Damaris didn’t want to face the stranger, warned herself what would happen if she did, because she knew what she would find as surely as she knew her own name.

  As if time stood still, she slowly turned her head, and her entire world instantly tilted. Dear God, it’s him. The Scotsman from the Cyprian’s ball, the father of her unborn child was here, standing before her in the same red and black tartan kilt that had been burned upon her memory. But instead of the formal wear he’d worn that night, he wore a plain white shirt, slightly open at the neckline, giving her a glimpse at that same broad, muscular chest with its light sprinkling of dark hair. The gleaming broadsword he wore at his hip was a new addition, and it made him appear like a warrior of old, some Medieval knight come to rescue the damsel in distress.

  He was just as terribly handsome as her memory recalled, and as she lifted her eyes to his dark brown gaze, she saw the instant recognition take hold. “Sassenach,” he breathed.

  Damaris opened her mouth to say something, whether to admit or deny the claim, but her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed in a dead faint.

  ***

  Callum wasn’t quite sure what to do with the unconscious woman that he now held in his arms — other than spirit her away to his castle as soon as possible. However, a short, rotund woman came striding forward and took the choice from him. She took one look at Damaris and shook her head. “The poor gel.” She looked at Callum in a stern manner that brooked no argument. “Follow me.”

  He glanced back at his brothers and the Solomon cousins who all wore equal expressions of surprise at what had just happened. Callum said, “I’ll be back, ye ken?”

  They all shook their heads mutely, as he followed the older woman out the back door of the inn and continued next door to a modest cottage. He held Miss Honeywell close to his chest and had no doubt this was the same woman his brothers had wanted him to meet. He was just thankful that he’d listened to his instincts and decided to join them tonight. Otherwise, he might never have been reunited with his Lady Chemistry.

  He didn’t get much of a glance at the interior as the older woman led him up a set of stairs. She opened a door and pointed to the bed. “Lay her down. I’ll fetch a rag an’ some cool water.”

  Callum gently placed his mystery woman on the bed. But then, this woman who had haunted his dreams and his waking hours for the past several months finally had a name. He brushed the hair out of her face, the same honey-gold shade that he remembered. And although the clothes she wore now were plain and outdated, a faded blue skirt with a white peasant blouse and a black, laced corset over the top, she was still just as beautiful as he remembered.

  His delicate English rose.

  When the older woman returned with a bowl of water, he stood aside as she laid a cloth on his Sassenach’s forehead. “I shoulda known no’ t’ work ye so hard in yer condition,” she murmured with a shake of her head.

  Callum wondered if she even realized he was still in the room. “What’s wrong with her?” he spoke up.

  With a heavy sigh, she kept her attention on the lass, but said softly, “She’s expecting a babe.”

  His eyebrows rose at this. “Then where’s her husband t’ make her suffer such conditions?” he demanded.

  She finally turned to glare at him. “She’s unwed, ye brute. Her parents sent her here from London t’ stay with me when they found out, so I’d appreciate it if ye would mind yer own affairs.” She turned back to her charge, abruptly dismissing him.

  But Callum wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily, especially when he managed to piece everything together. “In that case…” He straightened his shoulders and spoke clearly. “…I willna be going anywhere as long as she’s carrying my bairn.”

  Chapter Four

  Damaris slowly came to her senses. She sighed as she woke from a wonderful dream, one where the stranger from her fantasies was holding her tightly against his firm chest. As she snuggled deeper into the warmth, she frowned when a slight chuckle dared to disturb her slumber.

  Her lids instantly fluttered open, and she paused, wondering why she had the oddest sensation that she wasn’t alone in the room. “Hello, lass.”

  Damaris gasped at the deep voice, and suddenly, memory came crashing down around her. It hadn’t been a dream. He was here.

  She sat up with a start, but instantly regretted the swift action, for the room spun about her. But as she put a hand to her forehead, the stranger spoke up again.

  “I wouldna be movin’ too quickly.”

  Damaris turned to the man, prepared to give him a proper set down about minding his own business, but when she saw the father of her child propped up next to her in her bed, as if he had every right to be there, she felt the blood recede from her face. With his tousled dark hair and piercing gaze staring at her, he was more than just handsome. He was breathtaking. And at some point he’d discarded his shirt. The sight of his naked chest with those broad shoulders and his arms crossed casually over his midsection caused her mouth to go dry, for the last time he’d been so scantily attired…

  In an attempt to gain control of her emotions, she turned to anger. “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “I’m lookin’ after my family.”

  She frowned, completely at sea.

  He gestured to her midsection. “Ye’re carryin’ my bairn.”

  Damaris put a hand to her slightly rounded stomach. “Who told you?” she whispered.

  “Yer cousin, Genevieve. She was right concerned when ye fainted. When I brought ye over here, the truth slipped out.”

  “It slipped out?” she asked with a raised brow, sure that he’d managed to coerce it out of her cousin somehow.

  “Aye. She thought she was talking t’ herself, but I hadna left yet. Then when she found out I wasna going t’ leave, she went back t’ the inn and left ye in my care.”

  Damaris slowly rose to her feet, thankful when the ground was steady beneath her feet. She brushed at her skirts and avoided eye contact. “Well, I’m perfectly fine, so you can go.”

  “I dinna think so.” He chuckled. When she turned to give him a dark look, he tilted his head to the side and said softly, “Lady Chemistry.”

  Damaris swallowed, fearing that he was going to be true to his word and getting rid of him wouldn’t be so easy. But as she felt a sudden fluttering in her womb, she stopped and put a hand to her stomach.

  He instantly rose to his feet and came to her side. “What is it?”

  Without warning, tears sprang to her eyes. “It’s the first time I’ve felt him move.”

  Silence. “Him?”

  She looked at him and nodded slightly, her cheeks warming. “I think it’s a boy.”

  He visibly swallowed at this, and something akin to pride lit his gaze. “A son.”

  Damaris didn’t reply as she felt another light flutter against her ribcage. She smiled and without even considering her actions, she reached out for his hand and pressed it against her belly where the movement seemed to be strongest. “Do you feel it?”

  After a few moments, he withdrew his hand. “Aye.” He stared at her belly, as if in awe. “He’s a strong one.”

  “It appears so,” she agreed quietly. It was strange, for as much as they had already shared, for this life they had created together, it was absurd that she didn’t even know his name. But first, she supposed she ought to supply her own. “My name isn’t Lady Chemistry, it’s—”

  “Damaris Honeywell,” he supplied with an upward tilt of his lips. “I already ken. Ye were all my brothers could talk about this afternoon.” As she tried to piece it together, he straightened and said, “I’m Callum Solomon Murray, Laird o’ the Clan O’Donough.”

  Now that niggling sensation she’d felt when she saw Jamie Murray made sense. There was a marked resemblance between the two men. “But I thought you lived in the Highlands?”

  “Aye.” He nodded. “But I had t’ leave Castle O’Donough t’ attend t’ business at th’ Moor. I have interests at th’ mine.”

  All Damaris heard was the first part. She had long held a fascination with Medieval history, although such topics as war and bloodshed weren’t considered proper subjects for a debutante. “You live in an actual castle?”

  He grinned, and again pride shown in his dark eyes. “Aye. It dates back t’ the time o’ the Romans when my ancestors won it in battle. It’s been in my family for generations and someday, I’ll pass it o’ t’ my sons.” He gestured to her stomach. “T’ that wee one there.” He rubbed the side of his jaw in apparent thought. “But then, I suppose we ought t’ say the vows first t’ make our union legal. I’m sure there’s a vicar somewhere in th’ village—”

  Damaris instantly started to panic, and she held up a hand. “Pardon me, but don’t I have a say in this?”

  He frowned. “What is there t’ talk aboot? Ye’re carrying my bairn, and I don’t intend for him t’ grow up with the title o’ bastard when he can be th’ next laird of my clan.”

  She crossed her arms. “Well, maybe I don’t want to live in Scotland.”

  His expression hardened. “The way I see it, Sassenach, ye dinna have much choice in the matter.”

  “You’re certainly more arrogant than I remember,” she snapped. “Now if you’ll excuse me?” She started for the door, but he was faster than she gave him credit for. He easily blocked her escape with a strong arm across the doorway.

  “And where do ye think ye might be going?”

  She lifted her chin and refused to step back, even though the scent of his woodsy cologne tantalized her senses. “Back to the inn.”

  He snorted. “I dinna think so.”

  She clenched her fists. “You don’t have the right to stop me.”

  “I think we already established—”

  “Maybe you did,” she huffed angrily, daring to lift her finger and poke him in the chest. “But the way I see it, you are only some man that I laid with, nothing more. It’s true I may be carrying your baby, but until you can prove to me that you are worthy of being his father, then I suggest you get out of my way.”

  He slowly lowered his arm and she thought he was going to move, but instead, he reached out and pulled her to him. “Ye’ve got a sharp tongue on ye, Damaris Honeywell. And if’n ye was a man I might have called ye out for darin’ t’ challenge my honor.” His gaze dropped to her mouth and his voice lowered, “But if it’s proof ye want o’ my character, I can guarantee ye’ll be a satisfied wife if ye take the name Murray.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her.

  Again, Damaris was lightheaded, but it wasn’t due to any sort of ailment. This man’s presence made her head swim, and the moment his mouth touched hers, it was as if a spark of lightning coursed between them. Her heart sped up its pace, and she yearned to wind her arms around his neck. But the moment she gave in, that was when any power would be taken from her.

  With an internal effort, Damaris pushed away from him. Her breathing was heavy, but her voice was even as she said coolly, “If that’s the best you can manage, it’s a good thing I declined your proposal.”

  He blinked, as if his pride couldn’t quite absorb such a blow, so she took advantage of his surprise by brushing past him and returning to the inn with a smile on her face, more energized now than she’d been all evening.

  ***

  The crowd had thinned considerably as Damaris walked inside The Blue Duck. The moment Genevieve spied her, she pointed to a seat near the bar. “Sit. You need t’ eat.”

  Damaris did as she was told for she knew when Gen had that tone there was no arguing with her. After she’d plopped down on the stool, Mac walked over and joined her, his face contrite. “I’m sorry I wasna there t’ stop trouble from brewing earlier.”

  Damaris reached out and hugged him. “Don’t concern yourself with it. I’m fine.”

  As she pulled back, she saw Callum stride into the dining area with a rather dark expression as he rejoined his party. As the group of men began to chat amongst themselves, shooting curious glances at her from time to time, she didn’t have to guess what the topic of their conversation was. But now, as she turned back to Mac she said, “There wasn’t any trouble that couldn’t be smoothed over.”

  Mac had followed her gaze and spoke what she dared not. “Aye. And I understand the Laird O’Donough was t’ thank for it.”

  Not until Gen sat a steaming plate of food in front of her, did it become more difficult to ignore a direct query. “So that’s him?” She nodded toward Callum.

  Damaris picked up her knife and fork and concentrated on cutting her meat. “It is,” she returned evenly.

  Gen was silent for a moment, and then she said, “He’s a fine lookin’ man. And quite well off from what his kin have said.”

  “I didn’t even know his full name until today,” she murmured.

  “Then wha’ made ye choose him if no’ for his lands or title?”

  Damaris forced herself to swallow as she pushed a carrot around her plate. “Because I didn’t think I’d see him again.”

  At this, her cousin laughed. “By the looks o’ him, I’d say ye’re gonna see quite a bit more.”

  She sighed because she feared her cousin was right. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

  The older woman instantly sobered. “I dinna mean t’ upset ye, Damaris. I’m just rather surprised at how this all managed to come aboot. Ye have t’ wonder if fate isn’t playin’ her hand.”

  Her appetite diminished, Damaris shoved the rest of her plate away and rose to her feet as a round of laughter came from the table of Scotsmen. With an impatient flick of her wrist, she took an apron from a nearby hook and tied it around her waist. “I’ll head to the back room and start cleaning up.”

  ***

  “I can well understand yer fascination with the lassie now,” Jamie murmured at Callum’s elbow, where they sat with Gavin and the Solomons. “Although ye never told us ye’d actually bedded—”

  Callum turned to his brother with a threatening glare. “It wasna yer damn business.”

  “Are ye even sure the bairn is… yers?” Gavin dared to ask. “Ye said ye only lain together once, and that was months ago. Are ye sure she isna just trying t’ pass another lover’s bastard on ye t’ gain access t’ yer lands and wealth?”

  Callum clenched his jaw. He’d thought the same thing at first, but he knew the child she carried was his as certainly as he knew his own name. He felt that to the depths of his soul. “It’s mine,” he stated firmly. “And before today, she dinna even know who I was. I still dinna think she understands the size o’ Castle O’Donough.”

  “And t’ think the English always claim t’ put propriety first,” Samuel muttered. “I’m o’ a mind t’ attend one o’ these Cyprian Balls.” He turned to Gavin. “Ye were there that night. I dinna suppose ye might have some wench carrying yer bairn, do ye ken?”

  Gavin shook his head. “No. I wasna there for that kind o’ entertainment. I spent most o’ the evening in the gaming room.”

  “I would have been there if I hadna been cheated,” Callum growled.

  Robert Solomon lifted a brow. “Are ye saying ye regret laying with Miss Honeywell?”

  “I wouldna,” Jamie smirked, gaining a dark look from his eldest brother.

  In turn, Callum chose his words carefully. “She’s English, which means that she’s no’ going t’ come t’ Scotland willingly, nor take a Highland laird t’ husband. She’d likely rather have one o’ her dandy lords from London.”

  “Then ye’ll just have t’ convince her otherwise,” Samuel said with a wide grin. “Unless ye’ve lost yer touch with the ladies, O’Donough?”

  Callum tossed back his ale and with the sting of her dismissal still ringing in his ears, he said, “I think I still have some Scottish charm left in these ol’ bones. At least—” He winked. “—that’s what yer sister said the last time I paid a visit t’ her chamber.”

  A round of laugher went around the table, as Samuel shook his head. “Ye bloody cur. I’d call ye out for that slight, but it really depends which one ye might be talking aboot. Annis is too busy t’ be taking anymore lovers, while Elspeth would as soon as bite yer cock off than take ye t’ her bed.”

  More chuckles sounded as Callum glanced up and noticed Damaris leaving the taproom. He rose to his feet. “It appears that I have some work t’ do. I’ll catch up with ye worthless ne’er-do-wells.”

  “What do ye plan on doing?” Jamie called after him.

  He looked over his shoulder and said, “Whatever it takes.”

  ***

  Damaris was washing dishes in a tub of warm water, humming a light tune to calm her frayed nerves when a distinct baritone chimed in with a mesmerizing Gaelic lilt. “‘Co as leth a Thir, ‘s a Coir Thairrneas stallinn chruaidh ‘na dhorn?’”

  She stilled, allowing the melody to drift over her. When he was done, she reluctantly straightened and wiped her hands on a nearby rag. She turned around to see Callum leaning against the wall a short distance away. Since it appeared she wasn’t to be free of him so easily, she decided to humor him. “What did you say?”

  “It was a lyric from the song ye was hummin’ — ‘Wha, for Scotland’s king and law, Freedom’s sword will strongly draw.’” He tilted his head to the side. “I’m just curious as t’ how ye know it.”

  “Gen taught it to me,” she returned softly. “I only know the English version, but I’ve always thought it to be rather poignant.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “It is. It speaks o’ the struggles the Scottish clans have had t’ endure over the centuries t’ earn the right o’ freedom against the English.”

  Her lips twisted ironically. With a scoff, she snapped, “In that case, I’m surprised you dare to set foot on such tainted soil and associate with our kind.”

  His brows drew together. “Sarcasm doesna compliment ye, Sassenach.” He walked toward her, stopping only when he was close enough to reach out and touch her if he wished to do so. “I’ll have ye ken that no’ all English are spurious men willing t’ do Scotsmen ill. There have been many that have taken our side in battle, and many Scots who have stood with the English.” He paused. “But my question is, why do ye harbor such ill will toward me? Or is it just Highlanders ye dinna care for?”

 

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