Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy)

by McGoldrick, May

What in heaven’s name had she gotten herself into? she thought groggily, trying to push herself to her knees. Thank the Lord she had never developed a fondness for any man in particular--other than her dream-knight--nor for marriage in general. And in truth, what she had witnessed tonight was a clear reaffirmation of that view.

  She was definitely not suited for matrimony. She could never make anyone a fit wife. She would never know how to deal with this open display of temper and this threat of violence. Nay. And what of this business of a man coming to his future wife’s bed uninvited, then not even recognizing her as someone else. She brought her hands up to her flushed cheeks and again shook her head, pushing from her mind how wantonly she’d responded to him at first, when she’d thought it was just a dream.

  She was still on her knees when the door to the Ladies’ Chamber swung open. Closing her eyes, she felt him brush past her without pausing.

  Pushing herself shakily to her feet, she stole a glance in the direction of the man who now stood by the bed. His back to her, he was muttering under his breath as he wrapped a kilt around him by the light of a wick lamp he had evidently carried in with him.

  The earl of Athol, she thought with a pang of regret, was quite different from what she had hoped he would be.

  The man was supposed to be an advocate of learning. She had expected him to be a serene, subdued looking man. But his actions, his behavior, in bed and out...Catherine felt her heart start to race anew! Trying to force the memory of his mistaking her for Ellen Crawford from her mind, she stared at her host. He was certainly not at all what she had expected.

  Ellen had told Catherine that the earl was past seven and thirty years of age. So even in her wildest of dreams, she hadn’t been prepared for the handsome face and the solid wall of muscle that was just now trying to pull on long, muddy boots. With flowing, partially braided red hair tumbling over a pair of broad shoulders, he looked more like an outlaw than he did the cousin of a king.

  Catherine couldn’t help but guess what silly maneuvers she might have come up with as a young maiden to get the attention of a man like him. Not that with her unassuming appearance she’d ever have had even a chance of catching his eye. But all the same, she reminded herself, it was a blessing to know that her life had taken a different route. A far more sensible one.

  She shook her head and started quietly for the door. As long as she kept her distance, perhaps they could avoid meeting again for a while. In truth, right now, the incident that had occurred in that bed embarrassed her dreadfully, and she had no doubt he must--if he had a shred of respectability in him--be feeling as terrible as she.

  Reaching the doorway, she started to breathe again. She had to put what happened behind her and, perhaps, they could pretend it had never taken place. He would not mention it, Catherine was quite certain, and she could quietly go about the task of opening her school.

  “Mistress Catherine.”

  His hard voice raised the gooseflesh on the back of her neck. She turned slowly and faced him.

  “I’ve sent for the damned priest. We’ll be wed when the cursed old fool arrives.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Wed!” The man was obviously out of his mind. “To me?”

  The Highlander turned his intense gray eyes on her. “Do you see someone else in this chamber whom I might be addressing?”

  She looked about innocently. “Nay! But I’m no judge of the soundness of your mind!”

  “Rest assured, mistress, I was speaking to you and not some apparition.”

  “You don’t know me!” This was beyond bizarre. It was almost comical. “How could you marry someone whom you have only just met?”

  “Are you not Catherine Percy?”

  “I am, but...”

  “And have you not been sent up here to be my ward?”

  “Hardly, m’lord!” she responded. “I am five-and-twenty. Hardly of an age to be anyone’s ward. Especially to one as unreasonable and brutish as yourself.”

  He stared at her, first in frigid silence, and then through slitted eyes as temper flashed across his face. “You certainly talk like some old crone! If I didn’t have first-hand knowledge--of a rather intimate nature--I would almost be convinced from listening to you that you are some ancient creature. But I know, Catherine Percy, exactly what you are.”

  His words stung her, but she couldn’t stop the deep blush that crept into her face when his hard eyes began to study her from the tip of her head to her bare toes. Suddenly horrified that she was dressed in nothing more than a thin shift, she crossed her arms over her chest to hide whatever she could.

  He raised one eyebrow at her actions. “A bit late for coyness, don’t you think, considering all that you have willingly allowed me?”

  “There was nothing ‘willing’ in my response to your ignoble behavior, and you know it. You were trying to force yourself upon me--like some heavy-handed brute.”

  “Did I, now?” His eyes flashed a challenge. “And is this the way you fight for your honor? By moaning at the most intimate of touches? By lifting yourself to a lover’s caress...pardon me, an assailant’s advances...and shivering at the touch of his lips against your skin?”

  By the Virgin, she had done that, hadn’t she? She brought her cold, trembling hands to her cheeks to cool the blazing skin. All she could do now was to whisper the truth. “I...I thought it all a dream.”

  She could have sworn a glint of humor softened the hardness of his glare. But it was only for an instant. “For a spinster, you certainly have interesting dreams. But tell me this...do you find fulfillment in them, as well? Or are you simply another frustrated--”

  “Don’t!” she snapped at him, though more severely than she’d intended. But he was mocking her. In his roguish way, he was trying to make her feel small, insignificant...a bit licentious, even. Looking up and meeting his challenging glare, Catherine suddenly felt the urge to strike back, to wash that arrogant hint of amusement off his face. “You are taking great pleasure in insulting me, I see. But I know what lies behind your boorish behavior.”

  “Do you?”

  “Aye. Though your male pride spurns the truth, I believe you know who is responsible for everything that took place here tonight.”

  “I have no time for this foolishness.”

  “The truth is that you are the cause of all this--though your arrogance denies it.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  His eyes had once again turned murderous, but Catherine was too riled to back down.

  “You are a man on the threshold of marriage--a man who obviously has had previous...previous knowledge of his intended’s body. How is it possible that you did not know that the woman in your bed was not Ellen Crawford?”

  “‘Twas dark. A mistake I intend to set right,” he growled. “But what has that to do with the wench crawling into the bed of...”

  “The connection is simple to see, m’lord,” she interrupted. “To you, a woman clearly has no more value than a mattress or a prize cow!”

  “No more than a m...?” Athol stared at her in disbelief, his words trailing off.

  “Aye. And one woman is as good as another, for all you care. So long as there is a willing body to bear your weight, what does it matter who ‘tis?”

  “You’re daft, woman!”

  “Am I? Look at Ellen. It seems to me she was quite aware of the man she was about to marry--a man indifferent to her!”

  “Indifferent? Does madness run rampant in your family, mistress?”

  “If it matters not a whit to you whom you lie with, then what should hold her?”

  “Even if what you say were true--and I tell you ‘tis not...” Athol faltered. “Well, I’m a man, for one thing, and she’s...”

  “Aye?”

  Even in the dim light of the room, she could tell his face had turned pale. His brow appeared to be permanently creased with a frown, and his eyes locked on her.

  “Did Ellen tell you this?”

  �
��Nay, m’lord,” she said quickly, suddenly touched by the pain in his gray eyes. How Ellen could possibly have preferred someone else’s bed over this man’s was certainly a mystery. “I concluded all of this from my own observation. Though courtship and marriage is not a subject I am well versed in, if you will recall from my mother’s correspondence, my learning ...”

  “Here in Scotland, we say a wee bit of learning is a dangerous thing.”

  “I know that you don’t believe that. Nonetheless, if you will allow me to continue. With regard to your faults when it comes to your relationship with Ellen.”

  Catherine paused as he took a step toward her. He looked about ready to throttle her. As she watched him, his face gradually turned as deep a shade of red as his hair, and his voice was no more than a menacing growl.

  “I will be your husband, Mistress Percy, and I command you never to speak again of this night nor of Ellen either, for that matter! Is that understood?”

  “I did not come to the Highlands for the purpose of marriage--to you or anyone else, m’lord. I should have thought my mother made that perfectly clear in her correspondence. I am here to open a school. To share my learning. To...”

  She paused, distracted momentarily as he casually picked up his shirt and held it out in front of him. The shirt was still wet from his ride, and she was suddenly very aware of the sinewy musculature of the man’s rugged upper body, the effortless power in the way he moved, in his very stance. Realizing that she was staring like some moonstruck maiden, she forced herself to take a breath, and then continued.

  “M’lord, did you not correspond with my mother? Did she not explain the reason for my journey here?”

  “She did! As I understand it, the only reason why you were sent up into the Highlands was to keep you from falling into the hands of the English king and his men.”

  “True, but...” She watched with a pang of disappointment as he tugged the wet shirt over his head.

  “Well, your mother’s bargain gave me complete control over you and your life.”

  “What do you mean, ‘bargain’?”

  He started pulling the tartan over one shoulder. “I am to protect you. I am to provide you with food and shelter. You are to teach my people some of your learning. But hearing you babble on tonight, I can’t say I’m too thrilled by the prospect. Ah, and you are to obey my wishes.”

  For the first time she saw a dim ray of hope in his words. “You see? I am here to open a school.”

  “That was before. You are now here to wed me.”

  The earl of Athol might be the most stunningly handsome man she’d ever seen, but that did nothing to alter her opinion that his skull must be as thick as the walls of York. Still busy dressing himself, he seemed to have lost interest in her totally. But she wasn’t about to be ignored.

  “But why me? Up to a few moments ago, you were betrothed to another. You are still bound to her legally. I am certain if you and Ellen were to sit down...”

  “That betrothal contract is finished. Besides, at the pace my former intended and her men rode out of here--with that bare-assed cur hot on her tail--I’d wager she’s nearly halfway to Stirling by now. And knowing my temper and the compromising position she found herself in, that slut is undoubtedly thinking she’s lucky still to have her head attached.”

  “Still, m’lord, I’m certain that with time will come healing and reconciliation.”

  “This discussion is finished.” He picked up his sword and slammed it into its scabbard.

  “Nay, m’lord!” she protested, suddenly panicking as he headed toward the door. She rushed to block his exit. “I cannot become your wife.”

  “You will.”

  “But why me?”

  “For two reasons. First, your honor and chastity have been compromised tonight. The whole household knows ‘twas your bed that I climbed into, accident or no.”

  She had a chance, she thought. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. She softened her tone and met his gaze.

  “That’s quite noble of you, m’lord, to consider my character and the possibility of vicious rumor. But what you don’t know is that I care nothing about what others might think. I am far beyond a marriageable age, and I cannot be wounded by false innuendo, spread by...”

  “You are wrong in what you say. But I have no time to try to convince a woman as foolish as you.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he quickly raised a hand and silenced her.

  “And secondly. You will marry me because ‘twas your doing that I am left without a bride this night.”

  “My doing?”

  “Aye! Was that blackguard son of a whore not one of your men? Was it not your bedchamber that Ellen was occupying when he went to her?”

  She was breathing fire as she shot back her response. “Are you implying that David Hume was coming to my bed?”

  “Nay! That would have been no concern of mine. ‘Tis just this. I lost the Crawford lass and you will take her place.”

  “I won’t!” she snapped. He’d been deaf to everything she’d said before. “Here you go again. I’m not some stray mare wandering on the road for anyone’s taking.”

  “Nay, you’ve wandered onto my land, so you’re mine.” He placed one hand on the hilt of his sword. “But I know you’re no mare. You’re a woman. And a virgin to boot. I can attest to that myself.”

  She clenched her fist. “My virginity is no business for you to speak of! I still--”

  “I have no time for any more of this foolishness.” Athol’s gaze hardened into one of disdain. “I’ll be having a wife now. I will have an heir to my holdings. You are here, you’re of noble blood--in spite of it being half-English--and you’re a virgin. That, at least, gives me the guarantee of knowing that I’ll not be passing my wealth on to somebody else’s bastard.”

  “You cannot force me to marry you! And I swear to you that you’ll not be getting any heirs from me.”

  She could almost see the challenge in the glint of his gray eyes.

  “You will marry me. And you will obey me. And you will be faithful to me...if I need to lock you in the dungeons of Balvenie Castle to be certain of it.” An arrogant smile played over the edges of his mouth. “But as far as begetting a bairn, you’ll take me into your bed.”

  She held her breath as his hand clamped on her chin and forced her gaze upward. It was so easy to close her mind to reason and fall prey to the man’s stunning good looks. But Catherine knew that could only happen if he were to shut his mouth and never utter another arrogant word. An unlikely occurrence!

  “But do not be fooled by dreamy notions of love. I’ll have none of that. A woman like you would normally be my least likely choice for a wife. But you are here, and you will have to do!”

  She clenched her jaws shut to stifle the fury that threatened to spew out of her. John Stewart was mad. Clearly, her only chance lay in escape.

  “It won’t be long before the priest arrives. I’ll have my men bring up your trunks. Dress properly for the wedding.”

  For the first time, the helplessness of her situation struck her. “I...I only have a small travel chest. I’m certain I have nothing more appropriate...than...”

  She watched his gaze dip down and fix on her breasts as her heart hammered in response. “Then I shall ask the priest to join us in this chamber. It certainly will make for a quick consummation.”

  “I didn’t mean my shift. What I was trying to say is that I have no dress fine enough...”

  Catherine stopped, no longer able to continue as he stared silently down at her for another long moment. Finally, without another word, he stepped around her and left the room.

  She waited until she heard the heavy door shut, listening for a moment more, and then she sprang into action. She had very little time and certainly no options--other than to escape this wild man and somehow find her way to the place where Laura had been sent to the north. Or was it the northeast? It was along the coast somewhere, of that she was certai
n. She knew this was not the time to worry about her route. Once she was away from here and free of Athol, then she could search out a way.

  Forced marriage to a man like him would be her destruction. In the short moments they’d been in each other’s company, he’d affected her senses. He’d made her mind a jumble, her body soft and willing. This certainly would not do! She couldn’t throw away a lifetime of learning for one night’s pleasure. And this would be the extent of it, Catherine thought, remembering his words. He only wanted a willing body and an heir. One night! That would be all!

  Well! He would have to find someone else! Shaking her head, she ran into the Ladies Chamber. In fact, her only chance of escape lay in leaving in the guise of someone else.

  Opening the door that led into the small anteroom, Catherine looked for the traveling bags she had seen before. Spying them in the corner, she quietly carried one of the heavy leather bags back into her chamber.

  Rummaging through the contents as quickly as she could, Catherine guessed that the bag belonged to David Hume. She pulled out a linen shirt, yanking it over her head. It was a good thing he was a small man, she thought. The heavens were clearly smiling on her, Catherine decided, when she spotted the warrior’s discarded tartan and kilt beside the bed.

  She knew exactly what she had to do. Dumping out the rest of David’s things, she hastily stuffed what she could of her own belongings into the bag. Though clumsy in her attempt to fasten the kilt around her slender hips, with the use of a cord, she managed to dress herself in the Highland gear in just a few moments. Realizing that his boots would never stay on her feet, she quickly donned her own and then pulled David’s knee length boots over them. The combination was unbelievably heavy, but it would have to do. Making a quick knot of her hair, she shoved the black mass into David’s cap.

  Then, taking a deep breath, Catherine hoisted the bag onto her shoulder and slipped out through the anteroom onto the landing beyond.

  Peering through the darkness, she moved silently down the narrow set of stairs. A few steps down, though, she tripped in the oversized leather boots. Cursing silently as she caught herself, she pulled them up as well as she could, and continued on. Reaching an arched doorway at the bottom, she saw a door that she thought must lead outside. As she mustered her courage to run for it, though, she leaped back, flattening herself in the shadows. A portly servant, carrying a basket heaped with steaming bread, shouldered his way in through the door.