Chapter 13
“Dae you Sassenachs no’ dance?” said the young ginger-haired man who was attempting, but failing miserably, to teach Margot how to dance a Strathspey, one of the slower dances.
However she had just finished her third glass of ale and while not exactly drunk, was slightly tipsy and not as steady on her feet as she usually was.
“We’re not as good as you are,” Margot said, laughing as the youth turned her around again. They were progressing quite well and Margot was gradually learning how to put one foot after the other when Eileen appeared.
She looked gorgeous, Margot thought, with her golden hair shining in the light of the fires that burned around the square. Her eyes were shining happily, and Margot wondered if Ronan was nearby, but she had not seen him anywhere.
The young man with whom Margot was dancing obviously noticed Eileen’s beauty too, because he tripped over his feet and almost fell when he saw her, and it was only Eileen’s steadying hand on his arm that stopped him from doing so.
“Thank ye, Milady,” he said, bowing before he dashed away to buy another glass of ale.
Margot turned to her friend and frowned. “Nobody wants to dance or have a drink with me,” she said grumpily. “I am just ‘that Sassenach lassie.’ You have bewitched them all, Lady Eileen the Magnificent!”
Eileen laughed and put an arm around Margot’s shoulders.
“Well, that is their loss,” she said. “Anyway, that young man who was teaching you to dance obviously likes you, and he has a long queue of village girls waiting to dance with him, so you really cannot complain! Now don’t be such a scaredy-cat.
It doesn’t suit you. Come, they are about to start Strip the Willow.
That’s one of my favourites, so you can be my partner and I will teach you the steps. I promise you it is not too hard.”
She gripped Margot’s hand and pulled her into the dance which had just started, and after a few slips and trips Margot found that she had almost mastered it. For the first time in a long while she was having fun.
The people around her were laughing, sometimes at each other and sometimes just for sheer joy. A night like this was made for casting problems aside, making friends, meeting lovers, savouring delicious food and drink and breathing in the scents of meat cooking, the forest, and the pure night air.
No one could possibly be sad when everyone around them looked as though they were about to burst with happiness. Margot abandoned herself to the rhythm of the dance and the sweet sound of the music. Life was good.
Callum, whose anger had been brewing the whole ride, reined in his stallion at the edge of the village square, just underneath the trees that surrounded it.
Unlike many Lairds, he was quite a frequent visitor to the village, since he was, and always had been, concerned about the welfare of his people.
The villagers loved him for it, and before he even had a chance to move more than a few steps one of the little girls, who was about ten years old, ran out in front of him to greet him.
“M’Laird!” she cried, and gave him a sweet little curtsey, to which Callum responded with a deep bow.
“My Lady,” he said, smiling.
Three other girls joined them, and if Callum had not been so desperately worried about Margot he would have been delighted to spend some time having fun with them. He was determined that if he should ever be fortunate enough to have any children, they would be treated with the utmost care and love.
They would never be abused or neglected, as had happened to so many other children.
To abuse a woman, a child, or anyone weaker than yourself was a sign of utter cowardice in his view, and he had made this opinion widely known.
He had suffered such neglect as a child himself and would not tolerate it happening to others, so he made sure that nobody in the village of Kilmuir bullied anyone without suffering the consequences.
Now, he knelt down on one knee in front of them and kissed each of their hands, causing much blushing and giggling.
“Please excuse me, ladies, but as I am sure you know I am a very busy man and there are people I have to see.”
“Dae ye have a sweetheart, M’Laird?” one of the girls asked coquettishly.
“Yes, I do,” he answered.
“Are ye gettin’ wed?” another girl asked.
“Yes, I am,” he replied. “Would you like to come to the wedding?”
He stood up, aware that he was wasting time and impatient to find Margot.
“Aye!” came the delighted chorus.
Callum laughed and pulled out a handful of coins from his pocket then gave them to the first girl he had met.
“Go and get some treats,” he said warmly.
The gesture had the desired effect, and the girls thanked him and disappeared to indulge themselves on whatever sweets they could find. Callum had always found that the way to a child’s heart was through honey and sugar, and he laughed inwardly, since he had been exactly the same when he was a boy.
Then his thoughts returned to Margot and fear once more smote him like a blow to his chest. Where was she?
What was she doing? Was she safe? He looked around the villagers, greeting everyone he knew, but he met no strangers.
Callum knew all these people and since everyone wanted a word or two with him, it took him a while to make his way to the dancers.
However, much to his surprise, he saw Eileen first, and he frowned in puzzlement. This was not like her, since she was well aware of her position in society and did not usually mingle with common people. What—or who—had made her come here tonight?
Then he saw Margot, and his heart skipped a beat. She was passing in and out of patches of light and shadow as the steps took her around in a circle, and her arm was linked with one of the villagers. He was a young man whose face was familiar to him, but Callum had no idea of his name.
A spear of jealousy shot through him as he watched Margot smile at him, and he said something that made her laugh heartily. Callum was furious; how dare he dance with her when he, the Laird, wanted to—was desperate to, ached to—dance with her?
Callum fisted his hands by his sides, his whole body tense, his face thunderous as he watched them.
He owned this woman, after all, and here she was dancing and flirting with other men.
Then common sense made an unwelcome intrusion into his mind as he thought of his father and the abusive way he had treated his mother.
Was he not thinking of acting just the same way?
He had briefly thought about pushing into the crowd of dancers and dragging her away, but he dismissed that idea quickly. It would be beneath his dignity, against his principles, and would embarrass both of them. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and waited.
Eventually, the music slowed down and came to a stop, and Margot clapped her hands and kissed her partner on the cheek, sending another spear of jealousy plunging into Callum’s heart.
The crowd of dancers began to disperse, and Margot, still smiling, started to walk away from him, since she had not seen him.
All of a sudden, a hand came out of the shadows and grabbed her arm. Instinctively, she screamed, but the sound was cut short as a large rough hand was clamped over her mouth and nose, almost suffocating her.
Margot tried to free herself, using both hands and all her strength to wrench the man’s hand away, but her efforts were fruitless. He was simply too strong, and as well as that she could feel the point of what she presumed was a knife pressed against her ribs.
However, it was not in Margot’s nature to surrender, especially not when her life was at stake. She tried to bite the fingers that were pressed against her teeth, but they were holding her too tightly and she could hardly open her mouth.
She stamped on her attacker’s foot, and heard him growl in pain, but the only result was that he knocked her onto the ground then threw himself over her with a knee on either side of her body.
He moved his hand from her mouth and grasped both of her hands in his, holding them on either side of her head and effectively caging her in with his body.
Margot was both terrified but absolutely furious, especially when the thug said, “Stop fightin’ ye Sassenach wench!
I am too strong for ye!” He laughed, a horrible creaking sound that made Margot want to vomit.
“I will get good coin for ye, but I want a wee shot first! Go on—fight me—I like a lassie wi’ a bit o’ spirit! ”
“You will have to kill me first!” Margot spat into his face then raised her knee and drove it into his groin with all the strength she could muster.
The man yelled with pain and let go of her hands, swearing as he clutched the most sensitive spot on his body which was now throbbing painfully.
Margot was still terrified and her heart was pounding, however, although gratified to see the anguish on his face.
Hastily, never taking her eyes off him, she scrambled backwards and got to her feet.
She turned to run, but before she could do so she saw an arm go around her attacker’s neck, crushing it so tightly that he made hideous choking sounds as he tried to free himself.
He tried to grip the arm with both of his hands and pulled as hard as he could, but it was a fruitless effort that only weakened him more.
Now the man’s whole body was writhing and twisting, his feet pushing against the ground so that he could gain purchase to press backwards against the body of the man behind him.
However, his best efforts were wasted, and he only succeeded in draining his strength, which was ebbing fast. Gradually his kicking stopped and his hands dropped to his sides, his head fell sideways onto his shoulder and his body slumped, limp and motionless.
He was either unconscious or dead, and Margot fervently hoped it was the latter.
In the faint light of the distant fire, Margot had been unable to see the face of the man who had almost raped her, or that of her rescuer, but then she heard a familiar voice.
“Margot? Are you all right?”
It sounded fearful and hesitant, but it was definitely Callum’s voice; she would have known his deep, throaty rumble anywhere.
As he came rushing towards her, she let out a cry of relief and threw herself into his arms. She didn’t know he had known to come to the village nor how he had found her, but she was eternally grateful he had.
For a few moments, they stood motionless, arms tightly locked around each other.
Margot could feel Callum’s strength seeping into her, and her fear dissolved as his warm hard body stood between her and the danger from which he had rescued her.
Callum had brought her safety and shelter; in his arms she was home, and it was where she was meant to be.
Margot knew that this could not last. These were a few stolen moments; Callum had bought her body, but she had no claim on him.
Yet what he did not know was that he had also bought her heart—no, that was wrong.
He had earned it, and she was now hopelessly in love with him, and powerless because she knew that her love could never be returned.
Callum was as much a slave as she was; a slave to duty, obedience and propriety, and there was nothing Margot could do about it.
“I am fine,” she breathed at last.
She did not look up, did not take a step away from him. If she did, she knew the cold night air would strike her and her safety would blow away. She wanted to stand in the refuge of Callum’s strong masculine frame for as long as she could because she knew she would probably never be there again.
He drew away from her at last and took his warmth with him, then looked down at her with a mixture of anger and relief in his eyes. “What were you thinking?” he asked. “Did you not learn your lesson the first time, Margot?”
“I guess I should have,” she whispered with a dry chuckle. “But I didn’t. I am truly sorry.”
His gaze dropped to her lips as she spoke and for a few seconds Margot thought he was about to kiss her, but he took her hand and turned away, and a moment later they were seated on his stallion.