Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Where am I?
Callum opened his eyes, blinking the world back into focus. The warm air around him smelled of herbs, damp earth, and fire. The last thing he could recall was stumbling onto a wet road, and then? Nothing.
His chest ached with every breath as he shut his eyes, steeling himself against the pain that made him grit his teeth. He reasoned with himself that he could not have been taken by an enemy, if he had, they would have surely killed him by now.
Forcing his eyes open again, he looked to the side, taking in a small cabin with a hearth burning bright and a few items of wooden furniture. His vision was still blurry, but his gaze quickly shifted to the foot of the bed, where an old woman’s icy gaze was pinning him in place.
“Easy now,” she said in a low, raspy voice. The corners of her mouth wrinkled at the sides as she pursed her lips.
I ken who she is.
He tried to speak, but found himself almost choking on the dryness in his throat.
The old woman stood, her movements steady and sure as she made her way to his side and reached for a glass of water, then held it to his mouth. “Drink,” she barked, her words more of a command than a suggestion.
The taste of bitter herbs filled his mouth, but he kept on drinking, downing every bitter sip until the glass was empty. If it had been any other woman, he would have refused, but he trusted Fiona MacRae with his life.
“Good.” She nodded and placed the glass beside his bed. Her icy blue eyes drifted over his torso, and Callum suddenly became aware of the fact that his shirt and breeches had been removed. A simple hide lay across his waist, covering his body from the hips down.
The healer had cleaned and dressed his wound. Even his hair had been washed and braided as the damp rope hung down his chest.
“I kent that wound the moment I saw it.”
Callum looked up and into the eyes of the healer, feeling her cold scrutiny on his ribs. Reaching down, he ran the tips of his fingers over the scar that had shaped the man he had become.
Fiona continued without lifting her gaze from his.
“They brought ye to me many years ago. They said it was yer first battle. I stitched ye meself, thought ye might have died, but ye pulled through. And ye have done ever since.” Her eyes held years of wisdom as if she had been following his every movement since that day.
But then again, there were not many people in the highlands who did not know who he was.
He lay still, not knowing what to say to her Or even what to ask. It had been two weeks since he had escaped, and his mind was still a mess from exhaustion.
The healer nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting into a knowing smile as she turned from him and walked away from the bed.
Taking the opportunity to familiarize himself with the surroundings, he shifted his position on the bed while the clean bandages pulled at his wounds.
A large table of herbs stood beside a wooden pillar in the center of the room, where herbs had been hung to dry. A simple wooden perch stood beside the bolted door where a raven sat quietly, puffed and asleep in the comforting heat.
Waking up, the bird shook his head and glanced at Callum before taking flight and landing on the foot of the bed, where he could be closer to the fire. He puffed his feathers again and shut his eyes, reminding Callum of his loyal hound, Bran, who would have been at his side.
A pang of longing suddenly filled his chest as he realized that he had not seen his dog since that fateful day.
There will be hell to pay if he is dead.
He gritted his teeth tightly as a sharp pain shot through his chest and arm, making him groan and turn to the side.
His brow furrowed into a frown when his eyes suddenly landed on a young woman beside the hearth.
He had not seen her before when his vision had been blurry, but there she was, quiet and unassuming like a dream.
Her long curls hung loosely down her back, damp and clean like his. There was something familiar about her figure and the gentle curve of her hips as she moved, working a mortar and pestle to crush dried herbs.
Did she roll me here?
His body stirred beneath the hide over his legs, making him slightly uncomfortable as he took a deep breath.
Was she working for his enemies, or just someone who had happened upon him?
She was beautiful, breathtakingly so, with graceful movements and fair skin.
She was almost too beautiful to be in a healer’s cabin in the middle of the woods.
“Ye may bring the salve now,” Fiona called from across the room, drawing his attention as she beckoned the girl.
Something deep within his chest stirred as she turned to him. Her eyes were hazel with flecks of brilliant green, and her features were fine, yet it was the defiance and determination in her eyes that held him captive.
“It is just finished,” she said in a thick accent that matched his own.
She is Scottish.
The thought struck him as odd. He had half-expected her to be English, with her fine clothing and the way she kept her spine straight. She was more like a lady than a Scottish-born lass.
Her movements were just as fluid and graceful as she moved toward him, carrying the mortar and pestle in the crook of her arm.
The rich smell of herbs and salve instantly filled his nostrils as she placed the mixture beside the bed and dipped the tips of her slender fingers into it.
She worked her palms together in slow, rhythmic motions, and Callum could not help but observe the gentle curve of her neck.
She was not just beautiful, she was breathtaking, with just the right amount of curves when she bent forward.
The scent of her hair made him close his eyes for just a moment as he inhaled the deep aromas of lavender oil.
Shite, but she is bonnie.
He swore internally and shifted his head to the side, settling on the window beside his bed. Her nearness had unsettled him in ways that he could not explain.
The tips of her fingers touched his shoulders first before her palms gently pressed against his skin. The pleasure almost made him groan as he shut his eyes. It was the most relaxed he had felt in weeks as her palms glided over his chest, neck, and upper torso.
Everything about her, from her presence, the way she moved, to the lightness of her touch, and even her scent, sent him into a daze.
“That is enough, lass,” Fiona commanded from across the room, breaking the spell that had suddenly overcome him.
Averting his gaze from the blush that had spread over her cheeks, he turned to the window beside him. The night sky stretched silver beneath a waxing moon through the trees, two nights before it would be full again. Too much time had already passed.
Turning back to Fiona, he nodded at her. “Do ye ken a man named Iain Kerr?” he asked gruffly, still a little sore and aroused at the same time.
“Aye,” the healer nodded from her position beside the table.
“Send for him. He must meet me at the standing stones of Callanish when the moon is full. Say nothin’ else,” he ordered sharply.
“Ye lay right back down.” She raised an eyebrow and scolded him when he attempted to push himself up on his elbows.
Groaning as he rolled his eyes, Callum clenched his jaw and lay back down. “Just send the letter.”
Cackling under her breath, Fiona walked toward the door, gently rousing the raven as she whispered to him.
It was almost enchanting to watch as she took a small piece of parchment from the perch beneath his feet and used a small stick of coal to write a note.
She lifted the roused raven from his perch and opened the door, letting in a cold breeze before shutting it behind her again.
Alone in the cabin, Callum turned his gaze to her.
She stood quietly back in her place, crushing the herbs with a slow twirl and dip of her wrist.
Who is the lass?
Suspicions suddenly took over as he thought back and could not recall Fiona using her name. Where had she come from? Was she an apprentice? It was unlikely that the infamous Fiona MacRae had taken someone under her wing, but here the lass was.
Quietly pushing himself up, he gritted his teeth and gripped the hide, concealing his mid-section as he made a makeshift covering and tucked it in.
He had not thought of it before, but it was too risky to have so many people see him alive. Fiona would not speak, but he did not know the lass. Now that he was fully in his senses, he needed to find out, and fast.
Creeping across the room, he kept his steps quiet, calling on his years of hunting and battle experience.
“Who are ye?” he breathed beside her ear.
Her body went rigid as her hand froze mid-rotation.
“I asked, lass, who are ye? Daenae keep me waitin’.
” He lifted a hand to her shoulder, gently pushing her hair aside as he whispered in her ear.
“I am nae a man who is kent for his patience…” The tips of his fingers brushed the tender skin of her shoulder as he inhaled the fresh scent of clean linen and lavender.
“I… I daenae think I owe ye an explanation.” Her voice was softer than silk, a little husky and warm as she whispered back in a fierce tone. The sound sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine, yet he forced his thoughts back to the task at hand.
“Ye are tryin’ me, lass, and I must warn ye, many men have tried and failed.” He gripped her shoulder lightly, bringing his other hand up to her waist as he drew her closer. The warmth of her body was maddening to him, yet he kept her close.
The corner of his eye caught a quick glint of steel as she placed the mortar and pestle back on the table and lowered her hands.
She is feisty, bonnie, but feisty.
“Ye say they have tried and failed, yet I found ye beside the road in need of help,” she said defiantly, shifting her position ever so slightly to the left.
His movements were far too quick for her as he spun her around and pressed her against the wall beside the table, taking each of her wrists in his hands.
Her chest rose and fell with every breath as she glared at him, her lips full and slightly parted.
The thought of pressing his lips against her crossed his mind, but he quickly shook it off and lifted her wrist, pressing the back of her hand against the cold stone wall. “And just what were ye plannin’ on doin’ with this dirk?” His eyes traveled to the steel blade as his lips lifted into a smirk.
So many men would have plunged it deep into his chest, yet she did not seem like the type of woman who could have wielded such force.
He used one quick motion to shake the dirk from her hand, kicking it back across the room almost as soon as the steel clattered against the floor.
Her lips parted again as she narrowed her eyes to glare at him. “I thought I might need it for strange lads, and judgin’ by yer actions, I think I may have been right,” she hissed bitterly, attempting to wriggle her wrist free.
“Daenae fight, lass, I willnae harm ye if ye answer me questions.” He felt a pang of amusement when she continued to shimmy, trying to escape his grip. Her body pressed into his with every movement as he felt the hide shifting to the side.
Looking down, she froze, heat rising in her cheeks as she dragged her gaze up the toned muscles of his abdomen and chest.
Callum’s smirk only widened. “Have ye nae seen a naked man before, lass?”
Her eyes suddenly widened with panic.
Laughing loudly, Callum shook his head. “Daenae fuss, lass, I shall let ye keep yer innocence. I am nae a monster.”
The room suddenly filled with silence as she stopped moving, her wrists going rigid in his hands as she pressed her back against the wall, presumably trying to get away from him.
“Fiona will be back soon, ye might want to step away from me, or have ye nae heard the stories?” Her eyes became fierce once again.
“What stories?” He continued to laugh. “Do ye mean the stories of the old witch here in the cabin? I think we can both safely say, lass, that none of those stories is true. Fiona MacRae is a healer; she wouldnae have spared yer life if the stories were true.”
Another blush crept over her cheeks, making her look even more enticing to him as she held her tongue. Her body was far too close to his, and he needed to find out the truth before his desires overcame his fears.
“I will only ask ye one more time, lass. Who are ye, and how is it that ye came to be here with Fiona?” he growled at her, tightening his grip on her wrists.
He had been missing for two weeks, and there was every chance that the men who wanted him dead had sent her as a spy. There was no body for them to find, and that could only mean that someday, the men would return and try again.
Tilting her head defiantly to the side, she locked her gaze on his. “I will give ye me name if ye give me yers first…” she hissed again, rousing his anger.
Letting go of her wrists, he moved his hands up and placed them beside her head, trapping her in a cage built from his muscles.
Her breathing deepened again as she slowly lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes, creating a heated moment between them that made his heart slam against his ribs.
“Ye willnae like the consequences if ye daenae answer me, lass…” His gaze dropped to her lips as his hand came up and gently gripped her chin. “I could break ye with a simple flick of me wrist.” His voice dropped even lower as his lips drew closer to hers.
“Then it should nae matter if ye ken me name or nae,” she breathed against his lips, refusing to back down.
Anger coursed through his veins as he clenched his jaw. Was she playing games with him? And if she was, did that mean that she was truly a spy? He had never harmed a woman in his life, but he would not be able to let her go if she were.
“Tell me yer name!” he finally snapped, pressing his body into hers.
“That is enough!” Fiona spoke up sharply from behind him. “She is nae who ye think she is, me Laird!”
Callum’s brow furrowed as he lowered his hands and backed away from her. “Is she nae?” He turned to Fiona, still not trusting the situation at hand.