Page 21 of The Laird’s Guardian Angel (Highland Lairds #3)

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" W ell, well, our mighty leader has decided to join us." Broderick chuckled from where he sat beside Alistair.

Alistair pushed himself up with his good arm and glared half-heartedly at his laughing mate. "How long have I been asleep? And why am I on a bloody table?"

"Three days and seven hours." This answer came from Duncan, who sauntered over with a mug. "We tried to move ye, but every time ye punched one of us and Lady Ramsey was worried ye'd rip your stitches. Alas, it was the table for ye. Have some ale."

Every bone and muscle in his body ached as Alistair sat up straighter on the wooden table. Where his head had lain was a pillow. At least she'd seen to that, and he was also half-covered with a woven blanket. The comforts of a bed brought to him when he'd been too stubborn in his unconsciousness to accept the haven of a bed.

Alistair took the mug, annoyed that his hands shook slightly in his weakened state. But that didn't stop him from pulling the ale to his lips and greedily drinking as he glanced around the great hall. Where was the lass?

And then he spotted her.

Calliope Ramsey.

She was talking with a servant near the rear of the hall by a door that appeared to lead into the buttery. The smile on her face did something funny to his insides. He was pretty sure she was going to shoot him. Why he thought she was going to shoot him, he had no idea, but seeing her arrow trained on him had nearly split him in two. The emotional pain Alistair had felt when he thought she'd turned on him was nearly the same as he'd felt when he'd found out the healer he'd believed he’d loved before had betrayed him.

Alistair drained his mug of ale to keep himself from admitting his feelings aloud. And then she turned that smile on him, and he nearly spit out his ale as an image of her laying over top of him, kissing her came flooding back. Bloody hell. Had he taken advantage of her in his state?

Was the kiss real, or had it been a dream? The way his memory was flooding, with the taste, scent, and feel of her, he could have sworn it had truly happened.

"Sinclair," she said in that soft voice of hers. The one that belied her skill with a bow and arrow, her willingness to kill to save another. There was a flush to her cheeks that hadn't been there a moment before.

She'd saved his life. When he'd seen her pointing her arrow at him, sure she was going to kill him, he'd thought her escape from Ramsey Castle, her luring him and his men there to fight for her, had all been an elaborate ruse. That he was a fool to have believed it. But really, he was a fool for even letting those thoughts manifest.

Guilt riddled him as he recalled the feel of the feathers fluttering past him, brushing his cheek, before the tip of the arrow landed in his enemy at the exact moment the enemy's sword came down on Alistair.

He glanced down at his wrapped shoulder and felt the throb of pain where she'd taken care of his wound. An injury on top of another. Bloody hell. Of all the luck.

Well, he supposed he was damned lucky that he was alive. And Calliope hadn't tried to kill him as he'd thought.

"Ramsey," he said, setting down his cup, his eyes drawn to the soft fullness of her red lips. Tasting her sweetness in his memories. Like fruit on a summer day and whisky after dark.

Sweetness and sin all in one.

"Thank ye for saving me," he said.

"We are even," she said. "You saved me, and I returned the favor. Couldn't let my champion go down at the hands of his enemy."

"I am grateful."

She glanced around the great hall, nodding. "So am I. This is not what I ever thought I wanted. To be fair, Scotland, this castle, and my father were never things that crossed my mind. I didn't really know they existed. My father was a shadow figure in my mind. And I've no siblings to ask about him." She cocked her head. "Do you have siblings?"

"Aye. Four."

Her eyes widened. "That's incredible. Are they a lot like you?"

Duncan snorted. "Two of them are identical."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "My brothers and I were born on the same night. I'm the youngest of the three of us."

"By the same mother?" she asked.

"Aye."

Her pink bow lips formed a tiny O. "A miracle."

"Aye, considering she went on to have two more lassies," Alistair said.

"Also born the same night?" Her hand pressed to her middle as if she could feel the birthing pains of his mother, God rest her soul.

"Nay," Alistair chuckled. "Matilda came a few years later, and Iliana a couple after that."

Calliope's sigh was audible, and she came to sit near where Broderick lingered on his chair. "A large family. Are you close?"

"Aye." He missed the hell out of them. With two injuries to his shoulder, he would be out of commission for some time. Perhaps now was the perfect opportunity to visit with the family he'd not seen in many months.

Calliope smiled wistfully. "I always wanted a large family." Then her smile faded. "But my mother never had more children, and the family I dreamed of my father having created when I found out I was coming here was also just a mirage."

"Ye've got us, lass," Broderick said, and Alistair jerked his attention toward his friend.

The idea of Calliope being a part of their family… brought him back to the kiss. How he wished he could have another. How if she were a part of their family, it would mean she was his…wife.

The idea did damage to his insides almost as quickly as he thought it. First, he felt like throwing up the ale he'd just drunk, and second, he wanted to snatch Calliope to him before anyone else could think to do so. Like Broderick, who was staring at her with stars in his eyes. If he weren't as weak as he was, he might call his friend out right now and bring this to a settlement of swords. Then again, perhaps he wasn't so weak after all. Alistair started to rise, feeling slightly dizzy as he did so.

Calliope pushed him back down without a word, turning her attention back to Broderick.

"Why thank you," Calliope pressed her hand to Broderick's shoulder, and a stab of jealousy lanced through Alistair. "That means a lot to me. Especially because we will be neighbors."

Neighbors. Alistair grimaced, not liking the sound of that at all. He wanted to see her every day. Not whenever he needed to speak to the Ramseys as his allies. Neighbors wasn't good enough.

But why did he feel so strongly? It was more than the kiss they'd shared that felt more like a dream. Something about the idea of being apart from Calliope made him want to lay claim to this castle, to her. Perhaps it harkened back to all those years ago when he'd been a lad, staring with dreamy eyes at a lass who was giving him her favor.

But how would the two of them… married… work? Two lairds?

Alistair swallowed, annoyed with the dizziness in his head, which was caused by more than being in a weakened state. She had her world, and he had his.

"Are you unwell, Sinclair? You've lost all color in your face." She rushed forward, her hands on his good shoulder as she pressed him back down on the table, leaning over him and inspecting his wrappings. "All appears to be well. Perhaps you've sat up too long."

Alistair shook his head. "Nay. I need to take a walk. I've lain too long."

"Then one of your men should accompany you to help you in case you lose your footing."

"I injured my shoulder, not my legs, nor my feet. I can walk. And ye can come with me." Even as he said it, Alistair wiggled his toes to ensure he could still feel them, for he wasn't entirely sure he could walk. Both feet, all ten toes, had feeling.

Broderick and Duncan started to protest, but he gave them each a stern look as he swung his legs off the table's edge and stood. At first, he wobbled, and a wave of dizziness took hold of his head. He held onto the edge of the table, pushing away the groping hands of his friends who wanted to help until he could stand on his own. Alistair blinked until the dizziness subsided, ignoring the wary looks from those standing around him.

Weakness consumed his limbs from lack of use from fever. And yet, he was determined to beat his weakness like he did any enemy.

And then he smelled himself. Och, but he smelled horrendous. "I think I should also like a bath," he grumbled.

"I shall have one drawn," Calliope said, not seeming to notice his stench in the least. He'd take that as a positive sign.

"After we walk, if my state is no' too offensive."

Calliope laughed. "You're not nearly as bad off as I was the night we met. Consider it a debt paid after the state you found me in."

Alistair smiled. "Accepted."

They meandered out to the courtyard, one slow shuffling step at a time, Alistair hating every weakened movement. This was not how he wanted to impress the lass. But she didn't seem bothered at all; she was smiling up at him.

"Look at you," she said. "I've never seen such a swift recovery."

"Truly?" He narrowed his eyes.

"Truly." The woman before him appeared transformed. The fire was still there, lurking behind a playful grin. She exuded a new confidence that he'd not witnessed before but that he greatly admired.

"Likely because ye were treating the English," Alistair teased.

She tapped her chin in mock contemplation. "Perhaps that is the case."

With every step, Alistair felt his body renewing itself. Perhaps it was the fresh air, but he liked to think her company was making him feel more whole. "Do ye plan to stay, lass?"

"Here at Ramsey?" She nodded before he could confirm. "This is my home. The only home I have. And while you were getting your beauty rest?—"

"Hey now," he laughed.

Calliope chuckled, "My people returned. Bessie and Gregor, thank goodness. We buried those lost in the fire and started to rebuild what the evil men destroyed."

A sense of pride filled Alistair's chest. Just as she'd won him and his men over, she'd also won over her father's people. Her people. Still, he wondered if that would be enough for her. She'd left behind a world she'd grown accustomed to. "What of your home in England?"

"Sir Edgar made it clear I wasn't to return. And to be honest, I fear Edgar may have had something to do with my mother's death." She bit her lip, and he could tell there was more she wanted to tell him, but that something was holding her back. Was it something to do with what she'd overheard the Sassenach confess to when he'd killed her father?

"I had planned to tell my father about it, to allow him to decide what to do, but then, well, you know what happened."

"What will ye do?"

"I will write to Edgar’s liege. Edgar is but as a landed knight and under the loyalty of the Earl of Hardwyck. Though, I'm not certain it will help, as I believe he was following orders. There is not much I can do. Nor really anything I believe they will do to investigate. It is all heresy on my part, and if it was by order, then I have no standing to argue."

Alistair nodded. "I canna imagine they would order your mother's death."

Calliope shook her head. "I cannot either. I wonder if there was perhaps a misunderstanding." There was a sadness in her voice, and Alistair wanted to rage against her stepsire. Wished he hadn't let him go when he'd had the chance.

"I fought with the man who killed your father," he said. "He admitted it to me. I ended his life."

Calliope nodded. "Thank you."

"I am sorry, lass."

"I know, but it was not your fault. The Sassenachs had a plan. They had their orders from the king. My father was to be paid money, and I think that man was to be my husband by order of King Edward. I think he was killed for refusing. Not something I can say for Sir Edgar, who appeared more willing to take the coin."

"Sir Edgar will get what is coming to him."

"I pray he pays a penance."

Alistair took her hand in his out of instinct, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She didn't pull away and, in fact, held him tighter.

"So far here, the servants have returned, and the people have come out of hiding to work the land again and tend the cows and sheep. Ramsey lands are healing. And I, too, will heal."

"Will they entrust their loyalty to ye?"

"They already have while you slept." She smiled. "It was such an honor. There was only one thing they said that made me weary."

"What?" Alistair would do whatever he could to make them trust in her.

"They want me to marry a Ramsey to solidify my placement." She frowned, and on that admission, she did tug her hand away. "But doing that would mean possibly giving that man leadership."

Alistair felt the acuteness of the loss of her hold and wanted them to stop in their tracks so he could take both her hands in his and tug her closer. To admit what his heart was pounding out in a staccato beat. But he managed to control himself with a murmured, "'Twould."

"I want to lead."

"No' many believe a woman should. Though ye've proven yourself more than capable, lass."

"I agree. Especially with the acts I had to commit during the siege." She crossed herself. "I know killing is necessary, but I just never thought it would be so hard."

Alistair did stop now, turning to face her. "'Tis never easy, lass. Even for me. In the dark moments of battle, we must set aside our feelings, but after, we are haunted by what we've done."

"How do you heal from it?"

"Time. And by looking around me. By seeing my people are safe. That is the treasure, really, the prize for being victorious. Life."

Calliope nodded. "And they are living. Most of them."

Alistair took her hand once more and tugged her toward the gate. He needed the walls that surrounded them to disappear so he could feel as though he could breathe, as if the land outside, the open space, would make him heal faster.

They stepped through the castle gate, their footfalls tapping against the drawbridge's wood. He paused in the center, gripping the handrail and drawing in a heavy breath.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, lass, that ye had to do those things. That ye were put in that position."

Calliope leaned her hip against the rail, looking off into the distance. She studied their surroundings as if trying to memorize or recall every oak and blade of grass.

"None of this was your fault," she said. "If anything, what happened to you is my fault. You wouldn't have been injured if I'd not asked you for help."

"If ye'd no' asked for my help, there's no telling what might have happened."

She nodded. "I'd be dead, most likely. I escaped, but they were sure to be on my heels. And if I'd returned alone, as skilled as I am with a bow, I'd not have been able to fight them all."

"Where did ye learn to fight like that?" Alistair sucked in a heady cold breath.

"Here, I meant to give you this inside." She held out a small linen-wrapped parcel.

Alistair took the offering, opening it up to find a slice of honeycomb.

"Honey has healing properties," she said. "And it will give you a little energy."

He smiled. It'd been ages since he'd had honeycomb. The last time had been with his sisters. They'd been staying with him as he and his brothers rotated their raising, and on a ride, they'd seen a massive beehive. He'd climbed a tree with a smoking branch in hand, waiting for the bees to leave so he could reach inside the hive to retrieve the honey, and then they'd ridden like hell, each of them drunk on honey by the time they got back to the castle.

Alistair popped the honeycomb into his mouth, chewing on the wax, the sweetness dripping over his tongue.

"Thank ye," he said. "I already feel better." He wasn't sure whether or not that was simply by being in her presence.

"Good. You look a lot better, too. Though, to be fair, you were lying unconscious on a table."

"No' the whole time." He eyed her, wondering if his memory had been but a dream. But the way her cheeks flamed red was enough of an answer to know that, no, indeed, they had kissed.

And it had been glorious. Alistair had kissed a fair number of women in the course of his life. But none held even a candle to Calliope's passion.

"I'm sorry for taking advantage of you," she said, though the curve of her lip was almost mischievous. Was she genuinely sorry? He didn't think so.

"I'm not. In fact," Alistair slid closer, grateful for the sturdiness of the wooden rail as being around her seemed to make his dizziness return. "I wish I'd been more conscious when it happened."

She snorted a laugh, her golden head falling back to expose the column of her soft throat. A throat he wanted to run his tongue over. "You're teasing me. I should have known better than to kiss a man in a fever."

"Perhaps that kiss brought me out of the fever." He wiggled his brows, somewhat teasing, but his gaze fell to stare at her lips with an intensity that made his blood rush through his veins. Saints, but he wanted to kiss her again. Desperately. To claim her mouth once and for all. To tell the Ramseys she wasn't marrying one of them but him. That she was his forever.

"Ah, so you're saying I have magical healing properties," she teased, though it was said softly, a hint of desire in the syllables.

"Or perhaps your kiss does," he murmured, scooting even closer, his fingers sliding over hers where they rested on the railing. "Shall we try again to see if one more kiss makes my injury disappear?"

Calliope shook her head. "That is impossible." But when she said it, her eyes were on his lips, and though her words were not favorable, everything about how she leaned closer was.

A fire lit inside him. "Only one way to find out, Calliope."

Calliope glanced up at him, eyes cloudy with desire. "Sinclair…" She'd used his name before, yet now seemed to be reminding herself with the formality of his position that they should remain distant. But her body language said the very opposite as she licked her lips.

"Alistair, sweetheart. Our lips have touched. I think ye've earned the right to call me by name."

Calliope seemed to struggle with this. Trying to decide if she should give in or bolster on with the distancing. But then, she whispered, "Alistair…"

He closed the distance between them, their hips touching where they leaned against the rail, and a spark of hot desire coursed through him.

"I want to kiss ye again, Calliope," he whispered, his face bending slightly closer. "Do ye want to kiss me?"

Calliope's fingers caressed her lip as she stared up at him, passion filling her eyes as her gaze slid from his to his lips and back.

Alistair didn't know if it was the memory of her kiss or the desire burning in her gaze that was his undoing. And he was still determining if it mattered. Everything about this woman reached out and grabbed hold of him. As if he were captive to her very being and soul.

"Aye," she whispered, and he felt as though his insides snapped.

Alistair slid his fingers along her neck, pushing the softness of her hair away from her skin, feeling the hitch in her pulse just beneath her flesh. She stepped forward, with the tips of her boots pushing into his as he descended. My God, he didn't even know how much he'd wanted this kiss until now.

Brushing his lips over hers, a fire ignited between them, consuming him. Burning him. Branding him. He rested his mouth on Calliope's, sucking in a breath through his nose as if she were the breath of air he'd been needing after leaving the castle. As if the walls falling away weren't the thing that would save him but her kiss.

Calliope sighed heavily, her fingers pressing to his arms, curling against his bicep. Passion grew between them, practically crackling the air with sparks as if they two were a flame about to combust.

If he wasn't careful, he might melt along with her.

Alistair deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue over her plump lips, teasing the crease of her mouth to open for him. He gripped tight to her waist, wanting to crush her to him, to feel the length of her body against his. To never let her go.

He was aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they were out in the open. Just through the gate behind them on the bridge were his men and her clan. Anyone on the battlements might witness what was happening between them.

And yet, he couldn't find the strength to stop.

Then, a sweet, soft moan from the back of her throat rumbled against him, and he nearly lost his mind. Alistair let out a low growl, wanting her to know he liked this kiss just as much as she did.

Alistair licked at her lips, probing, pressing, asking. And she answered, opening her mouth, her tongue darting out boldly to tease his in the exact same move. The lass was made for him. Bold. She was as willing to notch her bow and let her arrow fly as she was to show her passion in a kiss as deep and intoxicating as this.

Their tongues stroked, teased, tracing, learning every part of each other's mouth. Calliope tasted sweet like the honey he'd consumed, and he wondered if she'd snuck a bite before offering it to him. He could kiss this woman every day for the rest of his life. A thought that before now he might have found terrifying, but now found to be a gift sent from the heavens.

Calliope's hands moved from his arms to his chest, massaging as she traced the outline of his muscles, squeezing as if trying to decipher the differences in their bodies. Her curiosity was delicious and intoxicating. He tensed, enjoying every second, never having reacted to a woman's touch the way he did with Calliope.

He wanted her. Desire pulsed deep inside him, rushing to his groin. At the slightest provocation, he might make love to her on the bridge right here and now. Knowing that if he pressed his hard shaft against her, all bets were off, he tried to keep his body stiff, away from her, but every second of her tongue on his, her roving hands made it harder and harder to keep himself under control.

"Calliope," he murmured against her lips, loving the feel and taste of this warrior woman. The confession tumbled from his lips. "I want ye."

She pulled away, looking up at him, dazed. "What does that mean?"

Och, how he would have loved to explain it to her… but she'd likely run screaming or maybe faint. Then again, Calliope was not the type of woman to faint. She was the type of woman to fight.

"Ye canna kill me," he answered.

She laughed. "That is the last thing on my mind."

"Good."

"Does wanting me have to do with kissing?"

"Aye."

She nodded, her cheeks flaming red. "Then I think I understand. And I want you too."