by Amanda Scott
Her lips were warm and soft against his, and she kissed him back, igniting the same fires that just holding her had ignited in him before, plus new ones. When her right hand moved to his cheek and stroked it, his body stirred immediately He touched her lips with his tongue and then pressed it gently between them.
To his surprise, she opened them.
For a pleasant few minutes, as his tongue probed the velvet softness of her mouth, he thought of nothing but Katy and the rightness of holding her in his arms. She fit as if God meant her to be there. He wanted to hold her forever.
When a squirrel chattered loudly nearby as if it had heard his thoughts and disapproved, he heard Katy chuckle low in her throat. She tilted her head back and looked up at him with her infectious grin.
“I have never before been kissed like that,” she said. “Nor did I ever suppose that I’d let a man put his tongue in my mouth or that it could feel so right there.”
“I’m glad you’ve not done it before,” he said, smiling. “I like knowing that I’m the first to do it.”
“Do it again,” she murmured, and he was happy to oblige, so for a time, they kissed and stroked each other, murmuring soft words and urging each other on, until Will began to feel a different, stronger urgency for something more dangerous.
Forcing himself to stop, he kissed her one more time, gently, and held her a little away from himself. “We should stop now, I think, and perhaps talk more.”
“Aye, then, but I’m glad I found you here,” she replied. “It has been a fine day altogether, for you must have heard about the Mackintosh and Cawdor taking Nairn Castle and the town back from the wicked Comyns who seized it.”
“I heard,” Will said, as the appalling image of Jarvis and the bloody sword leaped again to his mind’s eye. “They put four of the leaders to the sword.”
“Aye, perhaps, but if it is so, it was a kinder fate than when Comyn de Raite hanged four innocent Mackintoshes by the neck from his gateposts and watched them strangle to death. Those Mackintoshes had broken no law.”
“That is true,” Will said with a sense of foreboding.
She looked narrowly at him. “You seem suddenly … unhappy. Nae, you look sad, or … Mercy, did you know them?”
Meeting her astonished and then wary gaze, he felt tightness in his throat. Nevertheless, knowing he could no longer keep silent, let alone defend his behavior, he said gruffly, “One of the men they put to the sword was my older brother Jarvis.”
She stared at him long enough for him to note that the forest had fallen silent.
“Do you mean that you are one of them, one of those wicked Comyns?” she demanded. “But you cannot be! I ken fine that you were not with them, for I saw you myself on our slope with Aly the day they seized the castle in Nairn. You are not one of them! Prithee, Will, tell me that you are n—”
“My name is Will Comyn,” he interjected bluntly. “De Raite is my father.”
“Nae!” She turned abruptly away, seemed to hug herself, and then whirled back, flinging out her arms. Without shrieking, keeping her voice low but hurling the words at him as if they were stones, she said, “I trusted you! God-a-mercy, but I defended you! And now … now you tell me that you are one of those … those devilish Comyns! How could you?”
With the last three words, control fled. Her right hand flew up, aiming hard and fast for his left cheek, and although he knew he deserved her scorn and her fury, he caught her hand before it made contact and held it tight.
“Nae, my lady,” he said. “I have let only one person, your twin, strike me with impunity since I was twelve, and I’ll not let it happen again even for you.”
When Katy tensed, as if she meant to try again anyway if he were foolish enough to give her the chance, he gave her a stern but silent look.
After a tense moment, with a sigh, her hand in his relaxed and he let it fall back to her side. “You are wiser than I thought,” he said, meeting her gaze again.
“I am not a fool, so I won’t test my strength against yours, Will, but I will never forgive you for this.”
“Sakes, lass, I cannot help that I was born a Comyn, nor does my being one change the strong feelings I have had for you since the day we met.”
“It changes mine, though,” she retorted, “because I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust.” Twisting her hands together, she glowered at him as if she expected him to defend himself.
But, although he had never lied to her, by concealing his full identity he had deceived her. Knowing of no acceptable defense for that, he kept silent.
With a sound more akin to a beastly growl than any he had ever heard from so small a female, she turned on her heel and stormed away back toward Finlagh.
He did not try to stop her.
“He does not even care that he betrayed me,” Katy told herself as she forced her way through the dense underbrush and back through the forest the way she had come. “He stood there. How could he not say something? How could he have been a Comyn all along and not told me? Why did I never guess that he was, even when Clydia suggested it?”
Recalling moments when she might have pressed harder—in truth, when she ought to have demanded that he reveal his family name and clan, she grimaced. “How could I have been such a fool?”
She knew what her mother would say about that, aye, and Clydia, too—that she had not wanted to know, that she had likely resisted every chance that arose to demand the information. They would be right, too, and this, now, was her reward.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she dashed them away angrily with the backs of both hands. Shrubbery tugged at her clothing, branches whipped her arms, and one narrow, leafy branch brushed right across her face. She ignored them all.
“By the Rood, he ought to have said something,” she insisted. “He did not even apologize. He just stood there, looking sad or hurt or … or— Sakes, what will Clydia say when I have to tell her that he is a wicked Comyn? What if Da finds out? At least Gilli is gone … Mercy, poor Gilli Roy!”
Malcolm would flay Gilli if he learned that he had been secretly meeting Comyn de Raite’s daughter. “And, despite all Gilli had said to the contrary, he must know who she is,” Katy decided, awed by the thought. She had never thought of Gilli Roy being at all brave.
At least Clydia was not one to crow, and she would be pleased that Katy was keeping her promise to be back before supper. In fact, she had scarcely been away long enough for anyone else to note her absence. Skirting the clearing below the castle knoll from east to west, she crossed it from the west side as she would have had she merely visited Granny Rosel and her neighbors.
Entering the hall, she saw both Argus and Eos curled by the fireplace and men setting up trestles for supper in the lower hall. Looking toward the dais, she saw her mother step out of the inner chamber behind it and catch her eye.
“Oh, good, you’ve returned, dearling,” Cat said. “Prithee, come into the inner chamber before you go upstairs. Your father and I want to talk to you.”
A shiver shot up Katy’s spine at those words. What if her parents had learned where she had been and with whom? Clydia would not have betrayed her, but Fin and Catriona had oft seemed to be all knowing.
Seeing no help for it, she went to the dais, where Cat waited for her to enter the chamber first. Katy nearly sighed in relief at seeing Clydia there with Fin.
Oddly, Bridgett and her mother, Ailvie, were there, too.
When Catriona had shut the door behind her, Fin said, “I’m glad you are back, Katy, because I’ve had news that affects all of us. You may sit if you like, all of you,” he added. “But this should not take long.”
The women took seats, watching him with varied degrees of wariness.
“I have had a message from Comyn de Raite, signing himself as ‘Sir Gervaise Comyn de Raite,’ as we know he now styles himself. The message is f
ormal warning that he is sending word to his grace, James, King of Scots, charging Malcolm of Clan Chattan and Donald, Thane of Cawdor, with transgressing his grace’s explicit order that they maintain the peace in Nairnshire.”
Katy said, “But he is the one—”
“Nae, lass,” Fin interjected with a wry smile. “Everyone here sees the irony in de Raite’s charges, so let me finish what I have to say. Then you may add whatever you like. I have sent a runner after Malcolm to warn him of Comyn de Raite’s threat, but I’ll wager that Malcolm pays it less heed than I do, because we both know that most people in Nairnshire will support Malcolm’s actions, and Cawdor’s. After all, Jamie himself confirmed Cawdor’s constabulary. He is unlikely to pay Comyn’s charges much heed, if any.”
“Marry,” Katy said when he stopped. “I should think his grace would charge Comyn instead with breaking the peace.”
“I think Jamie would like to clap him in irons, but he has said that he prefers to keep him at Raitt, where he is farther from other dissident but still scattered Comyns, rather than go elsewhere to wreak his havoc. Sithee, de Raite would like to reunite his clan and gain more territory for himself, and though Malcolm upset this recent foray, de Raite has a short temper and may try other attacks.”
“What are you going to do, sir?” Katy asked, fearing that he would confine them to the castle. Despite Finlagh’s strategic location, the castle was ill suited for siege conditions. Though it looked large, it was in truth too small to contain the cottars, other tenants, and all the men-at-arms who would seek shelter within its walls. Poultry and sheep required shelter, too, because everyone had to be fed.
Fin smiled as if he were reading her thoughts. “I am going to ask you all to be more cautious. We are well situated to see an impending attack from any direction. I will add more watchers, but I’d like those of you who enjoy solitary walks”—he looked directly at his lady wife before shifting his gaze to Katy—“to take more precautionary measures, such as walking in pairs or taking the dogs with you. I would also ask you to let others know exactly where you mean to go and how long you mean to be away. If you cannot agree—”
“We will,” Catriona said. “Will we not, everyone?” She looked right at Katy.
“Aye, Mam,” Katy said, thinking it would not matter, because she was no longer speaking to Will. The thought stirred an unexpected but strong sense of injury and sadness that threatened to overwhelm her until Clydia spoke.
“Da, you have made me remember something I wanted to ask you.”
“Aye, sure, Clydia-lass, what is it?”
“Katy and I were discussing the odd feeling, sometimes a chill that one gets now and now, as if someone is watching us or danger lurks ahead, though one seems to have little reason to suspect such a thing. Do you know what I mean?”
“Aye, sure,” Fin said. “That feeling has saved my life—and if not my life, then surely my reputation as a knight—a number of times. Such sensations are mental warnings to which you should pay heed.”
“But what causes them?” Katy asked.
“I can tell you what I learned as a lad at St. Andrews when I was there with your uncle Ivor and others that the bishops had agreed to educate. Bishop Traill called the sensation ‘intuition,’ which derives from the ancient Romans and refers to an instinct that one might define as a flurry of thoughts, facts, common sense, experiences, and random incidents noted over time, coming together in a blink and giving one pause. Traill said that such intuition can fling itself together so fast that your body sometimes reacts without thought. Always, though, it is cause for reflection, such as paying more heed to your surroundings. Each one is a warning, though it can produce anything from a mere pause for thought right up to a jolt of true terror. That last one is the sensation that he advised us always to heed and instantly obey.”
“But how?” Clydia asked.
“In my own experience, by changing one’s intended action or direction as swiftly and sensibly as possible.”
“But how does one know the difference between just being wary or wondering and true fear?” Katy asked.
“I don’t know that one stops to measure such differences,” Fin said. “I can tell you that once, when I had such a jolt in the midst of a battle, I flung myself aside without a thought and just missed losing my head to a chap behind me already swinging his sword. I’d had no warning, but I knew instantly that I had to move, so I did. I didn’t feel as if I’d merely blinked. I felt as if I’d had time to recall my exact position, which way to go, and how fast. It was as if all the action around me had slowed, though of course it had not. Traill told us similar tales of other warriors.”
“Did he explain how one might know everything that one must know to act sensibly in such a case?” Clydia asked.
“He explained that things others have said, myriad facts, seemingly innocent warning signs, and other knowledge acquired from birth onward collect in one’s mind and push themselves forward as one thought when they are needed. He could not explain how the process itself works. It just does, he said, and one should always trust and heed such instincts if one desires to live a long life.”
Katy sighed. Clearly, such instincts did not include the one that had told her she could trust Will Comyn.
Will had kept an eye on the direction in which Katy stormed off in her fury and listened for sounds of her return or an unfortunate result of her impulsive flight. Hearing only the sounds of shrubbery being thrust aside, he turned gloomily homeward.
He had taken just a few steps when an indignant young voice behind him said, “Ye should ha’ told her straightaway who ye were, ye dafty!”
Turning sharply, Will saw a fair-haired lad of eleven or twelve in front of the Stone, glowering as if he resented not being big enough to strike him down.
“I thought I kent all o’ ye Comyn villains, but I dinna ken ye,” the boy went on, looking scornful. “If ye be brother tae Jarvis, ye must be the bairn what the auld laird sent away tae grow up wi’ his ain kin near Inverness.”
“You seem extraordinarily knowledgeable about my kinsmen,” Will said.
“Aye, sure, for I bided wi’ them for a time till I grew sick o’ them,” the boy said. “Sithee, old Rab … ye’d ken Rab fine, I warrant,” he added, cocking his head.
“I knew him when I was much younger than you are, but Rab is dead.”
“Aye, sure, at Lochaber, for I saw Sir Àdham kill him when Rab tried tae kill Sir Àdham first. And that feardie Hew … he ran off, so I stayed wi’ Sir Àdham, and he brung me tae Finlagh. Did yer Inverness kinsmen grow sick o’ ye, then?”
“Nae, my father sent for me after Rab died.”
“Did ye no fight at Lochaber, then? I were there, wi’ Rab and them, ’cause Rab and Hew made me fetch and carry for them. But they were vile tae me, and their da be a fair demon hisself, so I stayed at Finlagh, and I like it fine.”
Will frowned. “What’s your name, and where did you spring from now?”
The boy jerked a thumb at the Stone. “I were standin’ ahind yon great rock.”
“So you were listening to us, the lady Katy and me.”
“Aye sure, for I followed Lady Katy, ’cause she didna take the dogs, so I heard all that the pair o’ ye said tae each other. Ye made her gey angry, and I dinna wonder. Why did ye no tell her who ye were from the start?”
“Because I wanted to know her better, and I feared she would hate me if she knew I was a Comyn,” Will said frankly. “Sithee, lad, I am not like the others.”
“Talk dinna mean nowt, though. Ye’ll ha’ tae show us ye’re no like ’em.”
“You’re right about that, but you owe Lady Katy an apology, too.”
The boy grimaced. “Ye dinna think I should ha’ stayed quiet ahind yon rock. I didna think I should interrupt ye whilst ye talked, though, either o’ ye, and when ye started a-kissing her, I—”
“Nevertheless, you must tell Lady Katy that you heard us,” Will interjected firmly. “If you do not and she finds out some other way that you did hear and see us, you will be in for it, my lad. I want to know your name.”
“I’m Rory,” the boy said. “I were just a-looking out for our Lady Katy.”
Will raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Aye, then, I’ll tell her,” the boy said in a rush of words. “Like as not, she’ll be wroth wi’ me, but she never stays angry long, though.”
Will was glad to hear those last words but feared that Katy would remain true to her own word and never trust him again.
“What do you mean, he betrayed your trust?” Clydia demanded after she had dragged the tale out of Katy as they prepared for bed. “However did he betray it?”
“Good sakes, by not telling me at the outset exactly who he is, of course.”
“But you told me you trusted him completely, right from the start.”
“I did!”
“Did you tell him you are Katy MacFinlagh, daughter of Fin of the Battles?”
“Nae, but I never—” Katy stopped, pressing her lips together. After some thought, she said, “You mean I did not trust him enough to tell him all that, but you know we never give more information to people we meet than we must, so I expect you think Will likely acts the same way when he is on land other than his own.”
“Just so,” Clydia said. “I think the feeling that you could trust him had more to do with your sense of safety than with his name or kinsmen. You trusted him not to harm you, Kate, and that trust does seem to have been well placed, aye?”
Katy hesitated, pondering the thought. “I do still believe he would not harm me physically, but that does not ease my anger with him.”
“Nor should it,” Clydia said. “He deserves your anger.”
Katy nodded but wondered if she could trust even her thoughts about Will. However, images of him and thoughts of what they had been doing before she had mentioned Nairn kept flowing through her mind, and she could not stop thinking about him. Right before she finally slept, she realized that she wanted to see him again. That thought lingered and leaped into her mind again when she awoke Wednesday morning to find that the shearing of their sheep had begun.