TENDER FEUD

by Nicole Jordan

  He paused, waiting for his words to sink in. Katrine gazed at him in confusion. She could have pointed out that he had adamantly refused to marry her, but she had no intention of aligning herself on Argyll’s side. And without her testimony, the case against Raith was weak. Rather than punish a man for bride-stealing, a Scottish court would be more likely to wish the new bride well, even if she had been taken against her will.

  Argyll apparently agreed, for he suddenly pursued another tack. “You demanded conditions for Miss Campbell’s return. That, it seems to me, would substantiate the charge of abduction.”

  “I suggest you reread the missive I sent you more carefully, your grace. The worst I could be accused of is greed. My demand for decreased rents could easily be interpreted as a substitution for my future wife’s dowry. The leniency I asked for the Duart MacLeans could just as easily be taken as negotiations for the bride-price. A gesture of goodwill on your part would be expected upon the joining of our clans.”

  Katrine caught her breath at this new claim. Dowry, indeed! He must only recently have put that particular construction on his ransom demand, she decided, for only within the past month had Raith changed his mind about marrying her. Claiming a desire to wed her gave him a defense that might very well save his life, and if providing himself with a defense hadn’t been his intention, then helping the Duart MacLeans had. He wouldn’t abandon his clansmen, Katrine knew very well. What better way to aid them than to claim decreased rents for the MacLeans as her dowry?

  She stared at Raith with a measure of indignation. The first possibility made her feel used, the second made her feel bought. But whatever his reasoning, it was becoming obvious to her now that Raith had prepared an answer for all of the charges Argyll was likely to bring against him. Raith was clever enough to have planned for every eventuality, yet he had let her assume the worst—that he was about to be convicted and hanged. He had known all along that he was in no danger of losing his life, but he had deliberately let her think so, when he could have allayed her fears.

  Remembering the nightmare of uncertainty she had endured since Raith’s appearance last night, Katrine clenched her hands. He had shamelessly played on her sympathies, letting her weep in his arms and plead with him to escape when he had planned all along to extricate himself from this dilemma with no help from her. She wanted to tell Raith precisely what she thought of such underhanded dealing, but she clamped her lips together as she listened to the duke raise new charges and Raith shoot them down one by one.

  “What of my seal ring that you stole?” Argyll asked.

  “The ring I allegedly appropriated, you mean.”

  “Appropriated, then. It was in your possession—my factor received it from you last night.”

  “Who’s to say you didn’t lose it? Who’s to say I didn’t simply find it and return it to the rightful owner?”

  “I suppose you mean to deny the theft of my cattle?”

  Raith shrugged. “What proof do you have?”

  Argyll’s angry flush deepened. “I don’t require proof. I could hang you simply on the suspicion of theft. No doubt I could find enough witnesses willing to claim you took part in the raids.”

  “Whether it was true or not. Ah, yes, I’m aware of your brand of Campbell justice.” Raith stared grimly, pinning the duke with his hard gaze. “But hang me, and the Highlands will erupt. You know it. Do you want that kind of bloodshed on your hands?”

  Argyll was silent for a long while, a muscle working in his jaw. “I could keep you incarcerated here,” he said finally.

  “For how long? I’ve already had a dozen opportunities to escape. My own men could have freed me any time since I arrived. And as you can see, I’ve had a visit from my lovely intended wife, urging me to escape.”

  Raith glanced at Katrine, giving her the slightest of bows. Katrine responded with a cool glare. During the past few moments she had lost her dread of the duke, in favor of her growing anger at Raith. He was taking a great deal for granted.

  He didn’t seem to notice her impending revolt, though, for his attention immediately returned to the duke. “I repeat, bride-stealing is my most serious crime…as yet…but my clan is willing to continue the feud. We are even willing to take up the sword, if necessary.”

  The duke turned his scowl on Katrine then. “Your uncle tells me you won’t agree to testify against this man. I suppose you can’t be brought to change your mind?”

  Enduring Argyll’s accusing look, she lifted her chin. “No, your grace. I regret to say I don’t want his death on my conscience.”

  The futility of further argument must have become apparent to Argyll, for he sighed as he turned back to Raith. “What is it that you want? I suppose there is a purpose to all this?”

  “My purpose is simple, your grace. I seek to protect my clansmen from the travesty of your stewardship and your Campbell greed.”

  The flash of fury in the gray eyes reminded Katrine that the Campbell chief was a dangerous man, too. “Don’t presume too much, Ardgour,” he warned softly.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, your grace,” Raith professed, as if confident that he knew just how far to push. “It is a simple matter of feu-duties, as I made clear in my ransom note. Direct your factor to lower the rents on the Duart MacLeans to their previous amounts, and you will have no more trouble from my clan.”

  The smoldering gray eyes impaled Raith, but frustration was evident in the duke’s rigid frame. “It seems you leave me no choice.”

  A faint smile curved Raith’s mouth. “That was indeed my intention.”

  “And for this your MacLeans will cease harrying my people?”

  Raith executed another mocking bow, sweeping his arm out in a wide flourish. “You have my word. The Campbells will be safe from further cattle raids and the scourge of false receipts that have been plaguing you recently…as well as one or two other afflictions that you haven’t yet seen.”

  Argyll made a scoffing sound. “You ask me to trust the word of a knave?”

  “I find myself in the same awkward position as you, your grace, having to accept the word of a Campbell chief. I expect neither of us will be comfortable according trust where we don’t consider it due.” Raith glanced at Katrine then, his gaze softening. “But I am prepared to honor a truce with my wife’s clan. Indeed, for me to do otherwise would be a price higher than I am willing to pay.”

  Katrine wanted to retort that she was not his wife, but she was caught by the look of tenderness in Raith’s blue eyes. It almost made her forget her pique. Then she stiffened her spine. Now that Raith’s life was no longer in jeopardy—if it ever had been—there was absolutely no reason for her to marry him. And she would tell him so as soon as they were alone.

  Tearing her gaze away, she glanced at the duke. Argyll was surveying her coldly, giving her a look that said very plainly she had betrayed her clan by choosing to marry the Laird of Ardgour. His silent condemnation only raised her ire. She hadn’t chosen, she wanted to protest. Raith had presumed to make the decision for her. But she wouldn’t stand for his highhandedness any longer. Nor would she continue to hold her tongue.

  “I thank you for your kind offer,” Katrine ground out, giving Raith a freezing glare that was every bit as stabbing as the duke’s had been, “but you needn’t condescend to marry me.”

  Raith’s brows rose, but he didn’t take up her challenge. Instead he pushed himself away from the wall and addressed the duke. “Then we have a bargain, your grace?”

  “Raith, I mean it,” Katrine fumed. “I am not your intended wife.”

  “I think perhaps we should discuss this later, my love.”

  “No, we will discuss this now! I won’t marry you. You can make all the bargains you care to with his grace, but leave me out of it.”

  “Katrine, we have been through all this before—”

  “We have not been through this. You decided on your own that I was going to be your wife, but I never agreed. And I never shall. I do
n’t need you or the respectability of marriage. My uncle won’t throw me out of his house, and even if he did, I can provide for my child on my own—even if my dowry isn’t large enough for the purpose you had intended it.”

  Raith’s gaze narrowed at her momentarily. “If you won’t marry me for yourself, then think of our child.”

  “I am thinking of him! I’m thinking of all the hostile glares and hateful words I’ve endured from you and your clan. I won’t raise a child with a man who hates me and mine.”

  “Katrine…I don’t hate you.” His hands splayed palm upward in supplication. “Consider it, would you? I must love you. Nothing else would induce me to treat with the Duke of Argyll or to marry a Campbell.”

  His tone held a teasing note that made Katrine’s teeth gnash. “Perhaps,” she replied in a tone that would have been lethal if she could have made it so, “I should remind you that my child will be half Campbell.”

  Quickly Raith shook his head. “No, that isn’t so. Our child will only be a quarter Campbell, and a quarter English, which may be worse. But I have every faith that my MacLean blood will be strong enough to overcome the disadvantage of the other two.”

  “Oh, you—you…” Her hands curled into fists as she sputtered at him.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve run out of names had enough to call me, my love?”

  “No, I haven’t, you brigand! I’ve only begun!”

  “I suspected as much.” Raith sighed, and shot an apologetic look at the duke. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to excuse us, your grace?”

  For the first time since entering the room, the simmering anger that had permeated the duke’s countenance abated a degree. Argyll glanced from one to the other of them, a narroweyed expression of speculation on his face. “I think perhaps Miss Campbell may succeed where I failed,” he observed mockingly.

  “In doling out my punishment, you mean?” Raith murmured. He suddenly, reluctantly, grinned. “I believe this is the point, your grace, where you wish us happy and say we deserve each other.”

  “Indeed,” said the duke sardonically as he turned toward the door. “I shall let you know my decision, Ardgour,” he added before quitting the room.

  Katrine wasn’t concerned that he hadn’t given Raith an answer. Argyll obviously didn’t want to give the appearance of caving in too easily. But as he’d said, he had no choice. When they were alone, Katrine faced Raith with wrath flaming in her green eyes.

  Raith studied her warily. “Would it be too much to ask what set you off this time?”

  His obtuseness did nothing to soothe her temper. “You knew all along he wouldn’t hang you! You knew it and you let me think—How could you put me through such torment?”

  The rigid set of his shoulders relaxed. “So you do care.”

  “No, I don’t! I don’t care if they carve out your black heart and scatter the pieces all over the Highlands.”

  Raith shook his head. “Katrine, I told you not to worry. I told you I meant to talk to the duke.”

  “You could have talked to him months ago. I begged and pleaded with you then, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “I couldn’t then. I needed to negotiate from the strongest position possible. Not until I took Argyll’s seal and cattle and abducted you did he even consider agreeing to my terms. If I had simply gone to him first, he would never have given me even a fair hearing. He had to realize the consequences of his refusal.”

  Katrine was not mollified. “So you purposely let him imprison you and frighten me to death? Somehow that doesn’t seem like a position of strength.”

  Raith returned her gaze steadily. “I gave myself up so you would realize my sincerity. You wouldn’t believe any other way, my love.”

  “I am not your love!”

  The tender glow was back in his eyes as he slowly moved toward her. “Yes, you are, Katrine…my dearest love. You spoke of torment before. If you knew what torment the past two months have been for me…” Reaching out for her, he gathered her resisting body to him. His voice gentled as he gazed down at her. “You filled my life with joy, and I let you go. Since then, it seemed as if the sun never rose in the Highlands.”

  Bracing her hands against his chest, Katrine returned a look of suspicion. But Raith seemed entirely serious. Indeed, she had never seen him so subdued, so free from pride or arrogance or bitterness. He stood before her in humble supplication, the barriers gone, the defenses down. “I love you, Katrine,” he said softly. “I want you for my wife. I want to sleep beside you for the rest of my life and wake up with you in my arms. I want to watch the sunrise with you.”

  His silken words were every bit as practiced as Callum’s charming utterances, but far more beautiful. Katrine felt the tug of love and desire softening her heart. “You would have been well served if they had hanged you,” she muttered.

  A slow smile, irresistible in its male charm, dangerous in its potency, curved Raith’s lips. “Wouldn’t you have mourned my death the slightest?”

  “No, I wouldn’t, you wretch,” she retorted, but she was weakening, he could tell. For though she tried to keep her expression stern, her lips were quivering with the effort to repress her reluctant laughter.

  “I wonder why I don’t believe you,” he prodded.

  “Well, I don’t wonder why I don’t believe you. You still despise the English and you still hate the Campbells. You’ll never give up fighting. For all I know, you will end up murdering half my clan.”

  “No, I won’t. The feud is over, as far as I’m concerned—as long as Argyll keeps his word. To prove it, I’ll even hold out the olive branch to your uncle. You may invite him to visit our child at Ardgour after it’s born, if you like.”

  The laughter faded from her eyes as she looked up at him in stark wonder. She knew what it had cost him to make such an offer. It was that, even more than his fervent professions of ardor, that convinced her Raith’s love was real, that his love for her was more powerful than his hate for her clan.

  Still, Katrine refused to give him the satisfaction of too easy a capitulation. “How can I agree to marry you? You haven’t even made me a decent proposal.”

  “Very well.” His arms tightened about her, drawing her close. “I want you for my wife, Katrine Campbell. Will you do me the honor?”

  His wife, she thought, savoring the word and the quiet beating of his heart against her breast. There was no question what her answer would be. He was the man who could match her spirit and fire her blood. Her soul mate.

  When she didn’t reply at once, Raith’s brows drew together in mock fierceness. “I give you fair warning, bonny Katie, I won’t return without you. A stubborn, spirited, sharp-tongued, wonderful termagant claimed my heart and I mean to have it back again.”

  Wordlessly, Katrine gazed up at him, remembering that another woman had claimed his love first. Inexplicably she was overcome by a sudden attack of shyness. “I’m not sure, Raith.... I don’t think I want to compete with Ellen’s memory.”

  He reached up to hold her face in his hands. “Ellen was a sweet, gentle lass, but she never owned my heart the way you do.”

  Katrine searched Raith’s handsome face, wondering if she could believe him. But she had to hope she could overcome his loving memories of Ellen by giving him enough sweet memories of their own. “If I do say yes, you’ll have to agree to a real ceremony. I want to be married in England, in my mother’s wedding gown, with my sisters present.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Raith nodded slowly. “If we say our vows here first. I’m not stepping one foot into a Sassenach bastion without having a half-English wife as protection.”

  The thought of Raith needing her protection brought a reluctant smile to her lips. “I suppose we can be married here first.”

  “Now. Right away.”

  “Very well, but I want a dozen children.”

  A dark shadow descended on his face. “No, Katrine. One is enough. I’m not going to risk losing you to childbirth.”


  “You won’t lose me. My sister never had the least bit of trouble with her first child, and I shouldn’t, either.”

  “I don’t care about your sister. After this one is born, that will be the end of it.”

  “I mean it, Raith. I want a large family.”

  “We can discuss it after we’re wed,” he hedged.

  “And I want Morag in attendance at my lying-in.”

  Raith balked at that entirely. “No, absolutely not,” he decreed, shaking his head fiercely. “You’ll have a score of surgeons from Edinburgh. In fact, you’ll go to Edinburgh for the birth—”

  “Then you can find yourself another wife.”

  Raith’s eyes narrowed. “You are no doubt the most stubborn, contentious, willful wench I have ever come across.”

  Pushing her hands against his chest, Katrine squirmed out of his embrace. “No more stubborn than you. If you want me to marry you, your heir will be born at Cair House, and Morag will deliver him.”

  He scowled at her, but Katrine stood her ground, her arms crossed over her lovely breasts, her flaming hair spilling from its pins, her radiant skin flushed with the glow of anger, her green eyes flashing. Surveying her, Raith felt his pulse quickening. After a long pause, he sighed. When she looked at him like that, in that fierce way that roused his temper and stirred his blood, he was lost. He doubted he would ever win many of their arguments. Indeed, with Katrine as his wife, he doubted his household would ever again know any peace. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Struggling between the desire to throttle her and amusement at his own helplessness, Raith shook his head again. “Negotiating with you is worse than bargaining with the duke,” he muttered. But the gleam in his eyes was unwilling admiration as he held out his hand. “Come here, then, bonny Katie, and seal our bargain.”

  “Raith,” she protested as he pulled her into his arms again, “you never did answer me.”

  He lowered his head, desire of a different kind flooding through him. “Hush, love. You always talk too much when I’m trying to kiss you.”