Page 15 of Tempted by the Highland Warrior (The MacKinloch Clan #3)

Chapter Fifteen

The water was so cold, it seemed to freeze her limbs in place. Marguerite struggled with the oar, but it wasn’t helping her float. A wave drenched her face, and she fought to breathe.

Keep going, she urged herself. But she wasn’t at all a strong swimmer, and her feet could not touch the bottom.

Behind her, she heard the shouts of the men and another splash as someone came after her. The sound of them made her aware that if she didn’t begin swimming as hard as she could, they would only bring her back again.

“Marguerite!” came the earl’s voice. Seconds later, she heard him swimming toward her. Then a strong arm came around her waist, holding her above water. “Little fool,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re not strong enough, are you?”

“I h-have to try,” she whispered back. “Let me go.”

But instead of dragging her back to the ship, she realized he was swimming toward land, bringing her with him.

“I tossed your gown into the water, so they wouldn’t suspect,” he murmured, keeping her above the waves. When she was closer to shore, he asked, “Can you touch the bottom?”

When she let go of him, the water was at the level of her mouth while she stood on tiptoe. “Y-yes.” The freezing cold water made her limbs ache, but she could make the rest of the distance on her own.

“Hide yourself in the hills,” he said, letting her go. “Godspeed, Marguerite,”

She heard him swimming back to the ship, and she whispered back, “Godspeed.” That he had done this for her meant the world. She hoped that he would seek his own happiness with the one he loved. A man like the earl deserved no less.

Her body was leaden with fatigue, but she stumbled her way to the shore. Unable to see anything, she could only judge the distance by walking forward, the water growing more shallow. Each minute was endless, her body shivering violently.

When she reached the sand, she collapsed on her knees, unable to take another step. Behind her, the shouting continued, and she heard her father’s anguished voice.

Get up, she ordered herself. She had to keep going, no matter how difficult it became. Inside, she envisioned Callum’s face, trying to gain strength from it. If somehow she could find him, all of this would be worth it. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of how far they’d sailed or how impossible it might be to find him.

Time blurred, and she climbed the hillside, not knowing where she was going or how she would ever reach him. She didn’t know the land, and the sky gave no hint of light.

She walked, feeling the dizziness overtake her. The golden netting and barbette she’d worn seemed to weigh against her head and neck, and she loosened them, until they fell upon the ground.

Her thin gown was clammy against her skin, the wind making her shiver more. It was hard to breathe, and she felt as if she were gasping for air.

How long had she been gone? Whether minutes or hours, she couldn’t tell at all. Her hands were numb and when she tried to hold up the hem of her gown, she couldn’t make her fingers work.

She kept moving, no longer aware of the direction. Was she going back toward the castle? Or further inland? Without warning, she lost her footing and stumbled hard, her body collapsing to the ground. The grass was soft beneath her, breaking the fall. How long was it until morning? Perhaps if she lay down to rest, she could see better when the sun came up.

Curled up upon the ground, she stared up at the night sky, wondering if she’d done the right thing. She didn’t know if the earl would lie on her behalf, or what he would say to her father.

Her heartbeat was racing in her chest, and she struggled to calm herself. She’d lost her shoes in the water, and her bare feet were so cold, she could no longer feel them.

Sleep, a voice inside her urged. Don’t fight it any longer.

Callum woke before dawn, the nightmare pulling him out of sleep. A sense of restlessness made him uneasy that something was wrong. He couldn’t place the feeling, but he found himself packing up his tent and sleeping blankets with a sense of urgency.

He ate a bit of dried meat and an oat cake that he’d brought along as traveling food, and prepared Goliath for the journey home. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he stared below at the sandy beach and the glittering water. There was no sign of the ship. Marguerite was gone, as he’d expected.

He should rejoin his brothers and return home. But something held him here. Callum found himself riding along the coast again, searching for any sign of the ship, though it was useless.

There was none. They had already gone, taking her with them.

The grief and anger struck him so hard, he let Goliath ride at his fastest pace, letting the raw emotion out. With each mile, he raged against the injustice of being helpless to take Marguerite with him. He would miss her soft smile, and the way she looked at him as if he were the only man who mattered.

There would never be another for him. Not like her.

He lowered his face against Goliath’s mane, resting for a moment before he pulled on the reins to turn back. His brothers would be waiting for him.

But then, he glimpsed something white upon the ground. He eased Goliath closer and when he saw it, his heart began pounding.

It was Marguerite’s barbette and the golden net she’d worn in her hair. How had it come to be here?

His hunting instincts heightened, and he began tracking the bent grasses, leading his horse while he traced the path. It led away from the sea, the motion shifting one direction and then the next.

He followed the bent grasses, unsure of what he would find. Trepidation coursed through him while he scrutinized every footprint, every hint that led him closer.

And when he reached an open clearing, he spied the fallen body of a woman lying motionless upon the ground.

Callum broke into a run, offering up a thousand prayers while his mind grew frozen with fear. When he reached the woman’s side, he turned her over.

It was Marguerite.

Her skin was like ice, and she didn’t respond to his touch at all. Callum rested his hand over her heart and could barely detect it beating. God above, how had she come to be here?

She was only wearing a thin cote with no shoes and no head covering. He didn’t know how long she’d been lying there, exposed to the elements.

Terror coursed through him with the thought that she might die. She’d tried to come back to him, and her clothing was soaked from the sea. It was a miracle she’d made it this far, since she had only just learned to swim.

“Marguerite,” he said, touching her cool face. “Look at me, Marguerite.”

She didn’t respond, and he had no way of knowing how to help her. He went to his horse and retrieved a woolen blanket, gathering it around her shoulders. When he lifted her into his arms, she seemed unaware of him.

Don’t die, he prayed.

He mounted his horse, cradling her as he rode back to the place where he’d left his brothers. Not once did she open her eyes, but he tried to warm her along the way.

The ride was endless, with all of his concentration focused upon her. The risk she’d taken was too great, and he wasn’t at all certain she would awaken. Her face was so pale, her breathing barely moving her chest.

Ahead, he spied the fire where his brothers were camped. When he reached them, he dismounted, bringing Marguerite with him. Bram and Alex stood up, while Dougal was still sleeping.

“I found her,” Callum told them. “She tried . . . leave . . .” The words stumbled inside him, unable to form a clear thought. All he could do was hold her as if his very touch could keep her with him.

Dougal had awakened and was staring at Marguerite. “Is she alive? She doesn’t look it.”

“She is,” Bram said. “Thus far.”

Words eluded Callum at this moment, the torment clawing into his consciousness at the thought of Marguerite dying. He couldn’t let it happen. Not after everything she’d endured in her attempt to escape.

Dougal wisely retreated. “I’ll look after your horse.”

“How long was she outside?” Alex asked.

He had no way of knowing and could only shake his head. His brother exchanged a look at Bram. “You’ll have to warm her.” He ordered Bram to set up the tent again and line the ground with blankets. “Take the wet clothing off her and warm her skin to skin.”

Callum sent Alex a warning look. “Don’t . . . look.”

“Easy, Callum.” Alex’s face held amusement. “Both of us are wedded men. Don’t you think Laren and Nairna would have our heads if we dared to look at another naked woman?”

Their teasing diminished the tension somewhat, and the words came easier to him. “It doesn’t mean . . . I trust . . .”

While his brothers busied themselves with taking care of the fire and heating water for a tea, Callum carried Marguerite’s body into the tent and laid her upon the furs. He closed the edges of the tent to give them privacy. With a hand upon her throat, he could barely feel her pulse.

You have to live, he prayed. With shaking hands, he lifted the wet gown away, and then her chemise. Her skin was freezing cold, and Callum cocooned her in the blankets.

When he exited the tent, he saw Alex with a wooden cup of steaming liquid. “You might try to get her to drink this. It’s not much, but it might help warm her from the inside.”

The drink was little more than heated water, but he took it from his brother. Before he entered the tent, Alex reminded him, “Skin to skin, Callum. That will warm her the fastest.”

His brother Bram sent him a knowing look. “And there’s nothing wrong with enjoying some time with a beautiful naked woman.”

“Dougal will volunteer, if you’re too shy,” Alex teased. “He has no wife to take his head off.”

Their youngest brother’s face blushed crimson, and he hurried back to the horses, ignoring the remark.

Callum pointed toward the coast and ordered, “Must . . . find the ship.”

“You’re afraid the Duc will come after her,” Alex predicted.

He nodded. They would be searching, and he wasn’t about to let them find her.

“They might believe she’s dead,” Alex responded. “Most women wouldn’t survive what she did.”

The reminder only fueled Callum’s fear that she still might not live. She was so cold and unresponsive. “Find them,” he repeated to his brothers, and saw Bram nodding his assent.

He trusted them to learn how close the soldiers were while he tended to Marguerite. Hastily, he ducked back inside the tent and tried to raise her head.

“Open your eyes,” he pleaded. “Marguerite, you must.”

When she remained unconscious, he gathered her in his arms, supporting her. “Drink,” he murmured, trying to lift the cup to her lips. The warm liquid dribbled down the side of her face, and he realized he would have to try a different tactic.

Taking a small sip of the liquid, he drew his lips over hers, coaxing them open. Then he released the warm water into her mouth with deliberate slowness. When she didn’t cough or sputter, he tried it again, transferring the warm water until she had drunk half the cup. It was enough for now.

He stripped away his own clothing and pulled back her blanket. Her body was pale, but the sight of her breasts and slim hips made him grit his teeth against the memories of touching her, their bodies joined together.

When he moved his body upon hers, rolling them up in a blanket, he felt the extent of her cold skin. She never moved, never gave any reaction to him.

He drew her so close, her head was tucked beneath his chin, her freezing skin against his. “You’re going to live, a ghràidh,” he swore. If the force of his will would keep her heart beating, he would do everything in his power to make it so.

She slept against him, her soft skin gradually getting warmer. He spoke to her, in a stream of words telling her what she meant to him. How he would take care of her and love her for the rest of their days.

Hours passed, and his brothers left food just outside the tent. Callum tried to get Marguerite to eat, but she remained unresponsive. He covered her in blankets and dressed himself, before returning outside the tent to speak with his brothers. “Where is the ship?”

“Still south of us,” Dougal answered. “While you were with the Lady, I rode down the coast with Bram. It looks as if they’re still searching the water.”

“We need to take her back to Glen Arrin,” Alex warned, “before anyone finds us here.”

Though Marguerite was no longer quite as cold, Callum wasn’t certain it was wise to move her. But he agreed that her father would likely return and find her if they remained here.

“All right,” he agreed. “We’ll take her back.”

He studied his brothers and glanced at the tent. They had only a few hours to disappear into the hills, where the Duc and his men wouldn’t find them.

He could only pray she’d survive the journey.

Callum held Marguerite throughout the grueling ride. When she hadn’t awakened on the third day, Alex decided to hasten their pace, for fear that she would die of starvation. Last night, Callum had tried to get her to drink more water, but though she took it, she remained motionless.

She was holding on to life by the barest thread. And he didn’t know how to save her.

When they reached Glen Arrin that evening, relief flooded through him. The other women knew more of healing than he did, and he hoped that Nairna or Laren could help revive Marguerite.

As they rode closer, he welcomed the sight of the fortress. All spring and summer, they had continued rebuilding it larger than before, and it was nearly completed. Limestone walls stretched around the Hall, and the wooden tower was being lined with stone, to eventually convert it into a castle.

Yet, the sight of his home didn’t alleviate his fear. Marguerite’s skin was burning hot, and she’d slipped into a fever since yesterday. He didn’t know what to do for her, and never had he felt so defenseless. He could fight against any enemy, but this unseen foe might take her from him.

Nairna and Laren were there to greet them, but their smiles faded as soon as they saw Marguerite in his arms.

“Is she—?” Laren whispered. Her face looked desolate, and she held on to her swollen pregnancy, as if to guard against the possibility of death.

“She’s not dead.” Callum walked past them, toward the fortress. But the fear of losing Marguerite wound him up so tightly, he couldn’t manage more than that.

Nairna, who was also heavily pregnant, struggled to catch up to him. “Bring her inside. We’ll move Adaira in with Laren and Alex.”

She led the way, and Callum shifted Marguerite in his arms as he took her up the narrow winding staircase.

“It’s good to hear you talking again, Callum,” Nairna said quietly. “I always knew you would.” She opened the door leading to a tiny chamber with a single bed within it. A slight smile pulled at her mouth. “If anyone could help you, I always thought Marguerite would manage it.”

He cradled her in his arms and stared at his brother’s wife. “She can’t die.” Gently, he laid Marguerite upon the bed, drawing a blanket over her. “Is there anyone who can heal her?”

“Your mother may have some remedies to help.” She rested against the wall, drawing her palm against her womb. At his look of concern, she confessed, “I get dizzy sometimes. It passes.”

“But you and Laren are well?”

She nodded. “Our children will come in the autumn.” Eyeing Marguerite, she asked, “Callum, does the Duc know she is here?”

“She threw herself off the ship. I think her father believes she’s dead.” He sat down beside Marguerite, touching her hair. “It was the only way he would ever let her go. She broke her betrothal to come back to me.”

Nairna’s eyes filled up with tears. The chamber door opened slightly, and Bram held out a tray with a bowl of a watery liquid. “I have broth, if you think she can drink it.”

Callum pointed for his brother to set it down on a table. “Send for our mother, and I’ll stay with her.”

“You’re what she needs most right now, Callum.” Nairna touched his shoulder and returned to her husband, closing the door behind her.

When they were gone, he sat down again at Marguerite’s side. Though she had finally overcome the effects of being too cold, the fever worried him. Perspiration dampened her brow, and she was so pale, he didn’t know if he’d done enough to save her.

Months ago, she had come to him in this very room. She’d bathed him and tended his wounds, letting him rest his head upon her lap. Her compassion had reached past his shadowed mind, granting him peace for the first time.

It felt awkward, speaking to her when she was unconscious, but Callum sensed that she was there, somehow. That she would hear him.

He moved beside her in the bed, pulling her close. She was so hot, he didn’t think it was wise for her to be wearing so many heavy clothes. With the greatest care, he undressed her, easing the cote off until she wore only her chemise. The linen clung to her skin and he brought her head to rest upon his chest.

“I won’t let you go, Marguerite. Not in life. Not in death.” He pressed his mouth against her temple, stroking her hair again. “I’ve fought too hard for you.”

The weariness of the nights he’d spent keeping vigil were starting to press against his resolve. “You’re going to wed me, when you’re better. I’ll build you a house, anywhere you like.”

A seed of regret pulled inside him, that he could never give her a castle like his brother Alex. “It won’t be very big, but it will do well enough for us.”

Around her neck, he spied the chain holding the glass pendant he’d given her. She’d worn it, even when she was leaving him.

He lifted up the chain, the slight weight resting in his palm. Formed of glass, it should have been fragile. And yet, it remained strong. Like her.

Callum took a breath and began speaking again. He filled her ears with stories, talking to her until his voice grew hoarse. The memory of her had pulled him out of the greatest darkness, when he suffered beneath the lash. If his voice would somehow do the same for her, he’d speak for as long as he could.

When at last he was too tired to voice another word, he stretched out beside her, holding her in his arms. As if he could bind her to him, forcing her to stay.

When his mother Grizel arrived the next morning, she brought a foul-smelling tea.

“They told me you’re speaking again.” She eyed Callum with a curt nod, as if it mattered not at all to her. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

He ignored her brusque manner. His mother could never be accused of soft heartedness. “Can you save Marguerite?”

“I’ve a tea that will help bring down the fever. But you shouldn’t have moved her. When a body grows too cold, it’s better to warm her slowly. You might have killed her by journeying this far.”

Grizel’s abrasive manner made him bristle. “I was trying to save her.” He guided Marguerite to a seated position, supporting her in his arms.

His mother set down the tea and studied them both. “How long has it been since she opened her eyes?”

“Four days.” He didn’t miss the look of resignation on Grizel’s face. She likely didn’t believe Marguerite would live much longer. Even so, she continued her questioning.

“And how have you managed to give her food and water? I presume she can’t drink on her own.”

Color rose to his cheeks, but he admitted, “I put my mouth upon hers and forced her to drink.”

Grizel lifted the tea to him, her expression discerning. “Keep doing the same, to make her drink the tea. And if she awakens, send for me.”

If. Not when. The worry gnawed at his composure, but he forced himself to nod.

His mother’s gaze moved from him back to Marguerite. “She was always too fine for a man like you. But I’ll grant that she had courage.”

He had no reply for her framed insult, for it was true. He could only hope that if Marguerite regained her strength, his poverty wouldn’t matter to her.

As Grizel closed the door, she added, “I am glad you returned, Callum.” With a faltering smile, she departed.

He rested his cheek against Marguerite’s, apologizing for his mother, in case she had overheard any of it. As time passed, he fed her the foul-smelling tea, his lips upon hers to ensure that she drank it.

He continued talking, all through the day and into the night. Telling her about the years he’d spent imprisoned. Of how he’d regained his skill with a bow and arrows, and the nights he’d dreamed of her.

“If I could fight this battle for you, I would,” he swore. She’d done everything in her power to come back to him. The thought of losing her now was like a dull knife within him. He held her feverish body close, feeling the desolation wash over him. Her heartbeat was so frail, her breathing labored.

She might not live to see the morning. The thought was worse than any torture. He’d faced his own death, time and again, until it no longer held any threat over him. Death was inevitable for every man. But nothing frightened him more than losing Marguerite.

“You’re everything to me,” he told her. “Don’t let go.”

And when at last he could stay awake no longer, he slept with her cradled against his heart.