Eachann let go of her and bowed.
“Rise up,” Laird Murray said. He withdrew a handful of coins from the purse at his waist. “’Tis I who must compensate you for the wrong my son did to you.”
“He didn’t know that Catriona and I wished to be together,” Eachann said. “Nay body did.”
“Then,” he turned to Catriona and dipped his head. Catriona stood speechless. “Consider it reparations, for the fear my son caused you, lass. Therese is in good health and missed you yesterday. I didn’t realize the reason you never made it to her chamber was because my son cornered you.”
He pressed the coins into her hands.
She froze. Her breath left her and she handed them back. “M’laird, I’ve never owned so much money. I couldn’t possibly─”
“You’ll take it, lass. I won’t hear any different. Consider it a marriage gift.”
Eachann stilled. Catriona’s face was pale. Laird MacLaren smiled and clasped his shoulder again.
“You were a hard worker as a lad, and I heard only fine things about you from Laird de Lough. You’re a fine young man. Never keep a secret from me again.”
He bowed his head. “Aye, my laird.”
“And if memory serves me, I granted you leave from the remainder of these talks. Take your wife home. And then, spend the morrow moving her into Old Man Angus’ cottage. It’s sat vacant for nigh a year and needs a tenant.”
“You wished me to move into the barracks, my laird, to bunk with the men.”
Laird MacLaren chuckled. “And leave this fetching thing to fend for herself? Nay. A married man oughts live with his woman. I’d be pleased if Catriona would make the old bothy into a home for you. And I’ll expect you to report to the castle in a sennight’s time.”
“A sennight?” he questioned. “The meeting ends after discussions today.”
“Aye, but after seven years of hard training, a man deserves a few days with his new wife. I’d say you earned it.”
He was speechless. He had been so certain he would be leaving Drummond Castle with lashes to his back or a demotion, or an outright banishment, nay with his laird’s blessing, a cottage of his own, and a stack of coins in his wife’s hands. Wife. Such a word was so new. It sounded foreign to the ears and yet, calling Catriona his wife felt so normal.
Eachann searched for his voice. It failed him. He cleared his throat. “My thanks, my laird.”
“Take that woman home and breed you some bairns.” Laird MacLaren slapped him on the back, chuckling. “And whilst you’re at it, buy her a pair of slippers with that handsome purse. She can nay run around barefoot like a wee lass anymore, or men might get the wrong impression.”
Eachann bowed, feeling Catriona curtsy deeply beside him. His face was burning red and he was unable to laugh at the teasing. He was so unaccustomed to generosity, having worked so hard for all that he had, that he rebelled against the notion of accepting such charity.
But as he led Catriona to the door, a grin played on his lips. Gregor had been punished and humiliated, Catriona was his woman, and the two of them had a handsome savings and a home of their own to begin their new life. In time, he would craft them furniture. Catriona would add a woman’s touch. They would grow vegetables in the overgrown croft that had sat fallow over the year, and at nighttime, he and Caty would sit beside the hearth fire together, her mending, him fixing tools or sharpening his blades, in companionable presence with each other.
In that cottage, left behind when Old Man Angus died a year before, they would raise their bairns and God willing, through his hard work, he could elevate them above a simple cottage. And the village midwife would have the pleasure of being a mother herself for once. He would watch her grow round with child, and take pride in knowing that the family was his line.
And he would never abandon them.
He couldn’t wait.
He lifted Catriona into the saddle and this time, mounted Ghost behind her, sliding her onto his thigh. He wrapped his arm around her tightly to ease the chill settling across the land. His plaid was mostly dry from their rainy excursion the day before, but his tunic was still damp, and it caused gooseflesh to prickle his skin. By the time they made it home, the sky was brightening the eastern horizon. The clouds had cleared and stars blinked brightly above them.
He ought to be exhausted. He knew Caty dozed against his chest. But all he could think about was making their union official.
His cheeks flamed again, remembering that she had spied him take his pleasure in the stable. She hadn’t seemed put off in the least. He had to have her. Except, by the look of the light flickering through the closed shutters, Stephen hadn’t departed for the day to tend the sheep growing restless in the animal shed. And Beth would likely be home, tending to the housekeeping.
He couldn’t bed Caty with them present.
“Awake, Caty,” he murmured, planting a kiss atop her head.
She stirred. “Aye, Eachann?”
“’Twill be a lot of work, and I know you’re tired, but what say you we move into the old cottage this morn?”
Her face lit happily. “Aye.”
He grinned, kissed her sleepy lips, and whispered, “When I make love to me wife for the first time, I want it to be in our own home.” She dropped her gaze demurely, but there was no mistaking the smile branded on her lips. “Do you think that agreeable?”
She nodded. “I was dreading such with Beth and Stephen listening.”
He squeezed her. “So was I.”
“You? Dread anything? After what you did to Gregor Murray?” She looked up at him.
Ah, she stroked his ego, saying such. He chuckled and pecked her lips again, dismounted, and lifting her down, watching her sway through the willow fencing in front of him. He gave her a head start for this very reason. Then he jogged a few steps and snatched up her hand to pull her onward. As if they were bairns running over the hills again.
She giggled.
Chapter 7
“We tied the knot,” Eachann said, bursting through the cottage door and pulling Catriona beside him.
Catriona’s cheeks flamed at the bold announcement, but Eachann didn’t seem to notice.
Beth whipped around from the hearth, a dripping ladle in hand, and Stephen jumped up from his stool, his boot only halfway laced.
“Tied the what?” Stephen asked.
Catriona beamed, grasping Eachann’s arm with her other hand.
“We hand-fasted. On the roadside last night,” she clarified.
Both Beth and Stephen furrowed their brow, but once the realization set in, Beth dropped the utensil and dashed to the door, throwing her arms around her older sister. Stephen grinned, then came to Catriona and embraced her, kissing her cheek, as Beth offered Eachann an embrace. Then the two brothers wrapped each other in a slapping hug.
“Goodness, but we wondered how long it would take the two of you to figure out that you were meant to be,” Beth grinned.
Stephen laughed. “Catriona, I never told you this, but Eachann once told me, when we were lads, that he was going to marry you someday.”
Eachann cast Catriona a sheepish smile. She had never seen such a reluctant look on his face before. She gazed at him curiously.
“It’s true,” Eachann said. “When I was readying to leave for England.”
She bit her lip, feeling love swell in her chest. He’d known for that long that she was the one for him?
“But I thought you went to Crieff last night with Gregor Murray,” Beth said. She stepped back, confused. “I thought you spent the night with Lady Therese. Is the lady well?”
“Aye, she’s fine, and she was never imperiled, either,” Catriona assured, sensing her new husband—husband—tense beside her at the mere mention of Murray’s name. “Gregor Murray lied to me. It’s a long story, and one I don’t wish to tell right now, for it will spoil this fine day.”
“And the day has turned fine indeed,” Stephen said. He waggled his eyebrows. “I sup
pose you want the cottage to yourselves?”
Catriona couldn’t help blushing at the insinuation.
Eachann grinned. “Nay, brother. Laird MacLaren has given me a sennight of leave and has named us tenants of Old Man Angus’ cottage down the lane. With some cleaning, it should be in good enough repair to move into today.”
“You leave me?” Beth asked, frowning.
She took Catriona’s hands in hers, squeezing. Catriona squeezed Beth in return.
“Nay, I’ll be nearby. This will be good for you and Stephen. You’ll be able to make this your home now.”
“I suppose you’ll still be close,” Beth conceded, though Catriona could sense her sister’s thoughts. They wouldn’t have each other for gossip late at night as they darned stockings or mended clothing by the fire. Sad as she was, however, they could still visit, and they would have the space they needed to rear their own children.
She felt Eachann squeeze her hand. She smiled. He appreciated her deflection from Gregor and Therese.
Beth smiled, then gripped Catriona’s arm, and Stephan finished lacing up his boots.
“Wife, go announce the tidings to the village whilst I get the sheep out to the southern pasture,” Stephen said to Beth, placing a kiss on her lips. “No doubt everyone able will help set that old cottage to rights. I’ll be along as soon as the animals are put out to pasture.”
Eachann pulled Catriona beside him at the threshold of the empty cottage, the villagers behind them. Many had come to assist as Stephen had suspected. He looked down the lane. Stephen was jogging toward them with a toolbox in hand, his sheep settled in their field.
A bed, old but sturdy, sat to one corner, and a table in need of repair was crooked in the center of the floor. The hearth was dusty, with old coals from Angus’ last fire still crumpled in the grate. Footprints of village children who had played in the empty home were smudged in the dirt on the floor.
He watched her take off the mantle he’d draped over her for their walk down the lane and hang it on the hook by the door. He knew he wore a satisfied smile on his hardened face and for once, didn’t care how such an expression contorted his scar.
“Our home, husband.”
He drew her in for a grateful kiss in the open doorway, the villagers below them erupting in salutations and bawdy jests. He grinned against her lips, taking her fingers in his coarse ones.
“I can nay wait to start a life with you,” she admitted as he separated.
“Neither can I,” he returned.
The villagers filed in past them, women bustling through with scarves around their faces to sweep out the dust. Men began fixing shutters and thatching. Catriona joined the women, hauling out the old mattress to beat it. Eachann and his brother hammered fasteners into the shutter hinges. In a morning, the cottage was put to rights. Little things, like cracks in the hearth stones, could be mortared in on the morrow. But stew was set to simmering on a bar over the fire, and they had extra mantles to drape upon the mattress until bed clothes could be sewn.
Eachann closed the door upon the last villager, who delivered a loaf of bread, and turned around. Alone, finally, both of them simply stood and gazed at one another.
“Mrs. Donnachaidh,” he addressed her.
She blushed.
He walked to her and took her hand, lifting it to kiss it. He pulled at the knot on the scarf tying back her hair so that the tresses, tangled from their night of riding and a day of cleaning, tumbled down her back. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, from her hands to her shoulders and back down again, leaning in to kiss her gently.
“Surely I should wash,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Nay. You’re perfect.”
He reached around her, combing his fingers into her hair to cradle her head to him, and kissed her once more.
“Goodness, but my hair is a mess…”
He chuckled. “It’s bonny as it is.” He kissed her yet again, pecking at the corners of her mouth.
She sucked in shallow breaths and he felt her hands twisting her apron nervously.
“Are you all right?” he said, soft and low, as his hand in her hair now took to rubbing her back.
She nodded, then shook her head, then exhaled.
“What is it, lass?”
“I… I nay know what to do.”
He stopped and tipped his head to look at her eyes.
“I’ll always aim to please you in bed, Caty. You’ll learn what to do, and I’ll be patient. But if you want to wait, I’ll wait with you.”
“You would do that?” she breathed, looking up into his eyes.
He nodded a curt, militaristic nod. “You be my wife, and by right I have duties, but I never want you to fear me as you did Gregor.” Saying the Murray heir’s name caused obvious distaste to screw his mouth up. “If it means I must wait, so be it.”
He landed a chaste peck on her lips, tipped a corner of his mouth up, though didn’t look her in the eye again, and let go. He moved the few paces across the cottage to the bed and sat, creaking the bed ropes. On a tired sigh, he stripped off his boots and stretched out on the mattress. He rolled away, onto his side.
“The stew smells good, lass,” he said. “I’ll take a wee rest until it’s ready…”
His voice faded away. After being up all night, fighting off Gregor, facing their lairds, and preparing a home all morning, he was soon breathing deeply and steadily.
Catriona’s heart fell. She was so confused. He would wait, even though it was clear he had been looking forward to the moment. Nay just looking forward to it. If she didn’t know any better, his sigh and descent to the bed mattress had been full of disappointment, even if he summoned a smile for her in spite of it all.
She looked down at her hands. Her stomach was still buzzing. She wanted him. She had been eager to tie the knot on the roadside. And now, she feared, she had made him feel rejected.
Ah, but why is this so difficult?
He was deep asleep. And if she were honest, she was exhausted. She finally moved to the hearth, their hearth, and swung out the metal bar holding the cauldron to stir the stew, an expensive piece of utility Eachann had bought from their neighbors who had two. He had paid for it out of his own purse, never once asking her to part with the money from Laird Murray. And she knew his coin had been hard to come by.
Catriona pulled the coins out of her pockets and set them on the mantle, then retrieved his tartan from the hook by the door. In spite of it all, Eachann had the right idea. She was nearly swaying on her feet, she was so exhausted.
She came hesitantly to the bed. How often had she thought of them abed together? Eachann released a soft snore. He was heavily in his slumber. She smiled. She would make him realize he could never be like Gregor. Time and again, he had shown her he respected her.
She lay down, her mind a swirl of thoughts, restless, and felt his body heat against her shoulder. He was so tired, the added jostling and creaking of the bed ropes did nothing to stir him. But soon, as she relaxed, his smell of leather, of man, filled her nose and her mind. The exhaustion caught up with her, and she dozed off.
Eachann sat by the hearth on a stool. He watched Catriona breathe softly, snuggled in his tartan mantle as she was, her face aglow in the flames dancing shadows around the cottage. It was black as pitch outside. They had both slept for a long time and day had already turned to night again. He looked down at his empty bowl, a mismatched wooden dish donated by neighbors. They had two. He would make them more when he acquired the tools, as well as a decent table and furniture. If only he had the tools already, he would go out to the cowshed and wile away his time over the lathe.
Aye, the cowshed. He got up to go.
He swallowed the taste of Catriona’s rejection and placed his bowl in the wash bucket, then retreated outside. She hadn’t truly rejected him, he knew that, but her hesitation had given him pause. Could it be that Caty, caught up in the moment of her rescue, now regretted the decision? Had he playe
d a hero, making her heart burgeon with love in the moment, only for the luster to wear off afterward? Was she repulsed by his ragged scar? Most women were, even the ones who had been willing, or so it seemed.
He had no tools to distract himself, but he could at least visit Ghost to make sure he was secure. He could barely remember unsaddling the beast that morn, he had been so exhausted, and walked out into the night, closing the door on his sleeping woman.
He had been surprised upon awaking to find her curled against him, sleeping. At first, he remained beside her, basking in the feel of her, remembering the level of comfort they had once had as children and feeling, in that moment, that they had achieved that comfort once again. Until the unease of her rejection became too much for him to bear. He rotated his shoulders as he walked, trying to ease his tension. God, but some good, hard sparring would do wonders to exhaust his sword arm and eat up the hours, until he could go to sleep again.
If he couldn’t swive it out with his woman, he would rather sweat it out in the yard instead against an opponent. Pray the dawn came soon so that he could take his leave and return to the castle yards.
He pushed open the gate to the cowshed, thinking of the shed he and Stephen had called home for so long. Ghost nickered lazily upon his entrance, greeting him, and in the dark, Eachann found him and stroked his nose. He moved about the shed, grabbing the supports, and giving them stout jerks to see if there were weaknesses needing repair. Then the gate to the shed creaked open again.
“Eachann?”
Catriona’s voice was soft.
“Aye, Catriona.” He could barely see her outline as she neared him. He heard the gentle swish of her skirts.
“I woke and you were leaving.”
“I’m just checking on Ghost. Go back to bed and worry nay.”
“Might I stay with you instead?” Catriona asked.
He fell silent for a moment. She worried he might say no.
One Scottish Knight: A Medieval Novella (Perthshire Series) Page 7