Love with a Scottish Outlaw

by Gayle Callen

  Maggie ducked her head in, wearing a hopeful smile. “I can’t sleep.” She touched her finally noticeable belly. “I get queasy when I lie down.”

  Smiling, Cat gestured her in. “Then come sit with me.”

  Two chairs were before the fire, and they each curled up in them, blankets over their laps for warmth, as autumn nights in the Highlands foretold the approach of winter.

  “Ye looked . . . far away,” Maggie said.

  Cat bit her lip, then gave an embarrassed smile. “I was. I was thinking how glad I was that the Carlyles no longer have to live in a cave. Ye’re sure Owen said everything was taken care of?”

  Maggie nodded. “Several of the sheriff’s men even agreed to testify as to what was done, in exchange for leniency, all to ensure Duncan’s freedom. He’s back with his people, clear of any crime.”

  Cat let out a breath. “I’m so glad. I feel guilty being warm each night knowing winter will soon come to those caves. Maybe now he can be the chief he was always meant to be.”

  “And that’s . . . what?”

  “Ye know,” Cat said with a shrug, “living in his family manor again, helping his people improve their lives—”

  “Finding a spouse?”

  Cat was surprised that she actually jerked in response. She forced a laugh. “That’s what people do, do they not?”

  “I don’t think ye’re doing that. Ye know Owen would take ye wherever ye want—with more guards this time.”

  “The number of guards didn’t matter,” Cat said sadly, remembering the men who’d died. “I don’t know if I’m ready to tell a stranger, some man, what has happened to me these last few months.”

  “That’s all that’s worrying ye?” Maggie asked with gentleness.

  Cat bit her lip, and was surprised when her eyes flooded with tears. She sniffed and dabbed at them with the edge of the blanket. “I’m such a fool. Ye’d think I’d be happy to be home, to get back to my old life. But . . . I always felt like this fragile doll on a shelf, existing only to look pretty at balls, to shine on behalf of my overly proud father, to find the perfect husband to marry. But . . . I never felt like I had a real purpose”—she put a fist to her chest—“in here.”

  “And the Carlyles gave ye purpose?”

  Cat nodded desolately.

  “The Carlyles . . . or Duncan.”

  To her utter shock, Cat burst into tears. She covered her mouth, eyes wide and streaming as she stared at Maggie. “Oh, forgive me, I never do this sort of thing!”

  “What, cry over a man? As if your brother hasn’t made me cry plenty of times?”

  Cat felt a giggle well up inside her. Crying and giggling at the same time felt ridiculous, but also . . . good.

  “Ye’re being very kind to me,” Cat murmured as her smile died.

  “And why would I not? Your brother’s been worried for ye, says ye haven’t been yourself. Blames the Carlyle every time we’re in private, like only a man can cause our problems,” she added, scoffing.

  “A man did cause my problems this time.” They were quiet for several minutes, as Cat looked into the fire. “I mattered to the Carlyles, and aye, to Duncan. Of course, when I felt like I most mattered was when he was lying to me about who I was. Maybe that’s why he was also so kind to me in his gruff way. It . . . hurts to know that when I was trusting him, growing . . . fond of him, he had ulterior motives.”

  “Sounds like it started that way between ye, but maybe it didn’t stay that way?”

  Cat shrugged. “Of course it did. He didn’t tell me who I was until I discovered my brooch—the one he hid from me! Then all my memories rushed back at having something familiar, something that was mine.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know how to tell ye what he’d done, now that ye were both . . . fond of each other.” Her voice grew teasing.

  And Cat blushed. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  Even after she’d known the truth, she’d given herself to Duncan—she couldn’t say that to Maggie. But the woman was perceptive, wasn’t she?

  “Ye once said,” Cat began tentatively, “that ye saw us together in your dreams. Happy.”

  “Very happy,” Maggie admitted, watching her too closely.

  “Was he . . . smiling?”

  “Grinning.”

  Cat caught her breath. “I’ve always wanted to see him happy.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “But . . . how can I trust him?”

  “How can we trust anyone?”

  And then Cat realized she was talking to a woman who’d agreed to marry to save the peace between their clans. “Oh—forgive me! How dare I act like I’m the only woman who’s ever . . .”

  “Think nothing of it. I did know your brother a long time ago—not that we parted on the best of terms. I wanted to trust in him. And between us, we found trust growing. I think that’s true of any marriage. We cannot know what’s inside a person, but we have to have faith that between us, we can cherish each other and work hard to grow together in love. Do ye love him?”

  “When I didn’t know myself, I thought . . . maybe. Now I don’t know.”

  “Ye were still the same person, even without your memories. Maybe ye have to trust yourself first.”

  When Finn came riding into Castle Kinlochard the next day, Cat was in the stables, grooming her horse. She saw the little girl first, and went running into the courtyard, expecting to see Duncan following behind. But Finn was alone.

  The girl threw a leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, taking off at a sprint toward Cat. They collided in the center of the courtyard, hugging each other.

  “Oh, Finn,” Cat said, “ye’re alone? Ye know how dangerous the countryside can be.”

  “I was careful.”

  Cat pushed the hair out of the girl’s face. “Look how long your hair is growing.”

  “The better to wear a queue,” Finn insisted, then grinned.

  “Ye’re still wearing boys’ garments.” Cat clucked her tongue.

  “Ye’ll be happy to know I’ve told Maeve about myself. I’ve been living with her.”

  “I’m so glad. But I thought ye’d be with Laird Carlyle until he found ye a family.”

  “He seems to have forgotten that, thank the Lord.”

  “Nay, he’d never forget ye.”

  “Aye, well, maybe.”

  Together they walked slowly down the courtyard toward the great hall.

  “So . . . how is Laird Carlyle?” Cat finally asked.

  “Not good.”

  Tension coiled around her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He won’t go live in his manor house.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t know. He’s stayin’ at the cave or up in the castle. It’s his ancestral home, he says. I know he’s started workin’ on it himself, clearin’ stone. He says he has more time now.”

  Because he’s alone, Cat thought. “I don’t like to hear that he’s hiding away from his people.”

  “Sometimes he’s with us. He is doin’ his duty by the entire clan. I want to be with him, but he says ’tis not ‘seemly.’ Another reason I don’t like bein’ a girl.” She hesitated, then glanced up at Cat. “Do ye miss him, my lady?”

  It all came down to that, didn’t it? “Aye,” she answered, then with more firmness. “Aye, I do.”

  Finn didn’t ask any more questions, but practically skipped along happily at Cat’s side.

  After the midday meal, Cat waited until the servants had gone. Owen and Maggie were talking with their heads close together, chuckling, and she saw her brother put his hand on Maggie’s belly with a sweetness that made Cat ache.

  “Can I talk to ye both?” Cat asked.

  Finn was seated at a lower table, still eating a leg of mutton, but looked at them with interest, as if she were a spectator at a play.

  Owen regarded Cat warily, but he nodded.

  “I want ye to know I’ve tried to return to my old life,” Cat began slo
wly, “but . . . I haven’t been happy.”

  “Well of course not,” Owen said a bit too heartily. “Ye need to be in Edinburgh or London, where all the eligible young people are. Ye need society and parties.”

  Next to him, Maggie almost seemed to roll her eyes.

  “I don’t need any of that,” Cat said with gentleness, knowing that her brother would take this hard. “I’ve experienced it all, and I’m grateful. But I want to be needed, Owen, and I felt needed with the Carlyles—with Duncan.”

  He stiffened. “That outlaw.”

  One corner of her mouth tilted up. “Well, he’s not an outlaw anymore, is he?”

  “Catriona.”

  He only called her by her full name when he was playing the part of the clan chief, her lord. She wasn’t having it. “Owen, my life had more meaning when I was with them. They’re a poor clan, and I can bring much to them.”

  “Especially your dowry. Did Carlyle demand it of ye?”

  She tamped down her anger, knowing he was simply worried. “He doesn’t know anything about my dowry.”

  “But he’s not stupid—he can guess, can he not? ’Tis rumored to be the largest dowry in all of Scotland—maybe even England.”

  “I doubt that. But who better to make use of it than the Carlyles, for perhaps they contributed to it most unwillingly.”

  And there was nothing he could refute about that. Then all the breath left him and he seemed to sag. “He didn’t ask if he could marry ye.”

  “Nay, but why would he have thought he could?”

  “Did ye talk about marriage?”

  “Never.”

  “Then how do ye know?”

  “I have faith.”

  Cat and Maggie shared a gaze, and she thought her sister-in-law’s eyes grew misty.

  Owen saw where she was looking. “It’s that dream again,” he said, but without anger.

  “I love him, Owen. Regardless of what he did to me, I saw the man he was to his people. I know he regrets his mistakes. And I think he loves me. He offered to sacrifice himself to save me.”

  “That could be guilt.”

  “Maybe. But I have to find out. Finn and I will leave together tomorrow. Somehow I have to find a way to convince Duncan that love is more important than the mistakes we’ve made.”

  Finn cheered, then subsided when Owen glared at her.

  “I’m worried for ye, Cat,” Owen said gruffly. “Now his whole clan knows who ye are. They might blame ye because of our father. ’Tis hard to forget such pain.”

  “I know. But maybe Duncan and I can be the bridge to heal the pain between Duff and Carlyle, just like the two of you were a bridge to peace between Duff and McCallum. Let me go, Owen.”

  He sighed. “Aye, go with my blessing. But if it isn’t what ye think, know that ye can come home anytime.”

  She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank ye.” But this wasn’t her home anymore—it was Maggie and Owen’s. She wanted to make her own home. With Duncan.

  Duncan had spent a long day, touring outlying farms, feeling free to be seen in broad daylight with his people. He should have been rejoicing.

  But he was miserable. And when he was miserable, he went to the castle, working in silence, knowing it was better than inflicting his misery on anyone else. He’d cleared the rubble from the great hall, and soon he’d need equipment and oxen to move the larger stones. It would take perhaps his lifetime and more to make the castle habitable and defendable again, but he wanted to try, for his sisters’ children. Maybe for his own someday, if he could find a way to do his duty to his clan and marry to produce an heir. He couldn’t think about that.

  “Laird Carlyle!”

  At the sound of Finn’s voice, he straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Damn that girl. Maeve had sent word that Finn had gone to visit Cat, without waiting for his permission. Walking toward the doorway, Duncan knew he’d have to explain that they had to leave Cat alone, now that she was Lady Catriona, not Mistress Catherine—

  Words died in his throat. Lady Catriona, robed in silk, rode toward him on her horse—sidesaddle, like the elegant, stunning lady she was. He couldn’t seem to find his breath, thought his heart had shattered, filling him with regret and the ache of love lost. Finn rode beside her, grinning. Cat was as regal as a queen, her garments hugging her waist, embroidery spilling down her underskirt, and up her bodice. No fichu blocked his gaze from the upper slopes of her breasts and her delicate collarbones.

  She was smiling at him. “So will ye help a lady dismount?”

  He went to her, not sure how it felt to be so blinded as if by the sun. When he would have reached for her hand, she simply fell toward him, and he was forced to grab her waist and steady her as she touched her feet to the ground. She looked up at him from beneath the brim of her hat, that smile softening.

  The ache of what he’d lost was almost too much to bear.

  He stepped back. “My lady, what brings ye to Carlyle Castle?”

  “Finn tells me ye’ve begun to work on the place. Show me what ye’ve accomplished.”

  He cleared his throat. “Little enough. It’ll take time.”

  “Aye. But show me.”

  She stretched her hand out in a ladylike gesture that he remembered from long ago. He found himself putting out his arm for her to rest her hand upon it as he escorted her inside.

  He heard Finn snort behind him, but the girl didn’t follow them.

  “Ah, I can see a difference already,” Cat said.

  He tried to see the great hall as she might see it. The floors were clean of broken furniture and dirt, but the hearths were empty, the stone walls bare of tapestries.

  He frowned at her. “Ye’re just being polite, my lady.”

  She suddenly rounded on him. “Stop that nonsense at once.”

  “What nonsense?” he asked, arching one brow.

  “Ye’re my-ladying me as if ye don’t know me, as if I’m not Cat, as if we’d never—” She broke off, glancing at the doorway as if Finn might appear.

  But the lass had wisely left them alone.

  “Calling ye by your title reminds me that ye can’t be just Cat to me,” he said quietly.

  “I want to be.”

  It was a whisper, and he wasn’t certain he heard her correctly. “What did ye say?”

  “I want to be Cat—your Cat. I liked who I was, what I was doing, when I was with ye.”

  He had no response. No words came to him for a long moment, and he squashed some unnamed emotion as it struggled to surface. “Ye’re just unhappy right now,” he finally said. “When ye go off to Edinburgh—”

  “I’ve been to all those places. They’re fine, but . . . they’re not here.”

  Shocked, he spread his arms wide. “Here?”

  “Aye, here. Your castle. Or your manor near the village.”

  He stepped closer, frowning. “Cat, are ye with child? Is that what this is about? I never wanted a child of mine to be as unwanted as I felt, in a marriage that wasn’t about love.”

  “Nay!” she cried, putting both her hands on his chest as if she would push him over. “Why cannot it be about love between us? Do ye love me, Duncan?”

  He opened his mouth, but again, could find no words. She was full of surprises, his Cat.

  His Cat.

  “I’ve promised your brother I’d never see ye again,” he said stonily. “’Tis not my place to—”

  She slid her hands from his chest to his face, forcing him to look down upon her. “Do ye love me?” she whispered, her voice an ache that pierced him.

  He gripped her upper arms, as if he’d shove her away—but he couldn’t. “Aye, I love ye. I’ve loved ye, maybe from the moment ye opened your eyes and stared at me as if only I could save ye. And then I betrayed ye. What does my love matter?”

  She closed her eyes, as everything in her seemed to relax. A smile spread slowly, and when she looked at him again, he was struck by the tenderness and th
ankfulness.

  “And I love ye, too, Duncan.”

  He let her go, backing away, realizing he could not bear to hear this, only to have it snatched away, as it must.

  “Don’t say that,” he ground out. “We both know it can never be. ’Tis best if ye go back to your real life.”

  “This could be my real life.”

  “Ye don’t know what ye’re saying! Look at this place—as much a wreck as I am. Ye could have any lord, any gentleman ye want.”

  “I want the chief of the Carlyles.”

  The first bit of hope hurt almost as much as the pain of losing her. “Stop, Cat, don’t do this to both of us.”

  She approached him, and he saw a lone tear track down one cheek. It undid him, unmanned him.

  “Ye can never trust me,” he insisted with the last of his desperation.

  She stopped right in front of him and took both his hands. Her skin was warm from her ride, while his was the deep cold of the stone he’d been working with.

  “I was worried about that,” she admitted softly. “But I gave myself to ye, Duncan. How did I not see that that was a form of trust? How does anyone learn to trust another except through faith? And how many women get to see proof of their man’s deeds? How many men would risk imprisonment, even death, for a stranger’s child, night after night?”

  “Don’t make me out to be better than I am,” he insisted. “I was righting a terrible wrong. Any man would—”

  “Nay, they would not,” she said forcefully. “I don’t know many men who’d live in a cave, rather than lead danger to his own people. I’ve decided I know enough about ye to wed ye. Now will ye ask me properly, Duncan?”

  He realized they were still holding hands. He lifted hers and stared at them. They were delicate within his. Slowly, he kissed her knuckles, first one hand, and then the other. “Cat . . . will ye be my wife?”

  Another tear fell, but her smile grew broad. “Aye, I will, Duncan.”

  She might have coaxed him to propose, but no one had to force him to kiss his Cat.

  Epilogue

  “They’re coming!” Finn came running into the great hall of Carlyle Castle, holding up her skirts.