Laird of the Mist (21 page)

After the first hour of pacing like an anguished lion, he finally sat in the corner in a chair hidden by shadows. Flames from the hearth lit Kate’s sleeping face and he watched her while another hour passed away. He already knew every contour of her features, every bonny curve that shaped her. He longed to know more of her. But the cost was too great. She had fallen into his arms, pierced by an arrow meant for him. How was he to know at the time that she would wreak such havoc on his heart? He was so sure of his defenses he hadn’t bothered to guard them. And in so doing, he allowed her entrance into his hell. He had dragged her to his fortress and scribed the word
death
onto her forehead.

He clenched his teeth, his fists. He tossed his head back, needing to curse the heavens. He had hauled Maggie through the gates of damnation to save her. From what? He had become the very demons he sought to kill. And now he did the same thing to Kate. Death to MacGregor sympathizers. ’Twas the motto of the realm.
God, nae.
He knew he had no right to ask the Almighty for anything.
But please, just this one thing.
“Please,” he whispered. “Strengthen me.”

He stood up, determined to do what he must. She was forced. Taken against her will. Aye, ’twas all she had to tell them. He had not taken her. She remained unblemished. There was only sympathy. And sympathy was easy to destroy.

He walked to the edge of the bed and squatted, bringing his face close to hers. She was his redemption for sins he thought too foul to be forgiven. But he could not accept her gracious gift without putting her in mortal peril. His hatred ran deep, with no room for love. He would make her believe it. He would do it in order to save her life.

“I’ll no’ love ye, Kate Campbell. No’ ever.” He rose to his feet, vowing to himself that she would never know what a tortured liar he was.

Kate dragged her eyelids open and then slammed them shut again at the ray of sunshine blaring like a herald’s trumpet through the window. Lifting her hand to her head, she released a groan that sounded to her poor ears like she was dying. And she felt like she was doing just that. She willed herself not to move, since even the merest breath shot bolts of pain to her head. Damn old Gillis and his poison. After a few moments of reeling, she slowly lifted her lids again.

God’s blood, what happened to the window coverings? She shifted as cautiously as her body would allow in order to escape the blinding beam of light. Thick cobwebs tangled her thoughts and muddled her brain, and then, like a curtain being drawn, she realized she was in an unfamiliar room, a strange bed. Still too pained to move her head, her eyes darted left and right. The ceiling offered her no answers, so with great effort she sat up, still holding her head to keep it in place.

She was in a man’s room, that much was clear to her. Everything in the room was carved of dark waxed wood. Even the walls were paneled with thick slabs of it, making all the furniture in the room blend into an enormous view of deep magenta brown. An intricately carved wardrobe, taller even then Callum, stood between two great chairs that could seat at least two people each. There were three tables set up to house everything from tankards of whiskey to a carved wooden chess set and assorted weapons. A silver bowl for hand and face washing rested on another table, along with a small candlestand. No tapestries decorated the walls; neither shield nor banner offered cheer. The windows were bare, and the absence of draperies around the poster bed told Kate that whoever slept here cared nothing about privacy. Yet despite the absence of color and fabric to offer warmth, the cavernous chamber heated Kate to the deepest corners of her heart. Of course, there was the giant alcoved hearth with its roaring fire to warm the bones, but Kate knew instinctively what made her feel like she belonged here all her life. It smelled like Callum, of wild heather and mist.
Aye,
she thought, closing her eyes to draw him to her. This was his chamber, his bed.

She was still smiling when Callum entered the room.

The sight of Kate sitting in his bed, her lush ebony curls tumbling around her shoulders and arms, set Callum’s heart to pounding. He experienced a sudden rush of something so strong he near doubled over. When she turned her head and aimed her heady smile at him, he had the urge to drop to his knees and pay her the homage she deserved. He almost smiled.

Death to MacGregor sympathizers.

He scowled so fiercely at her it wiped the smile clean off her face. Propelling himself forward, he avoided her gaze while he crossed the chamber and stopped at the window.

“Is all well with you?” she asked, sensing by his cold, hard gaze that it wasn’t. Her voice was low, pained, but Callum did not turn to look at her.

“Nae,” he answered tightly. He gazed out the window at the distant heather. “There’s a Campbell in my castle.”

Kate’s mouth fell open, and her heart drummed so violently she felt it in her belly. She didn’t hear him right. She couldn’t have. “But I had hoped . . . Callum, you kissed me.”

Now he looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes glimmered like cold cobalt glass against the sun. “Poor judgment on my part, nothin’ more.”

Kate sat, numb. Tears pooled her eyes and dripped over her lashes when she blinked at him. His eyes hardened on her. “Ye’re leavin’, Kate. My men will escort ye to the Stewarts’ home on the morrow. Once ye arrive, ye’ll tell their laird that ye escaped the clutches of the fearsome MacGregors. Tell him the truth, that the Devil abducted ye. Ask him to send fer yer brother. He will come fer ye, I’ve nae doubt. If ye see yer uncle alive, tell him I will come fer him.”

“Why?” It was all Kate trusted herself to say. Her throat ached from the burden of smothering her sobs.

He turned back to the window and folded his hands behind his back. “I dinna need to give ye a reason.”

“I want one!” she shouted at him. That her shout sounded more like a withered screech did not surprise her. Her head exploded with the aftereffects of Gillis’s brew, and her heart ached to leap from her chest and into Callum’s arms.

“Verra well, Kate. I’m weary of ye. I admit ’twas curious to have a Campbell in my midst that I didna want to kill. But I realize now that I canna . . .” He paused and closed his eyes, then gritted his teeth. “I canna stand the sight of ye. Leave my bed. Leave my castle. I dinna want ye here anymore.”

Callum thought she would weep. He prepared himself for it. She loved him, ’twas obvious by the way she looked at him, spoke to him. She lit up like a brilliant morning sky when he entered a room, and he had just stomped the light out. He expected her to weep, to carry on the way a woman would. But when she rose from his bed and left him without a word to wither her dignity, he clenched his teeth to stop himself from shouting her name and ordering her to come back to him.

Kate ran directly to the garderobe, where she promptly expelled what was left in her stomach. Callum’s cruel words echoed mercilessly through her mind. Over and over again she was forced to relive his rebuke. He had stood by that window like a warlord cast in stone, his back set straight like an arrow. God help her, but she understood why he hated her so. She did not blame him. She had hated the MacGregors, and she had not gone through one day of torture. He had every right to throw her out of Camlochlin. He had told her from the beginning that he would return her to her brother. She knew he could never love her, but she thought . . . She had hoped . . . Nae, she wept. It was her own fault for falling in love with him, for loving his home, and aye, she would declare proudly, his kin.

To Graham, who stood on the other side of the garde-robe door, Kate sounded anything but proud. His heart wrenched at the rawness of her sobs, and for the first time in all the years he had known his dearest friend, he cursed the terrible beast who did this to her.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

K
ATE SPENT THE MORNING
of her expulsion from Camlochlin alone. She refused Graham’s offer to speak with Callum about his decision for her to leave. She didn’t answer when Maggie knocked at her door, pleading with her to eat something. Kate didn’t want food. She wanted to be someone else. She wanted to be a MacGregor. His woman, his love. But Callum had no love to give her. He seemed at times to be made only of hatred and anger. But there was more to him, she knew. There was humor and tenderness, and passion. A man whose eyes fired with pride and purpose when he spoke his name. A champion to his sister, and to her.

God, she didn’t want to leave and never see his face again.

But she had pride, also, and she sat up finally and wiped her eyes. She would not spend her last day with this proud clan weeping with self-pity. She would let them know that not all Campbells were afraid to face their fate.

Callum stood on the battlements an hour later, heedless of the cold air blowing off Sgurr Na Stri. His eyes fastened on the woman in the training field with Jamie below, bracing her body as she slipped an arrow into its bow. She aimed, mindless of the satiny tendrils blowing across her face, and let the arrow fly. Callum’s lips lifted into a slight smile of victory on her behalf.

He heard Graham’s footfalls behind him long before the commander reached him. He did not turn around, nor did he take his eyes off Kate when Graham cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Reaching him, Graham leaned his elbows on the wall and followed Callum’s gaze. “Brodie said ye changed yer mind about hunting this morn.”

“Aye.”

When Callum said nothing more and continued to watch Kate, Graham exhaled a slight sigh. “Yer eyes are verra telling, brother. Why do ye send her away when ye do not want her to go?”

“She’s a Campbell.” Callum slid his gaze to Graham for a moment before returning it to Kate. “She doesna belong here.”

“That may be so, but it is not the reason you do this,” Graham argued. “Are ye in love with her, Callum?”

“Nae.”

“Aye, that’s good to know.” Graham gave him a pat on the back while he let his gaze rove over the woman below. “Because she’s quite bonny and were it me, I’d not be able to think of anything but her in her betrothed’s bed.”

Callum whirled around and stormed away from him. Graham heard the furious pacing behind him and smiled. Callum did care for the lass. Why, he was as jealous as a squire who just found his milkmaid in the hay with someone else. The commander decided to use that jealousy to convince his friend how foolish he was being. “I hope fer her sake her husband is not old. Someone as braw as she deserves a man who can satisfy her spirited appetite.”

“What d’ye want, Graham?” Callum clenched his teeth at Graham’s back.

“Want?” Graham turned and offered him an innocent shrug. “I want her to be happy. I like her. I pray to the saints the bastard does not beat her.”

Callum’s glacial glare was enough to make Graham clamp his mouth shut. “I know what yer thinkin’, Graham. But I dinna love her, so cease yer games with me. She’s a Campbell, my enemy, and she belongs with her kin.”

“She is not yer enemy, Callum. She’s in love with ye,” Graham insisted quietly, more serious now.

“Then she’s a fool!” Callum’s voice exploded into a thunderous roar.

Ah,
Graham thought, understanding finally. “Yer heart is set on protecting her, but think. She is
in love
with you. She is no longer safe anywhere but beside you.”

Callum shook his head, refusing to be moved. “She knows the law. She will ferget me soon enough.”

Graham held his palm up in surrender. “Verra well, then.” He’d had enough and pushed himself off the wall. “I do not know who ye are anymore, if there’s even a heart in ye left to save. But hear me, Callum MacGregor, if there be any part of ye that’s still human.” At his words, Callum blinked as though he’d been struck. “I’ll have no part in delivering her into the hands of her uncle. And I’ll pray that when she’s returned she will have the sense to keep her true feelings silent. But fer hell’s sake, look at her!” He set his eyes on her, obeying his own command. “She’s as open and honest as a babe. They’ll know her heart the moment they speak yer name.”

“Then I must make certain her heart is against me.”

Graham heard Callum’s footfalls and turned to see where his friend was going, but Callum was already gone.

Callum charged down the stairs, taking three and four at a time. Let Graham think what he would of him, Callum was going to make Kate hate him.

When she came into his sight, his lips hardened into a tight line across his face, and his eyes glittered like a winter’s night.

Kate stepped back when she saw him, then returned her attention to Jamie and motioned with her sword to continue practicing. But six feet, three inches of brawny male moving swiftly toward her was difficult to ignore. She bit her lip and almost lost a finger when Jamie swung at her.

Callum snatched Jamie’s sword from his hand and shoved him away, all in one fluid motion. He rounded on Kate, a giant warrior with the cold promise of death in his gaze. “Ready yerself, Kate, or there will be one less Campbell in Scotland.”

“Callum, I . . .” She began to tell him that she did not want to practice with him. She was frightened by his rage. But he swung, and the thunderclash of his blade against hers near knocked her off her feet.

At first Kate could only stare at him, in stunned disbelief that he would strike her with such force. Then he lifted his sword over his head, gripping the hilt with both hands, and she knew he was going to kill her if she did not fight back. She forced herself to stop thinking like a woman and act as a warrior. She parried another bone-crunching blow. Leaping backward, she braced her legs for his oncoming assault. Completely on the defense, she managed to block three more swings.

Just a few moments later she was gasping for breath, her hair damp with sweat and her muscles burning and quivering with spent strength. Even the McColls had not exhausted her this quickly. Then it was over. One hammering clash that rattled her teeth, and then one more that sent her heavy blade careening to the ground.

Callum advanced one step and pointed the tip of his flashing claymore at her throat. “How does it feel to be so close to death, Kate?” With the metal cold against her throat, he moved his body closer to hers and leaned down until his their noses almost touched. When he spoke, his voice lowered to a bear’s growl. “Remember this day and the fear that suffocates ye. Ye might believe yer ready to face death fer noble reasons, but when the time comes, nothin’ will matter but yer life. Remember this and dinna be a fool.”