* * *
Before Catriona could blink, James took her by the arm and pulled her through the tent flap and outside the makeshift infirmary. Cold wind slammed into them, whipping their hair and tearing at James’ plaid and Catriona’s cloak. A light drizzle still fell and the air was thick with woodsmoke from the kettle fires. The acrid smoke stung Catriona’s eyes, but when she slowed to knuckle them, James kept hurrying her along.
He slanted a look at her as they hastened past the spring where she’d washed earlier.
“We’ll be there anon.” He didn’t say where, but she saw that he was leading toward another tent. Colorful standards flew above this tent and the banners were Lowland.
And when they reached the tent and he ushered her inside, she saw that it was a refreshment pavilion. Oak benches ranged around the walls and several trestle tables stood in the tent’s middle. Catriona could only stare at the rich variety of delicacies. Baskets of wheaten loaves were placed on the tables and she even spotted bowls of oysters and whelks, though they didn’t tempt her. There were also platters of cold spiced capon and trays of wild roast boar.
Heavy silver candelabrums should’ve illuminated the offerings, but the tapers had gutted, leaving the smoky tinge of melted wax to haze the air.
The tent was also empty.
Catriona dug in her heels just inside the door flap. “I’m not hungry if that’s why you brought me here.”
He scowled at her. “I brought you here so we could be alone. The worthies who were using this tent rode away with the King. And the commoners yet remaining are too busy bending their necks to gawk at the slaughter to think of their bellies.” His words held a fierce edge. “Our own people won’t come here-”
“There’s a flaw in your thinking.” Catriona folded her arms. She ignored how her heart beat in her throat. How she’d responded – again - to his kisses in the heather, the feel of his hard muscled body pressed against hers. “I have no wish to be alone with you. You could have told me about Lady Scandia outside the infirmary tent.”
He took a step toward her. “Nae, I couldn’t have done.”
She lifted her chin, proudly. “I do not melt in rain and wind. Truth be told, I thrive in such weathers.”
“So does every Highlander last I heard.” He glared at her. “This is no’ about you. It’s about my clan.” He came closer, his voice hardening. “I’ll no’ have them hear the name Scandia. For sure, no’ on such a dark day as this.”
Catriona let her gaze pass over him, lingering on his broad, powerful shoulders and the sword at his hip. “I can’t believe you’re afraid of a young woman who’s not just beautiful and your own kin, I’m thinking, but who is also as wispy as a moonbeam. However solid she might appear at times.”
He flushed. “Scandia is a bogle. A ghost. She is no’ a young woman.”
“But she was.”
“Aye, she lived – once. And I would that she’d ne’er been born. See you, each time she appears, tragedy befalls the clan. There are no exceptions to the blackness she brings.”
“Perhaps she appears to help you?” Catriona liked that idea. “I’ve heard of such family bogles. They’re always long-passed family members who show themselves to warn of ill things to come, not to cause them.”
“Scandia is a doom-bringer.” He cut the air with a hand, his eyes glinting in the dimness. “I’ll grant she might no’ have set out to be such a harbinger, but her death made her one. She jumped from the Lady Tower. Her death unleashed one of the worst disasters our clan has e’er seen.”
“Dear saints.” Catriona couldn’t believe the ghost wished the clan ill. She’d seemed so proud of James the night he’d rallied his men. “Who was she?”
“If you knew her history, you wouldn’t want to know.”
“Then tell me.” Catriona prodded.
For a moment, she thought James would push her aside and stride from the tent. He looked that angry. But he only rammed both hands through his hair and then heaved an annoyed sigh.
“Scandia lived hundreds of years ago.” He took her by the shoulders then, looking down at her as if he was about to say something so terrifying she’d run from the tent. “She was the daughter of a Cameron warrior and a Viking woman, given to the warrior as a war prize. Those who have seen her say she has raven tresses and alabaster skin, and that she looks much like Isobel.
“I know that to be true, because I’ve seen her.” He looked down at her, his gaze intense. “I also know you saw her on the field this morn. You mistook her for my sister.”
“I think she wanted to stand with the other clanswomen in support.” Catriona was sure of it. “She looked sad when I saw her.”
A muscle jerked in James’s jaw, but he said nothing.
When he spoke, his words were harsh. “You are too kind to her. If she cared for our weal, she wouldn’t have done what she did. See you” – he took a breath – “Scandia was betrothed to the son of a great Norse warlord. The marriage was to secure peace between her father and the Viking raiders who were her mother’s people.
“They were a band of unruly Northmen who ne’er stopped harrying our coast. It was hoped that Scandia’s hand would appease them. Her father also agreed to allow them to retain the land they’d seized and were beginning to settle, against the clan’s will. But” – he paused when a gust of wind shook the door flap – “even such an alliance, so beneficial to the invaders, couldn’t change that they were pagans and rough, bloodthirsty men.
“The Viking who would have been Scandia’s husband, a young man called Donar Strong-Sword, was reputed to be especially fearsome. Clan legend tells that Scandia wept on her knees, begging her father not to give her to such a ruthless and savage man.”
Catriona frowned, not liking the tale.
“Scandia’s father refused to unsay the pledge he’d made to Donar. Such alliances, between warring parties were known to bring peace if not happiness and he had to think of the greater good.” He spoke those words as if they soured his tongue. “So-o-o, when Scandia saw herself bound to a man she loathed and feared-”
“She sprang to her death.” Catriona finished for him, the thought hurting her as if someone had rammed a blade through her ribs, piercing her heart.
“So it was, aye.” James was watching her, carefully. “On the day Donar Strong-Sword and his entourage rode to Castle Haven to claim Scandia, she ran to the top the Lady Tower to await his approach. Then, when Donar and his warriors appeared, she leapt from the battlements, dying at his feet rather than becoming is bride.”
“Dear God….” Catriona blinked, stinging heat pricking her eyes. She shuddered, the image flashing across her mind as if she’d seen Scandia’s plunge. “I’ve never heard anything so horrible.”
James arched a brow. “The worst came later when Scandia’s father took vengeance on Donar and his people. He blamed them for her death, you see. And his rage was great, some say bottomless. He sent out the fiery cross, gathering his fiercest warriors and all that would rally to him from allied clans. Together, they set torch to the Norse settlement, burning every living soul, man and beast. They chased down those who tried to flee, slaying them where they stood and leaving their bodies for the ravens.
“When word reached Donar’s homeland, the Norsemen’s wrath was equally terrible, and swift. They came at once, scores of their dragon-ships bringing their own best fighters. They raged along our shores for years, bringing death and destruction not just to Camerons, but to many innocent clans who had the ill fortune to dwell within striking distance of the coast. Before every such terror-”
“If you’re going to say that Scandia appeared, I say she did so because she was appalled.” Catriona straightened, bristling. “Not because she wished such horrors to happen.”
“I ne’er said she desired such doom” – he took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze – “only that she stirs the like.”
“Because she took her own life?” Outrage whipped through C
atriona.
“So it is believed.” James proved his stubbornness. “All know such deaths leave darkness behind them.”
“I know you’re unfair.” She wrenched away from him and grabbed the tent flap, flinging it wide. “I’ve known that for a while now. And I also know why Scandia is sad. The men of her clan blame her for their own hot-headed folly. She sought peace and took it the only way she could.
“You” – she threw a glare over her shoulder as she stepped out into the rain – “and your ancestors stole her rest. You are the Doom of the Camerons, not that poor, anguished maid whose name you blacken.”
“Damn it all to hell!” James’ roar echoed inside the pavilion. A shattering crash, perhaps a fallen wine ewer, underscored his wrath, his anger only making Catriona hurry faster from the tent.
But not because she feared his rage.
Her heart pounded and the blood was roaring in her ears for a very different reason. A good reason. Because – she nipped around the edge of the infirmary tent, then stood, tipping back her head to let the drizzle cool her face – Scandia’s tale gave her an idea.
And it was a wonderful plan, she decided, bending to pick a sprig of heather.
She held the blooms to her heart, feeling better than she had in weeks. She’d soon show James her mettle. And she had more in reserve, waiting for his next assault.
She’d not be cast aside again. She’d use her every womanly wile and her wits to ensure that no clan strife and warring would ever again bring grief to the glen.
Men could be such fools.
But women only desired peace.
And a few other pleasantries that every female with blood in her veins desired. She certainly wouldn’t be denying hers. Not after James had shown her how delicious carnal delights could be. She’d only had a brief taste and she hungered for so very much more.
How exciting if his kisses, and what she now knew followed them, might settle the glen feuding in ways a man’s sword or ax never could.
If Isobel and Kendrew’s sister, Lady Norn agreed, perhaps they could persuade the men of the glen to see things their way.
It was worth a try.
* * *
“An alliance?”
Isobel didn’t hide her skepticism as she, Catriona, and Marjory stood in the shelter of an abandoned cook stall set in the trees behind the infirmary tent. “The three of us banding together to conspire against our men? I swear to you, the effort would only turn our hair gray and put worry-bags beneath our eyes. Cameron men only wed daughters of allied chieftains, friends. Not since Lady Edina-”
“Lady Edina was the last woman of a feuding clan to marry into the Mackintoshes, too.” Marjory couldn’t hold back a shiver of distaste. “Every chieftain since her long-suffering husband has vowed to never again wed a shrewish, unwilling wife. Kendrew would sooner-”
“I don’t see it as conspiring.” Catriona wasn’t sure that was true, but she kept her doubt to herself. “And” – she turned to Marjory – “you’re both overlooking one crucial key to the plan’s success.”
Lifting her chin – and wishing she’d just bathed and donned her finest raiments – Catriona held out her arms and turned in a slow circle. She forced herself to forget her mussed hair and rumpled, stained clothes and recall that she was a high-born daughter of a great and noble house, the sister of one of the most respected chieftains in all the Highlands and the Isles. As, she knew, were Isobel Cameron and Marjory – Lady Norn – Mackintosh.
When she’d turned full circle, she stopped, setting her hands on her hips. “Tell me true, ladies.” She couldn’t keep her lips from twitching. “Do I look like a shrew who’d go unwilling to her husband’s bed?”
Isobel’s face pinkened. “Nae….”
Lady Norn arched a golden brow, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “Anything but, by all the Valkyries.”
“Exactly.” Catriona nodded, smiling. “And” – her excitement was beginning to grow – “neither of you look like angry, shriveled-up women either.”
“But….” Isobel threw a glance over her shoulder, back towards the infirmary. “I’m still not sure it would work. Look what happened after the alliances with Lady Edina. The feuding only worsened and-… Camerons have an even longer history with arranged marriages going wrong.”
“I know.” Catriona reached to squeeze Isobel’s arm, knowing the other woman would understand that she meant Scandia’s fatal match with Donar Strong-Sword. “But we are not those women of the past. We are our own selves and” – she glanced at Marjory, including her – “our marriages wouldn’t be true arranged unions. We will make our future husbands want us.
“We’ll seduce and beguile them until” – her heart sang with the brilliance of it – “they are so besotted that they think wedding us is their idea.”
Silence greeted her.
Then Marjory’s lips began curving in a smile. “I wouldn’t mind considering such a plan.”
“Then we shall!” Catriona could have hugged her.
Isobel still looked dubious. “They might become suspicious if we all-”
“We must start with just one of us.” Marjory looked at Catriona as she spoke. “This was your idea, so perhaps you should be the first bride?”
Catriona swallowed. Ice floes came to mind. “I-”
“It might work if you plied your charms on Hugh.” Isobel finally came around. “He would take you in a heartbeat and thank all the gods.”
“Hugh?” Marjory looked from Isobel to Catriona, then back at Isobel. “I was thinking James might suit her better. He’s chieftain, after all.”
“James would never wed a woman from a feuding clan.” Isobel shook her head. “He’s too certain such unions bring nothing but doom.”
Catriona felt her delight dimming.
“I will be the first, agreed. Though I have no wish to wed Hugh.” She took a deep breath, knowing her happiness depended on being courageous. “I will persuade James to wed me.”
There.
She’d said it.
“James?” Isobel’s rounded eyes didn’t inspire confidence.
But the sudden laughter in Marjory’s did. “Odin’s blessings on you, then!”
“Odin’s blessings!” Catriona repeated the wish, her heart thumping.
Then she held out the heather she’d picked earlier. “We must swear on it, vowing on these heather blooms, that we’ll each seek to win forever peace in the glen by winning the heart of one of our enemy’s men.”
“I vow it.” Marjory placed her hand over Catriona’s, closing her fingers around Catriona’s fist so that they both held the heather.
“And I.” Isobel did the same.
“Then we are agreed.” Catriona stepped back, kissing the blooms and them tossing the sprig high in the air, letting the wind carry it away. “It is done.”
The words spoken, she reached up to remove her amber necklace and placed it in Isobel’s hands.
“Take this” – she closed Isobel’s fingers around the precious stones – “back to Castle Haven tonight and show it to James. Tell him you found the necklace on the field and you know it is mine.
“He knows I always wear it, so he will believe you.” Catriona raised her hands, palms outward, and backed away when Isobel tried to return the necklace. “Nae – you must keep it, for now.”
“But how will a necklace help our plan?” Isobel frowned.
Catriona smiled, the idea seeming more perfect by the moment. “You must insist that James return the ambers to me at Blackshore. He will, I’m sure. And then-”
“You will seduce him.” That was Marjory.
“Nae.” Catriona shook her head, her whole body tingling with anticipation. “I will allow him to seduce me.”
And this time she’d make sure nothing went wrong.
Chapter 19
Later that night, James entered his great hall and stopped almost as soon as he’d stepped from the entry arch into the vast room’s smoke-hazed reaches
. Something prickled his nape and breathed gooseflesh along his arms. But aside from less men lining the long tables – the slain had been washed and awaited burial in the chapel, and the injured rested in the solar and elsewhere, under Beathag’s care – he couldn’t see anything that would stir his warrior’s instincts, warning him that something was afoot.
Beside him, Hector growled low in his throat, the dog’s hackles rising.
Yet nothing appeared different than any other night.
Almost every torch blazed and a well-doing fire chased the worst of the evening’s chill. The tantalizing smell of roasting meats filled the air. Men crowded the trestle benches, eating and talking, and some had gathered in a corner, arguing loudly over a game of dice. And, as so often in autumn, wind-blown rain lashed at the walls, rattling shutters, lifting the edges of tapestries, and guttering candles on the tables near the embrasures.
Colin stood in one of the darker alcoves, his back to the hall and his hands braced on the window splay. He’d unlatched the shutters and appeared to be staring out at the cold, wet night. He was grimacing, for James could see the white of Colin’s teeth in the dimness. Or so he thought until he looked deeper into the shadows and saw the plump kitchen lass on her knees before Colin.
“Damn fool!” James quickly turned away and started down the broad aisle between the long tables, the prickles at the back of his neck worsening the closer he came to the raised dais end of the hall.
Something was amiss there.
He could taste it on the back of his tongue.
Trickery or an ambush – he knew the feeling well. And the awareness-chills raced along his skin, wariness tightening his chest, humming in his veins. He saw why the instant he mounted the dais steps.
Catriona’s amber necklace lay on the high table before his sister.
James froze on the top step, staring at the gleaming stones. The humming in his veins became a great roar. Narrowing his eyes, he started forward again, recognizing the serene look on Isobel’s face. She always appeared most poised when she was up to something. And just now her calm signaled that she was as battle-ready as any warrior.
Sins of a Highland Devil: Highland Warriors Book 1 Page 28