She hated him. Her voice revealed it, even if her words did not. Her words confused him, actually. He pushed branches aside that Marsaili had let swing toward him—purposely, he was certain—as she charged angrily through the woods. Mayhap she simply felt guilty upon seeing him about changing her mind and not wishing to marry him. But that explanation did not even make sense. She had said they had lied to each other, but he had not lied to her about how he felt, and he could have sworn she had not lied to him. He was a fool when it came to her, though, as he had been since the day they had met.
As they passed the stream where he often watered his horses as he was leaving on a trip, he blinked in surprise. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts, he’d not realized the lass was headed in the wrong direction. “The castle is the other way,” he called out, positive she’d not be pleased to hear him speak and even less happy to learn she was going in the wrong direction.
“I’m nae a clot-heid,” she snapped, then turned and marched past him in the other direction. Her chin was tilted stubbornly, and her gaze shot daggers at him as she passed by. They’d have to talk before they reached the castle because once they were there, it would be impossible to do so without prying eyes and ears around, and he wanted answers, though that was foolish, as well. He should let the past die.
As she strode ahead of him, back straight, and shoulders stiff, he knew she needed a moment longer—or more likely a lifetime longer—before her anger would cool, but he did not have a lifetime to wait. But a few minutes would hurt nothing. His eyes were drawn to her backside. In the tattered dress she wore, he could see the curve of her perfect bottom. His fingers twitched with a flood of memories of cupping that round bottom. Desire instantly hardened him, and he jerked his gaze to the safer area of her shoulders.
Except even that was not safe. A recollection of feathering kisses along her creamy shoulder heated his blood. He thought of the kiss from moments before, and he tasted her then, sweet like honey. God’s bones, it had been foolish to kiss her. He’d stood there looking at her, with her mahogany hair in wild disarray, her blue eyes lit like a fire, and her full mouth stoking a flame that had never died in him, and all the yearning, aching, and longing he had worked daily to repress had overcome him. He’d forgotten how powerful the emotions were. They had become like a dull pain that was simply part of his day-to-day life, but with her there, in the flesh, stubborn, prideful, and so breathtakingly lovely, the feelings for her he held within him threatened to drive him to his knees. And he’d wondered if mayhap he’d spun memories that were more powerful than the reality of her. One kiss, and he could know. One kiss, and he could forget her.
But he would never forget her. That one kiss had proven his memories of her, and her ability to elicit desire in him, perfect. She stopped suddenly at the fork in the woods and glanced to the left and right. When she started to go left, he said, “The castle is to the right.”
She surprised him by swinging toward him. “Why did ye kiss me?”
It would be useless folly to tell her the truth. “The memory of ye overcame me,” he said, getting as close to the truth as he dared.
She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Do nae kiss me again while I am at yer castle,” she said in a threatening tone.
“And if we are nae at my castle?” he replied, unable to quell the urge to banter with her, even after what she had revealed about using him and not caring for him.
Her eyes widened and then grew flinty. She poked him hard in the chest. “What we did together will nae ever be repeated. Do ye ken me? Dunnae try to force yerself on me.”
“Might I remind ye that I did nae ever force myself on ye. I am not so dishonorable.”
“Ye lied to me,” she bit out.
He frowned. “Did ye nae say ye lied, as well?”
She bit down on her lip. “Aye,” she said slowly. “I did say that.”
He was struck suddenly with the feeling that she was hiding something. Perhaps it was simply his male pride that had been wounded, or perhaps since he hid the truth himself, it was making him doubt her. But the doubt tugged at his mind. “Tell me,” he said slowly, watching her carefully, “are ye the mistress of the Earl of Ulster now?”
Vivid, unmistakable hurt flashed in her eyes and twisted his insides. Her lips pressed into a thin, white line, and for a moment, he thought she would not respond. “Nay,” she whispered, the pain in her voice like a lash against his skin. She was hiding something from him, and he had to know. Years of mourning her and loving her demanded he know. Reason be damned. Self-control be damned.
“If ye were simply entertaining yerself with me, why ye did nae become the earl’s mistress?”
“I…I kinnae say,” she responded, her voice tight and most definitely fearful.
“That’s a shame,” he said, struggling to keep his own voice from revealing the depths of his feelings for her. “I will hear the truth from yer lips, and ye will nae leave my home until I do.”
“What?” she gasped. “Nay! Ye kinnae keep me here.” The panic rioting in her voice confirmed that she had been—was still—lying to him.
He took hold of her arms, his blood racing through his veins. “I will keep ye here until I believe I have the truth.” He heard the coldness, the utter finality in his tone. What he was doing was folly, but he would at least have the truth, if he could not have this woman. And she was hiding it from him. He would wager his life upon that.
When she tried to wrench free, he gripped her tighter. “I have a verra comfortable tower I can lock ye in for months and months.” He would not, of course, but she did not know that.
“Callum, nay! Ye must nae do such a thing.”
“Tell me the truth,” he replied. “Nae spun lies.”
“Ye tell me the truth,” she bellowed, tugging and pulling to be freed. “Did ye ever feel bad about the lies ye told me? Was Edina here and waiting for ye the day ye came home from the Gathering? Did ye tell her of yer unfaithfulness? Is that why ye are nae yet married?”
“Ye cared for me,” he heard himself say. The things she had said before had been to protect herself, to hide that she had cared. He was at once grateful to know and made miserable by the revelation.
“Aye,” she growled. “Are ye satisfied to ken ye hurt me?”
“Marsaili, nay!” He could not allow her to believe that. “I did nae ever want to hurt ye.”
She turned her face from his. “I was young, foolish, and naive, and I believed the things ye told me. I am nae such a fool now.”
Frustration gripped him in an iron hold. He felt he would explode with it. She had cared for him. She had. Maybe she had sent word that she was dead after believing he was promised to another? He wanted desperately to tell her that he’d not acted dishonorably toward her. He wanted to explain how he had broken with Edina before traveling to Marsaili’s home and meeting her. He could tell her how he’d returned to Urquhart with every intention of obtaining his father’s blessing to marry her. He could relay how he’d chosen her over his clan’s needs. But what good would it do for her to know he’d plunged his clan into war for her, lost his father because of his choices, and that he and his clan still suffered greatly for his selfish choices.
It would not serve her to know these things. They could not wed. He needed an ally, and her father was his enemy. The truth burned his mouth like fire. It clawed his throat, desperate for release. He would need to take care to guard his words and emotions when Marsaili was around him, but he intended that to be as little as possible while she was at the castle. “I did not believe it honorable to marry her after what had occurred between us,” he said, forcing himself to not say more.
“Dunnae expect me to praise ye because ye discovered a sliver of honor within ye,” she bit out.
“I’d nae ever expect it,” he replied. “But it is that sliver of honor which compels me to insist ye take the protection I can offer.”
She pursed her lips. “I dunnae need yer protection,” she growled.
“Nay?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Ye seemed to need it nae long ago when the English swine was chasing ye. And exactly who was that swine?” Callum asked, all his questions coming to him at once.
“That is nae any of yer concern,” she snapped. “Now release me, if ye please.”
“Shortly. I’m afraid I need a few more answers, whether ye wish to give them or nae. I must ken if more people will be pursuing ye and bringing more strife to my home.” He needed to know in order to protect his clan and her.
A long silence stretched, in which she inhaled several times as if to speak but fell back into silence. He was trying to think of how else to force her to tell him what he needed to know when she said, “The man ye killed was Godfrey of Antwerp, knight to the Earl of Ulster.”
Possession and denial hit him, and fury almost choked him. “So ye are the earl’s leman?”
“Nay, ye swine!” She wrenched back, and he released her, feeling a great war within himself to hold her close, keep her as his, but it could not be.
“Tell me what has occurred,” he demanded, realizing as he did that such demands pulled him further into her world when he was required by his fate to stay out of it.
“I have managed to avoid becoming his leman with cunning,” she replied, her voice flat. “My father pursues me, unwilling to relinquish his plot to tie himself to the brother of the possible future King of Scots, and the earl, it seems, refuses to relinquish his wish for me, as well.”
He wanted to tear the Earl of Ulster apart limb from limb, and he wanted to do the same to her father. The Campbell was without honor. “I will protect ye.”
“Nay,” she said, her tone fierce and hard as any man’s he’d ever heard. “I am nae yers to protect. Ye should concern yerself with yer soon-to-be wife.”
“I have nae forgotten Coira,” he said tightly. “I will have my brother see ye to safety. Tell me, if ye will, what cunning kept ye from the earl’s bed?” He found he was desperate to hear what her life had been since they had parted.
“Clever cunning,” she said, her voice hard as stone.
She was going to answer as little as possible, he understood this clearly now. Perhaps not knowing what had happened was best. Yet, the need to know if it had been her or her father who had sent false word of her death, burrowed into his head and would not leave go. “Did ye ever speak of us to yer father?” he asked, unable to stop that one question.
“Nay. Of course nae. That would have been quite foolish on my part. It is not as if I wanted my father or anyone else to ken that I had dishonored myself by joining with ye.” Her words were like a well-placed dagger in his heart. That she viewed herself as dishonored made his insides twist into knots. He’d done this to her, and he could not undo it.
“Dunnae ye need to make haste to supper?” she bit out suddenly, eyeing him. “Is nae yer future wife awaiting ye?”
“Aye, she is.” And she could wait a bit longer, too. “Where will ye go when ye depart here?”
Distinct wariness came into her eyes. “To Dunvegan Castle,” she answered slowly.
“The MacLeod hold?” He frowned. He knew the MacLeods were enemies of her father, so it was odd that she knew them at all, let alone sought them out. “Yer family’s enemies?”
“My father’s enemies, nae mine. I call them friends.”
“How? How did ye even come to ken the MacLeods?”
“It dunnae matter. I did, and that is all ye need to ken.”
Jealousy he had no right to feel gripped him. “Are ye going to a particular MacLeod? A man?”
“Aye,” she said, giving him a cool smile.
He wanted to deny her leave, but it was not his right to do so. She was not his. She would never be his. Yet the idea that someday she would be another man’s wife stirred something primal within him. “When ye and yer friend are ready to travel, I’ll have my brother attend ye.”
“That will nae be necessary,” she replied without hesitation.
“I insist.” He sensed suddenly that something was amiss, though it could just be that she wanted to rid herself of any association with him as quickly as possible.
She nibbled on her lip for a moment, then finally nodded. “That’s verra generous of ye, considering the MacLeods are nae allies of yer clan. Dunnae ye fear that ye will be sending yer brother into danger?”
“Nay,” he replied. “I will send word ahead that he is travelling with ye so that they will grant him safe passage.”
“A good thought,” she said, but her voice was strained and the worry that pinched her face made him aware that she was lying. The only thing was, he had no notion why.