Within seconds, he’d fired off a half-dozen arrows at as many targets that hung from a rope along the wall. All but one of the arrows had hit its mark dead center. The one that missed had done so by less than two inches. Nearly perfect. But for Gregor, two inches was as good as ten feet.
He wasn’t the only one who noticed the miss. Although they were trying not to show it, all three of his brethren were looking at him with varying degrees of concern. It had been like this all morning, except that if anything, Gregor’s shots were getting worse.
“It was a late night,” MacSorley said. “We are all tired. Hell, we probably rode thirty miles last night. Perhaps we should call it a day.”
Christ, it was so bad, MacSorley wasn’t even trying to jest.
Without a word, Gregor went to the wall to retrieve the arrows from the stuffed bags of linen marked with a black “x.”
Gregor was tired, and they had ridden most of the night—chasing shadows as it turned out, with no sign of the men who’d been in the forest—but they all knew that wasn’t why he’d missed a target that a squire would have hit. In fact, it was a training exercise Gregor had devised as a lad and used now to teach young archers.
Two days ago when he’d ridden out with his bow for the first time since returning home, he’d been flawless. Focused. His old self.
But two days ago wasn’t today. Two days ago he hadn’t known that the marriage he’d actually been looking forward to was a sham. Two days ago he hadn’t felt like ripping off someone’s head—preferably his own.
God, he couldn’t believe what a deluded fool he’d been! He’d actually thought she was different. He’d thought she really loved him, and for the right reasons.
But whatever the truth of her feelings, he no longer cared. He didn’t need her love, or anyone else’s for that matter. He’d had enough games, enough “traps” and boasts, to last a lifetime.
He yanked the errant arrow from the mark disgustedly. He’d missed the target for one reason and one reason only: because he couldn’t bloody concentrate. He couldn’t get himself to that place he needed to be where nothing else mattered. The narrow zone where there was only his arrow and the target.
He didn’t know why he was letting her get to him like this. Why was he still so damned angry? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? He shouldn’t care, damn it. She would be his wife, but that was all. She shouldn’t matter to him.
Coming home was supposed to clear his head of distractions, not make them worse. He never should have let himself get involved with her. He should have married her off and been done with it as he’d originally planned. He had a job to do, damn it. The king was counting on him. His friends were counting on him. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let them down.
He couldn’t afford to lose his edge and let anything interfere. Not when they were so close. Which meant he had to get Cate out of his head for good. He needed to get back to the way he was before he’d been duped.
MacSorley and MacRuairi were already starting back to the barracks when Gregor returned to the line. But Campbell was waiting for him.
The revered scout didn’t say anything for a while. He just stared at him with that eerie, penetrating gaze that made you feel as if he were looking right inside you.
Suddenly, Campbell straightened, sensing her arrival moments before Cate walked around the corner. His partner was like that. He could feel things before they happened. It had come in handy more than once.
One glance at her devastated face, and Gregor knew she’d discovered what he’d done. He hardened the fool heart that felt a pang of remorse she didn’t deserve and looked back to his partner.
“Whatever is wrong between you and the lass,” Campbell said, “fix it. We need you.”
Gregor held his friend’s gaze for a moment, and then gave a determined nod. He intended to do exactly that.
Twenty-one
Cate barely acknowledged Campbell as she came up to stand before Gregor. Her eyes were only on him. Haunting eyes. Eyes filled with hurt, condemnation, and disbelief. Eyes that begged him to tell her she was wrong about what he’d done.
She was pulled tight as one of his bowstrings, her hands in tiny balls at her sides, her slender figure taut and straining. “Where are they?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “The bairns have been returned to their rightful homes and families.”
Her fists squeezed and her lips pursed white. But it was the sheen of tears that made his chest feel too tight and his lungs feel as if they were on fire. She was projecting calm fury, but he could see the hurt and pain and knew just how close she was to losing her composure. Don’t cry, damn it. If she did, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do.
He shouldn’t care, damn it. She’d deceived him. Used him. Made him think she loved him for the right reasons. Made him want something he’d never wanted before. And that was something he could not forgive, no matter how remorseful or heartbroken she appeared.
“This is their rightful home. We are their family.”
The accusation in her gaze pricked his conscience, letting loose some of the anger whipping around inside him. “Neither is true. It was a fantasy you created that had no place in reality. Those children didn’t belong here, they belong with their true family—their real blood relatives.”
She drew back, clearly surprised. “What are you talking about? They were abandoned.”
“Edward and Mathilda, yes. But both had kin eager to take them in.”
He didn’t mention the generous yearly allowance he’d offered.
“You found their relatives?” She spoke in a small, soft voice that made her sound about twelve.
“It wasn’t difficult. A few enquiries was all it took.”
She blinked, staring at him. “And then you got ‘rid’ of them.” Her voice broke, and something inside him twisted—coiled—cutting off his breath. “How could you do that, Gregor? How could you send them away without letting me say goodbye?”
He shuffled a little, unable to completely ignore the discomfort provoked by her question. She might not be able to fault him for what he’d done, but maybe she could for how he’d done it. “I thought it best to prevent a scene. What purpose would it serve to wrench weeping children from your arms? A clean break was easier on everyone.”
“Is that what you think? A clean break? At least they would have known I loved them, which was more than I ever knew. My father left without telling me, and let me tell you, there was nothing clean about it. What must they think? How could you do that to them? How could you take out your anger at me on them?”
“My decision had nothing to do with you.” It had to do with him. He hadn’t known whether he could go through with it if he’d had to watch. It was better for everyone this way. Those children didn’t belong here, no matter how much she wanted them to. “You knew this would happen at some point. I told you from the start.”
Her eyes shimmered with angry tears, but she couldn’t argue with him. “And what of Pip? Was he returned to his kinsmen as well?”
This time he didn’t flinch or feel even a twinge of guilt. “There was no need. His mother was close at hand.”
She looked aghast. “You sent him back to his mother? How could you do that? God knows what she’ll make him do this time.”
His eyes narrowed. “So you were aware of the boy’s subterfuge?”
“Pip told me everything, but it is you who don’t understand. His mother forced him to do what he did, and then threatened to take him away if he didn’t give her money.”
Whether what she said was true didn’t matter. “You had no claim on them, Cate. Any of them. They didn’t belong to you.”
“I love them. It might mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me.”
“Yes, I know exactly how much your love means.” He didn’t hide his sarcasm. “You might have trapped me into marriage, but I won’t take three children from their real families to satisfy some girlish fantasy y
ou have of the perfect family.”
He might have slapped her, so jarring was the shock of pain. But she didn’t crumple or fall apart. She just stood there staring at him, her silence somehow challenging and condemning at the same time. “I didn’t trap you, Gregor. I didn’t send for John.”
“So my brother is lying?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t say that. But I did not send Pip to fetch him. I don’t know why he did.”
“Convenient that Pip isn’t here to explain for us.”
Her cheeks flushed angrily. “Whose fault is that?”
They stared at each other in the cold, clear light of day, emotion coiling dangerously between them. And something else. Something else he wanted to deny. The fierce, frenzied attraction that didn’t differentiate between love and hate. It flared and crackled between them. Even knowing what he knew, he wanted her still. So intensely that his hands itched to wrap around her arms and haul her against him. To cover her body. To punish her for making him fool enough to care. How could she have done this?
He could almost hate her for it. He straightened. Hardened. “So the fact that I woke and found you gone, and then shortly afterward a crowd appeared in your room, was a coincidence?”
She held his gaze, her eyes unwavering. “Aye.”
He didn’t say anything but clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.
“I’m asking you to trust me, Gregor. To have a little faith in me. I’m telling you the truth.”
He hesitated. For one long heartbeat he actually hesitated. She sounded so sincere. He replayed the conversation in his head, heard her feeble denial mixed with guilt, heard her boasts and damning words, and John’s condemning ones.
Looking at her, he could concede that her plea was heartfelt. He didn’t even doubt that she loved him. But it wasn’t enough. He’d been here too many times before. He had no faith in any of it. “You ask for too much.”
He pretended not to see the disappointment brimming in her eyes, but he felt each tear that slid down her cheek like acid in his chest.
“If you loved me, you would know I was telling you the truth.”
“Then I would be a fool.” He paused meaningfully. “And I am no fool.”
She sucked in her breath, taking in his meaning: he didn’t love her.
He should be impervious to her hurt. Should be. But he wasn’t, damn it.
God, he had to get out of here! But he needed to make sure she understood. “You have what you wanted, Caitrina. You will be my wife. Just leave it at that. Don’t expect anything more.”
“Like love?”
Especially that. “I will give you my name and in return I will have my freedom.”
“What do you mean?”
He held her gaze unflinchingly. “I can only be trapped into marriage once.”
She sucked in her breath when his meaning took, looking at him as if he were a stranger. “You do not intend to keep your vows.”
It was not a question. He cocked a brow. “Did you think I would? I have a reputation to uphold. But you know that.”
Her hurt flared to anger. “So I will be your wife, but you will owe me nothing else, is that it? I will stay here with John, run your castle, and you will return whenever you like? What other duties will I have in this marriage you envision? Am I to share your bed, or will it be too crowded?”
His fury matched hers and he returned her sarcasm with his own. “I will need sons.”
“Of course. How could I have forgotten? Those sons that you can have”—she snapped her fingers—“whenever you wish. So you plan to make love to me but not love me, is that it?”
“I told you before: one is not required for the other. Call it whatever the hell you like, but there is very little love involved in shoving you up against a wall and taking you from behind.”
He could not have shot an arrow with more deadly accuracy. His words had struck with cruel precision, wounding deeply. He saw it in her eyes and heard it in her gasp of pain.
But Cate was a fighter. She would not go down so easily. She drew herself up and faced him like a warrior on a battleground. “I won’t let you do this, Gregor. I won’t let you try to convince me that what was between us meant nothing. That it was only lust. Call it what you will,” she repeated his words back to him, “but even pressed up against a wall you care. I can feel it every time you touch me. Every time you whisper in my ear. Every time you let go inside me, crying my name. My name, Gregor, not someone else’s. The passion we have is more than lust and you know it. Deny it if you want, but I know the truth. What you feel for me is unlike anything you’ve felt for another woman. It’s special, and you won’t convince me otherwise. So if you think you can marry me—make love to me—and take other women to your bed, who do you think is the one fooling themselves?”
Gregor fought for control, but his blood pounded in his ears. She was the one who’d betrayed him, and yet she stood there so damned confident, so sure that she had him under her spell. This twenty-year-old girl who’d been a virgin a little over a week ago thought she knew more than he did about passion and lust. Thought she knew what he felt. She was still trying to control him, damn it.
But she didn’t know a damned thing, and she’d challenged him one too many times.
She was wrong. And he was going to prove it.
Cate was furious. How dare he try to cheapen what they had by making it sound crude and base!
She knew he was angry and more hurt than he wanted to admit by what he thought she’d done. But he’d gone too far, both in sending the children away without telling her and in turning their future marriage into some kind of meaningless, convenient arrangement. She would never marry him like that—ever. And if she’d really believed he’d meant what he said, she would have told him to go to the devil right there.
But Cate was wagering everything on the fact that she knew him better than he did himself. That what he was doing was not because he didn’t care, but because he did. He was acting like this because she’d hurt him—deeply. Once he realized she was telling the truth, it would be the way that it was before.
She hated that she was being forced to prove her innocence, but she was not ready to give up on him—on them. She had faith enough for them both.
She would make him pay for doubting her, though. Maybe she’d make him write her a love poem or sing her a love song? Or maybe she’d make him take Pip with him as his squire when he left. Aye, that was it. He would personally see to Pip’s training.
For she had every intention of getting Pip back—and Maddy and Eddie, too, if she wasn’t absolutely convinced the kinsmen Gregor had sent them to wanted them.
She couldn’t believe he’d found their families. But maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. You never tried. Cate felt a stab of guilt, knowing she should have made enquiries herself. But she hadn’t wanted to. She’d wanted them for herself.
Yet even if he was right that she had no real claim on them—that it was just “some young girl’s fantasy of the perfect family”—the way Gregor had sent them away was wrong. She had to find them to say goodbye. She had to tell them that she loved them and would be here for them if they needed her.
Somehow she made it through the midday meal without her face cracking, her expression like ice as she sat beside Gregor on the dais and pretended everything was all right. She wasn’t surprised when he refused to tell her where the children were, insisting that for now they needed time to settle in with their families. Later, he told her—later she could go and visit them.
Cate was too furious to chance arguing with him in public. The meal seemed to go on forever, but the moment it was over, she began making enquiries of her own.
Ete and Lizzie had been just as surprised as she—and were just as upset. They were also in the dark about where the children had been taken. Aonghus, Bryan, and Cormac had woken them at dawn and informed them the children were leaving. They’d been forbidden from waking Cate and letting her know what was hap
pening. They’d made noise above her room, hoping she would hear, but she’d slept in Gregor’s room.
Of course, Aonghus, Bryan, and Cormac—as well as John—were nowhere to be found. Most of the men (including Gregor and the other Phantoms) had gone hawking and would not be back before the evening meal.
Suspecting information would not be forthcoming from Gregor’s men anyway, Cate took advantage of their absence and decided to see if she could find any clues amongst Gregor’s papers.
Slipping into the laird’s solar, she lit a few candles (the windowless room was already dark) and began to look through the various chests. She knew that the leather folios holding the household ledgers were in the largest of the chests, so she focused on the others. One contained documents from the time Gregor’s father was chief, but the smallest wooden chest, closest to the clerk’s table, contained a number of folded missives with their wax seals cracked.
One caught her eye. She sucked in her breath, the burn of pain that seared her chest surprisingly intense even after all these years. She recognized the seal, having seen it many times. The young Earl of Carrick had never been without the ring engraved with the Lion Passant above the St. Andrew’s cross. As it wasn’t an official document, the king must have used his ring rather than the royal seal.
Learning had not come easily to Cate, but she was grateful that her mother had insisted she be taught how to read and write. Scanning the words, however, she felt her legs turn to jelly. She had to reach for the edge of the table to steady herself, as her stomach and head fought the swirl of dizziness.
No.
Though her skills were rudimentary, they were enough to take in the meaning of the words on the piece of parchment before her. Still, she read it twice to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.
But the truth was there in flourishing strokes of black ink. Her father’s missive contained congratulatory remarks about the betrothal, news about the words of Gregor’s identity spreading, and new intelligence about the arrival of De Bohun’s men to help with the defense of Perth Castle, including the return to Scotland of Sir Reginald Fitzwarren, the captain that Gregor had been enquiring about for years.
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