Fate and Raith conspired against her, though. Two days passed before she even saw him again, for he managed to avoid her entirely. She thought he might be away from the estate, but there was no one to ask. Since the night she had spent with the laird, Flora had lost all trace of her recent grudging friendliness and returned to being her dour self again. And the maidservants all took their cue from the housekeeper. As for the men, Callum and Lachlan and even Hector were nowhere to be seen. A young lad brought Meggie’s lamb to visit, and he refused to say a word to Katrine. It was as if she had reverted to being the hated Campbell enemy again, despite the guest status her new bedchamber gave her.
At first Katrine thought Raith might have returned to Fort William to interview governesses for Meggie, and that Callum was on one of his smuggling runs—if that was truly his occupation. But with some of the other men gone, Katrine eventually concluded Raith had taken some of his clan on another trip south, to meet with his Duart kin. The possibility filled her with dread. Soon she would run out of time to persuade Raith to let her stay. Yet she forced herself to swallow her impatience, biding her time while she reviewed her limited options. There was too much at stake to do anything else.
She was in the nursery with Meggie when Raith and his kinsmen finally returned. The moment she heard the horses in the courtyard, Katrine was at the window, watching Raith dismount. When he entered the stables with the others, she surmised that, as on past occasions, he would be headed for the great chamber in the mews, where he would share a dram with his men.
It was precisely what she had been waiting for—a gathering of his clan.
Setting Meggie to work drawing a robin, Katrine sped downstairs to the kitchen. As she’d expected, she found Flora doling out ale into pitchers and arranging tankards on trays.
“Would you like me to help?” Katrine offered.
Flora gave her a suspicious look, but made no objection when Katrine picked up one of the laden trays.
She carried it out to the mews, her heart pounding like a drum as she negotiated the corridor. She could hear idle masculine conversation and occasional laughter coming from the great chamber. When she reached it, she paused in the doorway, her gaze immediately seeking Raith. Surprisingly, he was staring down at the table, not participating in the general discussion. In contrast, the other men who were gathered around the table seemed rather pleased with themselves.
Callum was the first to look up, the first to acknowledge her presence. “Ah, Katie! Come in. I’ve missed you, my bonny roy lass.”
Raith’s head snapped up, his blue eyes narrowing at her, but Katrine was careful to keep her gaze on Callum. It surprised her that she was actually glad to see the charming scoundrel. And Lachlan, too. Even Hector. How remarkable that she had met them scarcely a month ago! But they were an integral part of her life now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. It was only appropriate that they would be her witnesses, Katrine thought with a fierce effort to quell her racing heartbeat.
Summoning her courage, she stepped into the room. “I confess I’ve missed you, too,” Katrine said sweetly to Callum, setting down the heavy tray next to him. “Did you have a successful journey?”
Callum sent a mischievous glance toward his cousin at the other end of the table. “Aye, indeed. You’ll be interested to know that the MacLeans have finally presented their demands to your uncle, including the conditions of your release.”
Katrine froze in the act of filling a tankard, her cheeks growing pale. Was Raith so anxious to be rid of her that he would risk his kinsmen’s fate with a precipitate action? Or did he truly think the time was ripe to proceed with the next offensive in the conflict?
Her gaze flew to him. He had fixed her with a brooding stare that gave little clue as to what he was thinking—except that he obviously had not changed his mind about not letting her share his future. “You didn’t tell him you were responsible for my abduction, did you?”
“I’m not a fool, Miss Campbell.”
His sardonic reply didn’t allay her fears. Even though Raith had made his demands anonymously, as she’d expected he would, Argyll had to know the MacLeans were the ones behind her abduction. “But as soon as you release me, the duke will know who you are. What is to prevent him from having you arrested then?”
Callum broke in gently. “One of the conditions is Argyll’s word that he won’t pursue prosecution.”
“And the other conditions?” she murmured, her voice weak.
“Argyll has to return the feu-duties for the MacLeans of Duart to their previous levels and agree to leave them there for a period of five years. If he does that, and agrees not to visit retribution on our clan, then you’ll be free.”
Carefully, Katrine set down the pitcher, grateful that it hadn’t fallen from her trembling hands. Thinking about what Callum had said, she shook her head. “I’m pleased you’ve finally broken the impasse, but as to the question of my release…you should know I’ve had a change of heart. I don’t want to be returned to my uncle. I want to remain here, with you all. You see…” She hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I am claiming Raith MacLean, Laird of Ardgour, as my lawful husband.”
Chapter Fourteen
The silence was sudden and complete. And then the import of her announcement seemed to sink in and everyone began talking at once.
“Husband!”
“Why didna ye tell us, Raith?”
“To a Campbell!”
Beside her, Callum emitted a slow chuckle. “By God, you have the nerve of a MacLean, Katie,” he complimented, giving her an appreciative grin.
Katrine paid little attention to the clamor, for her nerves were focused on Raith. She watched him solely, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as she waited to see what he would do. She had declared him to be her husband in front of witnesses. If he failed to deny the claim, that made their marriage a fact according to Scottish law.
At the far end of the table Raith rose slowly to his feet, his face turned to granite, his blue eyes impaling her. “What,” he said softly, “in the name of Lucifer, do you think you’re doing?”
Another quiet descended, this one tense and uncertain. Katrine stared at him, not even daring to breathe.
In truth, she wasn’t quite sure what she was doing. She had wanted to bring matters to a head, for one thing, and she’d had some thought of forcing the issue of their relationship. Raith hadn’t listened to her pleading the other day, hadn’t believed her when she’d said she loved him. If she made a public declaration, he might realize she was serious about wanting to remain here with him. At least it would require him to consider the possibility of a marriage between them. And there was always a chance he might actually come to his senses and see that she would make him a good wife.
She had chosen a moment when his clan was present so Raith couldn’t dismiss her. Besides, there was safety in numbers, so he couldn’t murder her—which, at the moment, he looked as if he would like to do.
But she couldn’t make such a lengthy, confused confession before all these MacLean men.
When she didn’t answer, Callum defied the tense atmosphere and his cousin’s wrath and grinned at Raith. “May I offer my felicitations, cousin? You’re a lucky dog. Katie will make you a fine wife, that’s for certain.”
A black look from Raith penetrated even Callum’s sangfroid. “We—are—not—married.” He said it slowly, clearly, enunciating every word with a savageness that made Katrine’s heart sink.
Callum cocked an eyebrow. “What seems to be the problem? You know the law…the parties have only to declare mutual consent before witnesses—”
“There is no mutual consent!” Raith turned his fierce gaze on Katrine again. “I’d as soon wed with a wildcat.”
His eyes fairly smoldered with hostility. Katrine was glad she wasn’t alone with him, for she knew her life would be at risk otherwise. Reflexively she edged closer to Callum.
Raith was indeed considering murder. Just when he’d man
aged to recover from their last clash of wills, to reassert his resolve to keep away from her, Katrine did something else outrageous that sent him reeling and struggling for balance.
“There is no marriage,” he repeated grimly, “and there never will be. I don’t intend to marry again. If I did it wouldn’t be to a sharp-tongued Sassenach Campbell.”
“Aye, better off hangit than ill-married,” another voice muttered, which Katrine translated to mean “better off cursed than wed to a nagging wife.”
She thought it might be Hector who had disparaged her, but she was certain it was Lachlan who came to her defense. “I ken ‘tis a douce wife Mistress Campbell will be,” he declared, proclaiming her modest and prudent.
“She’s no’ so fair as the late mistress,” someone else observed, comparing her to Ellen.
“Aye, but she’s well-enough looking in her way,” another MacLean commented.
A muscle flexed in Raith’s jaw. He was surprised Katrine had other supporters besides Lachlan—and angry as well because he was losing control of the situation. His clan considered his marriage their business—which to some extent was justified— but he had to put an end to this absurd discussion before it got further out of hand.
He had opened his mouth to do so when Hector spoke again. “Why the de’il should the laird want to wed her?”
“Aye, why?” Ewen MacLean persisted.
In frustration, Raith realized he wouldn’t escape this conversation. His clan was prepared to discuss his marriage and wouldn’t let it lie.
He crossed his arms belligerently, which had the added advantage of preventing him from stalking across the room and shaking Katrine till her teeth rattled. “Yes, Miss Campbell, why don’t you tell us all why I should want to marry you?”
Katrine swallowed; she could feel all eyes on her. She had some grounds for her claim, she knew. She was a young lady of quality whose innocence had been taken, however willingly, by an unmarried gentleman of means. But it was highly uncomfortable to have to mention such a thing in polite company, or in front of all these rugged Highlanders.
“Because it would be the honorable thing to do,” she murmured, embarrassed.
Raith’s eyes narrowed so dangerously that Katrine retreated a hasty step. The look he was giving her said clearly that he hadn’t been the only one at fault, and that she would have to live with the consequences.
“You’ll have to come up with a better reason than that,” Raith replied, ignoring the blush suffusing her cheeks, determined that she wouldn’t succeed in this underhanded trick. He’d already done the honorable thing by keeping his distance—a feat that had required almost superhuman effort after the shattering beauty of making love to her. Yet now she was crying foul. Whether she was acting out of revenge, or the misguided belief that she was in love with him, he’d be hanged if he would allow her to force his hand.
Raising her chin, Katrine tried another tack. “Very well. You need me. I can help your clan in the feud with Argyll.”
“Aye, a marriage, ‘twould bond the Campbells to the MacLeans, for certain,” Lachlan mused.
“Och, but ‘tis a scunner thing to be wedding the blood of a fasheous Campbell with the blood of Clan Gillean,” Hector retorted, calling the MacLean clan by its more ancient name.
Katrine bristled at his use of the word scunner, for Hector had termed a union of their two clans disgusting. Her ire rose at the idea that she wasn’t good enough to be admitted into their clan.
“I can take care of Meggie,” she said defiantly, “better than any one of you MacLeans can, I should think.”
“I intend to hire a governess,” Raith parried.
“Bairns!” Lachlan interjected triumphantly. “The Laird of Ardgour needs an heir.”
“Yes, you need an heir,” Katrine declared.
Raith clenched his teeth, feeling his control slipping, and his temper with it. This conversation should never have come up, certainly not in front of his clan. He took a step toward Katrine, then checked himself. He had to get out of here, he realized. At once, before he throttled her.
Recognizing his action for what it was, Katrine felt the sinking despair of defeat. She was grateful to Lachlan for championing her, but she knew from the hard glint in Raith’s eyes it was no use; he was not about to be persuaded.
Raith stared at her another uncomfortable moment, before he suddenly turned and strode determinedly to the door, growling a brusque, “I’m for Fort William,” as he stormed from the room.
Katrine slowly sank down on the bench beside Raith’s cousin. “And you need me for you,” she whispered in a voice so low only Callum could hear. He reached out and touched her hand in a sympathetic gesture.
A long silence prevailed then.
“Why Fort William?” someone finally asked.
“To seek a governess for Meggie, no doot,” came a speculative answer.
Lachlan looked at Katrine in bewilderment. “I dinna ken what happened,” he said plaintively. “Are ye married or no’?”
“I don’t think so,” she murmured.
“Aweel.” Lachlan shook his shaggy red head. “I kenned it was a good idea. The bloody duke would no’ fect with the MacLeans if ye were wed to our clan.”
Another argument ensued then, about whether or not a marriage between Raith and Katrine would be enough to prevent the Duke of Argyll from feuding with the MacLeans. Hector staunchly denied it, while Lachlan continued to insist that Raith needed an heir. That point seemed to garner the most agreement with Raith’s kinsmen, but no consensus was reached.
Callum interjected an idle comment from time to time, lending Katrine his support, but she listened to them discussing the advantages and disadvantages of her marriage with half an ear. while she fought despondency.
All things considered, she tried to reason, she needn’t despair just yet. The odds had been long that Raith would consent to marrying her. And she hadn’t truly expected him to allow her to force his hand. But at least now he had to realize she was serious about becoming his wife. And despite the adamancy of his public rejection of her, she wouldn’t give up hope.
It was a decision she sensed Callum would applaud. Feeling him watching her, Katrine lifted her gaze and met his dancing eyes.
The roguish wink he gave her brought a bleak smile to her lips.
The rain brought a scowl to Raith’s lips as he rode home from Fort William three days later. The rain and a treacherous, scheming redheaded spitfire. He had no woolen plaid to protect him from the storm that lashed at him on the long, solitary journey. And he had no companionable conversation to protect him from the images that tormented his thoughts. Images of Katrine stealing out barefoot to watch the sunrise. Of her running childlike across a summer meadow with his young ward. Of her trembling with passion in his arms. Of her claiming to love him and announcing to all the world that he was her husband.
Never in his life had he felt so beleaguered.
The feeling had grown worse the longer he was away from her. It amazed him how badly he wanted to see her again, to touch her. For no image could truly capture the spirit of the flesh-and-blood woman, the fire and hunger for living that she managed to transmit to everyone around her. Not even her abduction by an enemy clan had suppressed her keen enjoyment of life. She had made the most of her difficult situation—and at the same time had somehow wormed her way into the hearts of his kinsmen…Meggie, Flora, Lachlan, Callum…even Hector to some extent. Every heart but his. Never his. He refused, Raith vowed for the hundredth time, to let that troublesome wench destroy his plans.
Yet he wasn’t sure how he would manage it. Staying away from Katrine obviously did no good, for when he was gone, she proceeded to turn his own clan against him. And when he was near, he alternated between wanting to throttle her and make love to her till one of them begged for mercy.
This couldn’t go on, Raith thought wearily. He was losing control of his life and his destiny.
Yet he couldn’t quell the sha
rp anticipation he felt when he finally arrived home after two and a half days of interviewing governesses. It was the same gut-churning, skin-tingling, heartwarming anticipation a husband might feel for a beloved wife after a long absence—and for that very reason Raith fought to ignore it. He told himself he wanted nothing more than to go upstairs, wash away his travel dirt, enjoy a good meal and the company of his ward. But all his good intentions were shattered when he entered the house and heard feminine laughter coming from the drawing room.
He found Meggie and Katrine standing in the middle of the room, close together, in what was nearly an embrace. Curiously, Katrine held a fan in her slim graceful hand.
“But of course I ken your Highland dances,” she was saying with laughter in her eyes as she mimicked a Scotch burr. “Was not my papa a Scotsman, a Highlander true? Now, shall we try it again, little lamb?”
Her voice was slightly breathless from exertion. That and her hand at Meggie’s waist gave Raith the impression she was teaching the child a reel.
It was a fetching sight, he thought, watching them from the doorway as Katrine began to hum a lively tune. She had seldom looked lovelier, with fresh color in her cheeks and tendrils of flame-colored hair escaping confinement to spill around her face. And he had never seen Meggie so happy. There was no trace of fear in the huge dark eyes, only love and delight as she bit her lip in avid concentration.
Despite her efforts, however, and those of Katrine to teach her, there was little precision to their dance steps. They whirled around the drawing room, sidestepping furniture, stumbling frequently and laughing at their mistakes. Raith thought their merry spontaneity only added to the charm of their performance. For a moment he even found himself envying his young ward for being the recipient of Katrine’s warmth.
She would have made a good mother for Meggie, he realized suddenly, watching her. Indeed, simply her presence here was good for the child. But it wasn’t possible, Raith reminded himself fiercely. Katrine was a Campbell, and his hostage. Besides, she would be gone shortly. As soon as Argyll acceded to his demands, he would return Katrine to her uncle, exactly as he’d planned.
TENDER FEUD Page 25