As if he could hear her thoughts, he said, “I must marry Coira. I—God’s blood!” he thundered, the words bouncing off the walls of the cave. The horse neighed, and Marsaili flinched.
“Dunnae make apologies. I did nae ask ye to.”
“I ken ye did nae,” he growled, glaring at her. “Ye dunnae ask anything of me, and yet I want—” His words jerked to halt.
He wanted what? She dared not ask, for fear he might say something that would have her spilling her secret to him. She could not take the information back once revealed. He clamped his jaw shut, and she was near enough to him that she thought she heard him grinding his teeth. Was that in an effort to stop speaking? She thought perhaps it was. Callum, she realized, had his own secrets he did not wish to reveal to her.
They stood in silence, which stretched to the point that Marsaili thought she would scream. When her stomach growled, she seized the chance to think upon something other than the secret she was harboring. “I’m famished,” she announced, glancing toward the cave opening, where she could see the wind and rain coming down at a sharp angle—a sheet of white against the sky, now gray because dawn had broken.
“I’ll get us something to eat and gather wood to start a fire.”
“Ye gather the wood,” she said. “I’ll catch something to eat.”
“Ye kinnae venture out there,” Callum said. “Ye could be struck by lightning.”
“So could ye,” she shot back and stomped toward the entrance. She got one foot out into the rain when she was pulled back into the dryness of the cave.
“Lass,” Callum growled, his hot breath tickling Marsaili’s nose. “Stay put and let me hunt the food and gather the wood.”
She yanked her arm out of his hold. “I’ll nae sit here idle while ye risk life and limb for me. I am nae that sort of lass!” she fairly shouted. He glared at her, opened his mouth to argue, and then promptly threw back his head and laughed. “What?” she asked, poking him in his hard abdomen when he continued to roar with mirth. It took a few more minutes, but his laughter finally died to a quiet chuckle.
“Ye’re most definitely nae the sort of lass to sit idle, but I’m nae the sort of man to allow my woman—I mean, to allowye,” he corrected mid-sentence, “to risk yer life for me. I’m yer protector, or have ye forgotten?”
“Ye are my temporary ally, nae my protector.”
A long sigh rattled from him. “Ye’re the most stubborn and most braw lass I’ve ever met. Stick close to me, aye? If ye dunnae, I’ll throw ye over my shoulder and bring us both straight back into the cave. We’ll be wet with nae a morsel for our bellies, and we’ll lack a fire to warm our bones.”
“I’ll stay by yer side,” she agreed, still reeling from the compliment he had given her. When he drew his weapon, she followed his lead and drew her own. He turned to her, his gaze impaling her. “Ye ken ye’re a lass, aye? And lasses are supposed to let the man, the protector, lead?”
She chuckled. “I ken it, but I did nae ever have a protector until I was too old to need one. I learned good and well how to protect myself. And I did nae spend long enough with my MacLeod brothers to become truly accustomed to men who were sincerely interested in how I fared.”
Callum scowled. “If yer Campbell brothers were alive, I’d kill them for how they made ye fearful. As for yer father, I vow—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Dunnae make yerself more of an enemy to my father than ye already are. He would happily destroy ye, and he has the warriors to do it.”
His hand cupped her cheek, his jaw twitching as if touching her pained him. She started to pull away, but his hand moved to the back of her neck lightning-quick and held her there. “Ye’re gutting me, Marsaili.” The word was cracked, and it strummed with untold agony.
She inhaled a sharp breath. “I’m nae intending to.”
He nodded, not speaking for a moment, simply staring at her. Finally, he said, “I thought I kenned ye.” His voice held awe. “And I did, but just the tip of ye.” The tic in his jaw had grown ferocious. “Ye deserve to be protected always.”
Hot longing pierced her. She wished the past could be wiped clean, but such things were impossible. With that in mind, she untangled herself from his hold, noting that he did not stop her. He looked like he was at war with himself, and oddly, it gave her the strength to put space between them.
When he took out his dagger and started out of the cave, she was glad to be given something to concentrate on besides the impossibility of the situation in which she found herself. They walked silently through the pouring rain side by side, weapons drawn. Callum killed a rabbit before she’d even seen it. As she watched him make quick work of skinning it, all she could think was that he should know their son and their son should know him. Fear and guilt raged within her, battling for dominance.
“Will ye gather some brush?” he asked over the din of the rain pelting the now raw, red earth. She nodded, eager to be of use. “I’ll get the wood,” he continued, hooking the rabbit onto his dagger and standing. “Gather as much brush as ye can hold. We will need it to get the fire going since the wood is wet.”
After they had gathered enough wood and made their way back to the cave, she plopped down to the ground in weariness. Her head was pounding, and she felt as if it were filled with mist. She pressed her fingertips to her temples to try to ease the pain, but a chill took her. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees, and laced her fingers together as she watched Callum build the fire.
He worked silently with a furrowed brow as he struggled to get the wet wood to light. He muttered to himself, and Marsaili could not help but smile at how concentrated and determined he was. Finally, a spark appeared. And then another, and another. She let out a relieved sigh as delicious heat caressed her cold body and warmed her face and hands.
Callum looked up, and his gaze stopped on her. “I’m sorry that took me so long.”
“And I’m sorry I did nae help ye,” she said, her teeth chattering as she spoke.
Callum circled the fire in a breath and kneeled down beside her. He touched his hand to her arm. “God’s blood! Ye’re freezing.”
“Aye,” she agreed.
