Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
?”
“Aye. I let him disobey me because I knew about the lass he wanted to save. I was too soft on the lad.”
“Dislocating someone’s arm is hardly taking care of them, nor being soft!”
“It’s better than killing them for your betrothed’s amusement!” His tone is harsher than I’ve ever heard it, and cool shame floods my system.
“It’s not as if I have a say in who I marry!”
“No? I thought you said there was always a choice, Princess.”
I grit my teeth. “Yes. And the choice was to marry Sebastian and survive, or refuse him-rendering myself useless to my father. I made my choice to survive, and I would make it again.”
“Aye. And I made my choice, too,” says Callum, his tone a little softer. “I chose to rough up the lad in the ring so you’d take pity on him and spare him.”
My breath mists in front of my face as I breathe out slowly. “You couldn’t possibly know I would do that.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “Not for certain. But I could smell your fear, and hear your heartbeat. I could sense your repulsion of the men sitting beside you, and I could feel you didn’t want to be there in that hall. And yet, you didn’t show it. And when your eyes met mine, I could see the steel in them. I could see the determination, and the strength, and the fire in your soul. Most people would’ve looked away from me if I’d looked at them the way I looked at you, but you didn’t. And I felt the hatred in that gaze. You hated everyone in that room, and you hated me. Goddess, you hated me. You hated me for what I was about to do to the lad.” He lets loose a half-laugh that sounds almost like a growl. “No. I didn’t know for certain. But I was pretty sure.”
Something tightens, then loosens, inside me.
I’m not sure why his words are having such an effect on me. Perhaps because he is right. Perhaps because, in a room crowded with people, he was the only one who noticed me. I cannot remember a time when anyone else has ever really looked.
“I noticed something else about the way you were looking at me, Princess.” His voice is lighter, almost teasing.
My eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“You thought I was handsome.” His voice is alight with amusement now. I can hear the stupid grin on his face.
“I did not!” My face flushes as I elbow him in the side.
He roars with laughter. I’m surprised he doesn’t upset the horse. She’s probably used to carrying around big brutes like him, poor thing. I’m about to ask if that’s true, when we reach the crest of a hill, revealing the valley below.
A rugged castle made of stone stands in the distance. It’s beside a loch with water so black it looks bottomless. Beyond, there is a backdrop of mountains, and a forest that stretches into the distance.
My stomach clenches.
“There she is,” says Callum. “Castle Madadh-allaidh. No doubt the rest of our party will have alerted the king that we’re on our way. Are you ready, Princess?”
I swallow, steadying my writhing nerves.
I will myself to be stone. No, steel.
I nod. “Yes.”
Callum tightens his arm around my waist in what I think is supposed to be a reassuring gesture.
He takes the reins with both hands, digs his heels into the horse, and we gallop down the hill toward the castle.
Chapter Thirteen
The castle courtyard is full of Wolves.
They look like men and women, but I know what lurks beneath their skin. It’s obvious in the way they dress and wear their hair wild and loose, shouting at one another across the stone yard in accents as thick as the grime that coats them.
The air is loud and smelly and wild as the wind whips my hair into my face.
Ahead, the castle waits for me, like a dangerous beast, with walls made of crumbling grey stone. It’s tall and angular in appearance, with a turret that casts a long shadow over the courtyard.
As we ride to the heavy wooden doors ahead, a couple of men who are noisily sparring drop their swords to stare at me. It’s as if they can sense what lurks beneath my skin as well. I am the daughter of their enemy king. What would they do to me if they knew?
My heart beats faster.
Callum hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. His body is warm, and I can feel his heart beating steadily against my back. It is a stark contrast to the chaos around us.
“I was a wee lad the first time I came here.” His voice is a rough whisper that tickles my ear-and I wonder why he is telling me this now when there are clearly more important things to be concerned about. “It was the first time I’d ever been to the south.”
I swallow, focusing on Callum rather than the couple of women carrying dead rabbits, who have stopped their conversation to turn their attention toward me.
“This isn’t the south,” I say quietly.
“It is when you’re from Highfell.”
His tone is light and conversational, and I wonder if he is trying to distract me from the other Wolves that are now casting their gazes in our direction. He pulls gently on the reins of the horse and we come to a stop not far from the castle doors.
“It’s the real north up there. Harsh and wild, with nights so dark you can barely see in front of your face. When my father brought me down here, he told me all southerners were soft. But our clans were at war with one another. And that first time I came here, I was afraid.”
He shifts behind me, then dismounts the horse. I stiffen, gripping the ridge on the saddle as the cold air seeps through my furs to my nightdress.
Even though most of the Wolves are openly staring at us, his gaze doesn’t move from mine. There’s something so still in it that it eases the panic rising in my chest.
“But no harm came to me.” He smiles softly. “And no harm will come to you. Not while I’m at your side. Okay?”
He holds out a big hand. I swallow and raise my chin-pushing the fear deep down. I can’t let these people think I am weak.
I swing my leg over the horse, then, tentatively, I take his hand.
His fingers are rough and callused and they close around mine.
He helps me slide down the horse, one of his hands clasping my waist. I wince when my feet touch the stone, and his jaw tightens as that hint of shame crosses his expression once more. I expect him to scoop me off my feet again. He seems to be in the habit of doing so and a pathetic part of me wants him to. I ache and my soles hurt and I’m tired and dirty. I want to bury my face in his chest so I cannot see everyone looking at me. I want to pretend I’m not here.
He squeezes my hand before looking over my shoulder at the twenty or so Wolves who are clearly watching us.
“Don’t you have work to be doing?” His voice is light, but there’s no mistaking the authority in his tone. “If you have enough time for idle gossip in the middle of the day, I’m sure Mrs. McDonald would welcome your help peeling potatoes in the kitchens.”
The smaller man who was sparring gives an exaggerated shudder. His accent is so thick I can only pick up the words “kill” and “dragon”, but there are a few titters in the crowd and Callum grins. I get the impression that whoever Mrs. McDonald is, she’s not very popular.
Whether that’s the case or not, the tension seems to break and the people in the courtyard go back to their business-though a few eye Callum and me curiously. Some of the unfriendly looks seem to be directed at Callum as well as me, though he either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.
“Peeling taties?” A female voice comes from somewhere behind Callum’s large physique. “You could’ve told them I had some horse shite for them to sweep up. I wouldn’t mind the afternoon off.”
Callum’s grin widens. “Aye? Got plans, have you?”
“Oh, a nice dram of whiskey. Soak in the bath. I’ve not had chance for one in a week.”
“I can tell.”
Callum turns, revealing the girl standing behind him. She looks around my age, slightly taller than me, with long brown hair that’s tied in a loose ponytail with a red tartan ribbon. She’s pretty-even with dirt smearing her cheek, and the fact that she’s dressed like a man in breeches and a linen shirt slick with sweat.
Callum may be teasing her, but I can tell she hasn’t bathed in a while as well. She’s giving off a strong smell of horses.
She narrows her eyes at Callum, though the corner of her lip twitches. “Cheeky bastard. You survived?”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
They embrace. He pulls her close, and her arm grips the back of his neck as she burrows her head into his shoulder.