‘No, ‘tis I. All is well, my love,’ said Callum, stroking her hair, and kissing her forehead.
‘He was going to kill you,’ she cried.
‘He was, but you got in the way of a musket shot heading for my heart, and I owe you my life. And Stalker is gone, Tara. He is dead.’
‘Good. Oh, everything hurts so much,’ she said, staring into Callum’s solemn, grey eyes.
‘Aye, because you were shot, protecting me. That lead should have entered my body, not yours. You saved me, Tara. And you are safe now. They have taken out the shot, and you are healing, but you are weak and must remain in bed until you can travel.’
She twisted her head. She was on a mattress, and the fire was lit in the chamber. It was clean and tidy, and the air was fresher than she remembered.
‘The mattress?’
‘I had it brought here for you two days ago so that you would be comfortable,’ said Callum.
‘Two days. Have I been asleep for two days?’
‘Aye, and I have been sorely afraid I would lose you.’ Callum’s grip tightened. ‘You little fool. Why did you do it? Why did you put yourself in danger?’
Tara cast her mind back to her fear and panic. ‘I saw Stalker aim at you, and I could not let him hurt you, Callum. All these days, I was a prisoner, I longed for you. I ached to see your face and wrap my arms around you. He was not going to take that from me. No one is ever going to take that from me.’
Callum pressed her knuckles to his mouth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. ‘I owe you my life, Tara.’
‘And I owe you mine,’ she whispered. Tara reached up a hand and drew his head down, and kissed him. When their lips met, it was as if her heart swelled in her chest until it pressed upon her breastbone, making it ache. She never wanted to be away from Callum again.
Tara relinquished his lips. ‘I love you, Callum. Truly I do. I have not been generous with my affections, and for that, I am heartily sorry.’ Once she said the words, the tears came, floods of them, soaking her cheeks and running into the corners of her mouth. ‘Please believe me when I say it. I love you with all my heart.’
‘I know you do,’ he murmured. ‘I finally know you do.’
Callum eased Tara down on the feather mattress and lay beside her. His eyes locked to hers as he stroked her hair. They remained belly to belly until Tara lost herself in sleep once more.
Epilogue
Blackreach Manor, the somewhat chaotic home of Orla Munro, was in an uproar. Orla fussed over Wolfric, brushing dog hair off his jacket with one hand whilst trying to calm her wailing newborn baby in the other. Her father-in-law, Rufus Munro, a crusty old man with woeful manners, complained loudly in the background, though neither of them paid him much heed.
‘Why do you have to get all done up for a blasted wedding? You care not a jot for that bitch of a bride, so why play the hypocrite and simper over her nuptials.’
‘I am not simpering, and a family wedding is an obligation we must fulfil,’ snapped Orla. ‘I am going out of curiosity, that is all. I cannot believe a lass has finally dragged that reprobate to the altar, for he is a slippery fish when it comes to women.’
‘He weds at his father’s insistence,’ sneered Rufus. ‘He won’t be getting his hands on the old fool’s coin unless he marries well, and you know it, and so does everyone else in the county. ‘Tis no love match, to be sure.’
Tara exchanged a glance with Callum. His face was a mask of impatience wed to irritation.
‘I am glad you are here, Ross, for there’s safety in numbers when you go into the lion’s den,’ Wolfric declared, and Callum gave a curt nod.
There had been a considerable thaw in relations between Callum and Wolfric since her husband had discovered that the Munros had aided in the search when she had been taken prisoner. They had sent men out day after day scouring the Highlands, and Wolfric himself had searched tirelessly on her behalf. Loyalty was everything to Callum, so he now counted Wolfric Munro as a friend.
‘Where on earth is Bryce? To be late, today of all days. It is not to be borne,’ declared Orla, patting the head of her new son. He wriggled and fussed against her chest like a rabbit burrowing, and she kissed the top of his dark head with great care and love.
Tara’s heart lurched with envy when she spotted Callum’s eyes on the child. His face was filled with wistful longing and tenderness as he smiled at Orla. Should she be jealous, for Orla had blossomed as a mother? There was a luscious ripeness and a glow to her cheeks that had not been there before. Tara chided herself for such nonsense, for it was clear that Callum yearned for a child, not another woman, though he had not voiced it aloud. But it was there, plain as day, in the way he looked at children, and how he had taken Drustan under his wing.
‘The boy is motherless and alone,’ he had declared soon after they had returned to Raigmoor. ‘He risked all to come to our aid. Had it not been for him, I might be lying dead in a ditch, and you might have suffered a terrible fate at Stalker’s hand. We should give the lad a place here with us.’
Tara was delighted, and though Drustan was a fey, strange little beast, he had already wormed his way into her heart, and she longed to smother him with affection. Yet, for the most part, he would brush off her attempts to cuddle and cosset him, and he gravitated to Callum, constantly following him like a shadow. And Callum, in turn, took great delight in teaching the lad how to use a sword and a bow and how to sit a horse well.
‘Already, he is a better rider than me, my love,’ Tara had declared.
‘You have other virtues which suit you better,’ Callum had said with a smile and a wink, which had turned her face and loins to flames.