Tempted by the Highland Warrior Read Free

marriage was meant to
strengthen the alliance with England, after the recent war had ended.
    Yet, Marguerite couldn’t imagine wedding Lord Cairnross after
what he’d done to the prisoners. He enjoyed watching the men suffer and she
loathed everything about the man.
    She thought of Callum and the way he’d stared at the gates of
Cairnross, as though he’d do anything to escape. They were alike, in so many
ways. Both of them imprisoned, though her invisible chains were of her father’s
making.
    Somehow, she would find a way to free herself from this
marriage.
    Two days later
    Callum dreamed of Marguerite as he slept upon the frozen
ground. The bodies of other prisoners huddled near, for it was the only way to
survive the freezing cold. They had been brought to Lord Harkirk’s stronghold to
die and already he’d witnessed some of the weaker men succumbing to Death’s
quiet invitation.
    In his memory, he recalled her beautiful face, the gentle
innocence of her touch. He couldn’t say why she had tended his wounds or why she
hadn’t run away from him. Callum knew what he was—a battered horror of a
man.
    But he wasn’t weak. Over the years, he’d kept his arms strong,
lifting stones to build the walls. He’d learned, in the early years, how to
steal an extra portion of food when the guards weren’t looking, to keep himself
from starving. When his brother had been imprisoned with him, Bram had warned
him to keep up his strength. There would come a time when they could escape
together, his brother had promised.
    But Bram had left him behind, seizing his own freedom, even
when the soldiers had held a blade to Callum’s throat.
    Callum squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push away his
resentment. They hadn’t killed him that day, though he’d expected to die. Bram
had called their bluff and it had worked.
    Although a part of him knew that his brother hadn’t abandoned
him, he wished he could have left this place. Seven years of his life had faded
away. And so had his voice.
    Days ago, when the guards had picked him up, forcing him into
the back of a wagon with four other men, Callum had tried again to speak. They
might have had a chance at escaping, if the others would join him in resisting
the soldiers. But no matter how hard he tried, not a word would break forth. It
was as if someone had locked away his words, keeping him trapped in silence.
    Worse, the others treated him as if he lacked intelligence.
Several of the men talked about him, as if he couldn’t hear their words.
    But when one tried to shove him back upon their arrival, Callum
seized the man’s arm and stared hard at him. The startled look turned to an
apology and Callum released his arm with a silent warning. Rubbing his forearm,
the prisoner glanced at the others, who now viewed Callum with new eyes.
    I may not speak. But I understand every
word.
    And from that moment, they’d held their distance.
    * * *
    As the days passed at Lord Harkirk’s fortress, whatever
hope he’d had of being rescued began to fade. Callum didn’t know any of the
prisoners and, without a familiar face, he started to slip into the madness that
had plagued so many. Visions collided in his mind and he tried to focus the
memories upon Lady Marguerite. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost
imagine the scent of her skin, the softness of her hands.
    She’d been real. In his hands he grasped a crushed ribbon that
he’d stolen from her blonde hair. It was a lighter blue than her eyes, but it
confirmed that he hadn’t imagined her. She had tended his broken flesh, treating
him like a man instead of a slave.
    She was the sort of woman he would die to protect. Innocent and
pure, she deserved to be with a man who would love her, who would set a kingdom
at her feet. The way he never could.
    He stared at the wooden walls surrounding the fortress. Lord
Harkirk had begun converting them into stone, using the labour of Scottish
prisoners like himself. Callum fingered the