Laird of the Mist (27 page)

Kate decided then and there that she could imitate their speech and the MacLeods would be none the wiser. It was clear that she would have to do the like—the man was obviously disturbed by Maggie’s Lowland inflection.

The brute’s eyes narrowed slightly when Callum chuckled at his query. And then Callum MacGregor, giant of a man that he was, was enveloped in a furry embrace that made him look like a boy of twelve. “Ye remember Alasdair, Rory, and Padraig.” The MacLeod turned to his sons, and the three giants standing behind their father swallowed Callum up next. The rest of the men who accompanied the MacLeod were greeted with warm salutations and hefty pats to the back.

When Donald MacLeod’s eyes settled on her, Kate straightened her shoulders and forced herself to smile.

“I dinna believe we’ve met.”

“My betrothed.” Callum appeared at the man’s side. “Katherine Ca—”

“Kate,” she cut him off before he had time to say her full name. No reason to have the visiting chieftain hate her so soon.

Her fingers were gently pried off her plaid by the MacLeod and lifted to his lips. “Well met.” He kissed her hand, then angled his bent head to Callum. “I’m sorely pained that ye didna send word to me of yer betrothal.”

“’Twas sudden,” Callum told him and pounded him on the back. “Come, I’ve opened my best kegs of whiskey fer yer visit.”

They moved on into the great hall, where tankards were dipped into barrels of aged brew and conversations drifted from the coming winter to which clans would be best for raiding in the spring. Some sweet meats and fresh bread were laid out on the tables, but the true feast would come later, after the MacLeods had time to refresh themselves. For now, the men were happy to warm their bellies with good whiskey and their feet by the massive hearth fire.

Kate listened to the clan chief MacLeod’s hearty laughter when, after he had taken a seat beside Callum, Maggie plopped Henry the pig into his lap. Kate decided the MacLeod might not be so bad, after all, as long as she did not open her mouth. Now that she thought about it, he had not even mentioned Lowlanders when he spoke about raiding. She began to suspect that living so far from the iron fist of England’s rule provided the MacLeods with little chance—or desire—to fight. Why, he seemed not to care at all about anything that went on below Fort William.

“Kate.”

Jarred from her thoughtful reverie, Kate blinked her attention to the deep gray gaze fastened on her.

“Tell me,” Donald MacLeod said, leaning back in his chair. “D’ye have any sisters of marriageable age? I’m lookin’ fer a wife fer m’ son, Padraig.”

Kate’s lip twitched. It was about to happen. She had hoped she could get through the morn without speaking, but she had to answer him now. Her eyes cut to Callum, but Donald’s son, Alasdair, was leading him away from the table, back to the barrels of brew.

Kate reminded herself that she had faced far more terrifying men than this one, and cleared her throat before she spoke. “Nae, my laird. I have only a brother.”

He arched a speculative brow at her, then sipped his drink. “I see. Where, might I ask, did Callum find ye, lass?”

Kate remembered to breathe. God help her when the man found out she was a Campbell. She inhaled a deep breath. “He saved me from a neighboring clan who were raiding my land.”

“In?”

“In Glen Orchy, my laird.”

“Och, what in blazes was Callum doin’ in Glen Orchy? Was he warrin’ wi’ the Campbells again?”

Before Kate answered, Callum returned to the table. “Kate, Maggie asks that ye meet her in Netta’s chambers.”

“Of course.” Kate rose from her chair, grateful to be leaving. “I will go right away.”

Callum’s gaze lingered on her as she raced up the stairs.

“Ye love her,” Donald announced, unable to believe what was quite clear to see with is own eyes. When Callum turned to him and nodded, Donald raised his cup to his lips to drink. “’Tis aboot time is what I say, lad. Mayhap now ye’ll find some peace and quit tryin’ to kill every damned Campbell who crosses yer path.”

“Mayhap,” Callum allowed, taking Kate’s seat opposite Donald. “Since she’s a Campbell, and I dinna want to kill her.”

Donald MacLeod sprayed his brew where it belonged after such an announcement—across the room. “What?” he bellowed, wiping his mouth. “Och, saints be wi’ me and tell me I heard ye wrong. She’s a what?”

“A Campbell.”

Donald rolled his head back and shook it at the heavens. When he thought he had gathered enough wits to continue, he returned his stunned gaze to Callum. “Jesus and Mary, a Campbell. Ye fell in love wi’ a Campbell.”

“Aye, the Duke of Argyll’s niece.” That sobered the MacLeod well enough. Callum waited patiently while his friend choked out a few unintelligible sounds. When he deemed it safe to continue, he motioned for Lizabeth to bring the laird more whiskey. “I had planned to hold her fer ransom and make Argyll come to me.”

“Which is exactly what he’s doin’.” MacLeod dropped his head in his hands and sighed.

“Aye,” Callum agreed. “I expected him to come fer her. But I didna expect her to hold my heart the way she does.” Callum downed his brew, then peered at Donald’s bent head. “I willna let her go. I wanted this to end with Argyll, but her brother will be her guardian in accordance with English law when their uncle is dead. He may come against me, but I willna let her go.”

Lifting his eyes to the lad he had come to love like a son, Donald sighed and then nodded. “Ye willna have to. I know I claimed I’d never get involved wi’ yer war, but the MacLeods will stand at yer side if any army comes against ye.”

“Nae, Donald. I’ll take care of this myself. I promised no’ to harm her brother, and if I’m right aboot him, I may no’ have to. Just tell me where Argyll is. He is the one I want.”

“We dinna know. He reached Glengarry and turned east.”

Callum was still taking in that bit of information when Jamie burst into the great hall, his whiskerless face flush with excitement.

“There’s a new MacGregor in Camlochlin!” he shouted. He cut a path to a table, snatched a tankard of brew from Alasdair MacLeod’s hand, quaffed its entire contents, then swooned on his feet for a moment. He blinked and found Callum standing before him. Feeling a belch of immense proportions rising within his innards, Jamie fought to contain it, not wanting to do the like against his laird’s chest. He paled considerably in the process, swooned again, then grinned up into Callum’s face. “Brodie has himself a son.”

“A son!” Callum turned and called out to everyone in the hall. “May the Lord bless the lad.” The hall erupted into cheers of good wishes, and more kegs were opened. “And Netta?” Callum asked Graham’s already inebriated brother.

“She does well. Aileen and Murron are with her. ’Tis Brodie who’ll need lookin’ after. I vow I saw tears in his eyes.”

Callum looked around the hall and lifted his cup to Donald MacLeod. “Another MacGregor!” he called out. “And if I have my way, there will be many more to come.”

The MacLeod chieftain laughed while Callum turned his attention back to Jamie. “Tell Kate to bring the babe doun so we can have a look at him.”

Jamie hiccupped, then blinked to better focus on Callum. “Kate’s no’ with Netta.”

Now Callum turned to face him fully. “Aye, she is. Maggie sent fer her.”

Jamie shook his head. “Maggie’s no’ there, either. She wanted to go to the barn, but I told her to wait doun here fer me.”

Callum dashed out of the hall and was outside the castle before anyone had time to follow him.
Please, God, let them be in the barn,
he beseeched. Hell, Maggie knew better than to leave the castle without Jamie. “Kate!” His voice exploded into a roar that echoed off the wall of black rock behind him. He did not wait for an answer but raced toward the barn.

When he reached it, he heard the sound of women’s laughter. He thanked God silently before plunging inside. Kate sat with her legs curled beneath her in the hay, with Maggie lying beside her. Both women looked up, and when they saw him, Kate lifted her hand to her mouth, fearing the worst by the looks of him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What has happened?”

Callum leaned against the wall, certain that his legs would not hold him up if he didn’t. He ran both hands down his ashen face and then, in the time it took Kate to blink, stood towering over them both.

“What the hell are ye doin’ in here?” Though he shouted, his voice was laden with emotion. “Ye must tell me when ye wander off.” Kate rose to her feet while he turned to his sister. “Maggie, blast ye! How many times must I tell ye to . . .” His words faded into a tight groan when Kate touched her fingertips to his jaw.

She wanted to weep. Not because he shouted, but because he was so frightened for them. For her. “Forgive me, Callum,” she said, barely able to resist the urge to throw herself into his arms.

She did not have to. He hauled her against him, crushing her in his embrace until the breath left her body. Neither one of them heard Donald enter the barn, nor his gentle call to Maggie to follow him back out.

“Callum, I cannot breathe,” Kate gasped into his chest.

He loosened his hold just a bit and bent his head to her until his gaze was level with hers. He had not wanted to tell her. He did not want her to fret over something neither one of them could stop. But she had to know now. She had to know how dangerous it was to be out of his sight. “Kate, yer uncle was seen near Glengarry a few days past.”

Her complexion paled. “And my brother?”

“I dinna know if he accompanies yer uncle. We dinna know where he is. I feared—”

She covered his mouth with her fingers. “Ssh,” she whispered. “We will save Robert, and then all will be well.” She pressed her lips to his, silencing whatever else he thought to say, until words no longer mattered and the only thing that did were his passionate kisses.

Chapter Thirty-Five

D
UNCAN
C
AMPBELL SPAT
on the body at his feet. Godforsaken MacGregors did not talk even under pain of torture. No matter, he would find the rest of them. He was close. He had to be. He was sure he would have found them by now if not for the skirmish with the MacKinnons a pair of days ago. He smacked his leather riding glove against his thigh, and a small cloud of dust rose to his nostrils. Bloody MacKinnons had cost him over twenty of his men before they were questioned and then disposed of.

Squinting against the high afternoon sun, he scanned the misty glens until he found Robert appearing over a small ridge with the rest of his men. Duncan’s lips curved into a challenging smile when his nephew scowled at the body crumpled on the ground.

“It is only a MacGregor, nephew. Remember they have abducted your dear sister and have most likely killed her.”

Robert held up his hand to halt Duncan’s words. “Enough, please. I do not wish to think on such things anymore.”

“You
must
think on them,” Duncan insisted, moving toward him. “It will take all your fortitude to kill the outlaw.” He regarded Robert with a narrowed look. “Or are you going soft already?”

“Nae,” Robert ground out between clenched teeth, but his gaze drifted back to the man lying dead a few feet away. In truth, he might be going soft, after all. For he was sickened by his uncle’s cruelty, disheartened by the ease with which Duncan killed anyone who refused to aid him.

“I’ve had much time to think on this. I drank and laughed with Graham Grant many nights. I do not think he will harm Kate.” Robert continued despite his uncle’s laughter. “I do not believe he would serve a man who would kill a woman.”

Duncan’s eyes glinted with malice, piercing the mists. “Ah, you mean the clever commander who infiltrated my very own holding in order to find out where our dear Katherine lived.”

“They were looking for you,” Robert reminded him. “They did not kill any of the women at Kildun.”

Duncan shoved his glove over his fingers and reached for his horse. “I do not care. The hunted has become the hunter.” When he gained his saddle, he lifted his head and squinted west, toward the giant black mountains in the distance. “I fear we were deceived by the Cameron when he told you those we seek rode east. The only thing we’ve found so far are wild animals. And I do not mean MacGregors.” He eyed the bloody corpse on the ground. “Pity it was not the traitor Grant, aye?” He slid his gaze to Robert, daring him to disagree. “When we find them, I will leave that one for you to kill.” He kicked his mount’s flanks and disappeared into the thick gray mists like an apparition returning to the churning bowels of the Earth.

A lark soared over sheep scampering across the glen. Somewhere close by, children laughed and cattle bells rang while the music of hauntingly beautiful pipes dragged over the distant moors. Lying flat upon a carpet of purple heather, Kate turned her face to smile at Maggie, who was spread out beside her. Tiny blossoms tickled Kate’s nose and filled her senses with their wild fragrance. Thoughts of the last few days brought a satisfied sigh to her lips. The MacLeods had left Camlochlin, but not before the chieftain had told her his wistful stories of faeries and romance and heroes long dead yet held forever in the heart. Faither Lachlan had not yet arrived, but Kate did not care. Callum told her that in the Highlands a man need only claim a woman for her to be considered his wife. And he had most definitely claimed her. Angus and Brodie had not thrown a fist in a se’nnight, the latter being too busy carrying his newborn bairn around and wearing an arrogant grin plastered to face to care about fighting, drinking, or anything that did not resemble the downy sprinkle of mink that covered his babe’s head. Kate touched her fingers over her own belly, hoping Callum’s babe grew there. It was too soon to know. She breathed a perfect sigh again, thinking of how often her beloved worked at planting his seed and the passionate mastery of his endeavors. Even knowing her uncle was close enough to give cause to worry had not stopped Callum from taking her to bed every chance afforded them. Why, he’d even stormed into Maggie’s chamber the day before, a thin sheen of sweat from a long day of practice defining the sleek muscles in his arms, and carried her away to his chambers. Kate giggled remembering how angry Maggie had been at her brother for interrupting their session of careful primping. Primping that had begun after Kate had convinced Maggie that a certain young, handsome warrior truly did fancy her.