The Arrow
Page 30
For years.
He’d known. All this time, Gregor had known the identity of the man who’d attacked her village—the man who’d killed her mother and the unborn child—and he’d kept it from her. Nay, he hadn’t just kept it from her; he’d lied to her, telling her he didn’t know. She must have asked him a dozen times over the years. Why … why would he do something like that, knowing how desperate she was to know? Knowing how badly she’d needed to put a name to the face of the nightmares that haunted her?
She was so lost in the hurt, she didn’t hear the door open behind her.
“What are you doing in here, Cate?”
Still holding the devastating missive in her hand, she turned to face John. “He knew.” She held up the letter, her hand shaking. “All this time Gregor has known the identity of the man who attacked our village.”
John swore. “You weren’t meant to see that.”
“Obviously,” she sneered. “I guess I don’t need to ask if you knew, too. How could you keep this from me, John? How could he? Don’t you think I had a right to know?”
John’s mouth pursed in a hard line. He took her condemnation without trying to defend himself.
She understood. “He told you not to tell me, didn’t he?”
Clearly answering carefully, John tried to explain. “He was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” she repeated incredulously. “From the truth?”
“Fitzwarren has been in England since the attack—unreachable. But Gregor worried you might try to do something, uh … ill-advised.”
“You mean foolish. He thought I’d run off and try to kill him myself, that’s what you mean?”
“I believe he may have considered the possibility,” John said, hedging. “Do you deny it?”
Tears blurred her eyes. It wasn’t the lie that hurt as much as it was what it signified. He hadn’t trusted—or respected—her enough to think she’d be able to handle the information and make her own decisions. She’d wanted Gregor to think of her as a strong woman—capable of taking care of herself—but he still saw her as the little girl in the well who needed to be protected. Even with their growing closeness the past few weeks he’d kept this from her, knowing how important it was to her.
She wished she could be angry, but it was the weight of disappointment crushing down on her that hit her most. “I trusted Gregor when he said he would handle it. I would have listened to his explanations. But he never gave me the opportunity. He has no faith in me at all.”
“Talk to him, Cate. He was only trying to protect you. Give him a chance to explain before rushing to judgment. He does have faith in you. It might not seem like it right now, but he does.”
John was right. They needed to clear the air between them if this marriage was going to have any chance of working.
She looked at the missive in her hand, the red wax of the seal catching her eye. It wasn’t only the contents of the letter they needed to discuss, but also the identity of the man who’d sent it. Gregor hadn’t been the only one to keep a secret.
“Where is he?”
“Washing for the evening meal.”
Cate did the same, and then entered the Hall to wait for him. But Gregor didn’t appear. None of the Phantoms did.
It didn’t take her long to discover they’d gone to the village. But it wasn’t until John kept dodging her questions and refused to look her in the eye that Cate guessed why.
Horror descended over her in a smothering mask. Her last conversation with Gregor came back to her. She knew the way he thought. He’d taken her words as a challenge, and he’d gone to the alehouse to prove that what they had wasn’t special.
She should have known better than to push him when he was like this. But she’d been so confident—so certain she knew him. So certain he loved her and wouldn’t be able to do it.
Her stomach curdled. She wanted to bend over and wrap her arms around her middle, but she hid her pain behind a stony mask of calm as she finished the meal and walked upstairs to change. She would see the truth for herself. Only then would she accept what her heart was already telling her.
“The handsomest man in Scotland and one of Bruce’s Phantoms? Just wait until I tell my sister.”
If there was any doubt whether the news of his place in the guard had spread there wasn’t a few minutes after arriving at the ale house. The secret was out.
Gregor’s smile hid the flash of irritation caused by the lass’s remarks. But rather than nudge her off his lap, he concentrated on the soft bottom rubbing against his cock, the full, heavy breasts brushing the hand that he had wrapped around her waist, and the very talented mouth that he knew from past experience would give plenty of pleasure.
Also from past experience, he knew that she’d shout from the bloody rooftops that she’d had him in her bed. Needless to say, after the first time—no matter how pleasurable—he hadn’t gone back.
But what the hell did he care? It was the way it was. Why fight it? She would get something to lord over her sister and the other lasses—war widows, mostly—who took advantage of the rooms above Annie’s alehouse for companionship, and he would get a night of mind-blowing, head-clearing lust.
To hell with Cate and what she thought. She didn’t know a damned thing. She might have tricked him into marriage, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to get anything else from him. He could take whoever he wanted to his bed. Her “special” “only me” shite was exactly that.
Maggie leaned closer. The blast of lavender smote him. Cate used lavender, but on her, the scent was soft and delicate and made him want to inhale and draw it deeper into his lungs. On Maggie, it was cloying and overpowering and made him want to run outside to get a breath of fresh air to clear the stench from his nose.
He swore silently and reached for his tankard. Why the hell was he even thinking about her? Cate was wrong, damn it, wrong.
Maggie had leaned in to whisper something to him. “Are they Phantoms, too?” she asked with a tilt of her head.
“They” meaning his three frowning brethren crowded on the benches around the small table with him, who were doing damned fine impressions of Father Roland, the village priest.
Nay, not priests, monks. But just because they’d been gelded by their wives and didn’t want to have any fun sure as hell didn’t mean Gregor couldn’t. To hell with them, too. To hell with all of them.
“These three?” He looked over at his disapproving-looking companions. “Do they look like the best warriors in Scotland? They’re just West Highland brigands, hoping to make a few coins now that Bruce is poised for victory.”
Even MacSorley’s eyes narrowed at that. Gregor glared back at him. What did they want, for him to confirm it for her?
Maggie looked unconvinced as she scrutinized the fierce, hulking warriors. “I don’t know.” She wrinkled her nose. “They certainly look big and scary enough to be Phantoms.”
“All muscle,” he said. “The Phantoms are clever.” Unlike these three, he left unsaid. That she seemed to accept. “If I were a Phantom”—the rumors might have reached the village, but Gregor wasn’t going to admit anything—“I would hardly be in their company so publicly.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said, snuggling deeper into his lap. When that didn’t give her the desired effect, she started to circle her fingers on his stomach and rub her soft, in-danger-of-falling-out-of-her-bodice breasts against his chest.
The lass had fantastic breasts. They were big and lush, and he could remember burying his face in the deep crevice, cupping, squeezing, and then sucking the cherry-red tips until they’d extended a good half-inch and poked against his tongue.
Despite the generous size of her chest, Maggie was slender and dark-haired, the way he liked. She was taller than Cate but her body was too soft, not firm and taut like …
He stopped, swore again—this time not so silently—and took another guzzle of his ale. The tankard was discernibly lighter than before. He shot
a glare at MacRuairi, who was seated next to him, suspecting that he’d been emptying it when Gregor’s back was turned.
Christ almighty! They were treating him like a damned bairn. He didn’t need watching over—or saving. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Then why did he feel like he had when he was younger, and he knew he was making a mistake but just couldn’t seem to stop himself?
His stomach muscles clenched as Maggie’s hand dipped to the waist of his breeches. But it wasn’t lust he was fighting.
It felt good, damn it. It had to feel good. How could it not? Her hand was only inches from his cock. But his body wasn’t responding the way it should to her touch.
Only me …
He told that voice to shut the hell up. That wasn’t it. He just needed Maggie’s hand wrapped around him. Her mouth sucking him. Then he would feel it.
But the anger surging through his veins grew darker and more heated. This was all her fault. Cate had done this to him. Messed with his head. Messed with other parts of him as well. But he wasn’t going to let her turn him into a damned eunuch.
He wanted other women. Of course he did.
Maggie hadn’t lied to him. Maggie hadn’t tried to trap him. Maggie hadn’t turned him into a blind, besotted fool.
He had nothing to feel guilty about, damn it. Cate had practically thrown a gauntlet down at his feet. Should she be surprised that he’d picked it up?
He drained another tankard of ale before one of his brethren could do it for him.
“I must admit, I’m surprised to see you in here with the wedding and all,” Maggie said.
He stiffened, but the lass didn’t seem to notice, as she was too busy trying to covertly—or not so covertly—brush her fingertip along the ridge of his cock.
“Some people were surprised when you chose Cate, but I wasn’t.” She waited for a response from him. Not picking up on his simmering rage, she continued. “She might be a little odd with her sword fighting and all, but she’s a real lady. Not judgmental like some of the village women, I’ll tell you that.” Maggie’s mouth pursed with distaste. “Nay, Cate is kindhearted and always has a nice word for me whenever our paths cross.”
She frowned, suddenly seeming to realize that what she was doing right now might not be viewed as graciously by Cate.
Gregor’s mouth fell in a hard line. He’d had enough. He wasn’t going to listen to Cate’s finer points from her. He stood suddenly, and barely managed to snag Maggie’s wrist to prevent her from falling to the ground. He swayed a little at the sudden movement, his head thick with drink.
But not thick enough. He took a jug from the table and tucked it under his arm. “Come, it’s a little too crowded in here. Let’s go find someplace a little more private.”
Whatever qualms Maggie had vanished. She nodded eagerly and started to drag him away.
But Campbell caught his arm and held him back. “Don’t do this, Arrow,” he said softly. “I don’t know what is going on with you and the lass, but you will regret it.”
Campbell didn’t know a damned thing. None of them did.
“Go ahead and prove me wrong … if you can.” That was exactly what he would do, damn it.
“Don’t wait for me,” Gregor said, ignoring the unsolicited and unwanted advice. “I don’t anticipate I’ll be making it back to the castle anytime soon.”
Determined, Gregor followed Maggie through the crowd to the stairs. He was so focused, he didn’t notice the small hooded form sitting quietly in the corner.
Twenty-two
Heartbreaker. Gregor’s reputation was well earned. But with all the times she’d heard it, in her arrogant belief that they were meant to be together, not once did Cate think it would be her heart that would be the one broken.
She had been seated at the table for only a few moments before Gregor walked by with Maggie, but it was long enough to see him—really see him. The too-handsome heartbreaker in all his roguish glory, drinking, cavorting, and looking every bit like a man without a care in the world.
One tear slid out of the tight tether she had wrapped around her shredded emotions. Furiously, she wiped it away. She couldn’t break down yet. She had to do this. She had to finish it so there would never be a doubt. Never again would she be able to delude herself that she meant something to him.
Keeping her head down and doing her best to fade into the background of the crowded, smoke-filled room, Cate wound her way around the perimeter to the door where she’d seen them exit. She was glad she’d taken the time to change her clothing. Dressed in her practice garb, with the hood of her cloak pulled low over her face, no one paid her any mind. She looked like a lad who’d just come in out of the cold.
It was cold outside. Bitterly cold. But the chill inside her that had turned her skin and bones to ice had nothing to do with the weather.
She stepped through the doorway and saw the stairs. Her chest twisted. She’d suspected what she would find, but part of her had still held out hope that she was wrong.
Although Cate had never been in this part of the alehouse, she knew what went on here. She knew there were a few solars above where travelers might spend a night, or lonely men might find a companion from one of the women who frequented Annie’s.
Normally, Cate did not begrudge women like Maggie who’d lost their husbands to war a way of making a few extra coins. But seeing the lovely black-haired, blue-eyed woman with her generous breasts crushed against Gregor’s chest and her hands all over him had changed Cate’s mind. She’d felt very grudging indeed and wanted nothing more than to toss the brazen harlot right off his lap.
But she didn’t. She’d waited for Gregor to do it. Waited for him to realize that he couldn’t do this. That he couldn’t make love to another woman because he loved her.
He hadn’t, though. Instead, she’d watched in stricken pain as the man she loved—the man she thought she would spend her life with—let another woman put her hands on him.
Now, Cate would see the rest.
Stonily, like a woman condemned to hang climbing the scaffold, she walked up the wooden stairs. Old and rickety, they creaked as she moved, but with all the noise below, she doubted anyone above would notice.
What must have been one large room (albeit a low-ceilinged one) had been partitioned into a few private chambers off a central solar. But with only wooden screens for walls and hangings for doors, there was little privacy. Cate could hear everything. She could hear the couple in the room to her left grunting and groaning in the throes of a very energetic coupling, and she could hear the voices in the room to her right: Maggie’s giggling followed by Gregor’s deep, rough tones: “I like it just fine.”
Like what? Cate wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She moved toward the curtain like a ghost. They hadn’t bothered to close it completely—why should they, as it hid little of what was going on?—and if Cate stood at the edge, she could see the occupants well enough.
Oh God, no …
She drew in her breath as a fresh surge of hurt rolled over her in deep, hot waves. Gregor stood in front of the narrow box bed—the only piece of furniture in the tiny room—facing her. Although there was very little of his face that she could see, as he was locked in a passionate embrace with Maggie. His hand rested at the base of her spine with his fingers spread over the top curve of her buttocks. Maggie’s dark hair was loose down her back, the lacing at the back of her kirtle had been undone, and the gown had been tugged down past her shoulders. Her breasts must be bare.
This wasn’t like the kiss with Seonaid that she’d witnessed. It was far more carnal. Far more passionate. Far more painful. Far more like the way he kissed her. Special … different. Her claims seemed to taunt her. She couldn’t seem to look away from his hand. Those strong, powerful fingers gripping someone else.
Fortunately, the kiss lasted only a few seconds before Gregor pulled away.
“Is something wrong?” Maggie asked.
Yes. Please say yes.
“Are you sure?” Maggie said, a coy playfulness to her tone. “Maybe it’s the drink?”
Her shoulder moved and Cate had to bite her fist to prevent the fresh stab of pain, realizing what she was doing. Maggie’s shoulder had moved because her hand was between his legs. She was stroking him.
Cate’s stomach turned in violent revolt.
Maggie giggled. “Let’s see if this will help.” She dropped to her knees before him and reached her hands around to grab him by his backside. “I remember you told me how good I was with my mouth.”
Cate stilled, not understanding. But when Maggie’s head moved forward between his legs, comprehension dawned in shocked, cruel clarity. She was going to pleasure him with her mouth.
Push her away. Please push her away.
Instead, Gregor gripped the back of Maggie’s head with his hands, holding her to him. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of taut lines and intense concentration.
Unable to bear another moment without being ill, Cate moved away. She’d seen and heard enough. No further proof was necessary. Gregor had achieved his purpose. She believed him. God, how she believed him.
What they had together wasn’t special. She wasn’t special. He’d proved it. He didn’t care about her—at least not enough to stop him from seeking out another woman’s bed at the first sign of difficulty between them.
Cate wouldn’t marry him, even if he came crawling on his hands and knees begging for her forgiveness. She didn’t doubt that he would regret it when he learned the truth, but she didn’t care. It was too late. She’d run out of patience, excuses, and faith. Seeing this side of him had shattered every last one of her illusions. She was done making excuses for him.
She’d wanted to believe that she was the woman for him, but there was no one woman for a man like Gregor MacGregor. She’d been fooling herself to think he could be faithful to her—that he could commit. The bond between them that meant so much to her didn’t matter to him. Not if he could make love to another woman. Maybe he was right. Maybe for him love had nothing to do with the bedchamber. But for Cate it had had everything to do with it.