Some Like it Scot

by Suzanne Enoch

  If she warmed up much more, she was likely to catch fire. She knew what he meant, even though he hadn’t said it this time—that she belonged to him. If that was the case, then she supposed he belonged to her, as well. And tonight, with the warm company and the loud music and the very potent mulled cider, that seemed a very fine idea.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Bear, wake up, ye slug.”

  Munro opened his eyes in the near darkness to the sensation of Cat shoving at his shoulder. For a bare moment he couldn’t quite place where he was, until the naked woman sitting up beside him pinched his ear. Hard. “Dammit, woman!” he said, swatting at her hand.

  “The sun’ll be up in an hour, Bear. Ye need to go.”

  Blinking, he sat up and slapped himself on the cheek. “Ye might have thought to wake me with a kiss, instead of trying to tear off my ear. Especially after ye had such a fine time in my company last night.”

  “I did kiss ye, ye brute,” Catriona returned, taking the blanket to wrap around herself and leaving him in the cold as she padded over to stir the fire in the hearth back to life. “Ye said ‘haggis,’ and held yer arm up like ye were delivering a toast.”

  He had been dreaming about food, now that he thought about it. A great feast with his family around him, and Cat seated at his side. The cold, dark kitchen at Haldane Abbey seemed a poor substitute for a grand banquet hall, but at least he had her with him. It would do for now. The haggis and feasting could wait.

  Shrugging into his shirt, he stood and retrieved his kilt. “Ye kissed me?” he repeated, snatching a kiss as he bent down for his boots.

  “Nae,” she returned. “I said that because I didnae want a giant like ye weeping about having his ear pinched.”

  “Very kind of ye, lass.” He snorted.

  “Aye. I’m a true lady.”

  “Ye’ll nae hear an argument from me.” Munro finished belting the plaid into place, then stretched his back. “I need to fetch ye a mattress, Cat. I’ve slept on bare dirt more comfortable than this damned stone floor.”

  “I dunnae need a mattress; ye’re quite comfortable, and warm.”

  Taking her shoulder, he turned her to face him and gave her a soft, slow kiss. “Ye can call me yer mattress, lass, but dunnae ferget the poky bits.”

  She laughed as she kissed him back, the blanket sagging when she lifted her arm to tangle her fingers into his hair. “I like the poky bits.” Then she pulled back on his hair, backing him away from her. “Now go.”

  “Ye’ve a hard heart, wildcat.”

  “And ye’ve a stubborn one. I told ye to stay home, Bear, just as I have for the past week. Ye cannae be getting more than three or four hours of sleep each night, and still ye persist in riding here every night.” Dark eyes searched his. “If yer brother knew ye’ve been riding about alone in the middle of the night, he’d burn this place to the ground with me in it.”

  “I’ll nae have ye oot here alone in the dark, Cat. I’m nae arguing with ye aboot it.”

  The idea that she was spending so much time alone anyway troubled him; the thought of what could happen at night with only a kitchen door and a musket between her and any danger terrified him. Since she wouldn’t come to Glengask, he came to her. If that meant retreating to his bedchamber to wait for the house to go to sleep so he could ride out to Haldane every night, so be it. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep in his own bed while he worried about her out in the wilds, anyway.

  “Then stop kissing me and put on yer boots.”

  He did as she said, but only after a last kiss to show her that he didn’t intend to be ordered about by anyone—even her. Slipping out at night to protect her, to be with her, would all be for nothing if he didn’t manage to return to Glengask and his bed before the house rose for the day. “I’ll be back by ten o’clock,” he said, shrugging into his heavy, dark coat. “I’ll bring ye some fresh eggs and more tea. Is there anything else ye desire?”

  Her lips curved in a soft smile that made him want to shed his clothes and fall onto the blankets with her again, the future beyond these moments be damned. Whatever he’d thought about a night with her curing his obsession, he’d been dead wrong. If anything, the desire, the need, to be close by her overwhelmed even his sense of loyalty to his own family.

  “Some paper and pencil. I’d like to send Elizabeth a note.”

  Guilt tugged at him. He’d barely spared a thought for Cat’s sister in a week, despite seeing her daily. In his own defense he’d only given his word to see her safe—and she was definitely well protected. Beyond that, all of his attention remained on Catriona, whether he was at Haldane Abbey or Glengask Castle, awake or asleep.

  “I’ll fetch them fer ye, lass. Or, I could bring Elizabeth with me today.”

  Warm arms wrapped around his middle from behind to straighten his kilt. “Och, ye’re an embarrassment,” she commented, even though he was fairly certain he knew how to put on his own clothes. Whenever she approached him first, touched him first, his heart stuttered, even when she had an excuse for the contact.

  This lass, who could survive on her own in the Highlands, find her own food, and keep her sister safe—this supremely capable lass continued to baffle him with her hesitancy. It was as if she couldn’t believe he could want her. At least now after a week of being in his arms every night she could admit that she enjoyed being with him. Her touch felt like a triumph, and he reveled in it.

  “I’d love to see her,” she said, “but she’s safer at Glengask.”

  “Dunnae ye mean to say that ye’re safer with her at Glengask? She’s nae precisely been a secret. The letter her mother sent, accusing us of being barbarians trying to sully her good name, made me wish she’d come up here in person so I could set her on her arse, but it was all bluster, ye ken.”

  “I ken. I’m just relieved that yer brother has even the Sassannach aristocracy terrified of him. I noticed she didnae threaten to send Visford up to fetch back his betrothed.”

  He sent her a rueful smile. “I’m nae acquainted with this Visford, but I reckon a rich duke with a reputation for taking young brides and then driving them to death doesnae want to go to the effort of fighting to get one of them to return. He’ll go find another young lass whose family needs money.”

  “It makes me wish I’d paid him a wee visit before I left London with Elizabeth,” she said coolly.

  “What? Ye’d have murdered him?” He didn’t believe it, but he understood the sentiment. As for him, if the Duke of Visford had ever come within a mile of his own sister, well, the law in London would still be looking for Visford’s carcass—not that they would ever find it.

  She shrugged. “I cannae answer that. I ken he would at least think I might murder him.”

  “Fair enough. What might a manly, well-muscled lad do to help ye, then?”

  Her arms withdrew again, leaving him chilled both inside and outside. When he turned around, the set expression on her face didn’t warm him any, either. “Ye cannae do a thing more than ye’ve already done, Bear.”

  “But ye’re a mystery,” he pressed. “I want to know why ye’d rather sleep on a cold stone floor than in a warm, soft bed.”

  She walked over to the table, her shoulders high and square. Tense. “I’ve done all I can to tell ye that we shouldnae be together, Bear. But I’ll be damned before I’d tell ye someaught that might get ye hurt. So ye can decide: either go away and dunnae come back, or leave things as they are. I … This is fine enough, isnae? Just me and ye?”

  Perhaps he was more cynical than she was, but he didn’t think the world would keep its distance for much longer, no matter how much the idea of just the two of them, even on a hard stone floor, appealed to him. Given the prickle of worry at the back of his skull, trouble was coming. And he would feel better for both of them if he knew from what, precisely, she was hiding.

  “I like the idea of just ye and me,” he said aloud. “Kiss me good-bye, and I’ll see if I can manage to bring yer piuthar here w
ithoot a retinue of armed Highlanders.”

  Catriona sighed, evidently giving up on the argument. “Stubborn man.” Sliding her arms around his shoulders, she kissed him softly on the mouth. “Are ye on my side, Munro? Nae matter what happens?”

  “Aye,” he returned immediately. “I dunnae lie to my family fer just anyone, ye ken. Only fer ye, Catriona.”

  “That doesnae make me feel better, you know. I dunnae want ye lying to yer clan chief. Yer own brother. I’m still accustomed to nae having an ally.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “I am yer ally. Bark at me if ye like, my fine lass; I’ve nae plans to go away from ye. And I reckon I’ll do as I see fit, whether ye approve or nae.”

  When she returned to the fire he continued to watch her, her confident, graceful motions, her scarlet hair trailing lushly down her bare shoulders. She could be gentle, and kind, and sensitive, but she wasn’t a delicate lass; the Highlands and the way she’d chosen to live in them made her strong and practical and fierce and stubborn as the devil all at the same time. He’d met rough lasses, and ones who looked like a stiff breeze could break them. Never had he met anyone like Catriona MacColl.

  “I love ye,” he breathed, unwilling to risk the trouble saying it more loudly would cause.

  She turned around. “What was that?”

  Blast it. “I said I’ll find some gloves fer ye. We’ll have snow before long.”

  “Thank ye, Bear.”

  As he went outside to saddle Saturn, he could tell himself that admitting aloud how he felt would only drive her to flee, but it wasn’t only that. He was a big, loud brute of a man his brothers liked to bring along with them because his presence intimidated people. How often had he heard that he hadn’t a poetic or a romantic bone in his body, that his only taste was in his mouth? He’d almost begun to believe it—until he’d stumbled across Cat. She was a lass to make a man think of poetry. Fierce, old, bloody poetry. And fires, and heat, and sin. And he had no intention of ever letting her go.

  With the sky beginning to lighten in the east, he pushed Saturn to a gallop the moment they reached the main trail. He could call this an early morning ride if someone spied him now, but the farther from Haldane he could get, the better. If either Ranulf or Arran realized he was making midnight visits to the abbey, his brothers would demand an explanation that he wasn’t going to give them.

  As he reached the stable he let out his breath, dismounting to lead the big gray into the warm building. Weariness pulled at him; Cat’s assessment that he was only getting three or four hours of sleep a night was fairly accurate. Unless he wanted to try dragging her away from Haldane, though, riding back and forth two or three times a day had become the best solution.

  “I’ll see to him, m’laird,” a gravelly voice said from a few feet behind him.

  Stifling a curse, Munro whipped around to see Debny, Glengask’s head groom, wiping his hands on a cloth and eyeing him in the light of the single lantern illuminating the large building. “I didnae mean to wake ye,” he said aloud. “I felt a bit restless this morning.”

  “Dunnae apologize, Laird Bear. I’ve a colicky mare I’ve been tending, anyway. By the by, some of the lads wanted me to tell ye, they’d be pleased to help ye with rebuilding old Haldane, even if it is haunted. Ye and Peter dunnae need to do it all yerselves.”

  “I appreciate that, Debny. Tell the lads I may take ’em up on their offer.” He wouldn’t, of course, as long as Cat remained skittish, but it was nice to know he would have help if he wanted it.

  “I’ll do that. Go get yerself some breakfast, m’laird. I’ll fetch Saturn a nice bucket of oats.”

  Saturn had earned it, after a week of working both day and night. Nodding, Munro trudged up to the sprawling house. With the sun not quite up he was hungrier for sleep than for breakfast, unusual as that was, so he passed by the kitchen for the servants’ stairs. None of the other bedchamber doors were open yet, and he slipped into his own and shut it quietly behind him. Then he collapsed onto the bed, boots and all, to squeeze out another hour or so of sleep—and to dream about food and the redheaded wildcat who’d captured his heart.

  * * *

  “Bear!” Sudden pounding reverberated around him.

  Why the devil was everyone interrupting his damned sleep? Opening his eyes, Munro sat up and swung his booted feet around to the floor. “Come in, fer God’s sake!”

  His door opened, and Ranulf stepped into the room. A hundred thoughts tangled through his head at his brother’s set expression—had Debny said something about his predawn ride? Had Visford decided to take issue with the removal of his betrothed after all? Had someone discovered Catriona? Bloody hell.

  “Duncan Lenox is here,” his brother announced. “He spotted—did ye sleep in yer clothes?”

  Frowning, Munro smoothed his shirt. “Aye. Apparently I did. What did Duncan spot?”

  Duncan Lenox was a MacLawry chieftain, living with his three younger sisters and his Sassannach bride three miles or so to the northeast. His property edged up to Campbell territory, and if he’d spied something, it likely wasn’t anything good. And if trouble was on its way, he needed to get to Haldane. Catriona was on her own there.

  “He isnae certain. A dozen riders surrounding a coach, and MacDonald colors on display. They’ll be here any time now, and I want ye—”

  “MacDonald?” Munro snapped back, his heart thudding. MacDonalds were the worst kind of trouble he could imagine. “Damnation.”

  “I gave ye my word, Bear,” his brother returned. “Elizabeth MacColl is under my protection. We’ll negotiate someaught acceptable to both parties, and the lass will be yers.”

  Munro stopped breathing. Perhaps he was still asleep after all. Ranulf knew? Aye, his brother had a reputation for being all-knowing, but he’d been so careful. But the marquis wasn’t flaying him alive for keeping Cat hidden. Something didn’t make sense.

  Abruptly it occurred to him. Ranulf was talking about a match with Elizabeth. And his brother might have been surprised by the MacDonalds’ timing, but he wasn’t surprised they were coming. “Ye sent the MacDonald word that ye had Randall MacColl’s daughter here.”

  “I didnae want them thinking we’d taken her against her will. She said she fled London with nae more than a note to her mama, but it wasnae the English that concerned me. I dunnae want any misunderstandings that could cause a fight.”

  “But ye didnae see fit to tell me what ye did?” Munro might not know precisely what the problem was between Cat and the rest of the MacDonalds, but he did know she’d fled to escape them. And now—bloody hell, if she caught sight of them, she would be gone before he had a chance to tell her … anything.

  “Ye’ve been a mite stubborn and closemouthed,” his brother returned. “Ye’d have to approach the MacDonalds sooner or later. I’m making it easier on ye. I’ll shake hands and be polite. Ye just have to show yerself.”

  “Ye’re making it easier on me, are ye?” Munro wanted to punch something, and he wanted to get to Haldane immediately. And he couldn’t do either one without causing even more problems. Hell, he couldn’t even inform his brother that the family was trying to pair him with the wrong MacColl sister. “I dunnae recall asking fer yer assistance. With anything.”

  “Well, ye have it anyway. Are we going to brawl, or are ye going to put on someaught clean and meet the coach with me?”

  He cursed under his breath. “Am I supposed to smile, or growl?”

  “Just do what ye do best.”

  Munro stomped over to his wardrobe. “Ye have nae idea what I do best,” he muttered. He caught Ranulf eyeing him suspiciously, and took a breath. He would have a bloody mountain of actions to answer for later, but not today. “Ye didnae send for the Duke of Visford as well, did ye?” he asked.

  “Nae. I dunnae give a damn aboot Visford. Even the lass’s mother barely managed a bluster. The MacDonalds, though, I find mildly interesting. They might even turn oot to be useful.” The marquis backed u
p, catching the door handle in one hand. “Ye’ve twenty minutes or so. I suggest ye look fierce, but be reasonable.”

  “I’m always fierce,” he answered automatically, having had this conversation a hundred times before. “If ye want reasonable, send fer Arran.”

  “This is fer yer lass, Bear. Keep that in mind.” Ranulf pulled the door closed, leaving him alone with his thoughts, such as they were.

  At some other moment he might have been amused that the MacLawrys and Catriona both thought Elizabeth MacColl would be a good match for him. But he’d only met one woman in his life who could match him, and he wasn’t about to give her up even if he couldn’t tell anyone else about her.

  Be reasonable with the MacDonalds. He might, if he knew what they required in exchange for leaving Catriona alone. Since he didn’t, the best he could wish for was that they would fall into the loch and drown. He felt like both hands were tied behind his back, and the only way to resolve his dilemma would be to talk to Cat.

  If he meant to continue lying to his family, he wanted it to be for a reason—a reason he understood and with which he agreed. Unfortunately for him and for the MacDonalds, he was going to have to meet them without knowing if they were friends or enemies. Her friends or enemies, which made them his.

  Swiftly he shaved off his stubble and cleaned his teeth, then donned a clean kilt and shirt. He set aside his work boots in favor of more proper stockings and gillie brogues. Shoving his sharp sgian dubh into his right stocking, he ran a comb through his too long, unruly hair and headed downstairs.

  Elizabeth stood in the foyer already, her expression excited. He couldn’t blame his suspicion of the MacDonalds on her if she kept chattering about how much she looked forward to meeting members of her own clan. And he couldn’t warn her to be cautious about what she said to them, because Ranulf, Charlotte, and Arran waited there, as well. Evidently the marquis had taken his advice and sent for his more diplomatic sibling. Squaring his shoulders, Munro stepped into the group.