“Then I will,” she stated, lifting her chin and surprised at how difficult it was to say the words aloud. “My sister is safe; there’s nae reason for me to stay on here. As ye said, Haldane Abbey is yer property. I amnae, however loud ye bellow it.”
Two feet from her, so close she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze, he stopped his advance. “Ye willnae go anywhere, Catriona,” he growled, reaching out and wrapping his fingers into the front of her coat, dragging her up against him. “Say what ye like, but we both ken ye’re running from the MacDonalds. And nae MacDonald can touch ye here.”
“I didnae say anything of the kind.”
“Ye didnae have to, lass.” He took a deep breath, looking at her so intently she didn’t think she could have looked away if she’d wanted to. “And I swear to ye,” he went on more quietly, “ye’ve naught to fear from me. Ye can trust me with all yer secrets.”
She wanted to. Even if keeping well away from him was safer. Safer for her heart. “I dunnae know how to play this game, Munro,” she blurted. “I say what I think, and I think ye and Elizabeth make a good match.”
Before she could take a breath, he kissed her, his mouth soft and lingering and warm on hers. “Say it again, then,” he murmured.
“Ye belong with Elizabeth.”
He dipped his head again, his too long black hair brushing her cheek as he took her mouth. Her fingers itched to wrap into his coat, and she sternly restrained herself. “Ye want me kissing yer sister, do ye?” he asked softly.
No! she yelled to herself, but for him she wrinkled her brow in what she hoped was a scowl. “Ye’ll keep her safe, giant.”
“Do I feel safe to ye?” he returned, his kiss this time hotter and more intoxicating than a glass of whisky.
He didn’t feel safe. At all. He felt … dangerous, to her head and to her heart. “Stop it,” she ordered, wrapping her hands around his and trying to free her collar from his hard, unrelenting grip. “I may be a virgin, but I’m nae an idiot. A few fair kisses willnae convince me of anything but that ye ken how to kiss. Because of all yer practice, I assume.”
With a muttered curse he released her again. “There are lasses who would already have all their clothes off if I kissed them like that, ye stubborn woman.”
“Then go kiss them,” she suggested, even though just the idea of it made her hands curl into fists.
“I dunnae want to kiss them. I want to kiss ye. And hit myself in the head with a hammer, all at the same time.”
Well, she could sympathize with that—not that she would tell him so. “There’s a hammer, right over there.”
“Bah. I dunnae know what to say to convince ye of anything, Cat,” he returned, and stalked over to retrieve the musket. With obvious care he inspected the weapon, emptied the shot, and reloaded it for her.
“So ye’ll go find Elizabeth?” she finally ventured, not certain what she’d expected to happen but feeling oddly … disappointed at the same time. As if something extraordinary had run right up to her, given her a look, and then turned around and walked away.
Bear snorted. “Nae. Ye may have befuddled me, but I’m nae an idiot, either.” He narrowed one eye. “Despite opinion to the contrary.”
Later she would attempt to decipher why his refusal of Elizabeth, his destruction of her swiftly formed plans, didn’t bother her much at all. “Ye’ll at least leave me be, then.”
“Aye. I’ll leave ye be,” he returned, handing her the weapon. “Use the damned blankets I brought ye. I’ll nae have ye freezing to death on my account.”
Abruptly she wanted to cry. He’d given up—precisely as she’d asked him to, and yet—he’d given up. On her. “I will. Thank ye.”
“Ye’re welcome. Do ye have a timepiece here?”
“What? Nae. What are ye—”
“Here.” He pulled a pocket watch out of his coat and set it on the table. “Make yerself scarce aboot ten o’clock, but be close enough to hear me yell. I’ll try to have only Peter with me, but one of my brothers or Lach might insist on coming along.”
Catriona eyed him. Either she was too tired to follow the conversation, or Bear still meant to return to Haldane. “I thought—”
“Ye thought what?” he broke in, setting the bundle he’d dropped in the doorway close by the hearth. “That ye’d managed to be rid of me? I dunnae mean to make it as easy as that. I’ll leave ye be tonight, because ye’re tired and ye’ve had all yer plans turned rightside doon, and because if I kiss ye again I’ll nae be able to stop myself. But I do mean to have ye, lass, and I reckon I’ll seduce ye until ye can think of naught but the two of us rolling aboot naked on those blankets.” He gestured at them.
Now she’d likely never be able to sleep in them at all. “But—”
“Aye, ye drive me dizzy, wildcat, spinning me aboot so I couldnae tell ye where to find the sky. But I do know two things: first, I’m nae going to wed yer sister just so ye can have one less thing to keep ye here. And second, I like ye. I’ve a fondness fer ye I cannae explain to yer satisfaction, obviously, but I’m nae finished with ye.” He retrieved his rifle, hefting it like it weighed nothing. “Och, and there’s a third thing, too. Ye like me. Ye’ll nae admit it, because ye’re more stubborn than a badger, but a lad knows when the lass he’s kissed, kisses him back. And ye, wildcat, kissed me back.”
She couldn’t deny that. Not tonight, when the warmth and taste of his mouth still lingered on hers. Not when her heart had nearly pounded its traitorous way out of her chest when she’d first heard him in the hallway. “I see ye as a friend, Bear. One I didnae expect. But—”
He lifted a hand. “Nae. Ye stop right there. I’m nae yer friend. What I want to do to ye I dunnae do with my friends.” The big man flashed her a warm smile that did even more heated things to her insides. “We can be friendly, I reckon, because that’s a beginning.”
With that he walked up, gave her a last, too brief kiss that had her leaning up toward him, then left the kitchen. Catriona sagged back into the chair. All her plans for seeing Elizabeth properly and permanently taken care of, for her escaping from the contemptuous, condescending looks of … well, of everyone who knew her, all stood as ruined as the building around her. But in the midst of all that, one thought swirled—Bear MacLawry liked her, refused to give up on her, and apparently meant to woo her.
Heaven help her, she wanted him to woo her. She wanted to do more than kiss him. She wanted to feel his warm skin beneath her hands and hear him tell her again that he liked her and wanted her, and not because he had to, because she was a MacDonald chieftain’s daughter—or niece now, rather—but in spite of that. No man had ever just liked her. Or if one did, he’d never had the courage to approach her and tell her so.
Wishing endlessly for things, though, had never made them happen. Or it had never sufficed before, anyway. At this moment, unless she’d dreamed everything that had just happened, Bear did want her. Now she only needed to decide if giving in to what her body wanted would be worth the trouble it would cause. Was what might well be her one chance at happiness, even temporary happiness, worth a war?
She stood up again, going over to open the bundle he’d brought. Two heavy blankets, a sealskin wrap with a hood to keep a good portion of her dry when next she had to go out in the rain, and a cloth-wrapped meal of venison and three thick slices of buttered bread. Gathering it up, she sat against the warmth of the chimney, pulled one of the blankets up over her legs, and ate her predawn breakfast.
As she did so, she opened the last item Bear had smuggled out to her. A book. Robinson Crusoe, yet. She’d read it before, but not lately, and now she had to wonder if Munro thought of her as Crusoe. And if she was, was she a shipwrecked wretch alone in the wilderness? Or had her rescue already arrived, and she merely lacked the courage to stretch out her hand and accept it?
“Damnation.”
Perhaps she should just let Bear ruin her. It was only her presence the MacDonalds required—not her virginity. And she ha
d no intention of giving them either one. Once she … lay with Munro MacLawry, then she could stop thinking and wondering about him and make her plans based on logic rather than on frustrated lust. And perhaps that would satisfy him as well, and he would stop saying so many tempting, naughty things to her.
The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. In exchange for a night with him, the path before her would be clear. She wouldn’t have to spare Munro—or any idiotic dreams of a might-have-been future—a second thought.
* * *
“Where’s the lass?”
Ranulf turned away from the library window as his younger brother Arran strolled into the wood-paneled room. “Charlotte, Rowena, and yer Mary took her doon to An Soadh. Evidently she requires a new bonnet.”
At his gesture, Arran closed the door. “Any more conversation with Bear? Has he said what he means to do with Lady Elizabeth?”
“Nae. He’s up at Haldane again, fixing the door and the roof, I assume. This morning he sent Debny into the village with an order fer cut stone and lumber.” Sitting at the worktable, Ranulf pulled a letter from his pocket and slid it across the mahogany surface to his brother. “Until I hear differently, I’m assuming our bràthair is making Haldane Abbey livable because he means to live there.”
Arran grimaced. “Bear’s nae been one to spend much time contemplating. And I dunnae want to be the one to try to talk him oot of anything. But do ye ken he’s fallen fer the lass, or has he just gone and rescued her and now thinks he’s obligated?”
With a shrug, Ranulf sat back against his chair. “By Sassannach standards, he is obligated now. He’s been alone with her. And considering that Peter Gilling was the chaperone, well—Gilling chaperoned ye and Mary on yer way north. We all ken how effective that was.”
“I cannae argue with that,” Arran said with a grin. He unfolded the letter Ranulf had given him, then shot his older brother a quick look. “Ye truly mean to tell the MacDonald she’s here?”
“Her father was a clan chieftain. Gorrie likely doesnae give a damn where she ends up, but I’m nae going to be the one who made the trouble, this time. I’ll be courteous and gentlemanly and inform him that I’m removing Elizabeth MacColl from his clan.” He gave a dark smile. “That sounds courteous, doesnae?”
“Fer ye? Aye. But what if the MacDonald wanted her wed to Visford fer some reason? Suppose he disagrees with ye aboot the lass’s future?”
This was why Ranulf valued the middle MacLawry brother’s opinion so much. Arran generally had a way of thinking an event through not only to its logical, but also to its likely, conclusion. In this instance, however, he’d spent most of last night pacing, his bairn William in his arms, following the threads of every possible scenario. “Nae informing Gorrie seems a bigger risk to me,” he countered. “Munro’s my bràthair. His marriage willnae be overlooked, even if hers is.”
“Aye. I’ll agree with that. And I assume ye’re expecting Gorrie to want someaught in return fer giving this mostly English lass to the MacLawrys.”
“What I know fer certain is that if the marriage happens before he hears aboot the match, he’ll want more from us. When he gets angry that we tried to go past him withoot asking permission, we’ll also end up with a herd of MacDonalds looking fer trouble crowding our borders. In my opinion, one MacDonald here is enough.”
“I cannae argue against that.” Arran finished reading the missive and handed it back. “Ye’re a generous man, Ranulf. Especially since Elizabeth MacColl is too distant from her clan to bring us any advantage. And I’m fairly certain the Stewarts willnae be happy to lose their last chance at a MacLawry marriage.”
“I’m nae aboot to try to force Bear into someaught if he’s finally found a lass to keep his interest fer longer than one night.” He grimaced. “And he threatened to break Conchar Boyd in half if I tried to marry him off to Boyd’s sister.”
Laughing, Arran drummed his hands against the tabletop. “I should’ve thought of threatening to damage a lass’s family if I didnae like the look of her.”
“Instead, ye nearly started a war.” And Arran’s pursuit of Mary Campbell had nearly fractured the MacLawry family, which was worse than any damned war as far as Ranulf was concerned. After the near mishap with Arran, he’d taken a step back. He might suggest or even threaten, but he wouldn’t force Bear to marry someone the big man didn’t want. Nor would he prevent his brother from claiming a half-Sassannach, English-raised lass if she was who he wanted. After all, the MacLawry siblings were half English, themselves.
“I still cannae help thinking that Bear’s nuptials are a bit anticlimactic,” Arran resumed. “Ye marry a Sassannach, I have a Campbell, Winnie and Lach nearly get murdered before they come to their senses—and then Bear marries a MacDonald lass and costs ye what, a hundred acres of grazing land?”
Ranulf returned the letter to his breast pocket. “I’ll nae complain aboot that. I ken I’m still the devil to the English and to our rivals here, and I mean to keep it that way. Within our own family, though, I believe we’ve earned some peace and calm. Dunnae ye think?”
“Aye. That I do.” Arran pushed away from the table and stood. “And now I think I might find myself in An Soadh in time to purchase the lasses some luncheon at the Bonny Bruce.”
Once his brother left the house, Ranulf had the letter sent off by special messenger north to the MacDonald. Then he sent Owen out to deliver luncheon to Munro and Peter Gilling at Haldane Abbey. It wasn’t much in the way of a peace offering, but for Bear, food counted double.
He had the feeling it would take more than sandwiches when he sat down with Munro in the next few days and asked for some answers about the lass and when he planned on marrying her, because however distant her relationship with the MacDonalds, at least a token number would expect invitations. And coordinating any meeting between clans took both time and some finesse.
In the meantime, the MacLawrys and MacTiers would be occupied with making young Lady Elizabeth MacColl feel like a welcome part of the family. Even if he didn’t quite see what had drawn one of them to the other. Bear had made it clear that that was none of his affair, and so he would keep his distance as much as he could—as much as the head of the family, the chief of clan MacLawry, and a brother, could.
* * *
Something had changed. Catriona couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and it wasn’t anything obvious, but it hung there in the air like the scent of pine trees in the cold. “Ye’re certain Elizabeth is safe?” she asked, over the stack of lumber she and Peter Gilling were wrestling up the fractured staircase. “Ye gave yer word, Bear.”
Unkempt black hair above a devilish handsome face appeared over the railing. “If ye ask me that one more time I’m likely to start howling like a banshee. She’s surrounded by a half-dozen burly MacLawry men and, if that isnae sufficient, she has my sister on one arm and Lady Glengask on the other, and Mary Campbell-MacLawry in the mix, as well. Those lasses would make me think twice before I made a ruckus.” He reached down and lifted the armload of boards with no noticeable effort.
“But they didnae make a promise to her. Ye—”
“Aye. I made a promise to her. Peter, will ye fetch the tarp and the bucket of nails?”
“Dunnae throw each other off the roof while I’m away,” the footman muttered, then flashed her a smile and headed back to the ground floor.
Munro reached down again. “I also made a promise to ye, wildcat. Since I cannae divide myself in two, I’ve seen yer piuthar looked after, and I’m here. Now give me yer hand and stop trying to order me aboot. I told ye I wasnae going anywhere.”
With an exaggerated sigh she gripped his hand, and he half lifted her over the rubble of the fallen second floor. “So now ye expect me to climb about on the roof with ye?”
Instead of releasing her hand, he drew her slowly closer. She had to put her palm against his chest to keep from falling against him. Aggravating man and his cheeky, attractive smile—and those delicious, na
ughty kisses. “Do ye ever take yer hair doon?” he murmured, lifting his hand to run the back of his forefinger down one cheek.
Why the devil did his touch make her shiver all the way down her spine and between her legs? She didn’t want any of this to happen. For a long moment she gazed up at his springtime eyes, and he looked back at her squarely, intently, as if he was trying to memorize her features.
They couldn’t go on like this. And since she would have been willing to wager that he wasn’t going to give in, perhaps she needed to do so. Then, when he had what he wanted and she had a night like the one she’d been dreaming of whenever she managed to close her eyes, they could … well, set things back the way they should be. She couldn’t set him after Elizabeth again, not after she’d been with him, but his presence would stop troubling her so.
Aside from that, and heaven help her, she wanted him. His kisses curled her toes, and the sound of his deep, rolling brogue made her heart hum. For the first time in weeks she didn’t have to worry about her sister, and instead of running from what she knew she didn’t want, she could look at what—who—she did want. Even if it would only be for one night.
A holiday from her own life. Yes. A very handsome, very muscular holiday who seemed genuinely to find her interesting rather than odd. Then, when they’d both slaked their lust, or whatever it was she should be calling it, she could think logically about what she needed to do. About which path would best serve her and her future.
“I’ll give ye every penny in my pockets fer yer thoughts, bonny lass,” Bear said, tilting his head. A thick lock of his black hair fell across his temple. “Because ye’re nae fighting me, and ye’re nae trying to flee.”
Catriona snorted. “Does that make ye nervous, giant?”
“Aye. Ye’re clearly pondering someaught, and that’s nae been good fer me up till now.”
Before she could change her mind, she lifted up on her toes, tugged on his hair to lower his face to hers, and kissed him. His mouth was warm, and he tasted of American coffee and marmalade. This time he didn’t grab at her or try to pin her against what was left of the wall, and she realized he meant to follow her lead.
Some Like it Scot Page 17