Laird of the Mist (16 page)

There was happiness in Callum’s life, and it was here. Kate was thankful for it. She wanted to be a part of it.

Aye, Callum was happy to return home, but ’twas the joy in Kate’s eyes and the tenderness of her smile that exhilarated him.

He lived his life with a single purpose, to avenge what had been done to him, his clan, his sister. He’d hated who he had become—until he saw himself through Kate’s eyes. He despised the memories that haunted him, but just looking at her made him forget. At first he had fought her effect on him because she was a Campbell. Then he fought it because she could never be his—and live. Hell, leaving her in that bed at the inn had nearly driven him mad. But they were far away from the world now, far from the law. Somehow she had come to mean more to him than revenge, more than a quick tumble to quench his desire. His heart longed for the redemption she offered him. His body ached to hold her. He looked over his shoulder at Camlochlin. His sanctuary. But so much was missing from his life. He had no notion of how to find what would make him whole again, or even if ’twere possible. He was an outlaw, a murderer, a monster. But Kate Campbell saw something more.

He flicked his reins.

When he reached her, he leaned forward in his saddle, coiled his arm around her waist, and heaved her onto his lap. He offered her no explanation as he gazed deep into her questioning eyes. He could barely think at all. Instead, he stroked the soft contour of her cheek, then slipped his hand behind her nape and bent his mouth to hers. She did not resist him. He knew she wouldn’t. Her lips parted on a sigh of sweet surrender that made his whole body go rigid and melt at the same time. His tongue swept deeply, intimately into her mouth, tasting her and letting her taste him in return. Plunging his hand within her hair, he tilted back her head while the other drew her closer. He kissed her with exquisite thoroughness, ravishing her softness until she fell back, limp in his arms.

He lifted his head and slid his gaze over her glorious face while she hiccupped and smiled at him. And all at once he knew ’twas not only her heart with which he should have been more careful.

Chapter Nineteen

C
ALLUM COULD NOT HELP
but smile as he stepped into Camlochlin with Kate clutched to his arm. He should be angry with Angus for feeding her Gillis’s poison, but he liked the way she pressed herself against him. He knew she held on so tightly to keep herself from stumbling, for the whiskey was potent indeed. But her rather submissive position would also work at easing some of the tension sure to come when he told Camlochlin’s inhabitants who she was.

He looked around at the squires and vassals rushing to help his men disarm. Baths were already being prepared to wash away weeks of dirt and grime, and somewhere close by, Callum heard Old Keddy the cook shouting for a dozen fat hens to be slaughtered in celebration of the laird’s return. Brodie’s wife, Netta, heavy with child, came barreling down the long stairway and near leapt into her husband’s arms. Graham was besotted with kisses from Rabbie the tanner’s twin daughters, Glenna and Lizabeth.

Callum drank in the sights and sounds of his home like a man parched by the sun. He knew the face of every man, woman, and bairn who greeted him. Familiar scents of smoky peat and burning tallow wax fragranced his nostrils. He drew in a deeper breath, letting it comfort his restless spirit. Aye, Heaven.

His gaze dropped to Kate. ’Twould not be Heaven for her. When his kin learned that she was a Campbell, and naught but a captive to him, they would treat her unkindly. Some might even try to cause her harm. At the thought of it, his heart seized with the need to protect and shelter what was his. But she was not his, his mind reminded him.

“Who’s the lass, then, Laird?” someone called out as if to drive the truth of it home.

Best to get it the hell over with, Callum thought, involuntarily pulling Kate closer. “This is Katherine Campbell,” he shouted so that all could hear. People stopped what they were doing and gathered ’round him, some already whispering offense at her name. Callum’s expression went hard. “She’ll be brought nae harm here, understood?”

The mumbling soon died down, but there were questions aplenty. Callum felt Kate slip against his arm and wondered if she was even aware of all the faces staring at her.

“Did ye snatch her from her home, Laird?”

“What d’ye plan to do wi’ her?”

Hell, she wasn’t completely oblivious to what was being said, Callum realized when she lifted her head from his arm.

“She looks dimwitted. Is she simple, then?”

“Nae,” Callum replied succinctly while he carefully fit his hand over Kate’s mouth. He’d felt the slight tightening of her shoulders and knew she was about to let his clan find out what a fearless little hellion she was. No MacGregor took kindly to being insulted, and especially by a Campbell. “She’s drunk.”

Suddenly he jerked his hand back and shook it as if he’d been burned. “Christ, ye near took off my finger!” he bellowed at her.

“She bit him!” someone shouted. A dozen men moved forward ready to protect their laird. The rest simply stood there gaping.

“Stand doun,” Brodie warned, stepping in front of the men before they reached Kate. “’Tis no’ the first time she’s wounded him, and I’m guessin’ ’twillna be the last.”

“Aye.” Kate’s glassy eyes blazed at Callum. “And if he ever muzzles me again”—she paused to lift her fingers to her lips and burp—“I shall do more than bite him.”

“She’s a fiery wench,” a male inhabitant called from the crowd.

“Will ye be claimin’ a Campbell, Laird?”

“Nae, I willna be,” Callum called out over the sudden throng of dissatisfied voices.

“Of course he won’t,” Kate responded in kind. “I am already betrothed to a lovely man.” She tossed Callum a pert smile when he scowled at her.

“A
lovely
man?” Even Angus had to question that.

“He’s English,” Callum explained.

“I love him!”

Callum didn’t actually smile in front of his clan, but his eyes warmed considerably at Kate’s announcement. “Good, then ye’ll be pleased when yer brother returns ye to him.” He did not give her the opportunity to reply but called to one of the lasses hanging off Graham’s arm. “Glenna, take her to a room.”

He watched Kate reluctantly leave the hall, turning over her shoulder to glare at him one more time. Hell, she was spitting mad.

Callum grinned.

Brodie snickered while Angus pushed through the dispersing crowd and headed for the buttery.

Callum looked around the hall as the people returned to their duties. He hadn’t seen her among the faces, and he turned toward the doors to check the barn.

“Brother?”

He heard her voice, slight and soft behind him, and his heart slowed as he turned.

Margaret MacGregor’s frame was small, almost frail compared to her brother’s brawn. Her back was slightly hunched. Her short, pitch-black hair pointed out in all directions and was littered with straw.

“Greetins, fair lass.” Callum bowed slightly to his sister. When he stood to his full height a moment later, his eyes grazed over the top of her head. “I see ye were lyin’ in the barn again.”

She did not return his smile, but Callum knew she was happy to see him by the tears glistening over the tips of her long, dark lashes.

“Did you find him?”

“Nae,” Callum told her, knowing who she meant. “He fled.”

She nodded and scratched her small, dirty nose. “Why did you bring her here?”

“She is his niece.”

His sister looked toward the stairs, pondering his words. After a moment she turned her enormous blue eyes on him, knowing his reason. “So he will come to ye.”

Callum nodded and looked away. For she saw who he was. She had seen what became of him when he gave up his soul to take her from hell. She hated the thought of him killing anyone, even a Campbell. “It will end with him, Maggie.”

She lifted one small hand to his face and the other to the tears streaking her cheeks. “Nae, it will end with ye,” she said, wiping her face.

Callum took her hand and kissed it. He did not bother telling her that was what he meant. When Argyll was dead he would stop warring with the Campbells. He would explain it all to her later.

“Jaime’s been pickin’ flowers fer ye again,” he said, wanting to lighten the mood of their reunion. He crooked her arm through his and led her toward the great hall. “When last I saw him, he was headin’ fer yer chambers with an armful of daffodils. Those are yer favorites, nae?” he teased and was rewarded with a scowl as dark as his own.

“Ye know they aren’t, Callum. Why did ye not tell him that my favorites are orchids?”

“Orchids dinna grow well in the north.”

“That is why I like them best. They are delicate.”

“Like ye,” Callum said, smiling at her.

Margaret quirked her lips, looking much like the imp their mother used to call her. “What flower would ye pick for Katherine Campbell?”

Callum snorted. “I wouldna pick flowers.”

“Ye let her take a bite out of ye.” Maggie looked up at him, then cut him off when he opened his mouth to speak. “Ye fancy her. What flower would ye pick for her?”

“Tulips,” he mumbled, ignoring her knowing smirk. “Come, let us get somethin’ to eat.”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry. You go, brother, and then please share a word or two with Keddy about keeping ducks off the supper trenchers.”

“He’s already agreed to keep mutton off them,” Callum reminded her.

“I know, but it upsets Matilda.” She smiled when he finally promised to speak to the cook.

Chapter Twenty

K
ATE SAT AT THE EDGE
of the bed and watched in silence while Glenna hurried around the room, plumping cushions and opening shutters to air out the room. That the Highland woman did not utter a word to her during her work was uncomfortable enough. But worse, every time Glenna looked at her, her eyes seethed with anger.

Kate knew why. She was as unwanted a guest at Camlochlin as the English were in Scotland. Damnation, she was tired of people despising her because of her name.

Her head was beginning to pound. Hadn’t she vowed never to drink Angus’s whiskey again? Och, she was no good at keeping promises. But Callum surely was. Unfortunately, the effect of Angus’s brew had worn off enough for her to recall Callum’s smug reply to her when she said she loved lord whatever his damned name was. She also remembered the way he had kissed her before they entered the castle. She touched her fingers to her lips. It was even better than before, if that were possible. His mouth had caressed hers, his gaze so gentle and full of meaning. Almost as if he . . .
Och, stop it, Kate. You were drunk, you fool!

She slammed her palm down on the mattress, and Glenna looked up from filling a basin with fresh water and glowered at her.

Kate offered her a repentant smile. “I was pondering something. I did not mean to startle you.”

“I’m no’ afeared o’ Campbells,” Glenna snapped.

“Of course not. That isn’t what I . . .” Kate shook her throbbing head and began again. She’d never fought with a woman before and didn’t fancy the thought of having her eyes clawed from her head. “You fancy Graham,” she said instead, hoping to steer the young maiden toward more pleasant conversation, since she was finally talking. “He’s quite handsome and—”

Glenna dropped the basin to floor. In truth, she delivered it to the rushes with a vigorous smash.

“Keep yer hands off him. He’d never touch the likes of ye.”

Kate’s mouth fell open, but before she could form a fit reply, someone else spoke behind her.

“Glenna, go fetch some rags to clean up your mess. Graham is already occupied with Lizbeth, so there’s nae need to make haste.”

Kate turned to the dulcet voice as Glenna strode out of the room. What she saw nearly made her recoil.

“She believes Graham is in love with her.” The woman hunched beneath the doorway turned to watch Glenna leave. She sighed and shook her head with pity. “And they say I’m dense.”

Kate was still reeling from the sight of her when the woman—or was she a child?—she was certainly small enough to be one—turned to her. Whatever she was, she was surprisingly beautiful. Kate wasn’t certain if it was the dirty streaks covering parts of her round face that made her eyes glimmer like clear blue ice, or if it was their size that made them so stunning.

“I am Margaret. But I prefer to be called Maggie. I already know who ye are.”

Kate’s stomach twisted with sorrow and then shame. God’s mercy, this was Callum’s sister. Her hair was a mass of dark tangles and her spine, misshapen and bent like that of an old woman. Was her grandfather responsible for this? Kate could barely stop the disgust in her heart from spilling forth. Unfortunately, Maggie took notice.

Those brilliant eyes narrowed on Kate, and then, with a scowl as fierce as her brother’s, Maggie turned to leave. “My brother awaits ye in the great hall after ye freshen up.”

Stunned and saddened by Margaret’s appearance, and sorry that the poor lass had misread her contempt, Kate bolted to her feet and rushed after her when Maggie left.

“Please, wait!”

Maggie didn’t even pause in her steps but continued straight down the hall and into another room. Kate followed her, coming to an abrupt halt at the entrance.

The room was large! There was a heavy wooden bed against the south wall big enough to fit three people, but by the crisp look of it, no one slept in it. Daffodils, fresh and old, festooned every table, every window niche. The walls were painted with lush green vines, and in the corner was a small tent fashioned of dyed leather, long sticks, and heavy rope.

Maggie pushed the flap away from the opening of the tent and disappeared inside.

For a moment, Kate had no idea what to do. The room, the tent, Maggie’s appearance . . . everything overwhelmed her. But she had to apologize for hurting Maggie’s feelings. She went to the tent and knelt beside it.

“Please come out,” she prodded gently. “I didn’t mean you any insult.”

“Callum awaits ye in the great hall. Off with ye.”