Suddenly, there was a high-pitched scream, and the man disappeared from view. Callum only just spotted the yawning chasm in time and pulled his horse up hard. It skidded to a halt and ended up on its haunches, inches from a drop down into a gully. Callum leapt off and peered over the edge.
The villain was just below him, clinging to a tree root for all he was worth. Behind Callum, the sound of fighting had been swallowed by the downpour. The man’s hold began to slip, and his feet scrabbled uselessly for a foothold, sending stones clattering into the gully.
‘It is a long way to fall, my friend. Tell me your name, and I will pull you up,’ said Callum.
‘Please, please help me.’
‘You were the leader, were you not? Are you the one they call the Baron?’
‘No. Just pull me up, please. I can’t hang on.’
‘Who is he? A name and you will live.’
‘I cannot. I don’t know it. Please. Even if I did, I could not say, for ‘tis a death sentence. Please. I have bairns to feed,’ said the man.
For a moment, Callum faltered. He considered mercy, but then he thought of his clansman, McTavish, lying bloodied and torn back at his farm.
‘Pull me up, please,’ whined the man. ‘I don’t want to fall.’
‘You won’t feel it,’ said Callum, swinging back his claymore. ‘You will be dead before you hit the ground.’
Though he was doomed, the man had some fight in him. ‘The Baron will take your heart for this,’ he cried.
‘Make your peace with God,’ snarled Callum.
‘You are the bastard son of a whore, and your wife is a filthy English bitch,’ shouted the man. ‘She will die screaming, and so will you.’
Callum unleashed his sword’s fury on the man. Then he mounted his horse and headed back to the sound of fighting, with nothing but hate in his heart.
***
Tara woke to the howl of wind and the crash of thunder outside. She sat up with a hammering heart. It was pitch black, except for the weak glow cast by a candle burned low. It must be long after midnight. Lightning brightened the sky and then came the thud of rain on the roof.
How long had she paced, waiting for Callum’s return? Hours. But he had not returned, and she had gone to bed exhausted. Surely, he could not be out in this weather, still chasing the reivers. He must have returned by now, for he could not search in darkness. He had likely gone to sleep in the chamber he favoured since he had forsaken her bed. Or perhaps he was in another woman’s bed, and her plan to seduce him was all for nought. The thought cut her to the quick, and Tara could not rest until she assuaged her fears.
With Orla’s advice still fresh in her mind, Tara dressed in her flimsiest petticoat and undid her braid so that her hair hung thick and free about her shoulders. After she had pinched her cheeks to bring colour to them, she wrapped a plaid about her, took up the candle and headed for Callum’s chamber. It sat in the opposite wing of the castle, and by the time she saw the faint flicker of firelight at the end of the dark corridor, her feet were frozen, and she was flinching from the worsening thunder. His door was ajar, and it creaked as she pushed it open.
Callum was slumped in a chair before the fire, which had almost burned to its embers. She could just make out a half-empty bottle in his hand. Callum glanced at her, raised it to his lips and drank from it.
‘So the lamb enters the lion’s den at last,’ he muttered. ‘Aren’t you a bonnie vision? What do you want, Tara. Are you frightened of the storm?’
‘I…I wanted to know that you got home safely from chasing those men. I thought you might like company.’
‘Oh, aye. I have been home a long time, and as to company, that would be a very bad thing this night, lass.’
‘Why did you not seek me out on your return?’
‘I thought I would forgo that pleasure until tomorrow. Come near the fire if you are cold, lass.’
Tara took a few paces forward and stopped. Callum’s eyes fixed on her, and she realised that her body would show through the flimsy fabric of her petticoat in front of the fire’s glow. She gave Callum a smile, but he did not smile back. There were red stains on Callum’s plaid and hands, and she was suddenly a little frightened of him.
‘Greaves forgot to tell me in all the uproar of being robbed. Word has come from my Aunt Mortimer,’ he spat.
‘Your aunt? I did not know you had one, Callum.’
‘You never asked, lass, because you will not know me, will you? I do, indeed, have an aunt. She lives south, at the head of Loch Ness, at a manor called Sedgemoor. I must visit with her, for she has suffered a great loss at the hands of this so-called Baron and his men and has requested my aid. This troubles me, for she is not the sort of weak woman who needs protection.’
Callum’s eyes slid from Tara’s head to her toes, and his barb cut like a knife.