HIS HIGHLAND LOVE: His Highland Heart Series Book 2

by Blair, Willa

  “Our intrigues and clan wars? Have ye so quickly forgotten Burgundy and Armagnac?” He crossed his arms. “Nay, Father. Clan Brodie lives peacefully with its neighbors.” More or less, and as long as he avoided thinking about the trouble he could have caused to win Cat Rose—including stealing her from her clan—rather than running to France as he had chosen to do. Given the epic feuds between some other Highland clans, Kenneth felt confident enough to weigh Brodie on the more peaceful side of the balance. “Any intrigues we suffer are those practiced by the Duke of Albany and the Lord of the Isles.” He took a chance making a complaint about the nobles, but he was already a hostage for Clan Brodie’s good behavior. Aye, they could throw him down the bottle dungeon Father Anselmo had taken pains to show him as soon as he’d arrived—intending to ensure his good behavior, of course. Or they could kill him outright. He counted on the niceties of the biblical commandments to prevent that. Anyway, he’d merely stated a fact no honest person could deny—not even the French priest, who, in Kenneth’s experience, was far from honest.

  Though he couldn’t trust the man too freely, the more Kenneth thought about it, the more he counted himself lucky to meet Father Phillippe here. Phillippe had no history with the local kirk hierarchy and owed them no more than the loyalty any priest owed the kirk.

  Unlike Anselmo, who was rumored to be the eyes and ears of the Pope in Rome.

  But Phillippe did owe Kenneth. And from the look on Phillippe’s face the first time he’s seen Kenneth, soon after he arrived and went before the bishop for blessing and instruction on his stay in St. Andrews, the French priest had not forgotten. He’d just never expected to have to repay his debt.

  When the time came, Kenneth would call in that debt. Phillipe would pay his due or he would find out first-hand where Highland intrigue could lead.

  In the meantime, Kenneth had to cooperate—or appear to.

  “The suggestion has been made for you to take yon jeunes garçons in hand and see to their training.”

  Phillippe's words hit Kenneth like a fist out of nowhere. “What? Train them? The bishop wants to put me to work for his university while I’m here?”

  “Do you have some other pressing engagement planned to pass the time of your confinement in St. Andrews?”

  Kenneth shook his head. Nay, he did not. It had taken only a few days for him to decide boredom was more a danger than conflict. “They are poorly skilled at arms for lads their age.”

  “Their master has gone to France, and the bishop does not believe in idle hands. Theirs…or yours.”

  “The difference is, they are here by choice. I am no’.”

  Phillipe chuckled. “There is less of a difference between you and yon lads than you might imagine. Many of them are here only because they, too, are forced to be here, not because they wish to be. If they had their way, they would have been the firstborn son, destined to rule after their father is gone, eh? Or perhaps they dream of being a great warrior. You can help them achieve their ambitions, n’est-ce pas? I saw you fight in France. Spectaculaire.”

  “Fighting for one’s life makes it appear so.”

  “Is not every man on the battlefield fighting for his life, or the life of his brother warrior?”

  Kenneth turned from watching the lads to watching the ripples on the bay below them. The breeze blew, fresh and cool, directly into his face, wafting away the remembered stench of war. “Point taken.”

  “Very well, then. You are better than any of my brethren at what you do. Would you not like to give these lads the best chance to survive when the time for battle is upon them?”

  He could fight, aye. Even Iain had recognized his skill, and made him his master at arms. Kenneth heaved a sigh, then pursed his lips and leveled a narrow gaze at Phillippe. “Laying the guilt on a bit thick, are ye no’, Father?”

  Phillippe grinned and clapped him on the back. “A favor for a favor, oui? Perhaps the time will come when I can do something for you.”

  Kenneth grimaced and spat out, “D’accord,” as he turned away. Exchanging favors with Phillippe had led to the trouble with Marilee in France and resulted in both of them being forced to leave in a hurry to avoid being hanged—or worse—by one or the other—or both—sides of the conflict there. Phillippe had been selling information to both sides. And Marilee found out. He headed for the steps leading to the central courtyard, wondering if history was about to repeat itself.

  * * *

  Catherine had yet to see the inside of the castle dominating the St. Andrews coastline, so a day later, when Abi announced she was going with her father while he made a delivery to one of the priests there, and Catherine could come if she wanted to, her curiosity got the better of her. It was a short walk. Nothing in St. Andrews was far from anything else, except perhaps the port, over the cathedral hill, through the town’s fisher gate and down to the harbor. The castle hugged the cliffs to the northwest around the coastline from the port, not far from the cathedral.

  They entered through a tall tower onto a cobbled courtyard. Inside, Abi and Catherine gazed around the open area while Abi’s father inquired after the man his delivery went to. Straight ahead, a well sat in the middle of the courtyard. Beyond it, on the castle’s seaside corners, stood towers, a curtain wall stretched between them. To the right, a large structure dominated that side. Perhaps a great hall. She caught a glimpse through an iron gate of the sea beyond the castle walls, and a breeze stirred the summer air.

  Black-robed priests and students in rich clothing moved here and there, intent on their own errands. The lack of notice paid to her and Abi surprised Catherine after the way men’s gazes followed them on the market street in town. They had to be on their best behavior here, she supposed.

  She glanced around but saw no one looking her way. Leaving Abi seated on a bench in the shade, Catherine went toward the great hall across the courtyard and followed a loggia to steps leading up to the chapel above it and a wall walk on the sea side. As she reached the far side, two men stepped out into the courtyard from a door behind the loggia. A priest and—Kenneth?

  Surely not, but she stared, studying the man’s profile. Dressed in breeks and a loose shirt, his hair darker and shorter than it used to be, he looked more powerful than she recalled. Could it be?

  As she opened her mouth to call his name, he looked up and saw her. His eyebrows arched and he paused, falling behind his companion. Cat would never forget how, for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifted and warmth flooded his gaze. Her heart responded, recognizing this man as the one she had missed. There could be no doubt. Kenneth was here, before her, seeing her, smiling at her. It could only have taken a second or two, but the glow of it seemed to last forever.

  As suddenly as the smile lit his face, it disappeared. His expression flattened and he straightened. Before she could utter a sound, he squeezed shut his eyes and shook his head. Catherine’s chest tightened in reaction; a painful constriction of disbelief stole her breath and crumpled the smile on her lips. Why? For one hopeful moment, he’d seemed happy to see her. Lighter, less weighed down by whatever he was doing in this place. Then he waved her off with a stiff, sidewise swipe of one hand. Catherine’s fists clenched, and she stared hard, trying to lock her gaze onto his, to reach him. He didn’t want her to call out to him? To acknowledge that they knew each other? She didn’t understand. He said something to his companion, then retreated the way he’d come. Before she could take another breath, he stepped into a doorway and disappeared.

  Catherine stumbled to the wall and leaned into a merlon for support, painfully aware of where she was. Where Kenneth was. In the bishop’s castle. He’d warned her off with that swipe of his hand. He’d been carrying a parcel for that priest near the cathedral. Her knees had gone weak in the time Kenneth took to recognize and turn his back on her, then disappear. Seconds, really. It took only seconds to change the way she saw the world. Something was wrong. If she could have made her legs carry her down the stairs, she would hav
e followed him, demanding answers. But even his companion had disappeared through another door while she collapsed against the wall in the throes of recognition and remorse. She didn’t know where the doorways led.

  He was here and the gulf between them was as bad as she’d feared—maybe worse. He’d seemed glad to see her for a moment, then he’d shut down. Maybe he’d recalled he hated her for the misery her father had caused, or maybe he was in some kind of trouble. She wasn’t sure which, but she was certain seeing her had been as much a shock for him as seeing him deny and refuse to acknowledge her was to her. At least he’d had the wits to speak to his companion, and then disappear inside. All she’d been able to do was collapse against the outer wall of St. Andrews castle.

  She could think of no reason why Kenneth Brodie would be in this castle, or walking around the town carrying parcels for a priest. Worse, she didn’t know why he would refuse to acknowledge her, unless he no longer cared for her or was in some terrible trouble he did not want to bring to her. The man who’d stolen her heart two years ago was here, and despite what they had shared in the past, he didn’t even want to speak to her.

  She gathered a briny breath, turned her back on the sea and the wind, and made her way down the steps to Abi just as her stepfather entered the courtyard and beckoned for them to leave. Something was very wrong. She had to go, but she would be back. She would find out why Kenneth was here, and if he needed it, she would find a way to help him.

  * * *

  “It was him. I’m sure of it,” Catherine insisted to Abi hours later. They were in Abi’s small bed chamber after the evening meal, Abi perched on her cot. Catherine paced three steps forward and back again before her. Catherine had been so depressed and silent after encountering Kenneth; Abi had finally pestered her into telling her what was wrong.

  “I can’t believe he disappeared like that,” Abi said, reaching out and grasping her hand in sympathy, forcing Catherine to stop. “But surely he must have been as surprised as you,” Abi continued, giving her hand a little shake. “Perhaps his shock explains it. He didn’t know what else to do.”

  Catherine pulled her hand free. “He did seem shocked, but no’ right away.”

  “Well, you said he seemed happy to see you for a moment. He must be embarrassed about not contacting you. You know how hopeless most lads are when it comes to dealing with their feelings.”

  “I doubt being a hopeless lad had anything to do with it. Kenneth Brodie is one of the most capable men ye’ll ever meet.” Catherine scrubbed her face with her hands then shook her head. “Nay, he may have been shocked, but he reacted by waving his hand as though pushing me away, then he disappeared. He didn’t come out into the courtyard to meet me. He probably watched from some shadow until we were gone.”

  Abi snorted. “Well, we weren’t there much longer. Perhaps he was delayed until after we left. Don’t be sad. If he’s at the castle, you will see him in town, won’t you?”

  “I think I already did.” Catherine rested her hands on her hips, steadying herself as she recalled the memory. “Yesterday, when we went to the cathedral with Colin to see Father Phillippe. I caught a glimpse as he and another priest walked by on the path from the harbor. Ye pulled me away before I got a good look, or I might have kenned he was here that morning.”

  Abi dropped her gaze to her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Ye have naught to be sorry for. I didna ken, either.”

  “You said you fell in love with him two years ago. There’s more to this story than you have told me, or you wouldn’t be so upset about seeing him now.”

  Catherine studied her cousin. Could she trust Abi with the truth? “Ye canna tell yer step-da any of this.”

  “I won’t. I would never betray your confidence.”

  “I mean it, Abi. It’s too important. You—he—could ruin my life.”

  “What have you done?”

  “’Tis more a matter of what I have no’ done.” Catherine sighed and told Abi her tale. All of it. Falling for Kenneth, her father’s demand that they wait to marry, his three attempts to betroth her elsewhere. “I ran away,” she finally admitted. “Mary kenned yer father had moved yer family here and that ye remained, even after yer mother remarried.” She moved to the window and leaned against the wide sill, to restless to sit in a chair. “I’ve only ever loved Kenneth. I never expected to see him again. Certainly no’ here. No’ like this.”

  “If you return home…”

  “Da will wed me to a Grant I’ve never met.”

  “Oh, Catherine, this is awful. What are you going to do now?”

  She threw out her hands. “What can I do, if he doesna wish to speak to me?”

  “You must find him and force him to. No matter what your da wants, you must clear the air with Kenneth, or you’ll never feel free to marry anyone else…” Abi paused and grinned. “Like Cam Sutherland.”

  “Cameron Sutherland?” Catherine dropped back against the wall behind her, trying to recall the man’s face, but she could only see Kenneth’s flat expression as he waved her away. Had he been warning her about something?

  “Aye.” Abi wrapped her arms around herself. “If I wasn’t over the moon in love with Colin, Cam would do quite nicely.”

  “If ye like the arrogant sort.”

  “He’s from a very rich clan, handsome, clever with words…”

  “And what is he doing here? He’s too old to be a student.”

  Abi paused and tilted her head. “He’s never said, now that you mention it. But Cam is not important if your Kenneth is here. We must find a way for you to see him. To speak to him.”

  “It willna matter. I dinna wish to wed,” she declared.

  “But you must! Life for a lass alone is hard. ’Tis no life at all!”

  “Ye only think so because ye are determined to marry Colin,” Catherine objected. “I will do quite well on my own. I have so far.”

  “Aye, with the help of yer sister and her friend, you made your way here. With my stepfather’s agreement, you have a roof over your head. But Catherine, truly, if we had not been here, what would you have done? What would you do?”

  Catherine shook her head and turned to peer out Abi’s window. Below her, in the gloaming, the street was emptying as people returned home or made their way outside the town walls before the gates closed for the night, to return to their crofts and farms. They all had places to go. Without Abi’s father’s forbearance, she had nowhere to call home. Except Kenneth.

  Nay, she would find a way. She would not grovel before a man who hadn’t wanted her enough to convince her father to allow them to wed. Who’d never come back for her. And who had refused to acknowledge her when it was no longer possible to deny her existence. Her da would never agree to let her marry Kenneth Brodie, and after today—nay, after the last two years, but especially after today, that should be fine with her. Was it?

  Chapter 3

  He couldn’t believe it. He’d been right! Catherine Rose was here, in St. Andrews. He had heard her giggle near the cathedral yesterday. And seen her on the castle’s ramparts earlier today.

  She’d started to call his name. He was sure of it. If he hadn’t warned her off and ducked out of sight, she might have given away she knew him.

  And that would not be good for her.

  He shuddered at the thought of someone like Anselmo connecting her to him. Phillippe would be bad enough, but the Pope’s henchman would use Cat against him, to control him. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being punished for associating with him. If Anselmo ever found out how close they’d been, and how they’d wanted to marry, he wouldn’t let Kenneth out of the castle. When the time came for him to escape, she’d be in even more trouble if anyone thought she aided him. Even her husband would not be able to protect her from the consequences of being associated with him.

  Still, he wanted to see her, to talk to her, and to hold her in his arms. God help him, she was a married woman. That didn’t stop
him from wanting to kiss her senseless, but for her own good, he had to avoid her.

  How?

  He was a prisoner, at the whim of the priests and the guards. She could go anywhere she liked. And now that she knew for certain he was here, she’d find a way to get to him. Cat Rose never turned her back on a challenge.

  “You seem distracted today, mon ami,” Phillippe said as they made their way up the stairs to the castle’s chapel for midmorning prayers, something else added to his life, courtesy of his stay here. Rather than consorting with court ladies-in-waiting in Stirling, he was attending prayers several times a day.

  Today, his mind would be on Cat Rose—nothing the priests around him would approve. Phillippe might understand, but Kenneth dared tell no one. Cat’s safety was too important.

  His situation had gone from bad to worse over the last year and more. If he hadn’t gotten involved with Father Phillippe and that whore Marilee while fighting in France, he’d have been home months sooner. On the other hand, the time spent with her had been—educational, to say the least. But his education had cost him Cat Rose.

  He’d stayed away from Cat after her father refused his offer for her hand. He’d hoped some distance would quell the longing for her, or by showing restraint, he could convince her father he was mature enough to make a good husband for his youngest daughter. Then the news came—her father had betrothed her to a Mackintosh. He’d heard the clan name, but the red haze of fury—at himself and at her father, James Rose, for keeping Cat from him—had prevented him from hearing anything else. To this day, he didn’t know whether she’d wed the lad or not. Instead, here he sat, in St. Andrews, the perfect place to contemplate his sins, which were many and varied.