physically. Everything about him commanded respect and notice. It always had.
“We’ll have to wait out the storm here,” he said, waving a hand around the cave. “It’s too dangerous to travel in lightning.”
“How long do ye think the storm will last?”
“I dunnae,” he replied, glancing around the cave. “The winds are verra strong and the rain verra heavy. Hopefully nae more than a few hours, the day at most.”
“The day!” she exclaimed, not wishing to be trapped in the cave that long with him, not when his words from last night rang in her head. He had loved her. She believed it. He might even love her still, but he had made it clear that this time he would choose his clan over her. Could she blame him? Look at what his previous choice had caused? His guilt had been clear in his voice and on his face.
“Well, lass, ye certainly ken how to make a man feel wanted,” he teased. But she could do no more than stare at the two dimples that appeared in his cheeks. She’d forgotten he had dimples. Did their son? Did he have Callum’s brown eyes or her blue ones?
Knots jumbled in her belly just thinking about the bairn. Really, he’d be more a young lad now at two summers. She turned from Callum, who was frowning at her, as tears pricked her eyes at the thought that she’d never held her son in her arms as an infant. And who had nursed him? Had he ever cried himself to sleep? Did he now?
A sob escaped her, which she tried to muffle by slapping her palm over her mouth.
Then Callum was behind her, so very close but not touching. “Marsaili?” The undeniable concern in his tone, almost undid her. “What is it, lass? What’s vexing ye? Are ye afraid? I’ll protect ye, dunnae fash yerself.”
The emotions she’d been holding within her roiled. “Stop!” she barked, his concern shredding the invisible binds that held her together. “I kinnae—” She gulped. “I kinnae take yer kindness. I dunnae—” She shook her head, choking on her words. Gulping again, she continued, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “I dunnae ken what to think or what to do. Or what is truly right. I’m alone, all alone in this. I have to be strong.” She pressed her lips together on saying more, on saying too much.
Suddenly, she was being turned around to face Callum. His hands felt like fire pokers on her skin. Or perhaps it was her? Was she feverish? Her heart pounded a desperate beat, and that same frenzied desperation sent her blood rushing through her veins to roar in her ears. Her stomach felt hollow, and as his gaze pierced her very soul, he said, “Let me help ye. Tell me what ye fear.”
The truth clawed its way up, and she worried she’d not be able to hold it in, so she did the only thing she could. She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Her heart lurched as he stiffened. He was going to push her away! But a growl seemed to come from deep within him, and he delved his hands into her hair to cradle her head and slant his mouth over hers. The kiss tore through every defense she possessed. It was violent in its passion and blissful in the way it seared her from the inside out.
Her hands had been clenched at her sides, but as his tongue slid inside her mouth and his heat consumed her, she could not hold back. She ran her hands up his thick arms to his shoulders and dug her fingers into the muscle there. Their tongues met, swirled, and retreated, as he ravished her mouth and her senses. Every memory she had worked so hard to repress flooded her. Each touch they had shared. Each kiss. The moment they had become one. She whimpered, when his lips found her neck, and then he stilled and jerked away.
She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing lips as she stared at him. He looked stricken, and in that instant, she knew he was thinking of his future wife. He was honorable. Maybe he’d not been—she honestly didn’t know what she thought anymore—but he was honorable now or self-loathing would not be twisting his face.
“God’s blood.” He clasped his hands behind his head, inhaling a deep breath, and then swiped his open palms over his face. His whiskers scratched against his skin, and an acute memory flashed in her mind of those same whiskers tickling her inner thighs when he had long ago trailed kisses there.
“Marsaili,” he said, his voice heavily laden with sorrow. “I should nae have kissed ye.”
“Ye did nae,” she said, hearing her own flat tone. “I kissed ye, and I’m sorry I did.” When a scowl crossed his face, she rushed to continue. “I was swept up in feeling alone.” That was true, though it was but a paltry sliver of the truth. She had been swept up by the longing for him that still raged within her. She had been taken by memories of what was and what would never be, but the greatest thing that had moved her had been her desire to confess the truth to him.
She could not chance it. She wanted to. God’s blood, she did. She knew he was honorable and good now, yet it was that very honor, that guilt he harbored over having once chosen her over his duty to his clan, that made her hold her tongue. It was that very honor she feared would compel him to take their son from her and raise him to be his heir with his soon-to-be new wife.
