The Arrow

by Monica McCarty

  The gentle teasing suddenly vanished. His face grew painfully serious. She didn’t think there could have been a more awkward silence.

  Her heart wrenched. She felt like a fool. He’d never made her any promises. But he wouldn’t want to do that … would he?

  It would break her heart. Heartbreaker …

  That was what he did, wasn’t it? Not to me. This is different.

  “I hope I can do that,” he said.

  Cate’s chest was burning, but she told herself not to overreact. “How long were you with Isobel, Gregor?”

  His expression hardened. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “How long?”

  “Nearly two years.”

  “Did you bed other women when you were with her?”

  “No.” He seemed surprised by the admission.

  “That’s because when you care about someone you are loyal. And I have every intention of having you care about me very much.”

  Their eyes held, and something strong and powerful passed between them. Her chest swelled, knowing he already did. It wasn’t a promise, but it was the makings of one.

  He handed her the box. “This belongs to you now.”

  “What is it?”

  A small smile curved his mouth. He repeated her words back to her, “Why don’t you open it and see.”

  Lifting the top, she drew in her breath. On a bed of velvet was the ring his mother had worn until her death. It was gold, with a large oval crystal in the center and lions’ heads engraved on either side. Hand shaking, she took it out from the box.

  “It’s a charm stone,” he said. “There’s an engraving on the inside.” She held it up to the candle to read it. “ ‘S Rioghal mo dhream,’ ” he said for her.

  Royal is my race.

  The words taunted her. Stricken, she stared at the ring, not knowing what to do. She couldn’t put it on. Impostor.

  “It’s the motto of the MacGregors,” he explained.

  She blinked at him for a moment in confusion, and then sighed with relief. “Of course it is. I’ve seen it inscribed on your bow and sword.”

  The MacGregors claimed descent from Gregor, the son of King Kenneth MacAlpin, the first King of Scots. How could she have forgotten? For a moment, she’d thought it was a cruel jest.

  She slipped the ring on, holding her hand up and letting it catch the light. “I shall be honored to wear it.”

  “My mother would be happy.”

  Cate’s heart tugged at the memory of both women who would have been pleased. She wished they could be here to share this with her—with them. “Aye, she would,” Cate agreed.

  “Happy Christmas, Cate.”

  “Happy Christmas, Gregor.”

  And with one more kiss, he sent her back to her bed—alas, alone.

  Seventeen

  He grabbed her as she walked by and immediately pulled her into the darkened storeroom. She resisted—as he knew she would—but he was prepared and had her pinned face-forward against the door before she could draw her new dagger.

  But her resistance was halfhearted at best. She went lax against him, as he nuzzled her neck just below the ear the way she liked—the way that made her shudder.

  “You weren’t going to draw the knife on me, where you, Caty? Have you been practicing what I taught you?”

  She stretched into him like a cat, letting him feel the pressure of her body in all the right places. Especially her bottom. Aye, that was in exactly the right place. He was hard as a spike, and getting harder by the moment as her tight buttocks nudged him temptingly.

  “It would be no more than you deserve, startling me like that. Although I wouldn’t have gone for the ‘silent kill’—isn’t that what you called it? I was thinking something a little more painful.”

  Gregor couldn’t help smiling as his mouth traveled down the side of her neck to the slope of her shoulder. He liked her bloodthirsty. The thought of leaving her alone when he had to return to the battlefield scared the hell out of him, but at least when he left he’d be damned sure she could take care of herself.

  “Liar. You weren’t startled. You heard me coming and would have doomed our future progeny with an ill-placed thrust of your knee if I hadn’t been ready for you.”

  She stilled. “Children?” Something in her voice made his chest squeeze. She was trying to sound nonchalant, but he could hear the barely contained yearning. He knew how much a family meant to her. All he had to do was think of the foundlings. Although he had to admit, the fantasy family she’d created wasn’t so bad—except for Pip. Something would have to be done about him. But he wasn’t looking forward to the argument and tears the subject was sure to provoke.

  “That is the usual result of our nighttime activities,” he said gently.

  “You mean the nighttime activities you put a stop to four nights ago?”

  He chuckled, drawing his mouth over the warm, velvety-soft skin of her shoulder, inhaling the faint floral scent that lingered in her hair. “Whinging, Cate? You sound like Ruadh.”

  “His name is Eddie,” she said impatiently. “You can’t call him by the color of his hair.”

  “It’s a hell of a lot better than calling him after an English king. Besides, he likes it.”

  She heaved a weary sigh of resignation, and murmured something about him—and his sex in general—being ridiculous. He could almost imagine her doing the same thing twenty years from now. Bloody hell, they hadn’t even reached the altar yet, and they were already acting like an old married couple.

  Except for the fact that he had her pinned up against a door in a dark storeroom. Hell, he’d probably be doing that in twenty years, too. The thrill of anticipation running through him didn’t seem to show any signs of waning. It just seemed to be getting stronger.

  Knowing he could well be taking his life in his own hands, he released one of her wrists and covered her breast instead. Since she didn’t try to jab him or reach for her knife, he figured she liked what he was doing to her.

  When he was sure she wouldn’t try to flip him on his arse, he released her other hand and really went to work, letting his hands roam over every inch of that sweet body, as he kissed and sucked her neck and nape, and rubbed his erection against the bottom pressing against him.

  God, he was hot. She was burning him up. It had been too damned long. He should have thought of this earlier.

  “It’s not nighttime now, sweetheart,” he said in a half-groan.

  She echoed the sound as he slid his hand from her breast to between her legs.

  “I thought you wanted to wait until we were married?”

  “Aye, well, it turns out that’s too long.”

  He could almost hear her smiling. “It’s eight more days, Gregor.”

  The requisite dispensation had been procured even faster than he’d anticipated. Gregor had received a missive from the king this morning, informing him that it should arrive a few days in advance of Twelfth Night.

  Unfortunately, the king hadn’t just been offering his congratulations. He’d had other news to impart as well. News Gregor would rather not think about. He hated keeping secrets from Cate, even if it was for her own good. But it seemed he would finally have his opportunity to give her the justice she deserved. De Bohun was sending men to help with the defense of Perth Castle, under the leadership of his captain, Sir Reginald Fitzwarren.

  That wasn’t all. The first rumors of Gregor’s part in the Highland Guard—or Bruce’s Phantoms, as they were known across the countryside—had reached the king’s ears. It was only a matter of time before it spread, and the king warned him to be on alert. Gregor had even more of a reason to curse the blown mission at Berwick: Cate. What would this mean for her safety?

  But she cleared his troubled mind for him with her next words. “Gregor, can we? Uh …” He knew she was blushing, but he was too damned aroused to smile. “Like this?”

  Oh God, yes. “Would you like that?” he asked with remarkable c
almness, given that he was about ready to explode.

  He held her more firmly between her legs. Even through the heavy skirts he knew she was throbbing.

  She gasped. “Yes, I think I would.”

  He tossed up her skirts and untied his breeches faster than he’d ever done before, not wanting to take any chances that she would change her mind.

  He made a deep sound of raw pleasure as he slid his cock between her legs and let his length slide back and forth along her dampness.

  She was practically panting now, her body shaking with need. “Gregor, I can’t wait … that feels so good.”

  Needing to feel how good, he reached around front and dipped his hand between her legs. He slid one finger in, and then another. “You feel so silky soft and wet. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

  She was writhing against him, her whole body begging him. He couldn’t wait any longer. He came into her with a hard thrust that jarred her against the door.

  She cried out, not in pain but in pleasure. “Yes! Oh please, don’t stop.”

  With every thrust she gave back every bit as fiercely as he did, urging him with the press of her body and her inciting words. Harder. Make it harder. Faster. You feel so good … so big.

  He lost control. He lost where he stopped and she began. He couldn’t stop. He drove into her over and over with all the passion and all the unnamed emotion inside him that had been fighting to come out. He held nothing back, and for the first time in his life Gregor felt completely free.

  They came together in a conflagration and explosion of raw energy that rocked and quaked, destroying everything that had come before. There was only the woman coming apart around him. Now and forever.

  Two days after the first time Gregor had surprised her in the storeroom, Cate finished the last few adjustments on her clothes and hair. Fortunately, she’d been dressed for practice and the damage he’d done in his eagerness was easily repaired. With the weather clear for the first time in days, she’d been on her way to go for a ride with Pip, when Gregor had caught her in the stairwell and dragged her into the storage room under the stairs that held the casks of wine and ale.

  “How do I look?” she asked, letting the end of the plait she’d just finished drop down her back.

  He looked her up and down, a distinctly smug expression of masculine satisfaction on his face. “You look like a beautiful, thoroughly ravished young woman who has just come apart three times.”

  “Gregor!” She blushed hotly. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

  He gave her a wicked smile. “Why not? It’s true. That’s what I see when I look at you. Other people might just assume you’ve been sitting next to the fire for a while.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I doubt it. I don’t think we are fooling anyone. Just today Ete asked me if I had counted the bags of grain we had in the storeroom lately. She told me with the feast coming it wouldn’t be a bad idea, and I should take as long as I needed—she would watch Maddy later this afternoon.”

  Gregor grinned broadly. “I always knew I liked that woman.”

  Cate shook her head. He was a rogue. But he was her rogue—or would be soon. “I am glad there are only seven more nights—”

  “Six,” he corrected. “The seventh night you are mine.”

  Cate smiled. She’d known that. “You are counting.”

  “Every damned minute,” he said, picking up the belt with his sword to fasten it around his waist.

  When he finished, he sat on one of the casks to look at her, seemingly reluctant to leave. She knew the feeling. Even though there was something decidedly illicit about what they were doing, it was the only time she had alone with him, and she cherished every moment.

  With Hogmanay tomorrow, they’d both been busy with their duties attending to the guests and making sure everything was ready for the big feast. The busyness was to be expected, but that didn’t make it any easier. Nor was it any easier to watch the women descend on him like locusts. Or maybe vultures was a better analogy, looking for any scraps left on the carcass of his bachelorhood. Apparently being betrothed wasn’t much of a deterrent.

  “Where were you off to?” he asked.

  “You mean before I was swept off my feet and carried down here by some over-muscled barbarian?”

  He grinned unrepentantly. “Aye, before that.”

  “Pip and I were going to go for a ride, and then practice his archery at some of the butts set up on the moorland on the other side of the village.”

  He frowned, and she wasn’t sure whether it was at the mention of Pip or the mention of her straying so far from the tower house. “How long will you be gone?”

  “A few hours. You need not worry—I’m sure your two guardsmen will report back to you as soon as we return.”

  He didn’t bother feigning embarrassment at her discovery. “I’ll not apologize for being cautious, Cate. With strange riders about, I thought it prudent to have my men accompany you when you are away from the castle.”

  “Accompany me? Don’t you mean follow me?”

  He shrugged as if the difference were immaterial. “It’s my job to protect you, Cate.”

  “I can protect myself.”

  He didn’t argue; he just looked at her with a pleading expression in his eyes. “Let me do this, sweetheart. Just until we are sure the man you saw was nothing.”

  Did Gregor have reason to suspect the man could be something? She held his gaze for a long moment, but he gave nothing away. All she could see was genuine concern.

  Good gracious, it was hard to resist him. “If you want to protect me, why don’t you come with us?” He seemed about to refuse, when she added, “That is, if you can bear to tear yourself away for a few hours from the bevy of admirers. ‘Oh, my laird, I brought you this tart because I know how much you love figs,’ ” she mimicked, “Or ‘Oh, my laird, have you had this cheese from our farm?’ ” She made a sharp scoffing sound. “Their ploys are so obvious. Does every woman think the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”

  He crossed his arms and grinned at her. “Well, I do like figs and cheese.”

  “Gregor!” she exclaimed, swatting at him. “That isn’t funny.”

  He grabbed her and hauled her up against his broad chest. Would she ever get used to the feel of his strength? Would the hard shield of muscle ever stop making her skin tingle and her knees weak?

  “You have no reason to be jealous, Cate. Those women mean nothing to me; I see through their ploys easily enough. That’s why you are so special.”

  “Because you don’t see through my ploys?” she mumbled disgruntledly.

  He laughed. “Because you don’t have them.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Now, are you going to smile and be a good hostess to all our guests, or am I going to have to bend you forcibly to my will?”

  She lifted a brow. “Is that your diabolical plan?”

  “Aye, you’ve found me out. I plan to keep you so well sated, you don’t have the energy to argue with me.”

  She laughed and shook her head. God knew he probably could. Despite the fact that they’d just made love, she could already feel him hardening against her again. “But now I shall be on guard, since you have warned me of your nefarious purpose.” She made a face. “Very well, I will smile and be perfectly charming.” She demonstrated with a very forced smile. But then her eyes narrowed. “Unless someone does something to annoy me. Tell your admirers to keep their hands to themselves. Especially the willowy blonde—your uncle’s henchman’s sister, I believe?”

  “How about I mention how good you are with a dagger. Do you think that will suffice?”

  “It will be a good start. Now, what do you say about coming with us?”

  He considered her for a moment. She suspected it was the prospect of spending time with Pip that was holding him back. But that was one of the reasons she wanted him there. She had a plan.

  “There are a few things I must attend to, but how about I meet you there i
n about an hour?”

  She beamed. “That will be perfect.”

  It was working, Cate thought, casting another covert glance at the man leaning against the tree at the edge of the grove, who was doing his best to look uninterested.

  But she wasn’t fooled. Gregor was going crazy. His hands were practically itching to intervene and put a stop to the travesty taking place before him.

  When she helped Pip draw the arrow back about a half-inch below his ear and positioned the lad’s elbow down, Gregor reached his breaking point. He came stomping over to where they had set up on the edge of the largest open field in the village.

  All around them were the hills and forest, but right in front of them was a fairly wide-open and flat stretch of moorland about three hundred yards in length. As such it served as the place for the annual village archery contest, during the summer fair. Large butts of hay wrapped in hemp were placed at varying distances. Covered in a few inches of snow, they looked like boulders under a blanket of white, but they served their purpose well enough in providing a safe landing place for the arrows.

  Coming to a stop next to them, Gregor shot her an irritated glare. “God’s blood, Cate. He’ll never hit anything if you have him draw like that. Damn it, everything is wrong. Even his stance. His left foot should be pointed more toward the mark.” He nudged Pip’s toe with his own.

  Pip was about to object, but Cate squeezed his arm to stop him. “I have perfect form, Gregor,” she insisted. “Ask John. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  She did. She was going to force these two to spend time with one another, even if they didn’t like it. And what better way than having Gregor teach the lad something he loved?

  The famed archer made a harsh scoffing sound low in his throat. “Then why is he putting so much weight on his back foot to start? He should be more balanced when he is first learning. The string should be between these two fingers,” he made the adjustment for Pip, “not these two. He’s drawing too fast and jerky. His hand should stop at the lower lobe of his ear, his elbow should come out, he should be looking at the mark, not the arrowhead—he’s closing one eye, for Christ’s sake—and he’s holding too long before loosing.” He looked furious, as if he’d been personally slighted or she’d just committed some sacrilege. “Bloody hell, at each stage of standing, nocking, drawing, holding, and loosing, he’s doing something wrong.”