reached out to rest his palm upon her head. ‘You found him handsome, didn’t you?’
‘My loyalty belongs to you, my lord,’ she answered quietly. ‘If you wish to keep the slave, then that is your right.’
‘It is.’ His hand dug into her hair in a silent reminder of possession. Thick fingers moved over her face, down to her shoulder. ‘I will consider your request.’ When his fingers slid beneath the neckline of her gown, touching her bare skin, she flushed with embarrassment. ‘And I’ll share your bed tonight, wife. For that is also my right.’
Alys said nothing, keeping her head bowed in obedience. An icy shield kept her courage from shattering apart. Just as the Scots were imprisoned in servitude, so too, was she a captive in this marriage.
She couldn’t free herself … but she could help them. It was her own form of silent rebellion. Although most of the prisoners were men, there had also been a few women. And recently a young girl, hardly more than ten years old.
Only a monster would imprison a child. Above all others, Alys would fight for the life of the girl.
She only wished Harkirk were dead, so she could free them all.
A restlessness brewed within Marguerite. Though Bram and Alex MacKinloch had gone on a rescue mission to free Callum, nearly a sennight ago, she couldn’t stop herself from pacing. Bram’s wife Nairna had given her a few tasks to occupy herself while they were gone, but household duties had done little to ease her preoccupation. She wished for a needle and thread, for sewing often helped her to calm herself.
‘They’ll be back,’ the chief’s wife Laren reassured her. ‘And soon your father will come for you.’
‘Perhaps.’ Marguerite wasn’t entirely certain that her well-being was more important than political alliances. Though the Duc had been good to her and her sisters, his primary interest was in using their marriages to support his own position. No doubt he would be furious when he learned she’d run away from the earl.
Ever since she’d come to live with the MacKinlochs, the immense freedom had been overwhelming. There was no one to tell her what to wear, where to go, or what her duties were each day. Although Marguerite tried to offer her help, she was unaccustomed to living this way. She felt awkward, trying to settle into a pattern that wasn’t her own.
A commotion outside caught their attention and Laren hurried to see what it was. Marguerite followed and saw the men returning on horseback. Callum was with them, but he stared off into the distance as if he were blind. In his broken posture, she glimpsed a man who had suffered years’ worth of torment in only a few weeks.
An aching regret squeezed her heart. It’s my fault, she thought to herself. If Callum spied her, he might be angry with her for what had happened. A strange rise of nerves gathered inside her like a windstorm of leaves. She wanted to see him again, but it was possible he didn’t remember her.
She disappeared within the fortress and gave orders for a hot bath to be prepared for Callum. It shamed her to realise that she was hiding from them. From her vantage point in the far corner, she saw the men gathering. Nairna’s face was pale as she followed behind her husband and the others.
When Bram tried to touch the ragged tunic, Callum exploded into a fight. He was like an animal, raging at his brother, attacking with his fists. He didn’t seem to recognise his own family any more or realise that they were trying to help him.
It was awful seeing him like this. It was as if the man she’d saved was no longer there, lost in a world of his own madness.
Alex and Bram tried to subdue him, but Callum kept fighting, his blows striking hard.
‘Help us bring him above stairs,’ Alex said to Ross, one of their kinsmen. The older man had greying hair and a full beard, but there was no denying the brawny strength of his forearms.
‘He needs food,’ Ross said and Nairna hurried to fetch it. When the men half-dragged Callum up the winding stairs, Marguerite moved behind them. They brought him into Alex’s chamber and she remained on the stairs, watching from a distance. When they tried to remove his bloodstained tunic, Callum fought harder. Bram expelled a curse as a fist caught him in the eye.
Men and women came and left the chamber, but Marguerite remained in the shadows, feeling like a coward. Several of the MacKinlochs had brought in hot water, but she didn’t know if Callum would avail himself of the bath.
After a time, Nairna found her and the woman’s face was lined with worry. ‘You said you helped Callum on the night he was wounded. Would you be willing to go to him now?’
‘I don’t know if I could do anything,’ Marguerite admitted. ‘He might not remember me.’ Or if he did, he might resent her for being sent away.
‘Will you try?’ Nairna took her by the hand, drawing her into the hall. ‘You’re the last hope we have.’ Her face grew upset, but she revealed, ‘The tunic on his back has stuck to the wounds. He won’t let us take it off. It will grow poisoned if we leave it.’
Marguerite closed her eyes, suppressing a shudder. Callum would die a long-suffering death, if he didn’t allow anyone to assist him. She took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
She followed Nairna into the room, worrying that she would be unable to help. Inside, she saw Bram seated across from his brother, an untouched cup of mead resting upon a table beside him. Callum stared at the wall, as if he weren’t aware of his brother’s presence. His knuckles were bloody, matching his brother’s swollen face.
Nairna spoke quietly to her husband, while Marguerite tried to summon her courage. Why would you think you could help him? her mind demanded. He won’t even remember you.
But the moment she stepped forward, Callum turned to face her. There was disbelief in his expression, as if he couldn’t understand how she had come to be here. His brown eyes stared into hers, and though she saw the pain within them, there was something else. Almost … a longing.
Her throat grew swollen, her eyes blinking back tears, but Marguerite didn’t turn her gaze away from him. He was drinking in the sight of her, as if her presence brought him comfort. Seeing his wounds made her heart bleed, knowing what he’d endured.
You have to help him, came a voice within her. He needs you.
As if approaching a wounded wolf, she continued moving towards Callum. One foot before the other, moving closer, until she took Bram’s place across from him. She gripped the folds of her sapphire silk gown, trying to think of what to say.
Nairna took her husband’s hand. ‘We’ll wait just beyond the door if you need us.’ They retreated, leaving the door open by only an inch or two.
When they had gone, Marguerite forced herself to look back at Callum. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her and she grew nervous beneath his stare. ‘I never meant for this to happen,’ she murmured in French, knowing he wouldn’t comprehend her words. ‘I had hoped to save you. Not to make you suffer.’
He reached out, his palm covering hers. The rough skin contrasted against her own, but she understood his silent forgiveness. With each second that passed, she grew more sensitised to his touch. Not just his hand, but the warmth of his knee pressed against hers as they sat across from one another. The heat of his eyes burned into her, speaking more than any words could
