Laird of the Mist (18 page)

T
HE MORNING SUN BLAZED
like a dragon’s breath through the wide, unshuttered windows of Kate’s room. Golden light splashed over her hair while Maggie brushed it until Kate’s scalp began to ache. Callum’s sister had insisted on bathing her new friend after they shared a hearty meal of cooked oats. Kate’s skin still tingled from the scrubbing she received at Maggie’s strong hands, but it felt wonderful to finally smell better than a fortnight’s worth of dirt.

She had so wanted to brush Maggie’s hair, but the lass refused. But after Kate commented on how Jamie might be tempted to plant a kiss on her cheek if it was clean, she did agree to wash her face.

At Callum’s request, a handmaiden named Aileen had delivered an earasaid and an armful of kirtles and shifts to Kate’s room earlier, all of which were tried on until Kate finally chose one with a sleeveless bodice of sapphire wool. The cut was low, the laces ending just beneath her breasts. She wore a cream-colored shift beneath with long bloused sleeves. Maggie had helped her don her earasaid of patterned scarlet and saffron, pleating it around her waist with a belt and wrapping the spare material around her shoulders. She’d secured the plaid with a round brooch of hammered bronze.

“Kate?” Maggie asked now, brushing one of Kate’s curls around her finger. “Is yer uncle very skilled with a blade?”

Kate heard the distress in her voice and knew what Maggie was really asking her. “I’ve never seen him in battle, but he often boasted of his skill.” When Maggie expelled a little groan, Kate hastily continued. “Whereas I have seen Callum wield a sword, and I do not believe any man could stand against him.”

“Are ye verra frightened for yer uncle, then?”

Kate shifted in her seat. She was not worried for him at all. In fact, she did her best not to even think of him. But she couldn’t tell that to Maggie without the girl thinking she was as coldhearted as her grandfather. “I don’t want Callum to kill him,” she finally said, leaving it at that.

“Nor do I.”

Kate turned to her, surprised. “How is it that you suffered with your brother at the hands of my kin and you don’t wish them dead, as Callum does?”

Maggie’s huge eyes shimmered with tears when they settled on Kate. “How much longer will my brother live if he keeps killing them? Sooner or later they will come for him. Just like they did at Kildun.”

Kate nodded slowly and turned back around. Her heart beat madly in her chest. She knew Maggie was right. She had even tried to tell him at the inn. This war would never end if the killing continued, and Callum would surely die. “We must stop him.”

“How?” Maggie asked. A dash of hope tinged her voice. “D’ye think he will listen to ye? He did say he would give ye tulips.”

“Tulips?” Kate turned to her again with a befuddled look. The lass had the most peculiar way of switching topics right in the middle of a conversation.

“Aye, he would pick tulips for ye.”

Kate almost laughed. “Your brother would never pick flowers.”

“That’s what he said, but then he said tulips. I think he fancies ye. So will ye speak to him?”

“Aye.” Kate nodded, rising from her chair. Tulips? Whatever made him choose that particular flower? She touched her fingers to her mouth. And why would Maggie think he fancied her? He had kissed her, aye. He had even wanted to bed her. But it was lust—he had all but told her so. He could never bring himself to care for a Campbell. Could he?

“Kate?”

“Aye?”

“What are ye waiting for?”

“I don’t think this is a good time,” Kate whispered out of the corner of her mouth to Maggie as they headed down the stairs.

“Why not? You look verra bonny in yer earasaid.”

“Look.” Kate pointed to the faces staring up at her from the bottom landing. There were only one or two at first but, emboldened by the rest, more of Camlochlin’s inhabitants gathered at the foot of the stairs until Kate and Maggie faced a small crowd of mumbling Highlanders. Kate paled, noticing that each face bore the same expression of hardened contempt for her.

“Where is Callum?” Maggie demanded, recognizing the anger, as well.

One man stepped forward from the crowd. He wore a heavy woolen tunic beneath his plaid. His legs were bare, his boots dusty and tattered. “Why d’ye stand beside a wretched Campbell as if she were yer friend, Maggie? Send her back from whence she came.”

Maggie stepped around Kate’s shocked face and wagged her finger at the man. “Iain, ye’ll not speak of her that way. She is my friend, Campbell or nae. And Callum’s, as well.”

“Our laird would ne’er befriend our enemy,” someone shouted.

“Aye, he had to rob her to force her uncle to face his fate.”

“Toss her oot on her arse!”

Kate took a step back as the crowd grew larger. Many of them were shouting now, demanding that she leave Camlochlin and ignoring Maggie’s small fist when she shook it at them. Someone took a step forward, and Kate backed further away until her heels bumped the stairs. Then she heard the shout of a loud, resonating voice, and every head in the hall turned in the direction from which it came.

Graham stood in the doorway leading to the great hall, arms at his sides, ready to draw his sword. Beside him, Angus appeared bigger and more menacing than ever. Brodie was there also and slid his dagger across a small whetting stone clenched in his fist. Jamie stood at his side, his usual innocent expression exchanged for one far more threatening.

“What in blazes is going on here?” Graham demanded. “Did I hear ye all right? This fair lady is not welcome in our home?” The crowd was silent for a moment, and then someone muttered the name Campbell and the rest began to nod.

“We dinna care what her name is,” Jamie warned in a low growl. “Callum’s orders are that nae harm be brought to her. Now step back.”

Maggie tugged at Kate’s sleeve. “Jamie’s verra braw, nae?” She let out a little sigh and then went back to glaring at the crowd.

“The MacGregor’s taken leave of his senses to bring a Campbell here,” another thick Highland voice called out, and the others agreed until their voices rose again. Brodie and Jamie hurried to Kate’s side while Graham unsheathed his sword, prepared to fight.

He did not have to. Dead silence fell upon Camlochlin after the doors behind the angry crowd slammed shut. Slowly, the sea of heads turned toward the entrance. The only sound to be heard was that of Brodie’s muttered oath at the sight of his laird.

Callum paused at the doors for just a moment, taking in the scene before him. ’Twas clear by the expressions on Brodie and Jamie’s faces, and by Graham’s unsheathed blade, what was going on. When he took a step forward, the crowd moved backward like a great waning wave. His eyes, so piercing and deadly, slid to Kate. “Are ye well?”

She nodded, unable to do more. He spoke quietly, but he looked more dangerous than he had the night at the inn when he cleaved a table in two. He moved slowly, his hands at his sides. Every face found by his wintry gaze paled before turning away. He circled the crowd until he came to stand before Kate. When he took her hand in his, his frown deepened at her trembling.

“My senses”—he raked a lethal glare over each face until he found who he was looking for—“left me long ago, Alasdair. And while I’m more inclined to kill Campbells, I’m no’ entirely opposed to killin’ MacGregors if the need arises.” His burr was thick with suppressed fury, and if Kate was not so terrified for them all, she would have sighed at the sound of him, the safety she felt being with him.

“I’ve kept ye all protected here. But I warn ye if one of ye speaks unkindly to her, ye’ll leave Camlochlin. One way or another.” He turned to face her, and Kate was sure he hadn’t meant to let his eyes drift over her features so tenderly. They were supposed to be enemies, and after meeting Maggie and hearing of their life in her grandfather’s dungeon, Kate understood why Callum would never give her his heart. But here he was protecting her from his own clan. Did he do so because she was more valuable to him alive, or for another reason entirely?

The crowd dispersed with one final and far less dangerous glare bestowed on them by their laird. Brodie sauntered away, digging his sharpened blade into a pear as he went. Angus and Graham left the castle to practice their swordplay, the larger of the two throwing his head back to laugh when Graham threatened to whack him all the way to England.

Maggie tugged on Kate’s earasaid and whispered in her ear when Kate bent to her, and then announced that she was going for a walk. Her brother motioned to Jamie to go with her, a command the young warrior was only too eager to obey.

“Ye look verra bonny, this morn,” Kate heard Jamie tell Maggie while he strode out the door behind her.

When they were alone, Callum’s gaze drifted over Kate from foot to crown. “Ye look fine, as well.” He lifted his fingers to the shiny curls draping her shoulders. “And yer hair.” He paused to frown and dropped his gaze to the floor as if fighting some deep emotion. Kate rejoiced when he lost that battle and returned his gaze to her tresses. “Yer hair is pleasin’ to look at,” he finished quickly.

Kate curtseyed and did her best to conceal her amusement over his loss of composure. “Thank you, Callum.”

She tilted her face to study his profile as they began to walk together toward the great hall. He was so tall, so broad compared to her. When he slid his eyes to her and caught her obvious awe, she blushed a true shade of crimson.

“I’m still angry with you,” she said in defense of the teasing smile slanting his mouth.

“Truly?” He traced her profile with his bemused gaze. “Ye look rather joyous to me.”

Kate shrugged her shoulders. “That is because soon I will be reunited with my beloved betrothed.”

“Aye.” Callum nodded. “His name has slipped from my memory. Lord Newton of Manchester, is it?”

Kate almost paused in her steps. Hell, what was the name she had given him? It wasn’t Newton, was it? “His name is of no importance,” she said haughtily, not about to confess that she didn’t remember. “There is a more pressing matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“Ye have my ear,” he said, keeping his gaze ahead.

“It is about my uncle.” She cut him a quick side glance, expecting him to scowl or mayhap storm away. He did neither. “I am concerned for you.”

“Ye insult me.”

“I don’t really care.” Och, he was scowling now. “Insult will not kill you; Cromwell’s army will.”

Callum’s mouth hooked into an arrogant half smile that made her insides burn. “If his army finds me and comes here, they will die at the hands of MacGregors, MacLeods, and MacKinnons. I intend to kill Argyll, Kate. Nae one will stop me. No’ even ye.”

“What about Maggie? She does not want you to kill him, either.”

He was quiet for a moment, but then he shook his head. When he spoke again, the hard edge in his voice told her this conversation was about to end. “My sister knows who I am.”

What in damnation did that mean? “Will you at least consider—”

“Nae.”

Och, but he was a stubborn man. “You are making it terribly difficult to like you, MacGregor.”

“You like me well enough, Campbell.”

She heard the smile in his voice and turned to look up at him. Her steps faltered at the warmth of his gaze. His mask was gone, momentarily tantalizing her with the bare truth of his emotions. His expression darkened with unspoken yearning so replete she drew closer to him, wanting to fling herself into his arms.

“’Tis a burden, to be sure,” he said, “but I am willin’ to suffer it.”

Kate’s brow rose sharply, the slow curl of her lips a direct challenge to his beguiling grin. If he insisted on keeping up his air of detachment, which his eyes told her was a facade, she was not going to make it easy for him. With her heart racing, she reached for him, fitting her hand into his much larger one. She hid her satisfaction when his composure seemed to desert him again, and she leaned in closer to him.

“Though your suffering might be great, I will grant you no pity.”

Instead of pulling away, he twined his fingers through hers, binding her to him more intimately. “Ye’re a fierce opponent, lass. I’ll grant ye that.” He took his time looking her over, letting his smile carve into a slow, seductive smirk. “But I’ll no’ be beaten by a Campbell.”

Blast him, but he would not give up! “Aye, as your scarred leg can testify,” she replied tartly.

He actually threw his head back and chuckled. Kate stopped walking and gave his hand a tug. Now he stung her pride. If there was one thing she was good at, it was wielding a sword.

“Why do you laugh, Callum? Do you not think I fight well?”

“Aye, I’ll admit ye fight well, fer a lass. I saw ye fight against the McColls.”

“For a lass?” She snatched back her hand and folded her arms across her chest, drumming her fingers on her elbows. “I could beat you, Callum MacGregor.”

Humor danced across his handsome features. Even though it made Kate angry that he found her amusing, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his arrogant mirth.

“Let me out of this heavy plaid and meet me outside.”

“Och, nae, lass. If I injured ye, I’d never fergive myself.”

He was an overbearing ruffian, indeed. But his gentleness with her was what made her move toward him. She missed his arms around her. Blast him again for not missing it, as well. She took another step closer until their toes touched, then tilted her head to meet his gaze. His mouth was so close when he bent his head to her that she felt his breath warm against her lips. “Are you afraid of me, then, MacGregor?” she whispered against his chin and cautiously laid her hands on his chest.

She felt his body respond almost instantly. His muscles tightened. His heart accelerated. Kate rejoiced. She did affect him! It was enough to make her want to kiss him again, though in truth, she had thought of naught else since the first time he laid his mouth on hers. He lifted his arms, ready to enfold her. His breath pulled on a low, ragged groan as his hands touched her back and sank into her curls.

She stepped back, using all her will to do so. She wanted more from him than his kiss, and if she had to battle him to get it, she would. “To the yard, then. And make sure your sword is ready.”