Page 5 of When a Scot Gives His Heart
Marsaili was too astounded and too grateful to speak for a moment. The earl appeared enraged, as his face twisted into a grimace, but he bit out through clenched teeth, “Thank you.” And when he looked down at the steady stream of blood coming from his arm, he paled.
Marsaili’s instinct to help anyone in need took over. She took up the hem of her dress and ripped off a long strip of material without a thought. She didn’t realize until she was wrapping it around the earl’s arm with great care that she had unwittingly done her father’s bidding. She ground her teeth, though she would not have changed aiding the man. “There now, my lord. That should hold ye, but I compel ye to make yer way immediately to the medicine woman.”
“An excellent idea,” he replied, his gaze sliding from her face to her chest. “You will show me the way, of course.”
“Aye, she would be happy to,” her father answered for her.
She bit hard on her lip but nodded. She was trapped, exactly as her father had intended. The earl gave an impatient wave for them to depart. As she turned, her gaze caught Callum’s once more. The look of understanding he gave her filled her with an unexpected sense of hope, but she quickly shelved it, knowing how foolish hope was.
The beautiful Marsaili Campbell stayed in Callum’s thoughts all day, even as he spoke with many of the other men at the Gathering. Many men talked highly of his father, which did bode well for making a new alliance, but with each person he spoke with, Callum’s hopes to find a like-minded man, one who was doubting the wisdom of pledging his clan to the Steward, ebbed away. He tasked himself with delving deeper into the character of the king and his nephew so when the time came that he led the Grant clan, he’d be well-informed enough to make an unprejudiced decision.
When he entered the great hall for supper, the first person he saw—truly, theonlyperson he saw—was Marsaili. She looked fragile, tense, and stunning as she sat on the dais between her father and the Earl of Ulster. Gazing upon her tightened Callum’s chest and stirred his desire in a way it had never been stirred. He had no notion what was making her so unhappy, but perhaps it was the married earl’s attention. The man was gawking at her. Not that Callum could blame him.
Marsaili Campbell had outer beauty, to be sure. Her mahogany hair shined and tumbled over her shoulders in inviting curls. And her eyes… Never had he seen eyes of such a pure, clear blue. God’s blood, he would likely dream of her eyes tonight. They reminded him of the waters of the loch around his home. Yet, it was not the color he would dream of as much as the emotions they had conveyed. One minute her gaze had appeared guarded, then forlorn, and for one extraordinary breath, he’d sworn he’d seen hope there.
Not only did she have unforgettable eyes but the lass was all lush curves and softness. She had a body that God had created to be loved by a man. But for all the outer beauty she possessed, he sensed her inner beauty down deep to his very bones, and it drew him to her. It was the sort of beauty that would not fade with age but grow ever brighter, ever warmer, and would guide a man in his darkest hour and heat him on the coldest nights. He had to find out if what he had sensed was indeed true.
He strode toward her, anticipation filling him at claiming the victor dance with her. When he reached the dais, he inclined his head to her father, skimmed his gaze dismissively over the earl—whom he did not care for at all, even after just one meeting—and settled his focus on her. He allowed himself a long breath to soak in her beauty. He bowed to show her the respect she deserved. “I’ve come to claim my first dance rights.”
Her eyes widened with surprise, with delight, and then shadowed with worry. He was uncertain what had caused the last, but each emotion proved what he had suspected: she was a complex lass, a knot to be untangled, and he itched to do so.
Her father scowled, as if he wanted to deny the request, but Marsaili rose, almost hastily, and descended the dais without so much as glancing at her father. Callum set his fingertips to the delicate slope of her back, and it felt right to guide her. He could not explain it. He did not want to explain it. He simply wanted to discover what these feelings were and where they might lead.
The floor was littered with couples dancing and did not lend the space for any sort of private conversation. Yet, when their palms met to begin the dance, it was as if he’d been struck by a powerful gust, and he could not resist one question. “Does any man have yer heart, Marsaili Campbell?”
Those expressive eyes showed her shock at his question, but then a lovely shy smile touched her lips. “Nay,” she replied in a low voice. “Why do ye ask?”
He slid his arm around her back to twirl her in the motions of the dance. For one spin, their bodies were pressed together, hardness to softness, man to woman. He finished the circle, and before releasing her into the next motion, he whispered in her ear, “I needed to be certain there was nae a man I needed to kill.”
Her shy smile became a grin, and she released a throaty chuckle. “And why would ye be killing a man if he had my heart?” she whispered.
“Because,” he said, wishing more than anything that they were alone, “I’ll nae tolerate a man trying to claim what I ken is mine.”
“By whose authority is my heart yers?” she asked, her look serious but her tone teasing.
“By God’s.” He snagged her hand in his and pressed her palm against his heart. “I recognized it here the moment I first saw ye.”
“Marsaili!” her father’s voice barked to Callum’s right. “The dance has ended. Bid Callum good night.”
She broke contact immediately and curtsied.
An almost desperate feeling came over Callum. “My lady,” he called to her back, fearing that he might never see her again.
She turned quickly, looking over her shoulder once at her father, who was still striding through the crowd.
“What say ye, my lady, to what I told ye?”
She bit down on her lip, and for a moment, he thought he had overstepped, but then she said, “I say it is as I told ye. The stream to the east of the castle is verra picturesque in the early-morning light. If ye wish to find a spot to be alone, it is most recommended. I often go there myself.” With that, she curtsied again and scurried after her father, who led her to the earl.
Callum watched her as she danced once with the man, who looked entirely too engrossed with her for Callum’s taste. But Marsaili appeared miserable, which assured him that she did not care for the earl’s attention. When her father fetched her from the earl, she seemed eager to leave, and Callum wondered if her father often made her dance with men who leered at her. It set his teeth on edge with anger, but as she was leaving the great hall, she smiled at him, and his anger dissipated. When he could no longer see her departing figure, he made his way to his bedchamber to dream of her, what tomorrow would bring, and all the days after that.
Marsaili awoke at dawn, giddy with the prospect that Callum might venture to the stream to see her. She sat up in her bed, waiting for the sun to fully rise so she could make her way there without it seeming peculiar. As she sat there, she thought on his words from last night and of how a man she had only just met could fill her heart with such hope. She’d spent her life cast in the shadows. When she was younger it had hurt her greatly, but she had learned that the shadows were the safest place to dwell. She did not want to live the rest of her life cowering in shadows, though, unable to find happiness.
She had been a fool. She had not escaped her father’s notice; he had been biding his time until he was ready to use her as he wished. All her life he had made her feel ugly and unwanted, and she knew in her gut it had been purposeful. Mayhap, he had wanted her to be so grateful to leave home someday that she would do whatever he bid without argument. She would have to do as he insisted when it came to the earl so she could protect Maria, but she wished to know the tender touch of a man she desired, of a man who looked at her the way Callum had last night. If she must be chained to the earl for life, she would steal a taste of what true passion would have been like.
Anticipation swelled and with it, unexpected hope. She did not try to quash it as she usually did. Instead, she allowed it to take hold and spread like a vine within her chest. What if she and Callum fell in love? What if he wanted to wed her and she could take Maria with her, offer a position, and be free of this place and her father? She pressed her fingertips to the smile she felt on her lips, and she chuckled at herself. It felt good to laugh and to hope. However foolish it was, however unlikely, today she would pretend that her future was not yet plotted. She was the weaver of her fate for this day, even if it was the only time she ever was. With that in mind, she arose, dressed, and made her way into the great hall, where she rushed through breaking her fast and then departed for the stream.
When she entered the courtyard, her silly, foolish fantasy immediately came crashing down around her.
