by TC Calligari
Suddenly a cheer arose from the men on the ramparts. The great gate rose and the women and children spilled from the courtyard out into the village to meet their men. Deirdre rose and hollered with glee. Without warning she grabbed Catríona’s hands and smiled with complete trust and happiness.
“They’re safe!” She squeezed Cat’s hands as if they were already the best of friends. Deirdre ran off to find her father and her brothers while Catríona made her way slowly out into the village.
“Moira, roll out the casks. We’ll be having a feast of tales tonight!” A rowdy middle-aged woman wearing an apron rushed toward the kitchens.
“Do you think that wise with that seamstress near? She isn’t one of us.” a whispered response came in reply.
Catríona hastened her steps away from the women. She could not fathom why everyone was so leery of outsiders. Was it not the MacConaill Clan that had a reputation that warned to avoid. Her experience in the village told her that these people were shockingly kind and caring and yet, somehow, there still seemed to be many secrets that Catríona simply did not understand. She needed to do better at gaining their trust, she decided, so that they would share these secrets—secrets that might be just what she needed to destroy their leaders. Catríona decided to avoid the feast tonight. She would allow the MacConaills their Feast of Tales without her, because the next time she was determined to be invited without whispers or strange descriptions barring her way.
As the throngs of happy celebrants moved toward the great hall, Catríona pressed against the crowd to the far edge of the village. She needed space. She needed a moment to collect herself and steel her emotions against the strange surge that she was currently feeling. It occurred to Catríona that it bothered her, on a personal level, that she was being excluded from the community. She gave herself a mental shake. Sure, she had grown to care for many of them, but she would not let them worm their way into her affections and spoil her plans. Why couldn’t the townsfolk be as ruthless and brutal as their Laird? Why did she care whether or not they accepted her?
These were her mother’s people, she told herself. That must be why she felt this small attachment. She took a deep breath and collected her nerves, the streets now empty behind her. The others may be decent, innocent people but the Laird and his sons were certainly not. She needed to remind herself of this truth. The memory of her father’s last breath flashed before her eyes and Catríona felt her resolve harden. After speaking with Deirdre she was one step closer. Maybe living within the midst of the enemy would help her to forget the kindnesses that she had received from the others.
Catríona neared the shop in which she had been allowed to live these past weeks. Waiting outside the doorway was a great hulking figure that she could tell from a distance was Greum MacConaill. He pounded on the door before leaning against the building with a sigh, one arm clutched against his ribs. She approached him with assured steps that masked the terrible churning of her angry stomach.
“May I help you?” the customary address had not been truly meant as an invitation.
“Actually, yes. I was hoping so.” He pushed himself away from the wall to stand in front of her. Catríona’s mind yelled for her to retreat. How could she have hoped to defeat such a formidable creature? His shadow alone engulfed her and she found herself staring directly into his chest. Catríona craned her neck to look up into his face, which smiled down at her with what she could only guess was embarrassment. “You see, I’m in need of a little… stitching.” He shrugged his shoulders and winced.
In the darkness Cat glanced at his kilt, which seemed to be in fine condition. She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at him once more before the reality of the situation struck her.
She raised both hands in front of her and took a step back, shaking her head the whole while.
“I don’t…” She felt her face flush as she imagined her needle piercing his flesh. “I can’t… I don’t sew…” Ever since the death of her father, Catríona’s stomach had never regained its ability to witness death or injury. Her back pressed against the storefront on the opposite side of the street, she had reached her limit of distance from the man.
“What’s your name?” He asked in a soothing voice, as if he were speaking to a frightened horse.
“Catr…” She caught herself. “Cat. Catlin.”
“Listen, Catlin.” He took a slow step nearer to her. “The surgeon’s busy enough with the other men. As I was the only one in the condition to walk myself, he told me to see if you might be up to the task. Apparently you have some skill with the needle?”
“My needles aren’t made for… skin.” She finished in a whisper.
“Ah.” Greum smiled. “He thought not. And so, he sent this.” He held up a small curved needle. Catríona realized that she had one hand entirely covering her mouth. Sensing her obvious reluctance, he continued. “Just so you know, I’m not going to die from this wound but that puts me at the far end of the list for repairs. If you could just close it up it would ease my discomfort considerably.”
Cat continued to stare at him in silence. She momentarily considered allowing him to suffer. It would be no less than he deserved.
“I’m afraid I forgot to say, please.” He finished.
Her mind was completely overloaded with the thought of the injury beneath his hand. Finally, Cat found herself nodding if only, she told herself, to get him to go away. She needed this man, and his bloody self, to leave as fast as possible or she was afraid that she might be sick. The truth was, though she planned on poisoning him at some point in the near future, she did not plan on staying around to watch the effects.
Catríona unlocked the door and allowed Greum to follow her into the small space. How was it that one man could fill a room so entirely? She pointed at a chair in the corner, in which he promptly sat, and moved to stoke the fire for more light. The murky darkness was the best that she could manage at this time of night.
“What now?” Cat was standing against the wall furthest away from Greum.
He released a low chuckle that revealed his amusement at her fear. “How about a drink to dull the senses?”
Cat hurried into the adjoining room and pulled a glass and a bottle of port from the shelves. She poured and handed him the cup with shaking hands. He took a deep drink and watched her over the rim of the cup. “You too.” He spoke between drinks. “I don’t need you sticking me with trembling hands.”
This drew a nervous laugh from Catríona. She was relieved to find that her fear of the situation at hand was distracting her from the fear of the man before her. She retrieved another cup and poured a share for herself before refilling his.
They drank in a silence only broken by Greum’s occasional requests to see if her hands had ceased their tremors. When they had stilled sufficiently, he dragged his chair into the light of the fire and sat down once more.
“You’ll need fresh water and some clean cloth to rinse with. Also, some fresh strips for bandages.” He tossed a pouch of money on the table. “Take whatever the supplies will cost, and double for your efforts.”
Catríona returned to the stockroom to gather the supplies with silent obedience. When she returned, Greum had removed his white shirt.
“What are you doing?” She tried to look anywhere but at his exposed torso.
“What did you expect?” He laughed. “You cannot sew my shirt to my skin.”
“I know that, but…”
He cut her off. “You have seen a man without his shirt before, haven’t you?” He was enjoying teasing her. The realization annoyed Catríona.
“Of course I have.” She scoffed. “It’s the mess I don’t want to see.” She lied. What she really did not want to see was his massive expanse of chest. Broad, chiseled muscles were accentuated by the shadows cast from the hearth and, if she were honest with herself, Catríona could not stop staring at the masterpiece that was Greum’s body. She had seen a male chest before but she had never, until this very mom
ent, seen one that made her heart race and her hands long to trace the many contours of a man’s body.
She placed the gathered items on a low stool at Greum’s feet. With a deep breath she knelt beside him, soaked the cloth, and wiped away enough blood around his hand that she could see the full extent of the cut. It would have to be fully cleaned after the stitching, she decided. The constant stream from the site would make it impossible to clean beforehand.
Catríona took the curved needle from Greum’s proffered hand and threaded it. She looked up into his watchful gaze and felt the strange worry that this would cause him pain. The gash was long, about the length of her hand from wrist to fingertip, and would take many stitches to close. She turned quickly, grabbed the bottle of port, and took a deep drink straight from the bottle. She handed it to her patient, who took a small sip before resting it on his knee while awaiting her ministrations.
The first stitch was the worst. Catríona’s hand hovered with the needle for a long moment before she worked up the courage to push it through the skin. She tied a knot and allowed the thread to hang limply from Greum’s side.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Greum teased, watching her battle the urge to be sick. His hand briefly grazed her cheek as he raised her chin to look at him. “I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”
“You’re a liar.” She laughed, appreciating the distraction.
“Well, it doesn’t hurt much.” He released a deep chuckle that Catríona found quite appealing. “Just keep going. You will not hear a complaint from me.”
She picked the needle back up from where it hung at his side and braced herself for the rest of the task. If she worked quickly it would be over before she realized it, she told herself. Stitch after agonizing stitch Catríona worked with sheer determination. When she tied the final knot and clipped the thread she thought that there was no greater feeling in the world than to be done. A strange sense of pride washed over her followed by a small amount of gratitude to the man who had helped her through the ordeal. Perhaps she was merely giddy from the drink but Catríona felt positively buoyant.
She retrieved the damp cloth and returned to the task of clearing the blood away from the wound. It was not until she began to pat it dry that she realized that Greum was sitting as if frozen in his chair. She looked up at him, concerned that perhaps she had harmed him, only to realize that somehow the air had thickened in the room. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the look in his eyes as he watched her, the deep green of his gaze boring into her with a force that had her holding her breath.
She made an excuse to move away from him, taking the soiled water to dump behind the building. He had been stilled by her hands upon his body, she realized. Catríona waited a moment for her cheeks to stop burning before returning to the small room. Greum still sat as she had left him, though his eyes followed her around the room.
With quick movements, Catríona wrapped the bandage around his ribs. Now that she was aware of his response, it was hard to ignore her own. In order for her arms to meet behind his back, and pass the bandage between her hands, her cheek would brush against his chest. When she tried to lean her head away from him, her breast brushed him instead, causing her to drop the bandage and forcing her to begin anew. He tried to make it easier for her by remaining perfectly still but, even when she attempted to walk the bandage around him, her knuckles still grazed his flesh as she guided the path of the bandage.
When it was finished, and Catríona felt as if her nerves could handle no more, Greum stood up and once again seemed to fill the entire space with his presence. He took a slow step toward her, expressing his gratitude with words that Catríona’s ears were too full of her own heartbeat to hear.
She should have backed away, but it was her turn to be paralyzed. Catríona could not have moved if she wanted to, though a small part of her brain admitted that she did not. When his hands came to settle on her waist, they hesitated for a long moment, waiting for her to rebuke him. But she did not. She only continued to stare at the bandage across his chest as if it were the most important thing in the world. She knew that it was a terrible thing to want to kiss Greum, but the traitorous part of her brain wondered what it would be like with such a man. The two sides of Cat’s brain warred. She could neither move forward nor pull away, and she was acutely aware of him watching the battle play across her face.
He was incredibly patient, and that made her angry. Was not the Clan MacConaill supposed to be forceful and brutish? Had he behaved that way, she might have had the resolve to hate him in that moment. Instead, he waited with agonizing patience, ensuring that Catríona decided for herself the next move.
She raised her face to look back at him, his own was serious as he evaluated her response. Catríona knew that, despite the longing building inside of her, she could never initiate a romantic encounter with her sworn enemy and yet, she still could not pull away. In the end, she settled her hands on his forearms that extended between them but moved no other part of her body.
It was then that he moved. With a gentle tug he pulled her against him and brought his mouth down over her own. Catríona’s mind spun like a whirlwind. Her fingers curled against his skin and she found herself pressing against him with uncharacteristic abandon. Greum’s mouth was tender against her lips, his hands covering her back in warmth. There was another unfamiliar warmth that was coiling in Catríona’s stomach. A yearning that she had never experienced before, one that would later frighten her but at this moment only increased the thrill. His fingers stroked her back, sending tendrils of sensation ricocheting through her body.
“Cat,” He murmured her name against her lips.
The nickname brought back a surge of angry memories, as she had known it would. She pulled away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. His brows were furrowed in confusion, but he clearly understood the action. With one swift motion he grabbed his tattered shirt, muttered a breathy apology and quickly vacated the premises. Catríona did not look out after him, but instead, locked the door, grabbed the bottle of port and stationed herself in front of the waning fire to contemplate her inexcusable behavior.
She had almost resolved, after the kiss, not to join Deirdre in the castle, but by the next morning she realized that it was silly to allow such a moment to prevent her from her ultimate goal. Greum was a man, and she a woman, Catríona reminded herself. It was not uncommon for there to pass moments of weakness between the sexes that played no role in the reality of their relationships to one another. It was her burning hatred that had been mistaken for passion, she told herself, a surge of feeling that was misinterpreted in the moment.
With her head held high and her bundle slung over her shoulder she bid farewell to her hosts and made her way north to the castle. As she passed through the courtyard she noticed a large gathering standing, once again, around Father Kendrick as he spoke. She had no intention of listening, but was forced to pause upon hearing her name.
“There is a rumor, that the men overheard last night, that the Lady Sutharlainn has been taken prisoner not five nights past.” Cat breathed a sigh of relief that the true date of her departure was so obscured. She pitied her uncle, who likely tried to keep her adventure secret in the hope of her swift return. “The Laird has sent an envoy to Castle Sutharlainn to see if we can be of any service in the recovery of the lass. We made a vow to protect the kin of our own Moira Larkin, the former Lady herself.” The crowd made quick gestures to cross themselves. “And now, I ask ye all, to pray for the young Mistress in her trials. That she might be returned safely, and without harm.” The crowd murmured its agreement. “And that the Clan Sutharlainn may be freed from the evils that plague its people, that justice might be served, and our ties reunited with the bond that was once promised!”
Catríona stood at the edge of the crowd in an attempt to understand Father Kendrick’s speech. There was much of it that she did not understand. She knew that the MacConaills had broken their bond of loyalty but serious
ly doubted that would ever be restored. What surprised her most was that the speech was not filled with loathing against her own clan, but instead with hope and prayers for her wellbeing. Did they care for her over her father because she was the blood of their kin? If they wished her well and happy, then why did they destroy what little remained of her immediate family?
Cat shook her head and moved past the crowd. She was pleased that the false story spread about her capture would keep all suspicion away from her arrival on MacConaill lands. She smoothed a hand over the pocket of her skirts, taking comfort in the weight of the vile that lay inside.
When she arrived in the castle she was instructed to unpack her belongings in the small room adjoining Deirdre’s chambers and wash before joining the woman to break the fast in the great hall below.
Upon entering the feast hall, Deirdre stood and motioned for Catríona to sit beside her. Cat joined her at the head table with a small curtsy and a “g’morning, Mistress.”
Deirdre leaned back into her chair and smiled.
“I’m glad you’ve arrived. There are far too many men around for my sanity. I shall very much like having a female companion to lighten the conversations with my boorish brothers.” She said this loudly just as the three men joined the table. One, a fair haired man Catríona believed was named Aiden, tossed a small piece of fruit at his sister as punishment. “You brute!” she laughed. “It’s all talk of beasts and battles, bears and brothels. I’ve had my fill of it.”
“I saw a bear, in the woods, not long ago.” Catríona admitted, amused with the hearty banter between the siblings. The table went silent and all eyes turned to Cat. She assumed it was because they feared for her danger near such a beast.
Deirdre raised her wine glass to her lips before speaking. “Do tell the story. I hope you weren’t harmed.” Her eyes shifted to her brothers. “I’m afraid our lands have quite an uncontrollable bear problem.”
Even the sister seemed enraptured with the topic, so Catríona went on.