“What would you hae me do, Father?”
“Prevent the marriage. If he disna marry, he’ll hae to return to the king’s service, and all will be well. I’ve bought you time, lad. They canna wed for at least four weeks. Stop the wedding in any way you can.”
“As you wish, Father.” Blane ducked his head in a quick bow and turned, leaving Artair alone.
For now, he’d play along. Let Connor think he’d won. Wait until their guard was lowered. See what Blane could accomplish.
If his son wasn’t successful, there were always other options.
CHAPTER 8
Anxiety was eating away at Cate. She’d been dressed and ready for at least half an hour, waiting to go down to the betrothal celebration. At this point, she almost wished she had agreed to go with Mairi to Anabella’s solar to wait for Connor, but the thought of facing that woman without Connor at her side had been more than she wanted to deal with. This waiting, however, was turning out to be almost as bad.
Nervously patting her hair, she wondered for at least the tenth time if she hadn’t made a big mistake. Rosalyn and Mairi had wanted to put her hair up in braided coils. She’d refused, telling them there was no way she was going to a medieval party wearing a Princess Leia hairstyle. She really needed to work harder at monitoring what came out of her mouth.
Cate chose instead to let her hair hang loose, pulling back just the sides from her face and tying it in place with her only hair ornament, the little strip of cloth she’d used since her first day here.
The hairstyle discussion had been bad enough, but the idea of wearing that little hat with the goofy chin strap they’d brought was where she drew the line. Anyway, since she was from a foreign land, more foreign than most of them could guess, everyone would just have to accept her doing things a little differently.
What she wouldn’t give for a mirror. The linen shift next to her skin felt odd. For this outfit she had finally agreed to forgo her bra, an undergarment that endlessly fascinated the curious Mairi. On reflection, it had been a good decision. The emerald green overdress laced up in such a way that she felt as if her breasts in the linen shift were being served up on platter. The bra straps would have shown, no mistake about it, as both the dress and the shift fell wide on her shoulders.
Once again, Cate anxiously ran her hands down the front of the overdress, feeling the heavy embroidered patterns that covered the bodice and skirt of the soft wool frock. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t Connor’s opinion of the way she looked that concerned her, but rather what all those people she’d met last night might think. Deep down, though, even she wasn’t buying that argument. She wanted to look good for him.
“So stupid, Cate. He’s just a man.”
He was like all men, interested in her only for what she could do for him. In his case, his only concern was to marry her to save his sister. Admittedly a noble cause but still totally his cause. She, Cate, meant nothing; was completely interchangeable. She could be any woman in the world. Well, any woman who hadn’t been alive seven years ago when Connor had his temper tantrum, at least.
Lost in thought, Cate jumped at the sound of a light tap on her door. One last time she smoothed her dress and hair before answering the knock. When she did, what she saw standing there left her speechless.
“Good eve’n.” Connor lifted his head from a courtly bow and stood, simply staring at her.
He was magnificent; she could think of no other description. His hair fell softly about his face, emphasizing his strong features and fascinating eyes. Her fingers itched to touch the tiny braid at the side of his face, to tuck it behind his ear. He was wearing a crisp linen shirt, laced just to his throat, and over that a plaid, wrapped about him as usual, but this one was obviously newer than the one she’d seen him in before, with more vibrant colors. A large emerald pin held the plaid at his shoulder.
Her eyes dropped to his legs, strongly muscled, covered in fine dark hair above the soft leather boots he wore. Unbidden, the old question about what a Scotsman wore under his kilt came to mind.
He cleared his throat, smiling at her as if he’d read her thoughts.
That horribly embarrassing blush crept up her throat and onto her face, accompanied by an overwhelming need to say something, anything, to fill the silence.
“I hope you didn’t mind coming to my room to meet me. I mean, I suppose it’s not really proper for you to be in my bedroom. Your sister offered me the use of your aunt’s solar, but I didn’t feel comfortable with that, not with your aunt and all.”
Clamping her mouth shut to cease the flow of nervous babble took effort and she had to consciously stop her hands from smoothing the skirt yet again.
“I’ve been in yer bedchamber before, remember?” That half smile again, the one that made her heart skip a beat. “I dinna realize Rosalyn had a solar here. I’d thought she just kept a small room.” He tilted his head and looked at her questioningly, arching that eyebrow.
“No, I meant your aunt Anabella’s solar.”
His eyes hardened immediately, and his whole body stiffened. “That woman’s no my aunt. She’s my uncle’s wife, no more.”
He shut her out. Just like that. Anger flowed from him like a living thing.
Flustered, unable to imagine what had gone wrong so quickly, Cate could only think of escape. “Well, I guess we should go down. I’m ready,” she said, anxious to move beyond whatever it was she had done.
“No, yer no ready yet.” He shook his head and brushed past her, entering her room as she looked about in confusion.
It must be her hair. She should have listened to Rosalyn.
“Ah, here we are.” He moved across the room, stopping at the table beside her bed where he picked up the pendant that had guided him to her in the beginning. “Yer no wearing yer betrothal gift.”
He walked behind her and gently lifted her hair. Cate was unable to resist when he raised her hand, placing it on her head to hold her hair out of the way as he draped the chain around her throat, fastening the clasp at the back of her neck.
“Now yer ready.” He moved his hands to her bare shoulders, resting them lightly there.
Her body responded as one huge sensory receptor. She could feel the weight of his hands on her shoulders and the brush of his breath on the top of her head. Even the hard metal of the pendant felt unusually warm where it touched her skin.
Cate slowly lowered her arm as Connor, still behind her with one hand burning into her shoulder, reached around her to lightly touch a finger to the stone where it hung nestled just above her breasts.
Her breath caught in her throat.
His hand remained there for a moment before he spoke. “This will serve notice to everyone tonight of who and what you are.” His voice was low and husky.
“And what am I?” She couldn’t believe how breathless she sounded.
His eyes sparkled dangerously as he moved to her side. “The betrothed of Connor MacKiernan.”
He touched the jewel he wore pinned over his heart and she realized that it matched the stone she wore exactly.
She gratefully took the elbow he extended, allowing him to escort her down to the great hall below. There had been a moment, with him close to her, his hand on the jewel at her throat, when she’d thought he might kiss her again, but the moment had passed.
Her own fingers lifted to touch the pendant at her neck. Betrothal gift, he’d called it. There was no corner antiques store here where he could have accidentally found such a set. They would have been made by special request. It occurred to her that the necklace looked old even here in its own time, as did the matching pin he wore. She suspected they had their own story.
Sneaking a glance at the handsome profile of the man who walked with her, she wondered if he might one day share that story with her, especially now that she felt she was somehow a part of it.
* * *
The music had been playing for hours, it seemed to Cate, while serving people brought co
urse after course of food, much of which she couldn’t identify. Some of it was even fairly tasty. Her only real complaint with the meal was directed at the drink. As best she could tell, these people drank alcohol with every meal from the moment they woke up to the time they went to bed. So far, she had managed to get them to bring her water with her meals, although they looked at her as if she were insane when she asked for it.
Tonight, however, everyone was busy, running back and forth with food, and she was left with the choice of ale or spiced wine. She had finally given in and had a bit of the spiced wine, but it tasted harshly bitter, and while it helped quench her thirst, it didn’t sit well on her nervous stomach. Nor did it cool her down. If anything, she felt even hotter. With all the bodies and the large fire, it was quite warm in the great hall, and her lovely wool dress, which had seemed just right in her room, now felt exceedingly uncomfortable. Beads of perspiration slowly rolled down her bodice and she could feel a headache starting.
Cate sat at the large table on the dais tonight, Connor on her left and Rosalyn on her right. Artair and Anabella, who she’d thankfully managed to avoid so far this evening, were seated farther down the large table, at the center. Long tables were placed all about the hall, filled with laughing, talking people, who she assumed must live in or around the castle. Duncan had been at one of those tables when they had first entered.
People milled about, speaking to one another between courses, snatches of conversation drifting all around her. She was uncomfortably aware of the curious stares directed her way and knew many of the conversations were no doubt about her.
Cate felt an irrational disappointment that Connor had not spoken to her since they’d been seated. He had, in fact, acted as if she weren’t even there. It was all the more confusing since he’d seemed quite attentive when he’d come to her room to collect her. That had ended the moment they entered the hall.
It shouldn’t matter to her in the least. But it did. Worse yet, she wasn’t sure whether she was more upset by his lack of attention or by her response to it.
At this moment, Connor appeared deeply involved in a discussion with the young man on his left, who Rosalyn had told her was his cousin Lyall. Rosalyn herself had risen and moved down from the dais, where she was speaking to Duncan, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Even Mairi was nowhere to be seen.
Cate’s dress was too hot, she wanted some water and she felt abandoned. All these strangers were staring at her and talking about her. In some small, still logical part of her brain, Cate recognized that she was working herself into an emotional state. Although she had no explanation for her intense feelings, she didn’t seem to be able to do anything to stop them.
This was so unlike her. She had to calm down. She could barely breathe in here.
She remembered a large balcony off this hall from earlier today when Connor had taken her on a tour of the grounds, and thought to make her way there now. Knowing no one would miss her if she escaped to grab a breath of air, she quietly rose and made her way to the side exit.
She walked to the end of the balcony and leaned far out over the railing, inhaling deeply in the moist, cool evening. She could smell the green forest that lurked just beyond the faint circle of light cast by the torches. Although she could still hear muted strains of the music from inside, here it felt cool, quiet and peaceful. It was exactly what she’d needed.
Cate had just begun to relax when she felt a hand at her waist. Startled, she whirled around to find herself facing the blond man who had sat next to Artair last night.
He immediately removed his hand and, backing away, held the hand up as if to stop her from protesting.
“I’d no wanted to alarm you, Cousin, but I feared yer falling over the rail.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Cousin?” She moved forward, away from the railing, yet not toward this man. There was something about him that made her uncomfortable.
“Blane MacKiernan.” He bowed his head slightly, watching her all the while. “Eldest son of Artair, laird of the MacKiernan. If you were to marry Connor, you would be my cousin.”
In the dim light he watched her closely as if he were attempting to assess her reaction to him.
“When,” she corrected. “When I marry Connor. Not if.”
He flashed that humorless smile again. “From yer speech in the hall last night, you seem an unusually intelligent woman.” He paused, once again seeming to evaluate her. “I have a proposition I think you’ll find sensible.”
“What do you mean, a proposition?” Cate asked. She knew she sounded suspicious, but the last proposition she’d listened to had landed her in the Middle Ages for a four-week tour of duty.
“I would propose that instead of marrying my cousin, you entertain my own suit for marriage.” He watched her closely over the rim of his goblet as he took a long drink.
“What?” She forced a small laugh. “Surely you’re joking. Wouldn’t that be a terribly unkind thing to do to your own cousin?”
Blane shrugged. “He’s a grown man, he’d survive it.” The cold smile was back. “He survived Anabella’s rejection of him.” He took another drink from the goblet he held.
“Anabella?” Anabella was the betrothed who had married another man? That certainly explained a few things. “She rejected him for his own uncle?”
“You dinna ken that? Granted, she’s a spoiled bitch with a terrible temperament, but she’s no stupid. My father is the MacKiernan, laird of the clan. He could provide her with everything she wanted. Connor’s but a warrior. What could he ever hope to give her? A crumbling castle with no wealth? She made the sensible choice.” He took another drink. “The same kind of choice I’m now offering to you.”
“How could your father do that to his own nephew? Didn’t he realize that she was supposed to marry Connor?” There had to be a reasonable explanation for that sort of behavior.
“Of course he did. Everyone did.” He shrugged again. “But my father is the laird. He wanted a young, beautiful, willing wife. Anabella was eager to be that.”
Blane’s callous attitude appalled her.
“Forgive my confusion, but I still don’t understand why you’d want to marry me. Why would you make such an offer to someone you don’t even know?” This had certainly been her week for weird marriage proposals.
“I canna believe you dinna ken yer own worth.” That smile again, still not reaching his eyes. Moving closer to her, he tossed his goblet over the edge of the balcony and took her upper arms in his hands. “Yer a desirable woman, a mixture of untamed beauty and intelligence. I’m no aware of any man who could resist that.” As he lowered his head to hers, Cate placed her hands on his chest and shoved, freeing herself to move backward, up against the rail.
He was an attractive man, tall, blond and well built. Many women would be drawn to his sensuous features. He radiated an air of self-assurance. But there was something lingering behind his eyes that made her uncomfortable, something arrogant and intimidating, perhaps even devious.
He reminded her of someone else. Of Richard. Other than basic build and blond hair, they didn’t look that much alike, but they certainly shared an attitude. And they both had that look.
It suddenly struck her that she hadn’t thought of Richard even once since she’d been here, and did so now only when confronted with this man who made her so uncomfortable, who made her skin crawl when he had his hands on her. Dealing with this man would require caution.
“Well, of course I’m very flattered by your most interesting offer, but I’m afraid I’m unable to accept.” She tried for a smile, but couldn’t quite manage one.
“No a sensible choice,” he chided as he edged closer to her. “Dinna think Connor will ever be laird of the MacKiernan. That will be mine.” The smile was back. “He may hae spent his early life believing that to be his path, but it’s no his fate. When his father died, my father became laird, and it’s I who’ll follow him.”
Cate’s curi
osity got the best of her.
“So, Connor’s father was the laird at one time? I thought that sort of thing passed from father to son.”
“The lairdship passes from strength to strength, as it should. Connor was but a bairn at the time.” His face took on the assessing look again. “So you see, I am the sensible choice. I’ll be able to give you a life he never will.”
“Well, that’s all very interesting, Blane, but really it has no bearing on my decision. I’m not marrying Connor because of his title or what he can give me.”
“Surely it’s no yer father’s life debt? He’s a world away from here. He’ll never ken what happens to you. You hae to make the best life for yerself.”
Obviously he didn’t easily accept rejection. She needed an irrefutable reason that even this stubborn man would acknowledge. Something like love? Since men didn’t understand it, they certainly couldn’t argue with it.
Cate took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm her racing heart. “Perhaps I can help you understand why my choice can’t be changed. You see, my arrival here wasn’t the first time I’d seen Connor. The first time I saw him, I was standing in my bedroom.” She had his attention now. “From that first moment, from the first time I heard his voice, it was clear he was the only man I’d follow to this place to marry. It was my own decision, not my father’s, that I come here to wed him. My father would never force a marriage on me that I didn’t want. He’s the kind of man who would do everything in his power to secure for me any man of my choosing.”
Technically every word of it was the truth. She smiled now, quite pleased with herself.
Until she saw the anger behind Blane’s smile. Cate scooted back against the railing as far as possible and began to nervously finger the pendant around her neck.
Blane’s eyes locked on the movement of her hand, his smile never faltering.
Thirty Nights With a Highland Husband Page 7