Tempted by the Highland Warrior (23 page)

‘I will speak to you, Marguerite,’ the Duc agreed at last. ‘But
not with
him.
’

‘You will speak to both of us. Or not at all,’ she
countered.

They were at an impasse and her father looked as if he’d rather
give the command to attack.

‘I was willing to face death rather than live without Callum,’
she said quietly. ‘If need be, I will face it again.’

Her father’s hardened expression held disbelief. He stared at
her, as if trying to guess whether she would follow through with her threat.
Callum dismounted and brought his hand around her waist. At his side she faced
the Duc, waiting for his response.

‘Please,’ she asked gently. ‘If you love me at all.’

There was no expression on her father’s face, but eventually,
he drew his horse forward in a walk, refusing to lower himself. She led him into
the fortress, not at all knowing what she would say to him.

Nairna busied herself with getting the Duc wine and food, while
Laren began changing the orders for the feast. Marguerite held on to Callum’s
hand, but in his grasp she felt the tension. He wasn’t about to negotiate with
the Duc—he was well past that point. She had to intercede before they killed
each other.

When they reached the Hall, the Duc refused to sit. He stood
and faced her. With a discreet signal, Callum ordered the others out. He stood
at her side and waited.

Marguerite squared her shoulders and faced her father.

‘You let me believe you were dead,’ he raged. ‘Do you have any
idea what that felt like?’

She saw the pain in his eyes and the anger that went deeper
into his heart. ‘I am sorry it had to be this way. But you never listened to me.
You dismissed my feelings and behaved as if I didn’t matter.

‘And when you made me drink that potion, I realised that you
were never going to hear what I had to say. You wanted what
you
believed was best for me. Never what I wanted.’

She let go of Callum’s hand and said, ‘When you are ready to
see that I am happy here, that I am loved by this man, you are welcome to join
in our celebration.’ With a step towards the Duc, she said, ‘For this night, you
could be my father again. Not my enemy.’

The Duc studied her, his face intent. ‘And what have you to
say, MacKinloch? I presume you can still speak.’

‘Thanks to Marguerite, yes.’ He came forward and rested his
hands upon her shoulders. ‘You and I may never come to an agreement. But I would
slay a thousand enemies to protect your daughter. I would give my life for hers
and I swear I will make her happy.’

His words filled her with such joy that Marguerite stepped back
into his embrace, bringing his arms around her. ‘Let me go, Father.’

The Duc said nothing, watching her. In the space of a few
moments, he seemed to age, his expression holding bitterness. ‘I always wanted
the best for you.’

‘I’ve found my own happiness. And if you would only bend your
convictions, you’d see that.’

‘You would truly turn your back on your birthright?’ he asked.
‘On all the wealth you would have possessed?’

She reached up and touched the flowers in her hair. ‘These will
be my jewels now. Will you not put aside your anger?’ She closed the space
between them, reaching up to touch her father’s cheeks. ‘For this night, simply
be happy for me.’

‘And what of the earl? A betrothal cannot be so easily broken,
Marguerite.’

‘He helped me to the shore,’ she admitted. ‘I let him go, just
as he released me.’ At his doubt, she added, ‘He knows, Father.’

The Duc reached out and took her hand. In that moment, he
looked so weary that she didn’t know what to believe. ‘I suppose he must have.
Someone pulled up the anchor and the ship drifted for miles before we realised
it.’ He squeezed her palm and reached out to touch her hair. ‘You look so much
like your mother,
ma petite.
’

She sent him a blinding smile, understanding the apology he had
not spoken.

Chapter Seventeen

C
allum stood before Marguerite, still in
disbelief that her father was witnessing their marriage. The priest spoke a
blessing in Latin, joining their hands together while Marguerite smiled at him.
Her blue eyes were filled with joy, while he’d hardly managed to speak the vows
that now married them.

He leaned in to kiss her and his kinsmen cheered. The dark look
in the Duc’s eyes wasn’t entirely pleased, but he’d agreed to a reluctant peace
between them. Though he didn’t like letting his daughter go, his capitulation
had done a great deal to heal the distance between them.

Callum met the man’s gaze, offering the silent promise to
always make her happy.

Laren and Nairna had created a feast that was nothing short of
miraculous. Several of the soldiers had spent the afternoon fishing, and they
ate cold mutton, roasted fowl and salmon, as well as oat cakes and bowls of
summer berries. There was music and dancing all around them, and later, the Duc
agreed to dance with Marguerite. Her face shone with love, and when she looked
back at him, Callum returned the same silent message of love.

‘What happened to Aunt Beatrice?’ she asked her father.

‘I sent her back to France. She was causing more trouble and I
heard tales from my men that you were right.’ He shrugged. ‘It was her idea
about the herbs.’ Touching her cheek, he said, ‘I never should have agreed to
it. I ask your forgiveness.’

She nodded, recognising the sincerity in his voice. He’d
allowed his anger to blind him. ‘I’m glad she’s gone.’ Resting her head upon his
shoulder, she added, ‘I still owe you the prize from the day I let you win our
race.’

When he said nothing, she raised her head to look at him. ‘Do
you remember? I promised to visit you.’

There was a small hint of emotion in his face. ‘I would like
that very much.’ His arms tightened around her and in his arms, she sensed his
love.

* * *

The night continued with more feasting and music. The
Duc expressed interest in the stained-glass window within the fortress he’d
spied earlier. After he’d drunk a few more cups of ale, he spoke with Laren
about commissioning a glass window for his château in France.

Though he sat with Marguerite and forced himself to eat, Callum
wasn’t at all interested in food. She caught his gaze and her smile faded into
the look of understanding.

She extended her hand to him and he followed her away from the
celebration, to the woods that beckoned. They had just entered the trees when,
abruptly, Marguerite stopped walking and leaned against one of the tall oaks.
Reaching up to him, she pulled him into a deep kiss.

He took her mouth with his, claiming her with a husband’s
right. She met the kiss with her own passion, winding her arms around his neck
and offering everything of herself.

When she withdrew, her breathing was staggered, her mouth
swollen. ‘I couldn’t wait any longer.’

‘If you hadn’t led me here, I might have carried you off,’ he
answered. The need to feel her bare skin against his, to show her how much he
loved her, was so strong that he lifted her into his arms.

‘Then again, perhaps I will.’

She laughed against his shoulder as he took her into the
forest, the sunset gleaming red and gold upon the horizon. He carried her into
their house, closing the door behind them. Then he lowered her on to their
bed.

Marguerite reached for him and Callum worked to free her from
her gown while she worked to help him from his own clothing. She reached to lift
away the crown of flowers upon her hair, but he took it from her. ‘Wait.’

He settled back to look at her. With her hair unbound and her
beautiful body revealed to him, it stole his senses to think that she was now
his wife. He broke off a spring of purple heather from the wreath and brought it
to her body. With the rough sprig in his hands, he traced patterns upon her
skin.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, gasping when he drew the
blossom over her erect nipple.

‘You taught me to write,’ he answered. ‘I thought I should
practise.’ Swirling the blossom around her breast, he added, ‘The letter S was
always hard.’

‘I know something else that is hard,’ she answered, reaching
for him.

When her palm closed over his shaft, he inhaled sharply and let
the heather fall to the linen sheets. Lowering his mouth to her skin, he began
to kiss her, over her shoulders and up to the sensitive place upon her throat.
She wanted him. He could sense it in the way her pulse pounded beneath his
lips.

He kissed the column of her throat and brought his hand lower.
She tightened her grasp upon him and he wanted her so badly, he fought to
control his lust.

‘Slow down, sweet.’

‘Perhaps I don’t want to.’ Her thumb moved over the crest of
his erection, and she sent him a wicked smile. ‘I was abducted this night by a
Scottish warrior. I hope to be ravished by him.’

He removed his clothing, sitting beside her on the bed. ‘If
that is your wish.’

He took her breast in his mouth, suckling hard against the taut
nipple. A shocked breath escaped her, along with a sigh of pleasure.
Marguerite’s face transformed with need, colour rising in her cheeks. She rolled
to her side, whispering against his mouth, ‘You’re a temptation I never could
resist, Callum.’ She ran her fingers over his back. ‘Let me touch you for a
moment.’

He stilled, letting her do as she pleased. She guided him to
rest upon his stomach and she straddled him, her damp womanhood touching his
lower spine. With her hands, she touched the scars of his past, trailing her
fingers across his back.

‘I remember the day I found you. I was so afraid you might
die.’ She bent and touched her mouth to his scars and the motion grazed her
breasts against him. It was torment, having to remain still and not touch her,
while she caressed him. ‘I think, somehow, I knew we would be together.’

‘I thought you were an angel of mercy,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps
you were. Because I swear, on my life, this is my heaven.’

He rolled her over, needing to pleasure her, to worship every
part of her skin. He filled his palms with her breasts while, below the waist,
he nudged himself between her legs. Marguerite raised her knees up, welcoming
him. She gasped as he rubbed against her cleft while his fingers coaxed and
fondled her breasts.

‘Tell me how you want to be touched.’

Her breath caught in her lungs when he warmed her skin,
awaiting her response. She guided the head of him into her moist passage and he
pressed forward within her slick flesh, filling her up.

He tasted her, nibbling the curve beneath her breast. Her
nipple hardened, showing him that she liked his kiss. ‘Tell me, Marguerite.’

She moved against him, pulling him deeper inside, murmuring in
French as she tried to make him move.

‘I don’t speak French,
a ghràidh.
’
But he acted on instinct, thrusting within her until she cried out with shivered
ecstasy. Slowly, he moved her hips to the edge of the bed and he stood, still
sheathed inside her. With her legs around his waist, he drove inside her,
penetrating from a higher angle.

Her fingers dug into the bed, her eyes wild as she submitted to
his thrusts, arching hard. Her walls clenched his shaft and she trembled at the
force of his lovemaking.

‘I love you, my wife,’ he said, filling her again.

‘Je t’aime,’
she responded,
reaching for his hips. Callum ground himself against her and saw the renewed
look of arousal in her eyes. The intense contact made her shudder. When he began
to plunge with a rhythm, pressing his body harder against her centre, she began
speaking words of encouragement.

‘There,’ she pleaded, telling him how much she loved the touch
of him deep inside her.

The exquisite pleasure of watching her reach for release, her
body trembling with need, was making him grow harder within her. She was so wet,
so eager, he couldn’t stop the shout that roared from him when her legs
tightened around his waist, grasping him with all her strength as the release
flooded through her.

He kept up the pulsing rhythm until his own satisfaction came
hard and fast. And when he lay down on top of her, their bodies were merged
together as one. Callum held her close, his heart beating so fast, he couldn’t
believe she now belonged to him.

‘You were mine since the moment I saw you,’ he murmured against
her hair.

She smiled up at him and in her blue eyes he saw the unspoken
promise of every tomorrow they would spend together.

No other words were needed.

Epilogue

Four years later…

A
group of messengers rode into Glen Arrin,
wearing the insignia representing Edward of Caernarfon, the King of England.
When Marguerite saw them, she clutched her young infant daughter protectively.
From the serious manner of the men, she could not imagine that they bore good
news.

‘Stay back,’ Callum warned, transferring his bow into his left
hand. His three-year-old son Ailric gripped the child-sized bow in his own hand,
mirroring his actions.

‘Do you want me to take the children away?’ Marguerite asked,
unsure of whom the messenger had come to see.

‘Not yet. They didn’t come to fight.’ Callum nodded behind him.
‘But keep your distance. Go with your mother,’ he warned Ailric.

‘I help,’ Ailric offered, raising his miniature bow. Callum
ruffled the boy’s hair, pushing him back to Marguerite.

‘Do as I say, son.’

The men remained outside the gates and Callum walked closer to
them. Marguerite held the baby and gripped Ailric’s hand, her heart pounding
with fear. Though they had done nothing wrong, she couldn’t guess why the king’s
men would be here.

A few moments later, the men entered the fortress, led by
Dougal. The young adolescent had grown into a handsome young man and Marguerite
hoped that one day he would find a good woman to wed. He spent far too much time
tending the animals instead of sharing time with people.

‘Why have you come?’ Callum asked, still keeping his bow in one
hand.

‘We wish to speak with Lady Marguerite de Montpierre, daughter
of the Duc D’Avignois, wife of Callum MacKinloch,’ the first man said.

Marguerite stepped forward. ‘I am she.’

Callum remained in front of her, and she didn’t miss the subtle
tension in his stance. If needed, he could release half-a-dozen arrows,
defending them.

‘And you were once betrothed to Peter Warrington, the Earl of
Penrith?’

She nodded. ‘Has something happened?’ Fear rose in her stomach.
Lord Penrith had been a good man, one she’d been fond of, even if she could
never wed him. After her marriage to Callum, he had written to her from time to
time and seemed especially pleased that she’d birthed a son so shortly after
she’d wed.

The messenger came forward and inclined his head, acknowledging
Marguerite. ‘The Earl of Penrith is a good
friend
of
His Majesty’s.’

A blush coloured her cheeks, for she now understood who it was
that Lord Penrith had been fond of. And it was no wonder he could not share in
the life he’d wanted.

‘What does this have to do with me?’

‘His Majesty wished to bestow more estates upon the earl, as
gifts. There are lands here that were seized by the king. It is his Royal Wish
that peace be restored in Scotland.’

Marguerite waited, still not understanding what the messengers
were speaking of. ‘But why—?’

‘His Majesty, out of favour and love for Lord Penrith, has
agreed to grant the earl’s request. The land in Scotland will be given to your
firstborn son.’

Shock rendered her speechless and she could think of no reply.
The earl had wealth enough of his own and needed nothing further. That he had
passed the land on to her son was a gift she had never expected.

The messenger’s gaze fell upon Ailric and he added, ‘The King
has honoured the bequest. You and your husband shall guard the land until your
son comes of age.’

Marguerite dug her fingers into Callum’s arm, hoping he would
understand what this meant. He exchanged a look with her and nodded. Covering
her hand with his own, he asked the messenger, ‘Should we plan a visit to court,
in order to offer our thanks to the king?’

The messenger inclined his head. ‘That would be most wise. And
Lady Marguerite may wish to spend time with Her Majesty, Queen Isabella, since
they share the same homeland.’

The man began speaking of land rights, but before he could go
on, Callum interrupted. ‘Where is this land that will be granted to our
son?’

‘It is a few days’ journey from here.’ He shrugged. ‘The keep
burned to the ground, I fear, and it isn’t a large fortress, by any means.’

A strange premonition sank within her blood and Marguerite
suspected where this was leading. ‘Who owned the land before?’

‘The Earl of Cairnross,’ the messenger admitted. ‘You may have
heard of him.’

Marguerite nearly choked at the mention of the man who had
killed her maid and caused torment to so many prisoners. To own the land,
rebuilding a fortress upon the blood of so many men, seemed like a cruel
jest.

Callum gripped her hand to keep her calm. In his eyes, she saw
the reassurance.

‘Come inside and you may take shelter with us before you return
to England,’ he offered to the messenger. To his younger brother Dougal, he
instructed, ‘See to it that Laren finds a place for these men.’

The messenger withdrew a gold ring and handed it to Marguerite.
‘This ring is to be given to your son. It belongs to the earl and is a sign of
the king’s favour.’

She smiled and thanked him, concealing the ring in her palm.
Her daughter began to fuss and Marguerite handed the infant over to Callum,
where she calmed instantly.

The men followed Dougal back to the fortress. When they had
gone, she turned back to Callum. ‘Will it be painful for you to return to
Cairnross?’

He shook his head. ‘The memories of that place will never be
gone from me. But we’ll rebuild it and make new ones.’ Leaning in, he stole a
kiss from her. ‘I always wanted to give you land and a castle. I suppose I
finally can, thanks to the earl.’

With their children between them, she rested her forehead
against his. ‘I never needed them, Callum.’ Smiling at their son and daughter,
she added, ‘For you’ve already given me treasures beyond price.’

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of
My Fair
Concubine
by Jeannie Lin!