Laird of the Mist by Paula Quinn Page B

did not go unnoticed by Brodie. “Have ye no’ considered a way to torture the Earl of Argyll before killin’ him?”
    “Nae, but I’m sure ye have thought of naught else,” Callum replied. Brodie was a most ruthless warrior, loyal in battle, but a bit overly bloodthirsty.
    “The lass.” Brodie smiled, pointing his chin at her.
    “What aboot her?”
    “Bed her, and bed her thoroughly. What could be worse fer The Campbell than to have a MacGregor growin’ in his niece’s belly?”
    Callum went still on his mount. He hadn’t thought of anything but bedding her for the past se’nnight. ’Twas true, ’twould be satisfying to tell Argyll that MacGregor seed grew in his niece, before Callum killed him. And if he took her to his bed, there would be no marriage between her and the English lord of Newbury. Aye, that thought pleased him well enough. But there was something more to consider.
    “And what would become of her when she’s returned to her brother carryin’ my bairn? Ye saw what was done to Rhona MacGregor just fer bearin’ our name.”
    “Aye, there is nae mercy fer sympathizers,” Brodie agreed quietly, then eyed Kate pressed so intimately against his laird. “Mayhap, then, ’tis best ye dinna give her back. Fer I fear it may be too late.”
    Since she had slept most of the day, Kate was wide awake when Callum and his men settled into their plaids that night. Lying down was fruitless. She blamed the stars for keeping her eyes open, the sound of the leaves rustling for keeping her ears alert. But it was the man sleeping across the campfire who made her heart feel restless. No matter how she tried, she could not stop thinking about his kiss. Lord, but he was dangerous. She hadn’t been able to move in his iron embrace while he touched her so intimately, as if he owned her. And then she didn’t want him to let her go. He’d ravished her, all right, but she couldn’t seem to muster even the slightest bit of anger over it. His mouth took her with ruthless mastery. His hot tongue sliding over hers made her so weak and willing, it frightened her thinking how far she would have let him go had he not stopped on his own.
    God’s mercy, he had warned her twice to remember who he was, and she needed to do just that. It was one thing to liken Callum to a champion of his people—for saving her from death—but caring for any MacGregor was considered treason. And the Devil was the most forbidden of them all. She sat up, cursing her wakefulness under her breath, and turned toward the sleeping laird.
    Callum was not sleeping but sat propped against a tree, his legs outstretched before him and crossed at the ankles, his eyes on her.
    She cast him a diffident smile. “Sleep eludes me.”
    He did not move, but his expression appeared to soften beyond the glimmering firelight.
    He was a stranger to her, and yet the chill of midnight tempted Kate to move closer to the familiar warmth of his body. She drew in an uneven breath instead. “I fear I will never sleep at night again if I keep sleeping in the day.”
    “A burden, to be sure,” he agreed, his voice light and teasing. “But if the restive sparkle in yer eyes tells the tale true, ’tis one less troublesome than the one I will be sufferin’ again on the morrow.”
    Kate’s eyes flashed at him, and a hint of a smile etched her lips to match his. “Suffering indeed. If you had to endure the tedium of traveling with an insolent ogre day after day, you, too, would bless unconsciousness when it came to claim you.”
    His eyebrows rose with surprise, but instead of scowling at her as she expected, he grinned and set her heart to pounding. “Have ye always been so braw, Kate Campbell?”
    “Nae,” she assured him. She tucked her legs beneath her and turned her gaze to the flames. “When I was a child I was very much afraid of thunder. The ground rumbled much the same way when the Highlanders raided. But Robert always promised to protect me. He was quite