Nay. Had she no qualms about his men seeing her thusly? Well, he did! Look at her! She didn’t even have on shoes.
Her feet were bare!
He had no intention of his men—any man—seeing such an intimate part of her body. She was his.
The primal reaction perplexed him. Why respond so strongly to her disappearance? If he didn’t want her, why did it matter?
She moved past him, placing the tray on the wobbly table. “Good morrow, m’lord.”
He slammed the door closed. “What were you doing below stairs?”
Catherine looked perplexed and hurt. She glanced from him to the heaping tray. “As you asked me yestereve, do your eyes not work? I got food to break our fast.”
The moment the words left his mouth Duncan realized how daft he sounded.
He closed the space between them and wrapped her in his arms. “I did not mean to yell. I just...” How could he tell her his fear of being abandoned? That both his father and first wife left? He’d appear weak.
Unable to find the right words, he propelled her toward the table. “Let us eat afore the food turns cold.”
~ * ~
Later that morn he led Catherine to the stables and lifted her atop his stallion. He should have known she’d come ready with a lovely emerald green riding habit. He now had no doubt that in the short amount of time he’d allotted her, this woman had gathered clothes for every occasion. The form fitting outfit—with hat—fit her to a T. Mounting behind her, he drew her close. Their pace was slow, his men behind them, enjoying the solitude and peacefulness of the quiet meadow. He nuzzled her hair, inhaled her scent. Today she smelled like roses.
Choosing a secluded location with a brilliantine loch, he dismounted and lifted her from his horse. He moved her slowly down the length of his body before bending to kiss her. Ah, those beautiful lips. Soft, pliant. He released her reluctantly, removed his plaide and spread it on the ground. Catherine knelt, but he surprised her by continuing to discard his clothes.
She stared, mouth agape. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
His smile turned to a grin. “Going for a swim. Join me?”
“Here?”
He nodded, eyes aglint with merriment as hers rounded in surprise.
“Now?” She gulped, able to say only one syllable words.
“Aye.”
“Go into the lake? I could not possibly...” She finally found voice, but her words stopped when he removed his last article of clothing. At her shocked expression, he laughed.
Catherine blinked, a blush rising to her cheeks.
Duncan couldn’t contain himself. He wanted to love her and protect her all at the same time, but didn’t comprehend such conflicting feelings. Where had the feelings to protect her come from? Running to the water’s edge, he dove in.
The cold water was just what he needed.
Catherine followed and stood on the bank, watching his sure, steady strokes. His legs were long. His strong arms sliced through the water. He looked like he could maintain that pace endlessly. She could watch him all day.
“Join me.”
She smiled, but shyly shook her head.
Finally tired of swimming, Duncan exited the water and grabbed her hand, leading her toward his plaide. Drying off and donning his clothes, he sat and drew her beside him, shaking his hair like a puppy, releasing water droplets. Catherine squealed as cold water sprayed her.
“I am starving.” He laughed. Glad he’d had foresight to bring food, he watched her eat with relish.
Throwing a chicken bone over his shoulder, he laughed when she licked her fingertips. “Is that something a proper lady would do?”
She blushed, but admitted, “Mother would die of embarrassment. She insisted I comport myself properly.”
“That must have been tiring...comporting.”
A grin spread across her face. “It was, but that is how we were raised. She had great hopes of my wedding a wealthy husband. She…” She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes shot to his. “Forgive me. I did not mean—”
He cut her off. “You need not apologize for the truth. I do not misdoubt I would not be your mam’s choice had Edward not decreed it.” Turning away, he reached for the basket to repack the food. That truth hurt more than he cared to say.
~ * ~
Married a sennight and rarely separated, Duncan and Catherine spent days learning about the other. At night they wrapped themselves in each other’s arms. Walking in the countryside, Catherine removed her hand from his and hurried toward a multi-colored field. She bent to pick a handful of flowers.
“Look! Think you that sour goodwoman would care for these in her common room?”
“I imagine she would. I misdoubt a tenant has ever thought to bring her flowers before. She is too sour faced.”
“I believe she has had a rough life.”
He arched a brow. “Ah, something you are an expert at?”
She threw a petal at him. “Mayhap not, but the story of her life has touched me.”
“I fear you are too softhearted.” He cupped her cheek with his hand.
She smiled and kissed the inside of his hand. “And I am glad to discover you are not a barbarian, my lord husband.”
He reached out to tuck a flower behind her ear.
Her gentle kiss had touched him. He’d not expected her to show any outward emotions. His little butterfly was indeed spreading her wings.
He replied just as lightly, “And I am pleased to discover you are not completely spoiled.”
She lowered her eyes and looked away, biting her bottom lip. He’d bruised her feelings. He inhaled a deep breath. I but meant to tease. Disgusted with his choice of words, he looked down at his hands and closed them into fists. Och, these hands may be fashioned to hold and fight with a sword, but I am bloody ill equipped to woo a wife with simple things like words.
He wanted their journey pleasurable. After getting to know her, if within his power, he’d extend the trip indefinitely, but reality had a horrible way of interfering. And his precious daughter awaited his return.
He held her close. “Mo Chride, I did not mean to hurt you. I may have thought that when first I heard of you, but quickly learned ‘twas not so.” He bent to kiss her.
Catherine gulped, managed a weak smile. “Mo Chridhe. What does it mean?”
My heart, he’d called her in Gaelic. Was he falling for this Sasunnach wife? A sudden feeling of dread rolled up his spine. He’d once said those words to a woman—a wife—only to have them tossed into the mud with his pride. He couldn’t give this fae wife such power to use against him.
Not wanting to tell her the meaning, he grasped for any diversion. Focusing on a distant sound, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him.
Her soft brown eyes widened in delight when she saw the waterfall. He could lose himself in their depths.
“’Tis breathtaking.” She breathed in the clean scent of cascading water. “Have you ever seen anything so magnificent?”
“Mmhmm.” He meant her, but said, “We have one on our land.”
Her eyes glistened with excitement. “You must take me to see it.”
Duncan reached out and pushed a wayward tendril behind her ear—again. The memory of those wispy lashes fluttering on his chest flooded through him. Blessed Saint Michael, but she enticed him. Innocent, yet seductive. Pulling her into his arms, he nuzzled her silken hair, inhaled the heavenly scent of her.
God, this woman is too perfect. I know Da picked her out, but is it You that really sent her to me?
Knowing he took the coward’s way out—again—he never answered.
~ * ~
Giving the newlyweds space, Duncan’s friends trailed behind for security, but didn’t join their outings. They ate together in the common room, eyeing Catherine critically. Duncan realized his friends’ opinion finally changed when they drew her into conversation.
Catherine laughed at their stories. “Dohmnall, that
cannot possibly be true.”
The redhead faked offense. “You believe me not?” He put his hand over his heart, but then burst out “Every word is true.”
Men around him guffawed and Catherine joined their laughter. Men turned their heads at the musical lilt of her voice. Duncan frowned at the strangers’ attention, but thought his men’s acceptance important. They’d serve and protect her once they arrived at his home. He nodded, pleased they drew her into their circle. Her face lit up as she smiled and a spurt of jealousy shot through him. Blatherskite! It mattered not that she smiled at his men. No doubt her intentions were innocent.
But what if...? Thoughts of Helen swirled through his mind. Of knowing she bedded other men thinking to punish him. Would Catherine do the same? Would she be dissatisfied with his home—with him? One of many questions Duncan had no answer to was what he’d do after they returned home. Would he—could he—still leave as originally planned? He didn’t want to anymore.
~ * ~
Several days later, reaching a friend’s castle in the Borders, Duncan finally relaxed.
Catherine sat on a stool, brushing her long hair. She turned to the door when Duncan entered. “Have you seen the garden outside? It looks lovely. May we walk there later?”
“I will if you wish me to, Sweetling, but we have far more interesting things to do this night.”
Giving an exasperated sigh, she threw her brush at him.
What a delight she is to tease, Duncan thought as he changed for the fête that eve.
Extending his arm, he escorted her down the long winding staircase. Her auburn tresses flowed down the back of her royal blue côtehardie, its low cut bodice form fitted. Duncan thought her ravishing. Before they turned to enter the Great Hall, he stopped and reached up to brush wisps of hair from her face, his fingers tarried moments longer than necessary. How had this delightful woman come to be his? Och, his father had chosen her, a fact that rankled still, but mayhap God really had intervened. If so, did he have the right to leave? Torn, Duncan no longer had any idea what he’d do.
They dined on roasted duck, bread, neeps with cream sauce, and sweet bread with nuts. Soon tables were dismantled and cleared away.
A bard sang, “The beautiful visiting lady and her laird husband...”
Catherine blushed when she realized the bard had woven her and Duncan into his tale, especially when verses grew bawdy.
Soon her host and his wife were dancing. “Come, Catherine.” Duncan helped her to her feet and whirled her into his arms.
“You dance well, my lord husband.”
Duncan feigned a hurt look. “I danced often during the years I spent in the king’s court in Spain and France.”
Changing the subject, Duncan flirted shamelessly. He reached up, letting his fingertips linger lightly on her cheek and gently wander down her neck.
Her cheeks blushing hot, she shuddered.
They stood to the side catching their breaths. Duncan stood behind her, his arms wrapped loosely around her. A young man enquired, “Might I have this dance, Lady MacThomas?”
Duncan’s grip tightened around her waist. Shifting her position, he anchored her protectively to his side. “My lady wife and I share this next dance.” He whisked her onto the floor before the man could say more. He repeated his actions through the night, with the exception of their host. She danced with Ian while Duncan danced with the man’s wife.
Ian’s eyes searched her face. “You have captivated my friend, m’lady. I do not remember ever seeing Duncan act so possessive. After his first wi... I am sorry, I did not mean to mention that.” His eyes shifted to watch Duncan. “You he watches like a hawk. Even now, dancing with my lady wife, he knows where you are at all times.”
Ian’s eyes met and locked with hers as they moved about the floor. “You have either bewitched him—or for the first time in his life my friend is in love.”
~ * ~
Their trip home had taken a moon and a half’s passing, yet when they started on the journey’s last leg, Catherine voiced, “The trip passed too quickly.”
Duncan was quiet. On previous days’ journeys he’d moved close and held her while they talked inside the litter. Now he sat stiffly on the opposite side and stared out through the curtains.
Reaching Duncan’s home, Catherine’s eyes shifted from side to side, taking in everything. The litter crossed the outer bailey. She sighed in relief when Duncan placed his strong hands around her waist to help her down. She couldn’t deny nervousness.
The area teemed with activity. Duncan grabbed her hand and led her toward the hall. “Well-come to my home. Come, Catherine.”
Men shouted, “Well-come home, Duncan” and “Good to see you.”
He stepped inside the door and tugged her hand, but Catherine balked. He frowned as he stopped to face her.
“Catherine, come.”
Holding her ground, she shook her head.
“Woman, what in the name of all the saints is wrong?”
Catherine took a deep breath and whispered for his ears alone, “Are you not going to carry me inside?”
Duncan burst into laughter, a deep guttural laugh, then bent low in a gallant bow and swept her into his arms, carrying her across the threshold. “Aye, I would not want you to trip and fall, bringing us ill fortune.”
Setting her down, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. “Everyone, well-come my lady wife, Catherine.” He waved his arm to encompass everyone. “Catherine, these are members of Clan MacThomas. My family and friends.”
Catherine swallowed deep and tried to greet everyone with a smile. “How do you do?”
Her gaze darted everywhere, took in everything. Duncan’s home was much smaller than she’d expected and had a masculine feel. Banners and swords were displayed on walls, unlike elegant tapestries gracing the walls back home. Primitive weapons the likes of which she’d never seen covered grey stone walls.
Duncan took her hand. “Let me show you my home.” He took her to the kitchen. “Cook, this is my lady wife.”
The sullen woman glared.
Catherine smiled and looked around the room. It was small, yet everything seemed neat and in place.
Her new home had none of the amenities she’d been accustomed to. The first room they entered was large, had a raised dais with a long trestle table. Two massive chairs sat in the middle, benches flanked each side. Around the hall, long tables had been dismantled and leaned against whitewashed walls. Back in London, their tables and chairs were solid and gleamed with a high sheen, her father importing furniture in every room from Europe’s finest establishments.
Just as Duncan drew her toward another room, everyone in the Hall stopped talking. The house grew quiet and Duncan stiffened. Catherine turned to glance at him. He stared at the front door where a large man stood, his face encased in a spiteful smile. Catherine remembered seeing him, but couldn’t remember where.
The man announced, “I see the lass I ordered ye to wed dinnae turn out as bad as ye thought. It took ye long enough to return home. Clearly ye enjoyed yourself on the journey.”
Chapter Six
MacThomaidh didn’t hide the smirk on his face. “I didnae think ye’d dally this long. Guards have watched fer yer return fer nigh unto a sennight. Next time I order ye to do something, mayhap ye willnae argue.” Not waiting for Duncan to answer, he turned and strode out into the bailey, the light of triumph glittering in his eyes.
Stunned by the belittling words, Catherine turned to Duncan. His face mottled with fury, he followed his father.
She reached out her arm to stop him, but he shook off her hand.
“Halt, auld man,” Duncan shouted as he reached the door and his father mounted a chestnut brown mare. His father turned the horse, but Duncan moved forward, reached out and grabbed the reins.
“Do not come here again and fash me or my people. As to that woman”—he pointed back toward the hall—“you selected her, but you erred. You picked
one with heart. ‘Tis something you would know naught about, not having one yourself.”
“And ye learned this from the journey home?” MacThomaidh taunted. “Tangling with someone betwixt the sheets doesnae recommend them fer sainthood.”
“If you think so little of women, why choose this one?”
“I told ye afore. We need her family’s money. Ye need a wife. She is trained to run a large household, so she will do well at Castle Glenshee. Now that ye are wed, ye needs must fetch her there rather than staying in this hovel.”
“My home is not a hovel, ‘tis just sma—”
“Ye saw where living in a wee home got ye with Helen,” MacThomaidh interrupted. “Dinna drive another wife away. Ye need an heir. This woman comes from a fine family, her bloodlines are impeccable.”
“I have an heir—Meghan,” Duncan argued.
“Ye need a son, and considering how long it took ye to get home, the woman may already be breeding. Dinnae do anything to make her leave. Ye dinnae want a repeat o’ Helen.”
His father jerked the reins from Duncan’s hands and twisted the horse around, causing its huge body to knock Duncan backward.
Irritated over his father’s words and actions, Duncan stormed back into the Hall. How dare his father come here and chide him in his own home?
~ * ~
Catherine stood alone in the center of the Hall while Duncan spoke with his clansmen, particularly Angus MacCombe, his Captain of the Guard. The man’s weathered, craggy features were creased with disapproval. Duncan hadn’t looked pleased when he’d returned from the bailey. Pleased? Nay, he’d been furious. Had his father’s words been as crude in private as what he’d said in the Hall? She’d recognized him the instant he spoke. His tone had been as condescending as it had been at her home the night before her wedding.
She glanced around the Hall. Though smaller than the house she’d grown up in, it looked clean and neat, lovely in its simplicity—except for the floor. Catherine grimaced. Rather than the shining stone floors she’d been raised with, this had a covering of rushes. She’d seen them in some homes in London, but hadn’t expected to find them where she’d live. Then again, she’d thought to live in the Duke’s castle, with intricately woven fabrics on the floor.
Her Highland Destiny Page 4