Charming the Shrew

by Laurin Wittig

  Tayg saw a glint in the friar’s eye that made him nervous. He did not recognize the man, but that did not mean the friar did not recognize him. He would have to find out what the man knew, but not while Cat was within hearing distance.

  They headed down the trail, the horses side by side here where the track was relatively wide.

  “Why are you traveling this time of year?” the friar asked after a few minutes.

  “To be wed,” Cat said. Her voice held a strange smugness to it that pricked at Tayg’s temper.

  “You are not wed? Why are you waiting for Dingwall? You should not be traveling alone together when you are not wed.”

  “We are not—” Cat started, but Tayg cut her off.

  “The wedding will be with the blessing of the chief and, if we are lucky, the king, which is why we are bound for Dingwall.”

  The friar’s heavy black eyebrows drew together, forming a deep vee over his eyes. “But your chief is…Angus Dubh of Culrain?”

  Tayg tried to suppress a flinch. Did this man know him, then?

  “And you had to fetch your bride?” the friar continued. “Why did her family not bring her to you?”

  “The bride has no family,” Cat said quickly, before Tayg could cut her off again.

  Tayg pinched her arm where it was looped around his waist.

  “Ow!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, love. Did I pinch you? She is such a tender thing,” he said, with what he hoped was an innocent smile.

  The friar just nodded. “I had thought to pass the night with my cousin’s family. You shall come with me and we shall travel to Culrain together. I hear the king shall be there before he travels to Dingwall for the wedding. You may receive what blessings you like, and I shall serve as suitable escort for you.”

  “Nay,” Tayg and Cat said in unison.

  “Your offer is kind, but we have been delayed already. We need to travel as fast as is possible,” Tayg said. “We have come this far alone, so another day or two will make no difference.”

  “I cannot agree, young bard. ’Tis not right for the two of you to continue on so, without the vows and God’s blessing. You must allow me to escort you or—”

  “Oh, we have said vows, friar,” Cat said.

  Tayg and the friar both twisted in their saddles to look at her. Tayg tried to signal her with his scowl to be quiet, but she just grinned and wrapped her arms tightly about him, pressing her breasts into his back and temporarily blanking his mind.

  “How is this, lass?” asked the friar, his bushy black eyebrows moving lower over his nose.

  “You are right. ’Twould not be seemly for a maid to travel unescorted with her betrothed, so we said our vows in front of witnesses this very morning, before we left on this journey. We travel to Culrain—” she looked at Tayg for confirmation, but he just rolled his eyes “—for the chief’s blessing and of course a celebration.”

  The friar grinned. “Then this is your wedding night?”

  Tayg felt Cat go stiff against his back, but she did not pull away. The distracting pressure of her breasts pressed up against him, even through his thick cloak, made it hard to concentrate on the quagmire she was creating for them to slog their way through.

  “My cousin’s is not far. We shall have a wedding dinner there, and you shall have a bed for your wedding night instead of some hard-won place in the snow.” The friar nudged his horse to a faster pace and pulled ahead, leading the way.

  Tayg glanced over his shoulder and glowered at Cat. “Our wedding night?” he said, pitching his voice low and easing all the innuendo he could into the words.

  She scowled back at him. “Do not get any ideas, bard. ’Tis no wedding night. ’Tis but a warm place to rest, and then we can be on our way again. I am cold and hungry and you are not yet healed.”

  “You did not have to lie to the man.”

  She had the grace to blush. “’Twas out of my mouth before I could stop it.”

  “Well, say no more then, lass. We shall have to tread very lightly and take care not to give ourselves away.”

  Tayg turned back and stared over the horse’s head. Wedding night. How was he supposed to keep his hands off the lass when their hosts expected them to be anxious newlyweds? He could barely keep his hands from her when he did not have such opportunities as were about to present themselves. He took a deep breath and began to go over his list of reasons why he should not want Cat…only he couldn’t remember any.

  For now, they were stuck with the friar, at least as far as his cousin’s cottage. If he thought hard enough, and kept his mind away from the image “wedding night” conjured in his head, perhaps he could find a reason why they could not stay the night in a comfortable, warm cottage, in a real bed…together.

  He tried to banish the image of Cat, sprawled across his own large feather bed, her silk-soft ebony hair spread around her and her pale skin glowing in candlelight.

  He groaned. Perhaps they would just slip away in the night. After all, they had done so before. They were getting quite good at slipping away unnoticed.

  If they didn’t, he wasn’t sure how either of them would sleep this night.

  DEEP SNOW SLOWED their progress, so it was near dark when they approached the cousin’s cottage. The familiar aroma of peat smoke lay gently about the squat structure. In spite of the dangers inherent in spending more time with the friar, who seemed to know more of Tayg than he had said, Tayg was grateful for the promise of a warm meal and a place by the fire for the night. Catriona shivered against his back, and he knew she too would be grateful for the cousin’s hospitality. Still, the cousin’s family could know Tayg, and there was the problem of the friar believing this to be their wedding night. The first he could do nothing about, at least not at the moment, but the second he could. He had decided they would sleep by the fire where surely they would be surrounded by the family and the friar and thus could not give in to the increasingly hard to ignore attraction that blossomed between them.

  The horses stopped in the cottage’s dooryard, drawing Tayg’s attention back to the moment at hand.

  “We will wait here while you greet your cousin and his family and tell him of his additional guests,” Tayg said. He gripped Cat’s arm when she made to dismount. She glared at him but stilled at his look. She was cold, as was he, but he needed a moment alone with Cat to get her agreement for his plan.

  Friar John rounded his own horse and looked up at Tayg, a determined look upon his pudgy face. “Nonsense, lad. Get you and your lady off that horse and come in from the cold. Gair and Lina will not mind the extra company.”

  Tayg jerked at the name. It could not be. ’Twas a common enough name, Gair, and surely they were not so close to Culrain that this could be…

  The friar reached up to help Cat, and Tayg had no choice but to allow her to swing down. He followed quickly, dread twisting in his gut, his senses fully roused as if for battle.

  Cat touched his arm, and he was surprised by the concern in her eyes. “Tayg, what is it?”

  “Mind your tongue, Cat,” Tayg whispered to her. He was rewarded with a glare.

  “I do not need to be reminded, bard.” She twisted the word so that it was more akin to an epithet than a title.

  Had she noted the friar’s reaction to his name? Did she doubt him too? Nay, she was simply nervous and cold and thus she retreated into her prickly self.

  “We must act as newlyweds,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her in an attempt to make her smile.

  “I realize that,” she said, her voice sharp and abrupt.

  “You say that as if ’twould be a horrible fate,” he said, tucking her hand into his as they followed the friar. “Would it be so horrible?”

  Cat started to reply but stopped, a shocked look in her eyes.

  “Come, come, my children. ’Tis bitter cold and I smell something delicious within.” The friar banged once on the door with his fist then swung it open with a bellowed “Hellooo the house!”

>   Tayg and Cat were left standing by the door looking into a room filled with people. A large, round woman in a simple gown of rusty-red stood by the hearth stirring up something in a huge blackened caldron. A linen veil covered her head, but a long ginger braid, liberally laced with steely gray, snaked down her back.

  “Och, John!” she called, a huge smile on her face. She brandished her ladle in an odd salute.

  “Come ye in and be welcome!”

  Children were everywhere, some laughing, some fighting, some setting dishes on the end of a rustic table near the fire, but all stopped and rushed the friar with squeals of glee, giggles of delight, and hugs as he entered.

  A man descended a ladder at the back of the cozy room, his feet visible first, then the rest of him followed out of the loft. Tayg’s fears gripped him. He was caught.

  Auld Gair, who had fought with Tayg and Robbie for the Bruce, jumped off the last rung of the ladder and turned to the newcomers.

  “John,” Gair said, “we’d thought you lost in the storm!” He strode across the room and caught the friar up in a huge hug.

  Tayg squared his shoulders and prepared himself. Any moment now, Gair would notice him and expose him for who he truly was. He could not lie to Gair; indeed, the man would help him get to the king, but Catriona would not understand. She would see only that he had lied to her, betrayed her, used her, for she would understand, once the missive’s true meaning was revealed, why he took her to the king. She was too smart not to. And he desperately didn’t want to hurt her. He needed time to explain everything to her. But he would not have the time.

  Gair and Friar John slapped each other on the back and traded fond insults for several minutes while Tayg felt sweat run down his back as he waited for the inevitable. Cat stood silently next to him, unaware of how much she would hate him in another moment or two. He squeezed her hand. She startled, then gave him a tentative smile, but he did not have time to wonder why.

  “Let me introduce my young friends.” The friar’s booming voice jerked his attention away from Cat and back to the problem at hand.

  “Ah, they are a bonny pair,” Lina said. “We shall be very happy to host them on this their wedding night.”

  A grin spread on Gair’s face, and Tayg couldn’t help but return it.

  “Wait a moment, I know this whelp.” Auld Gair pushed past his cousin and grabbed Tayg by the shoulders. “I thought you were still with the Bruce, but here you are with this lovely lass. Your wife, I hear.” He smiled at Cat. “Ho, ho! His wife.” Gair did a little hop and rubbed his hands together. “I wonder who won the wager, me lad. ’Twas said you’d never be able to choose but one lass, and yet you have chosen very well indeed. She is a pretty thing and no doubt took a bit of wooing from you.”

  He clapped Tayg on the back, but Tayg could think of nothing to say.

  “What?” Gair said to his wife, who was standing, her hands, one still gripping the ladle, fisted on her ample hips and a look of extreme irritation on her face.

  “You and the lad can trade stories later. For now they are cold and wet and there are horses to see to. Come, lass, what was your name?”

  “Cat,” Tayg said. “Her name is Cat. Perhaps you could find her a warm spot near the fire while Gair and I take care of the horses?” He had to get the man aside quickly. He had not given him away yet, and Tayg thanked the heavens for this small reprieve, but ’twould not take long for Cat or the curious friar to start asking questions about how the two knew each other. If he could manage it, he would have Gair be silent on the answers, at least until he could explain it all to Cat.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ONE OF THE children led Cat to a stool near the fire while Lina returned to stirring her cauldron, turning a spit with several roasting birds on it as she passed.

  The heat was so intense after the biting cold of their day’s journey that it almost hurt to breathe, and Catriona could feel the cold sink deeper into her bones as if it sought to hide from the warmth.

  Cat settled herself on the stool, and someone pressed a mug of ale into her hand. Lina and the children seemed to be content to let her sit silently while they continued with the meal preparations and Cat found herself glad, for she had much to consider from the last short while, Tayg’s quiet question being foremost in her mind.

  “Would it be so horrible?” he had asked. She thought over the day’s journey spent mostly riding behind Tayg, the horse’s movements rocking her against the man’s broad back. The occasional misstep causing her to tighten her grip about his lean waist. The cold enticing her to snuggle up against him, taking what warmth she could. She had struggled all day to keep from remembering the way he had made her body hum and the world go away that night in the traveler’s hut.

  Would it be such a terrible fate to be married to Tayg the Bard instead of some unknown man? Aye, it would. Forever traveling. No home of her own. How would they manage children? That thought brought her back to the memories of his kisses and caresses, the way he made her burn for his touches. She had an idea that certain parts of being wed to the bard would be quite pleasant…but that was impossible.

  She must wed someone who would live at Assynt, someone who Broc would at least allow to counsel him. It was different from what she had set out to do, and yet, essentially it was the same. She must complete her task. A part of her shuddered at the word “task.” Marriage should not be a task, it should be a blessing, a wonder, a bond. But she could not indulge in such soft dreams. She had set out to save her clan from the rash behavior of her brothers, and marrying the bard would never do that.

  She needed to know how she was going to stay away from him this night.

  Physical distance with a fire between them was all that had prevented her from throwing herself in his arms while they were at the hut. There must be a way to keep him away tonight too.

  His quiet question slipped back into her thoughts. Would it be such a horrible fate to marry Tayg the Bard? For her clan, aye, but for herself…

  “From the smile on your lips I’m guessing you are contemplating your wedding night, eh, lass?” Lina said. “Never you worry, there’s a fine bed above in the loft where many of these weans were conceived.” She winked. “’Tis a lucky bed, that.”

  Catriona felt her skin heat, and her immediate problem returned to her thoughts. Their hosts thought them newlyweds, though the man, Gair, appeared to know Tayg and did not expect to see him with a wife. She thought back to the brief introductions. The man had known Tayg though Tayg had been tense at the meeting and unusually silent. He’d squeezed her hand ’til it hurt, yet she had the distinct feeling ’twas not to keep her silent. And he had hustled the fellow out to the stable quickly.

  The fog in her mind caused by the sudden change from cold to heat cleared.

  What did the man know about Tayg that made the bard so nervous? For that matter, he had been nervous when they met the friar too. She looked about and found the man in question sitting upon the floor with a wee lass settled in his lap and a lad not much older than the lass leaning over his shoulder. The three were deep in conversation, broken now and again by wild giggling from the weans.

  Tayg had used his trade, declaring himself a bard quickly when the man seemed to recognize his name. Surely his pride in his profession did not reach so far. Nay, there was something these two men, the friar and his cousin, knew of Tayg, and no doubt the bard was securing the silence of Gair, who knew him from his time with the Bruce, which raised still other questions…but she had no time for that now. She would know what these men knew of her companion, for to be kept in ignorance was dangerous, and now was her time to discover it. She rose and placed her cup on the hearth.

  “I will go and help Tayg.” She said the name loud enough for the friar to hear, but he did not react.

  “Och, lass, I know you are newly married, but he will return soon.”

  At first Cat didn’t understand what Lina meant.

  “Ye’ll have plenty of time with h
im—let him and my husband trade their stories alone for a few moments. There will be less of them we have to listen to later that way.” But the grin on her face belied the tone of her voice, and Cat realized the woman thought she missed her new husband. Very well, ’twould serve her purposes to act the lovesick wench and ’twas obviously expected. She cast her gaze down and tried to give a nervous giggle.

  “I do not like him long from my side,” she said to Lina. “I know ’tis silly, but ’tis the truth.”

  “Aye, lass. The stable is around the back of the cottage. Just follow the walls around and tell Gair I need him to fetch more peats.”

  Catriona clutched her cloak to her and quickly left the cheery warmth for the dark cold of the night.

  TAYG AND GAIR trudged out into the cold and gathered the horses. Two nearly grown lads helped carry in the travel bags, but Gair managed to send them back in the cottage quickly. He grabbed the friar’s horse by the reins and led the way around the side of the cottage to the byre attached to the back wall. Inside was quiet and smelled of warm animals and clean straw. They worked in silence for a few moments, taking the tack off the horses and rubbing the tired animals down.

  “Well, lad, ye dinna seem too pleased to see auld Gair.”

  Tayg looked up at the older man and realized he was not so old as he remembered. Gair was just past his prime, but not yet old and feeble. And the glint in his eye told Tayg that the man was still plenty sharp in the mind.

  “’Tis very pleased I am to see you, Gair. ’Tis only that…”

  “’Tis only that you thought to keep yer bonny wife a secret a bit longer, eh? I have heard the tale from Duncan that yer mum wishes ye wed and that ye went searching for a lass on yer own. ’Twould appear yer search went well.” Gair leered at Tayg, and he found himself blushing.

  “Aye, she is—”

  “Ye need not worry about this night, lad. I ken ye’ve a fine way with the lasses, but I’ll say naught more about it. ’Tis yer wedding night, and there is no sense in starting off yer married life with tales of other lasses. I have not lived with Lina all these years and not learned a wee bit about what a woman wants to hear and what she doesn’t.”