Laird of the Mist (14 page)

He carried her to the bed, gently biting her nipple until it grew as tight as the rest of her. They fell to the mattress. His body covered hers, but his weight did not crush her. She opened her mouth to him again and clenched her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer while he kissed her. His hands tore at her gown, pulling the thick folds up over her knees. Then his fingers slipped beneath. His breath was ragged, heavy with desire. Kate went rigid when his palms grazed her inner thigh. His hand lingered there while he spread the pad of his thumb over the hard nub of her passion. Red-hot pleasure bolted through her and she squeezed her legs together. He spread her apart again with his knees, slid his hand behind her rump, and sank down onto her.

Kate knew they should stop. But the feel of his arousal between her thighs was so basely erotic, so insatiably intimate, instead of fighting him, she moved against him. He was long, and thick, and so very hard he made her melt into pool of liquid passion. He growled low in her ear and then whispered what he was going to do to her, with words that made her blush.

With one final tug, Callum pulled her skirts over her waist and rose up above her. He looked down at her, wild to taste her while his hand swept beneath his plaid and closed around his shaft. His gaze met hers a moment after his plaid rose over the tip of his swollen head. Her eyes opened wide, and she pushed herself up toward the headboard to be away from him.

It gave him a moment to consider what he was about to do, and to remember what would become of her if he did.

He yanked her skirts down and climbed off her.

Kate didn’t move. She didn’t breathe while he sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed his hand down his face. She didn’t try to stop him when he left the room, though she wanted to. She had never been intimate with a man before, but Callum’s touch, his kiss, his voice, everything about him ignited her. Every nerve in her body screamed for him, but she let him go. She had to. Not because of his name, but because of hers. He would never see her as anything more than his enemy.

She wasn’t angry that he tried to bed her. Dear God, she would have let him do it if he hadn’t stopped. Nor could she fault him for the anger that hauled him off her. She would never forget the disgust that twisted his features when he looked at her face. She wondered, pulling the coverlet up around her neck and wiping her eyes, if Callum would truly release her after he killed her uncle. She reasoned that if he tossed her into the pit, it was a fair trade. He wouldn’t touch her again, of that she was certain. It was better that way, she told herself even while her body ached for him. Hell, but the size of him frightened her. She knew enough about mating from raising livestock to know that she could have been carrying his bairn tomorrow if he had not stopped. How would she explain
that
to her brother?

Staring up at the ceiling, she tried to remember her life before the Devil MacGregor had charged into it and changed everything. Had she been happy in her fields tending her sheep, listening to her brother’s tales of brave, noble men? Aye, she had. For she’d been oblivious to the searing, aching need to be kissed by such a man. She imagined the torture of living with Callum in the future, seeing his face every day and knowing she would never be anything more than a pawn of revenge. It would be painful indeed, but she was willing to suffer it. At least she wouldn’t be shackled to a wall until it became so unbearable that carving off her hands would be a better option.

God’s mercy, what did she know of sorrow, of anger? Nothing! She sniffed and wiped her nose, bracing her shoulders against the soft mattress beneath her. The wonderful men in her life had taught her how to fight. Now was not the time to surrender. She must conquer her attraction to Callum MacGregor. But no matter how much he despised her, she would never hate him again. And she was going to stop him from hating her, even if it killed her.

Chapter Sixteen

W
HEN
K
ATE AWOKE
the next morn, she was still alone in the room. Her pulse quickened when she sat up in her bed and stared at the empty place before the hearth. Callum hadn’t returned. Was he gone? Would he have left her alone here? Had he taken Graham and the others and gone to his holding without her? She looked around the small room while her heart pounded madly in her chest. She knew he did not want her company, but would he just abandon her here in this . . . this . . . brothel? She whipped the blanket off her body and sprang from the bed. Cold rushes pricked her toes when she ran across the floor and threw open the shutters on the window.

Sunshine exploded in her eyes and spilled over her face and down her hair. She heard the shouts of men directly below and leaned out the small window to get a better view. When she saw Callum and his men, relief filled her. Brodie and Angus packed food into their leather saddlebags while Jamie surveyed a nearby patch of purple thistle.

She couldn’t help but admire Callum while he bent to saddle his mount. Damnation, the more she looked at him, the more handsome he became. Two strands of his dark hair were fastened at the back of his head, while the rest fell over his plaid. He was a tumultuous, rebellious warrior, she decided, gazing at him, and though she was the object of his contempt, she couldn’t help but admire his resolve to keep his name alive. Surely even Robert would see the honor in his fight. When he turned and looked up at her window, she waved at him.

“D’ye plan on sleepin’ all day?” he called up to her with a fierce frown Kate was growing quite accustomed to.

She’d decided to ignore what happened between them the evening before. He didn’t take her, so no harm was done. It was better if they both put it out of their minds.

Without saying a word, she disappeared from the window, combed her fingers through her hair, and snatched her shawl from where it hung over a chair. Within seconds of peeking out the window, she dashed down the stairs and out the door.

“Good morn,” she greeted, tilting her face up to Callum’s when she reached him, and then blushing to her roots. So much for putting their last encounter out of her mind.

A breeze blew a strand of dark hair across his face. The lock swept across his unshaven jaw and he did nothing to remove it, which only made Kate ache to do it herself. He stared down at her for a moment, long enough to make her insides melt. He possessed the confidence to conquer, the intoxicating power to thoroughly seduce her, and the strength to resist doing either.

“I purchased a horse fer ye. Can ye ride?” he asked.

“Aye.” Kate’s smile deepened, already seduced by his coarse charm and the full suppleness of his lips. “But I tell you, I will not get a wink of sleep.”

She flashed her dark eyes at him and spun on her heel before he could reply, which would have been nothing more than a grunt by the look on his face.

Callum stood by his mount and watched the gentle sway of her hips as she made her way toward Jamie and her new mount. A moment later he swore under his breath and chased after her.

“’Tis already saddled,” he said, coming up behind her. “I did it while ye slept.”

“Ah, my thanks.” Kate turned and graced him with yet another tender smile. “’Tis a fine horse, too.” She lifted her hands to the saddle horn to mount but felt strong hands span her waist and lift her up. Her heart lurched at the gentleness of his touch.

Once seated, she stared down into his face. Something had changed in his expression. He was looking at her with such raw yearning she bit her lip and almost made it bleed. Seconds passed, and he did not turn away from her. His eyes revealed thoughts he wanted to utter, ways he wanted to touch her, not cruelly, but curiously, tenderly. Could she have been wrong about why he stopped last eve?

“Last eve was . . .” He ground his jaw then began again. “I was no’ thinkin’ clearly.”

Kate blinked, then forced her smile to remain. “Of course, nor was I.”

And then, as suddenly as his emotions appeared on his face, they vanished once again and he strode away from her.

Beside them, Jamie watched with astonishment, and then a knowing smile crept over his face.

Graham finally moseyed out of the inn a few moments later with yet another wench attached to his arm. He bid the lass farewell and joined Callum, ignoring the lethal glare his friend tossed him because he was tardy.

The troop traveled for the rest of the day with merry song echoing across the glens and lochs. The mood among the men was light on their way back to their beloved home, and Kate could not help but revel in their cheer. The land grew more beautiful with each league they traveled. The air was fragranced with heather and linseed. But the view that held Kate enthralled was that of her rescuer’s broad back a few feet ahead of her. It seemed that after every fifth breath, Callum turned to look at her as if to reassure himself that she still rode with his band. She thought about riding at his elbow to save him the trouble but decided she rather liked the fact that he was concerned she would run off.

Graham took up his pace beside Kate’s mount and explained to her how some MacGregors came to live on the Isle of Mist.

“We found a more peaceful life in Skye. Even the Campbells do not bother to travel so far to hunt us. After Callum escaped yer grandfather’s prison, he fled to the isle and was welcomed by the MacLeods, and even the MacKinnons and MacDonalds. Many of them helped him build Camlochlin. When we heard where he was, some of us left our homes and came to live with him and fight by his side.”

Kate brushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes and narrowed her gaze on Callum’s back. “Think you he will ever stop killing Campbells?”

“He already has, lass.” When she turned to him he slanted his gaze to her and winked. “’Tis a start, aye?”

The next morning, they traveled onward to Glenelg, toward the Isle of Skye, crossing the narrows by boat. The captain, Seamus MacRae, was a slim man of medium height and with dark hair as long as Kate’s, his bound at the nape. His laughter was quick and robust. Of course, that could be attributed to the three swigs of whiskey he’d consumed at the start of their journey.

“Ye brought a wife back wi’ this time, eh, MacGregor?” the captain hollered over his shoulder to where Callum stood resting against the bowsprit, sharing a word with Graham. “She’ll give ye bonny bairns.” He lifted his boot to a crate and leaned on his bent knee to study Kate more closely. “Aye, bonny indeed.”

Kate’s eyes darted to Callum when he straightened and began walking toward them. Och, how she wished their names were different. A touch of flame stole across her cheeks at the notion of being wed to so fine a man. She knew in that moment that should he look into her eyes he would see the quickening of her heart. Her vision took in every splendid detail of him, from his dusty calves to the flare of his shoulders. Not a devil, but a man in whose arms she had found warmth and protection. A man whose kisses made her forget who he was, whose smile was more glorious than Lucifer’s, and rarer, as well.

“She’s no’ my wife, MacRae,” Callum announced upon reaching them. “I took her from her home against her will, and I bear the evidence of her capture upon my thigh.” He pulled the edge of his plaid over his knee to expose his wound. He nodded his head in agreement when the captain grew pale and gaped at her. “She’s a hell-witch, and were I you”—his gaze darkened with warning—“I wouldna stare at her so boldly.”

“As ye say.” Seamus took a step back, still unable to believe that a mere lass had inflicted injury to the mighty MacGregor chieftain. “I have some rope in m’ quarters should ye need it.”

“Aye,” Kate rounded on her captor, her eyes blazing. Had she thought him warm? Fool! “You could hang yourself with it!”

Her angry retort earned her a slow, devastating smile from the MacGregor chieftain.

“Och, but she has ballocks the size of the Cuillins,” Seamus MacRae laughed and turned away. “I’ll leave the wench to ye, Devil. Some might say ye deserve it.”

When they were alone, Callum’s smile deepened, making Kate’s toes curl and her teeth clench. “Ye’re learnin’ well, Kate.”

“Learning what?” Though her question was curt, she sighed miserably immediately after she asked it. “That every moment you spend with this hell-witch is a sacrifice you suffer for the name MacGregor?” He opened his mouth to speak, but Kate cut him off, holding up her palm. “That you intend to declare your hatred of me to all of Scotland?”

She turned away, leaving Callum to stare at her profile. The wind blew her dark waves across her face, compelling him to lift his hand to her cheek. When his fingertips touched her flesh, the need to touch more of her nearly doubled him over. “Kate.” She angled her head, cupping her face in his palm, and closed her eyes. “There is no’ a single part of me that hates ye.” His smile washed over her when she opened her eyes again, but his gaze was somber. “But yer life depends on ye hatin’
me.
” He traced the curve of her jaw with the backs of his knuckles. “Or at least, convincin’ others that ye do.”

Chapter Seventeen

“H
OW DO WE KNOW
the gel is not a sympathizer?”

Robert Campbell ceased pacing and watched his uncle leap to his feet, lean across the table, and snatch the man who spoke by the throat.

“My niece is no sympathizer,” Duncan snarled.

The man nodded, then rubbed his neck when the earl released him.

Robert continued his worn path in the rushes of Hugh Menzie’s great hall. He raked his fingers through the dark strands of hair falling over his forehead. He aimed a frustrated glance at his uncle, who was reclining once again at one of three long trestle tables. Neither Duncan nor the rowdy group of Menzies sharing their ale with him paid Robert any heed. It had been over a se’nnight since the MacGregors had abducted his sister, and they were no closer to finding her than they had been the day she was taken. They had gathered men from Breadalbane to Rannoch. They had enough to face MacGregor and his men if they caught up with him now.

Robert had reminded his uncle that the miscreant laird had sent almost all of his men back to his homestead. He traveled now with only four others. They had to catch up with the MacGregors before they returned to the Devil’s lair, where they would face his army. But Hugh Menzie, laird of the Menzie clan, had news for the Earl of Argyll, and hence Robert found himself, at present, mumbling blasphemies meant only for the vilest tongue. He did not care.