Page 47 of When a Scot Gives His Heart
The crowd that was gathered in front of her turned his way, and at the front of the group of onlookers was Edina. She broke away from the crowd and strode across the bailey toward him. His thoughts spun, trying to take in everything and put meaning to it. Marsaili had called to him and told him she was Coira for a reason. Did she fear revealing her identity for fear that it would bring her father to her? Callum would keep her deceit for now unless revealing the truth would save her life.
Edina stopped in front of him and set her hands on her hips. She smiled, but it did not reach her steel-gray eyes. Instead, hatred blazed there. “It took ye long enough to wake up,” she announced.
“Ye can thank yer brother for that,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from lack of water.
She chuckled. “I was so stunned when Robert returned here with ye in tow—shocked and ecstatic. I have prayed for yer death for years. Ye shamed me when ye renounced me. I lost my child, and it was yer fault.”
“I am sorry for the loss of yer child, but it was nae my fault.”
“It was,” she said, her eyes becoming daggers. “My father beat me because I carried a bairn in my belly but did nae have a husband. He beat me until I did nae carry a bairn any longer.”
Callum’s gut clenched at the horrific news. “Edina—”
“Save yer pity for yerself,” she hissed. “Ye will need it. I dunnae ken why ye were so foolish to travel alone so close to our land, but I’m awfully glad ye’re such a fool. Now, vengeance is mine. I thought to kill ye, but my brother showed me a better way to hurt ye.”
When Edina paused and looked toward Marsaili, Callum’s blood went cold. “She has nae hurt ye,” he growled. “Leave her be.”
Edina’s lips twisted into a vicious smile. “Ye hurt me, and I will hurt ye by slowly killing the woman ye love. Ainsworth will consider ye an enemy when he learns ye failed to protect his daughter.”
“Edina,” he pleaded, not caring that he was begging. He would grovel on his hands and knees if he could somehow spare Marsaili. “The lass, Coira, has naught to do with what I did three years ago. Set her free and simply kill me.”
“How touching,” she snarled. “Ye love her so much ye will give yer life for hers. I fear I kinnae comply. She’ll be forfeiting her lifefor ye. It will be entertaining to see how long it takes. It is already beginning, ye ken. She has weakened much in the three days ye have drifted in and out of sleep.”
“Edina!” Callum called, even as she marched away. “Edina!”
She swung toward him. “Save yer breath. Yer precious Coira’s blood will be on yer hands.”
He flinched at Edina’s words. He had to do something, but he didn’t know how long Marsaili would hold on. How weak was she? He toiled against his ropes, his flesh burning and sweat dampening his brow and his neck for what seemed like ages. He struggled with his binds until his vision blurred. He paused, blinked, and looked toward Marsaili’s cage, surprised to see the crowd no longer gathered there. He was equally as shocked to see the sun had faded, and hues of orange and purple now tinted the sky.
“Coira!” he called, not caring if he was heard. He had to know she was still alive. He could not breathe without confirmation. When she did not move, anguish threatened to overcome him. He yanked, tugged, and pulled fiercely on his tied wrists, and after a while, warm blood slicked his skin. But no matter what he did, the binds would not loosen.
Despair pounded at him. “Damn ye, Robert!” he roared. “Damn ye to Hell, and damn yer vengeful sister to Hell with ye!”
“Shut yer mouth,” a guard called from the tower. “Or better yet, I’ll shut it for ye!”
Footsteps pounded down the stairs and then two figures clad in hooded capes and Gordon plaids appeared.
“Untie me ye cowards,” Callum seethed. “Untie me and fight me like men. Unless ye’re afraid…”
“I’m nae fearful,” said the taller and much bigger warrior.
“I’m nae fearful, either, ye clot-heid, but I kinnae fight ye like a man.”
Shock reverberated through Callum to hear a woman’s voice answering, and when the woman pulled her hood back ever so slightly to reveal her face, he was struck speechless at the sight of Maria.
“What the devil are ye doing here?” he asked, unsure whether it was an occasion of gladness or worry. “Has my castle been breached by enemies? Is my family well?” The most plausible way she would have slipped by his brother’s watchful eye was if Brice had his hands full with an assault.
She snickered and dropped her hood back over her face. “Yer castle is fine. Breached by none.”
“Then how—” Callum started, but Maria cut him off.
“Yer brother was much occupied with yer future bride, so he was easy to escape,” she said in a rush. “Now, do ye wish to stand here chatting or shall we free ye and go save Marsaili?”
“Escape,” he said, but as the larger warrior reached toward him, Callum stiffened. “Who are ye?”
The man pulled back his hood enough for Callum to see his face. His expression was hard and grim. “Broch MacLeod,” the warrior answered. “I was sent by my laird, Marsaili’s brother, to find and rescue her. I have been searching for some time now.”
“Only ye?” Callum asked suspiciously. If the MacLeod laird cared so much about Marsaili, why would he only send one warrior?
