Chapter 14
Margot should have been seated behind Callum, since he was the one controlling the horse, but he made her sit in front of him, where he could keep an eye on her and make sure she was safe.
Margot had bruised her left cheekbone during her encounter with the brute, and now she was holding a wet handkerchief against it to ease the stinging pain.
She felt Callum’s eyes on her and looked up to see him frowning angrily at her before he turned to Eileen, who was still riding in the cart with the maids.
“You were there when Margot was ambushed last time,” he said angrily. “You should have had more sense!”
“Do not blame Eileen! She came because I asked her to,” Margot retorted, her voice furious. “Eileen would not have come if I had not persuaded her.”
Eileen opened her mouth to respond, but Callum had already turned to reprimand the other women.
“You—” He looked around at the others in the cart. “At least one of you should have come and told me what was happening. Surely, you knew that this was wrong?”
None of the occupants of the cart could argue with their Laird for fear of losing their place in his staff, so they sat silently, looking shamefaced. This made Margot even angrier.
“These people are not responsible for me!” she cried. “I invited myself to the ceilidh, and many of them tried to dissuade me. The fault is mine and no one else’s.”
Callum glared at Margot, his eyes smouldering. “You could have died!” he pointed out. “You have managed to escape so far, but what happens next time? Will you be so fortunate then? There may be no Ronan or Callum to save you then!”
“I think you are being rather melodramatic,” Margot replied cuttingly.
“Really?” Callum’s voice was like steel. “I was injured first, Ronan was almost killed the next time, and this time you nearly got abducted.”
When the truth of his words sank in, Margot hung her head, feeling utterly wretched. Callum was right, and it was her selfishness that had caused the last disastrous incident.
She nodded slowly. “There will not be a next time,” she answered quietly.
I have learned my lesson.
She felt Callum pulling her closer and immediately felt strength and reassurance return to her body.
“No, Margot, there will not be because from now on you will stay by my side,” he announced, his tone quiet but determined. “You are coming with me everywhere.”
Margot was outraged. “Everywhere? Am I to be your prisoner?” she asked, glaring at him, half in anger and half in disbelief.
Callum said nothing, but Margot saw the answer in his eyes.
“You cannot control me.” She was, by now, absolutely livid with rage. “I am a free woman!”
“I have no desire to control you,” Callum replied. “Merely to keep you safe.”
The rest of the journey was completed in utter silence, and when they reached Kilmuir Castle, Callum helped Margot dismount and then set her down to stand in front of him.
“I have something to do tomorrow,” he told her. “Something important, and I want you to be with me. Meet me here at dawn, and do not be late!”
He did not wait for Margot to answer, but turned on his heel and strode away, leaving her to watch him with a mixture of anger and longing. With a sad sigh, Margot realised she would likely never know.
When she went to her room, Margot found Catriona standing waiting for her, looking very anxious.
“Let me help ye undress, mistress,” she offered, frowning. “Would ye like me tae get ye a sleepin’ draught?”
“No, thank you, Catriona,” she replied, trying valiantly to smile. “Go to bed and try to remember only the happy parts of the evening. Nothing that happened was your fault, it was entirely my own.”
Catriona looked dubious, but did as Margot bid her.
Margot woke before dawn, mostly because she had been unable to sleep due to the fact that she had been reliving the events of the night before over and over again.
She tortured herself over what might have happened, even though there had been little harm done thanks to Callum’s intervention.
She put her hand to the bruise on her cheek.
It was still painful, but it might have been much, much worse had it not been for him.
She tried not to think of how much worse things could have been.
The sun had barely risen above the horizon when she rose from bed and went to meet him.
Margot had to spend ten minutes tapping her feet on the floor and finally began to pace up and down in front of the stables in a fever of impatience before she heard Callum’s firm, loud footsteps announcing his arrival.
He looked surprised to see her as he advanced towards her, but then his expression changed to a deep frown, and he lifted her onto his stallion without even pausing in his stride, then jumped up in front of her.
They set off without any guards to escort them, which made Margot uneasy.
However, she was not exactly afraid, since Callum’s presence always gave her courage.
“Where are we going?” she asked, puzzled as they rode into the icy half-dark.
There was no answer, and Margot waited while the hostile silence went on for a full minute before she growled, “Punishing me with silence, are you?”
Callum sighed, exaggerating the sound as if for dramatic effect. “Act like a child, and you’ll be treated as one.”
Margot opened her mouth to argue, then decided it was not worth the effort. Presently, she would have liked to punch him right in the middle of his angry but devastatingly handsome face, but obviously that was never going to happen, so she concentrated on trying to work out where they were going.
As the light broadened, Margot could see the outline of distant hills beginning to darken on the horizon.
Some had a light dusting of snow, but as yet the lower areas were clear of it, and the sky was cloudless.
Sheep grazed everywhere, their fleeces now so thick that they looked like round woolly balls against the bright-green grass.
She could make out the dark line of the Craigie Burn, the broad stream that supplied the village with water, and shivered as she imagined how cold it must be, since some of it was already covered with a thick sheet of ice. Scotland was a formidable place indeed, Margot thought.
“Why are we going to the village?” she asked. She was still mystified about their mission.
However, Callum did not answer but urged the stallion into a faster pace, and Margot saw that they were nearing the most rundown of the cottages right at the edge of the village.
When they were a few yards away, a scream rang out from the last cottage, followed by what sounded like a woman’s voice begging and pleading for mercy.
Callum leaped off his horse before it had stopped moving and ran to the door then thumped on it with both fists so hard that it rattled on its none-too-sturdy hinges.
Margot drew in a gasp of horror and rage.
The screams almost broke her heart, but her anger was so all-consuming that it propelled her out of the saddle towards the source of the sickening sound.
At that moment, she knew that if she had been armed, she would have cheerfully killed the monster who was causing such pain to his helpless victim.
He could still hear the screams coming from inside, however, so he wasted no more time. Villagers were beginning to come out of their cottages and peek out from behind shutters, wondering what the commotion was all about.
Callum ran at the door, and Margot caught her breath as he threw himself at it with all his considerable weight and strength. He hit it with his shoulder so forcefully that the whole rotten wooden structure cracked, splintered, then fell apart.
Callum’s momentum propelled him inside, then he stopped, and his whole body stiffened with rage as he looked at the sickening scene in front of him.
Margot followed him inside and her breath stuttered. A young woman was curled up in a ball on the floor as if trying to make herself as small as she could, covering her face with her hands and weeping piteously.
A man was standing over her with a leather belt in his hand, his arm poised to strike. He looked to be in his thirties with a ragged beard, not tall, but sturdily built and obviously used to physical labour. He stank of whisky.
The first thing Callum noticed was that he was holding the belt by the straight end and was about to strike his victim with the buckle end. This was evidenced by the weals on the woman’s exposed skin and the spreading blood on her clothing.
The rage that welled up inside him was the most terrible emotion Callum had ever experienced, rising from his stomach and spreading to every nerve in his body.
It was as if a living thing had taken control of him as he looked at the pathetic, helpless figure of the little woman on the floor and the raw, vicious cruelty in the eyes of the bully in front of him.
“Get out o’ my house!” the man yelled as he saw Callum advancing towards him.
“Put that belt down, and I might let you live,” Callum growled, his face a mask of fury. “Leave her alone, or I will make you wish you had never been born.”
“What right dae you have tae tell me how tae keep my wife in order?” the man demanded furiously.
“I am your Laird,” Callum snarled. “And a real man does not raise his hand to a woman. Now pick on someone your own size!”
Suddenly, the man no longer looked as strong as he had a moment before.
In the eyes of the demon of fury which had taken over Callum’s mind, he had shrivelled to half his size.
His face was a mask of terror as he watched his Laird moving towards him, his thick brows drawn down over eyes that were smouldering with sheer wrath.
The man opened his mouth to plead for mercy, but no sound had the chance to come out of it. Callum’s fist, with all his weight behind it, hooked him under his jaw and propelled him backwards to crash into the wall with enough force to instantly knock him senseless.