Charming the Shrew

by Laurin Wittig

  But she was having trouble convincing herself of that.

  This man, this Tayg the Bard, was having a bad effect upon her, unsettling her with his drugging kisses and his cocky smile, then berating her for mistreating Dolag, then trying to help her escape discovery by her brothers. Just when she thought she knew what he would do next, he surprised her by doing something completely unexpected, as he had last night. The memory of the intoxicating feelings washed through her, making her itchy to experience them again. But she wouldn’t. Ever.

  She wasn’t going to fall for his particular brand of manipulating her. He was keeping her off balance with his unpredictability, and she wasn’t going to let him win. She would just have to keep her guard up all the time, as if he were one of her brothers or Dogface.

  Aye. That was what she’d have to do. Protect herself before his soft lips and sweet kisses prompted her to more foolishness—no matter how wonderful those moments had been.

  The only question was: how?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, before the sun had done more than lighten the sky from black to a heavy gray, Catriona and Tayg set out from the hut and ventured into the waning storm. They shared the horse despite the heavy snow, leaving Catriona free to peer into the gloom about her. The storm had left behind bent trees, broken branches, and a deep blanket of white that seemed to glow in the early morning twilight. Those trees that remained standing tall appeared to wear beautiful white gowns with long, trailing hems where the wind had driven the snow into high drifts against their towering trunks. Catriona smiled and turned her face up to the gentle snow that now floated lazily down to add a lacy edging to the trees’ dresses.

  The horse slipped and slid down the hill back to the trail, clearly as anxious to escape the confines of their temporary home as she and Tayg had been. Riding double had not been Catriona’s choice, but the snow was so deep that Tayg had convinced her ’twas necessary if she did not wish to start the day cold and wet. She tried to keep herself away from his back, tried not to let her thighs touch his, tried not to notice the way his warmth beckoned to her. When the animal stopped abruptly and shifted its weight, Catriona would have slid from her precarious spot behind the saddle if Tayg hadn’t reached back and caught her.

  “You’d best hang on to me if you don’t want to land in the snow,” he said.

  The grin on his face told Cat that he knew exactly why she didn’t want to do that. Touching him was dangerous. When she touched him her mind went blank of everything except his heat, his smell, and the tantalizing tingling that his fingers left wherever he touched her.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Does something vex you?”

  Cat glared at him and wrapped her arms loosely about his waist.

  “You’ll have to hold on a wee bit tighter than that if you do not wish to continue your fall.”

  She huffed out her breath and tightened her grip. She did her best to ignore the way his back fit just perfectly to her front, inviting her to rest her cheek against him, the way her thighs hugged tight behind his, the way her legs spread, cradling his backside against her growing heat. Her mind tried to spiral down to that place where all thought vanished and feelings reigned supreme, but she struggled to keep her wits about her.

  “Do you think Dogface and my brothers were traveling together?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the sensuous fog that threatened to overtake her.

  “They did not arrive together…nay, I think Dogface was looking for me, and your brothers, quite obviously, were looking for you. I expect there was some surprise when they discovered they had been led on a merry chase to the same place.”

  Catriona considered that for a moment. “Did Dogface ask for his missive back? Did he ask you why you hadn’t delivered it to Broc?”

  “He did not have the chance, but I do not think he cared overmuch whether I still had it or no. I think he planned much the same for me as your brothers delivered.”

  “Then there is more to this chase than a simple undelivered missive.”

  “Perhaps it is because I have taken you away from him.”

  “You have not taken me anywhere.” Good. An argument would suit her fine.

  He looked back over his shoulder, a question in his eyes.

  “You have not. I made you bring me with you. ’Tis different.”

  “If you say so,” he said, turning away again.

  “Besides, you said he did not ken I was with you.”

  “Ah, so I did.”

  “Then why is he after you when he kens nothing about me being here?”

  A clump of snow fell from a nearby tree, spooking the horse enough to make him dance sideways. Cat was forced to tighten her grip about Tayg’s waist. When he had the horse under control again, she resumed the conversation.

  “You did not answer my question,” she said.

  “I did not.”

  “Was there a lass at Dun Donell? Did you take another lass from Dogface?”

  Tayg laughed. “I thought I did not take you.”

  “You ken what I mean.”

  “Aye, but you are the only woman between us, whether he knows you are or not.”

  “Then what?”

  “Why do you wish to know?”

  “Why do you wish to keep me from knowing?”

  Tayg was silent for a moment. “’Tis for your own safety.”

  “Ignorance will not keep me safe if he catches up with us. He will assume I know whatever it is you have against him.”

  “Leave it be, Cat.”

  “I do not wish to leave it be. I wish to know what it is you hold between you that Dogface would follow you through the wintry Highlands for.” She thought for a moment. “Not a woman; then wealth or knowledge perhaps? Nay, Dogface is too stupid to have knowledge of any sort, useful or otherwise.”

  “You underestimate him. He may be ugly and all you do not wish for in a husband, but he is not stupid. If he was he would be less dangerous.”

  “Ha, then it is knowledge you have.”

  Tayg shook his head and urged the horse through a deep drift. “You do not know what you are talking about, Cat. Leave it be.”

  Catriona smiled to herself and snuggled closer to Tayg’s back. “I must be getting close.”

  “Aye,” Tayg said, a strangely tight sound to his voice as he shifted in the saddle. “What do you wish for in a husband?”

  “You are changing the subject.”

  “Aye, but still I should like to know.”

  “Other than that he not be Dogface MacDonell?”

  “Other than that.”

  Catriona closed her eyes and tried to imagine the perfect husband. “He would be kind. Thoughtful. He would not vex me constantly as every other man I’ve ever known has done.”

  Tayg snorted. “What would he look like?”

  “He would be tall, but not so much taller than I am. He would have dark hair and twinkling eyes and a mouth with dimples on either side. He would laugh a lot and make me laugh.”

  “Is that all he would do?”

  Catriona’s breath caught in her throat at the quiet question that seemed to roll over her skin like hot water, leaving an almost painful awareness behind. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “What about bairns? What about cherishing you? Do you not want that too?”

  “Aye, a perfect husband would give me bairns too.”

  “And the other?”

  Catriona felt her cheeks heat and the spiral tighten. “And the other, but that will not be.”

  “You do not think you can find such a man?”

  “I never will. Not one who will wed with me.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because such a man does not exist. ’Tis but a silly dream.”

  “Then why do you wish to marry at all?”

  Catriona was quiet for a while. Why indeed? To keep from marrying Dogface, certainly. To keep her clan safe from an alliance with the MacDonells. Bu
t ’twould do little to keep Broc from doing something else equally as stupid. If she could convince the king that Ailig was the best man to lead the clan, then she would have accomplished something good for the clan.

  Perhaps there was also a desire to prove to her brothers that she could guide her own life, that she could do better than the lot of them? But how was it guiding her own life to pick a man for a husband without ever knowing his character, his substance? How would any man solve the problems she had with her brothers?

  In a moment of blinding clarity she realized nothing she could do would solve her problem with her brothers, and her chances of convincing the king to set the last son before the first was ludicrous.

  Perhaps what she really needed to find was someone who would help her balance out her brothers’ unreasoned behavior, someone they would listen to and respect enough to allow him to have a say in the running of the clan. Someone who would listen to her too. Someone who would make her feel cherished and wanted, who would make her blood sing as Tayg—

  Nay, her brothers would never accept the counsel of a lowly traveling bard who could not even sing well. They would ridicule her for her selfishness in choosing such a man for a husband, bringing nothing of value to the clan and ruining the alliance Broc deemed so important with the MacDonells.

  She took a deep breath to still the rushing of her heart. She must continue on to the king, and perhaps she could entreat him to find her someone her brothers would count as worthy, who might also be acceptable to her as a counselor. It did not matter whether he would suit her, fulfill her dream or not. She must not think of herself. The clan was important, but her own desires…

  “Well?” Tayg asked.

  “What?”

  “Why do you wish to marry?”

  “I have told you before. Why do you think my answer will be different now?” she snapped, angry that he had forced her thoughts in this direction.

  Tayg shook his head and sighed as if he truly had expected another answer from her.

  But there could be no other answer.

  THE SNOW FINALLY ceased while they ate a midday meal. Tayg handed Cat the usual oatcake and dried venison then pulled a stoppered bottle out of the bottom of the bag.

  “What’s this?” He held the bottle up for Cat to see.

  She shrugged. “Why would I know? ’Twas in your pack. Perhaps ’tis another of your secrets.”

  Tayg’s eyebrows lowered over his dark eyes as if he was studying something small and ugly. Cat clamped her teeth together to keep from sticking her tongue out at him. She’d been angry since the end of their conversation hours earlier. How dare he get her thinking about what she couldn’t have, would never have. A perfect husband. Hah! Life was too complicated for such a thing to exist.

  Tayg pulled the leather stopper out and sniffed. A huge grin spread over his face, making his eyes twinkle amid the fading bruises and bracketing his tantalizing mouth with deep dimples just before he leaned his head back and took a swig.

  “Ah. Aqua vitae,” he said, then took another pull from the bottle. Cat could only stare at him, all her words about a perfect husband crashing around her like a stormy sea. She had described Tayg. Described each of the things about him she had come to admire both physically and for his character. Except for the vexing part. But she had described the perfect husband.

  Cat gasped.

  “’Tis only whiskey, Cat, nothing to be gasping over.”

  He passed her the bottle. She took it, being careful not to touch his fingers. She lifted it to her mouth only to realize that the heavy glass was warm from his lips. She drank, then nearly choked as fire poured down her throat and burst to life in her gut. Painful coughing burst from her. Tayg moved to sit beside her, lifting the bottle from her hand and handing her a water skin.

  “Drink this,” he said, brushing a stray hair away from her lips.

  She managed to soothe her throat with the cool water, then jabbed her elbow in his ribs.

  “Oof!”

  “Do not touch me again.”

  “’Tis a good thing you do not have Broc’s fists.”

  Catriona froze. His ribs! She’d been so vexed with him she’d forgotten all about his ribs.

  “Are you well enough to be traveling like this?” She didn’t regret the sharp edge to her voice. She was still angry with him.

  “I am well enough, and we have no choice. I think the ribs are not broken, just battered. The binding helps, though your elbow does not.”

  “’Tis a shame we cannot bind your mouth too.”

  He shook his head. “Do you know you retreat into the shrew whenever you are afraid or threatened?”

  “I do not.”

  “Aye, sweet Cat, you do, though you should be neither with me. Are you afraid of me?”

  Cat stared at him, at the face that had become so familiar to her that she could describe him with her eyes closed…

  But ’twas not him she was afraid of, ’twas herself and the way she reacted when he was near. She rose to her feet and moved to the far side of the clearing they had found.

  “I am afraid of nothing, bard. Surely you know at least that much about me by now.” She turned away from him and the disappointment she saw in his eyes, surprised at how much that disappointment was mirrored in her own heart. ’Twas not his fault her heart was misbehaving. But she’d not act on its promptings. For once she would use her head. She must. Her future—and that of her clan—depended upon it.

  THEY HAD STRUCK a tentative peace since resuming their journey along the snowy trail next to the ever-widening river. He didn’t antagonize her. She didn’t snap at him. In fact, she had relaxed enough to fall asleep, her cheek resting against his back, her arms slack about his waist. He could almost imagine she liked him. She liked him well enough to worry over his well-being. She liked him well enough to melt into him like a fine beeswax candle beneath a flame when he kissed her.

  He took a deep breath and tried to calm the surge in his body that happened whenever he thought about those kisses, her lips, and the way her body warmed under his hands.

  He took another deep breath. He would have to tell her the truth about who he really was, and soon. Yet there seemed so many reasons not to reveal the truth, at least not now. She was content to travel with her bard. She was relaxed, easy, and only when she was afraid of something did she retreat back into the shrew. The closer they became, the softer she became.

  Dangerously soft.

  Of course once he revealed himself and his true purpose in bringing her to the king, all that would change. She would hate him. He could hear her calling him a liar, hear the hurt in her voice, see the hurt in her eyes. He didn’t want to cause that hurt, but he couldn’t keep the truth from her forever, just a day or two more. Soon they would be nearing Munro land where he would be known. But not yet. The quiet was healing. The trust inherent in her relaxed form was wonderful. And he was not ready to lose that.

  A deer crashed out of the woods on his right, spooking the horse. He grabbed Cat’s arms just as she tightened her grip, pressing against his tender ribs just a little too hard.

  “’Tis all right, lass. Just a red deer.”

  “Too bad we cannot stop and hunt him. I would like some fresh venison,” she said, her voice sleepy and warm. Tayg found himself wishing to hear her like that more often.

  Almost immediately another deer crashed out of the forest, nearly running into the horse this time, scaring it into a sliding sidestep on the icy trail. Tayg struggled to calm the horse, and the deer disappeared down the trail the way he and Cat had come. Just as suddenly a horse carrying a great lump of a man crashed out of the woods where the deer had emerged from and nearly collided with them, pushing them dangerously close to the steep bank of the river.

  “My apologies,” the man said as he struggled to control his snow-white horse.

  “You nearly sent us into the river!” Cat’s voice was filled with alarm. Tayg moved their horse away from the edge of the
trail.

  “Aye, mistress, I should be more careful. I was chasing a deer.”

  “It went that way,” Tayg said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “but ’tis long gone by now.”

  The man nodded. “I should not have allowed myself the pleasure of chasing him, but it has been a long time since I hunted.” He smiled at them. “I am Friar John of Auskaird Abbey. Where are you bound, friends?”

  “To Dingwall,” Catriona said. Her voice was calmer now, though Tayg found it hard to breathe with the grip she had about his middle.

  “Ah,” the friar said, “I’m bound near there. Have you heard of the new abbey the Earl of Ross’s sister has founded?”

  Tayg nodded. Catriona shook her head.

  “Ah, ’tis a modest place yet. The abbess has only a small number of followers, though ’twill grow quickly, I am sure. I am bound there to help organize their accounts and of course to attend the wedding of the king’s sister and the earl’s son.” His grin was so wide in his round face that it seemed to stretch from one ear to the other.

  “You should travel with us, then,” Catriona said.

  Tayg twisted in the saddle to look at her, his stomach suddenly knotted. Did she want them discovered? She lifted an eyebrow as if daring him to contradict her then made a point of separating herself from him. So that was it. She wanted to use this friar to protect herself from acting on the feelings that were becoming more and more evident, more and more difficult to ignore.

  “That would be delightful,” said the friar as he made his horse move beside them on the path. “But you have not told me how you are called. I cannot travel with complete strangers,” he added with another wide smile.

  “I am called Cat, and this is Tayg.”

  The friar cast a startled glance at Tayg.

  “I am a bard,” Tayg said quickly, before the friar could ask a question he really did not want to answer just now.

  The friar looked at him a moment, then turned his attention to Cat. “’Tis pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Cat and Tayg the Bard.”