Laird of the Mist by Paula Quinn Page A

bouncing up and down did not help, and she silently cursed his horse and every other horse in creation while they trotted along a rocky incline. She was trying to find a more comfortable position when she remembered that her knight was her captor and she was nothing more to him than bait to catch a jackal. She tried to sit up, but her head felt like it was going to teeter off her shoulders and careen to the ground.
    “How do ye fare, Kate?”
    The deep voice behind her ears boomed through her head and made her cringe.
    “Must you shout?”
    “I’m whisperin’.”
    “Do not whisper so loudly, then,” she groaned. “I feel like I’m dying.”
    Behind her, Callum nodded sympathetically, familiar with the agonizing aftereffects of Gillis’s brew. He laid his hand on top of her head and eased her back against his chest. “Just be still.”
    Kate knew he did not like her, but once again, he was comforting her. His hand, one that had killed more Campbells than she cared to ponder, was so achingly gentle when he touched her that it almost made her doubt the conviction of his hatred. She did as her captor ordered and leaned against him, squinting in the daylight at the land around her.
    Slopes were fast becoming mountains that rose like great granite curtains around her. When she inhaled, her nostrils tingled. The air was getting thinner. She had never traveled outside of Glen Orchy before, and she began to realize just how much she had missed. The Highlands were an uncharted place, vast and wild with untouched foliage and men who hid atop jagged cliffs, unseen in the mist. It was an untamed land of bursting color. The heather grew here in lush splendor, decorating the braes in rich purple majesty. But there was something more. ’Twas gray. The color of strength. An endless line of mountains rose boldly toward a vast blue sky that hovered so close one would wager his best horse that he merely need lift his hand to the sky to touch it. It was as if the very heavens descended upon this land. Kate decided the Highlands were the most breathtaking, soul-stirring place in creation.
    Somewhere overhead, a hawk released a cry that echoed for leagues through deep glens and over rolling moorlands. Kate closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into Callum’s body.
    Hard, tight muscles caressed her back. The weight of his shoulders slowly relaxed over hers, enfolding her. Thighs nestled and caressed her now instead of feeling like stones against her hips.
    Callum sighed when Kate let out a wee snore under his chin. He had always considered himself hard, not pillow soft or cushioned with clouds. But hell, he was fast becoming this woman’s bed! She was a Campbell. And a nuisance. He tightened his arm around her and stroked her belly with the pad of his thumb. Acts of both protection and possession, he realized, praying for God to grant him strength to keep his wits about him. Protecting her was one thing, but possessing her would be deadly. Deadly for them both. Still, when the wind blew her curls against his face, he closed his eyes and inhaled. He had always thought nothing in the world could ever smell better than the Highlands. He was wrong.
    He accepted a wedge of cheese from Brodie, who rode up beside him. They chewed in silence for a few moments before Callum turned toward him. “Brodie, stop starin’ at me and speak yer mind.”
    Brodie shrugged his shoulders and tossed back the strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. “I was just thinkin’ how even-tempered ye have become since takin’ the lass.” He let his eyes rove over her form. “’Tis plain to see that she pleases ye,” he continued, even though Callum glared at him. “I was wantin’ to know if ye are thinkin’ o’ claimin’ her.”
    “I’ll claim nae Campbell,” Callum answered him, tight-lipped.
    “She fancies ye, laird,” Brodie went on. “Listen how she purrs like a kitten all wrapped up in yer arms.” The way Callum tightened his hold on her