Standing still as Jean continued to tighten the laces of the dress on her back, Catherine frowned into the fire as she recalled the end of her talk with the dowager.
Lady Anne’s agreeable expression had quickly turned to a sneer when Catherine mentioned the name of Adam of the Glen. No matter what she’d asked, or how insistent she’d been to learn the reasons for her husband’s actions at the news of the man, the dowager had simply refused to answer, demanding that Catherine not be meddling in business that was none of her concern.
That had been end of their discussion. As abrupt as the dowager had been in receiving her earlier, she’d been just as abrupt in dismissing her.
At Jean’s soft command, Catherine sat down again on the stool and watched absentmindedly as the other woman slipped a pair of soft leather shoes onto her feet.
Tonight--she’d decided upon returning to her chamber--she was going down to the Great Hall to join in taking a meal with the rest of the household. Having learned that her husband had returned, Catherine knew that dinner might offer just the right opportunity to get answers to at least some of her questions.
If there was one thing that she was certain of now, Catherine knew that she had reached a point of no return in this marriage. Though she’d long ago given up her dreams of marriage, she had never thought that life would take her to this castle in the Highlands of Scotland. Her only salvation now lay in her ability to reform this roguish husband of hers. Some dreams she would not give up, and Athol would understand and agree to what she wanted to accomplish if it killed her.
But this meant she would have to first conquer her own weakness for the man. And to do this, she’d sought the help of Jean.
“Up you go, m’lady.”
Catherine gazed with curiosity at the serving lass’s pleased expression. “What’s the matter?”
“I’d say the matter is, one look at you and the laird will be the one forgetting his words...and his head, too, for that matter.”
Looking down at herself, Catherine immediately covered the exposed skin of her neck and chest with her hands. “Jean!”
“Nay, do not be doing that now, d’ye hear me?”
Catherine reluctantly let Jean pry her hands off the low, square neckline of the dress. “But...you can see so much...and the dress...is so white but for the golden threads...”
She stared down at the beautifully gold-embroidered dress that flared out below the waist, showing the even more elaborately embroidered underskirt.
“Aye. It looks wonderful with that bonny, raven hair of yours. And all that creamy skin spilling over like that...I’m telling ye, mistress, ye will have your school and everything else ye wish from the earl...all ye’ll need do is be asking him.”
“Still--” Catherine shook her head, “I know I said I wanted to look less severe, perhaps even...pleasing to the eye...but now I feel like a...a...”
“A wench?” The serving woman frowned deeply and straightened the bell-shaped sleeves of Catherine’s dress. “Nay, mistress. I know of no wenches wearing white and gold such as this! Ye look like an angel, like an innocent dressed in her wedding dress. And from what I heard from some of the men, ye were a wee bit less than ladylike, wearing that Hume rascal’s tartan and lashing priest and laird alike with that tongue of yours--not that anyone would be blaming ye!”
As Catherine opened her mouth to argue, Jean lifted a folded tartan from the bed and shook it open. Carefully, she draped Stewart of Athol’s plaid over one shoulder.
“Well, I didn’t really think ye’ll be needing this on such a lovely evening. But then, we can’t be standing around and arguing all night, as I know the master’s already gone into the Great Hall to meet the guests.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, and it would be best for all concerned if ye were to join him while the rest of the company’s still sober.”
Catherine nodded, happily running her fingers over the soft wool of the tartan. As she turned toward the door, she paused and pushed her thick, loose hair back over her shoulder.
“Now, are you certain I do not need to braid this?”
Jean shook her head firmly and lit a taper at the fire. “Be on your way, mistress. And hurry, before I change my mind and take that tartan away.”
With a smile of appreciation, Catherine let herself be gently prodded into the corridor.
“Now, as ye requested,” Jean said, closing the door behind them, “we’ve not told the laird ye are coming. Though some of the crofters and the master’s council have been coming each day since word spread, ye must remember most of those down there will not make a move to accept ye until he has introduced ye as his own...as the new Countess Balvenie. So when ye get to the Hall, do not be shy. Ye must simply go and take your place beside him.”
Nervously, Catherine pulled the tartan higher on her chest.
“Nay, mistress, do not be doing that.” Jean stopped her and rearranged the tartan. There was far too much skin showing there, from Catherine’s perspective, but she didn’t fight the serving woman. “All will work out, mistress. Trust me! All will come about just as ye wish!”
Catherine nodded as they turned down the corridor again. But after taking a couple of steps, she came to a halt and stopped Jean with a hand on her arm.
“This dress! Where did this dress come from?”
The woman’s mouth turned up mischievously. “We plundered Ellen Crawford’s trunks. The master had paid for trunks of clothing to be made and sent up from Stirling.”
“But...”
“Lady Anne directed that they be left in the stables.” The woman shrugged her shoulders. “We thought, ye get the husband, ‘tis only fitting ye get the clothes, as well.”
“But, I can’t...”
“Ye’d better hurry, mistress. At this pace, dinner will be over before ye get there, and I cannot swear that those blackguards down there will be fit company for ye for too much longer. And ye’ll soon see, mistress, the laird is his most agreeable during his dinner.”
Not the most, Catherine thought with a shy smile as they continued on. There were a few moments right in this corridor last night when John Stewart had been quite agreeable.
*****
Athol laughed heartily as he picked up the pitcher and filled Susan’s cup with more wine. Since returning to Balvenie, this was the first chance he’d had to hear about her trip to nearby Ironcross Castle a fortnight earlier.
“This is priceless news, Susan, to be sure. But tell me, what did Joanna do when her husband dropped like a stone to the floor?”
“M’lord, she started crying out to the midwife to forget about the birthing and see to him, instead. I had to see to him myself while she gave birth to the second bairn.”
“Twin girls!” Athol shook his head in disbelief, enjoying the warm feeling the news had given him. Looking back at Susan, he placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder. “I am glad you were there, lass. With the two elder boys being the scamps that they are, Joanna must have been relieved to have you beside her...especially considering her own husband was of no use.”
“Oh, he did come around soon enough, m’lord. And as soon as he had his hands on those bairns, there was no moving him from the mother’s side.” Susan glanced back at the trencher of food before her. “The good health of the twin newborns even had Joanna’s grandmother, Lady MacInnes, showing better spirits than she’s been in, of late. I only stayed until Mistress Joanna was up and about, for I wished to come back here to be by Lady Anne’s side. Before I left, though, both the laird and his wife insisted on you coming to Ironcross to visit them as soon as you’re able.”
Smiling at the thought, Athol took a sip of his wine. Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea, he thought. As agreeable as Catherine was turning out to be, it might actually be a pleasure to take her to Ironcross Castle and introduce her to Gavin and Joanna.
He smiled again at the thought of the meeting. After all, they would be expecting Ellen Crawford. It might be very in
teresting to see what those two would say, being introduced to his prim and proper looking wife.
Och! Knowing them, they’d probably see it as a hopeful sign, that perhaps he was not beyond saving, after all! By the devil, that would take a bit of the fun out of it!
*****
Nobody so much as turned a head in welcome!
Standing in the shadows beside the large doorway into the Great Hall, Catherine glanced somewhat wistfully at the merry groups of people crowding the long tables. The huge fire behind the dais was crackling, throwing a golden light over the room. Clumps of laughing men and women, all dependents of the laird apparently, gathered in the center of the room, as well, enjoying the evening. Dogs and children alike were roving about, stealing food where they could and running beneath the trestle tables. Unlike her first glimpse of the Hall on the day she’d arrived, the place was now alive with conversation and good humored activity. Letting her eyes travel from one table to the next, Catherine was amazed by all the faces, still new to her.
In the far corner of the Hall, though, Catherine spotted the three monks from Jervaulx Abbey sitting among the castle folks of Balvenie. It warmed her heart to know that, though Athol had not given his final consent regarding the school, he’d still allowed them to stay. Perhaps, at least, she could interpret this as meaning that he was considering the request with favor.
A throng of warriors milled about in front of the dais, and Catherine stood on tiptoe to see her husband. Deep in her heart, she could feel that something was changing in her attitude toward the man. A feeling she had no desire to name was joining the physical attraction she had no inclination to admit.
The group of warriors moved off toward a table, and as Catherine’s eyes caught sight of him seated in the great carved chair, she felt as though her throat were being squeezed shut.
John Stewart’s hand lay on Susan’s shoulder. A hearty laugh she’d never have thought him capable of rolled across the floor to her. Standing alone by the door, Catherine suddenly felt more alone and unwelcome than she’d ever felt in her life.
Unable to move, she stared at the two. Susan, dressed in an embroidered gown of deep green, appeared to be in total bliss. As she continued to speak to the earl, the young woman paused only to reach for her wine, turning and smiling coyly at the Highlander over the rim of her cup.
For the first time in her life, Catherine found herself entertaining the idea of tearing another woman’s eyes out.
Forcibly quelling such a reaction, Catherine took a step farther into the shadows. It wasn’t his actions that had her dashing away the odd tear, so much as her own response to what she’d witnessed. There was certainly nothing surprising in what he was doing. She was a fool to forget his warnings so soon. John Stewart had cautioned her not to be lulled into any dreamy notions of love. He’d said so quite clearly--in word and action. How openly he’d reminded her that a woman such as herself would never be his first choice for a wife. He was only looking for an heir and nothing more!
And after what had happened last night, perhaps that desire had been fulfilled already.
Catherine brought a hand to her mouth. Her lips were trembling. A few short moments of passion in a deserted corridor, and she’d thought his heart might have warmed to her? Whispering under her breath, she cursed herself for being so weak.
Though she threw one last look in his direction, she couldn’t see him clearly because of the tears burning her eyes. Turning abruptly toward the door, Catherine quietly made her way out of the Hall. She’d been so much better off when she’d contained her fantasies to her dreams. For all those encounters she’d had with her knight, he’d never once hurt her the way she was hurting now. She’d never once felt the pain of white hot metal piercing her chest as it was burning her insides now. She’d never before felt the agonizing venom that was now spreading through her veins.
Blinded by her tears, she started into the darkened stairwell. By now, Jean was no doubt finding something to eat in the kitchens, and Catherine would be glad for the solitude. She needed to get away from the crowd to sort out her feelings. Most important, she needed the time to rebuild the wall of dreams behind which she’d been able to hide for her entire life.
Her foot had not yet left the lowest step when the strong hands grabbed her from behind. Catherine never even had a chance to cry out before she felt herself being lifted by the waist and turned in the air before being lowered gently to earth--face to face with her husband.
Perhaps it was from fear, or perhaps from the shock of having found herself in his arms in the dark landing. Whatever it was, Catherine found herself staring into his piercing gray eyes, unable to breathe.
“So you’ve decided, Catherine Percy, to join me, at last. And are you prepared to let your people bend their knees to their countess?”
CHAPTER 10
Seeing her now, the embodiment of softness and emotion, of beauty and passion, John wondered how he had not before seen this in the woman. She was more like some ethereal creature, and he felt his loins stir with desire for her. He stared at her, waiting for an answer, but also trying to drink his fill of the sight before him. As if he ever could.
“Nay! I am prepared for no such thing!”
He laughed, eliciting a look of obvious shock from his bride. Taking her by the hand, he dragged her off the step into the landing and backed her against the stone wall.
“You must be out of your mind!” She tried to fight off his hold by using her fists and punching him in the chest. “I told you I won’t do what you ask of me. I said...”
Ignoring her blows, he leaned down and placed a firm kiss on her stubborn mouth. She struggled for only a moment before melting in his arms. As he deepened the kiss, ravaging her willing mouth, he realized that he must be out of his mind. Certainly, Catherine Percy had a way of driving him mad. The way she fought him and then turned into a purring cat in his embrace, drove all reason from his brain, all sense of discipline from his will. In a way, his body’s response to this stranger that he’d taken as a wife shook him a bit. But fear was not the sensation he was feeling now.
He pulled back slightly and looked down at her closed eyes, at her full, parted lips, at the dark, silken mass of hair that had run through his fingers when he’d planted her against the wall. By the Virgin, she was beautiful!
She slowly opened her eyes and met his gaze, her blue eyes misty with emotion. John Stewart was enslaved.
“I...I came...down here...”
“I know. To join me for supper!”
She nodded. Without stepping back, John started combing his fingers through her thick waves of ebony, enjoying the feel of them tumbling over his hand.
“You look beautiful like this.”
A deep blush crept up from her neck into her cheeks, but then, before the color could fade, a flash of fire lit her eyes. “I was in the Hall.”
“I know! How could I have missed the daggers you hurled at my direction on your way out.”
“If only...if only a few of them had found their mark!”
“Och, but they did, Countess! Can’t you see what a bloody mess you’ve left me? I have more wounds than Suleyman has wives!”
She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled. When she did, John Stewart forgot how to breathe.
“Very well. I have changed my mind.” She placed her open palm against his chest, and he took a half step back. Behind them, strains of music wafted out from the Hall. The traveling minstrel and his apprentice. “If you’ll have me, I believe I will join you for supper...in the Hall.”
He only nodded, for he didn’t trust his voice to say the words. As he held out his hand to her, his eyes swept over the tartan she was wearing across the bodice of her dress. Seeing his own colors on her only intensified the feelings that were coursing through him. The plaid on her looked right to him. Very right.
“We had intended...well, to talk about the school earlier.” She placed her hand in his as he led her toward the doors o
f the Hall. “On matters as important as this, I’ve found...”
As the two stepped into the Great Hall, they moved out of earshot of the red-haired stable lad, Roy Sykes, who descended from the upper landing and emerged from the darkness of the stairwell. He’d almost had her.
Cursing his luck, he stared after them.
*****
The Great Hall became as silent as a tomb, voices and music stopping with an abruptness that filled Catherine with the sensation of being plunged underwater.
She almost wished she were deaf, so that she wouldn’t know the awful absence of sound suddenly lost. She almost wished she were blind, so she wouldn’t be so shaken by the sight of those in the crowd rising singly, and then in groups in response to their presence. She almost wished she were not a woman, so that she would not be so overwhelmed with feeling by the sudden outburst of their shouts and cheers.
She hadn’t given much thought to the ramifications of walking inside that Hall on her husband’s arm while wearing his tartan. But now, her folly would be sure to come back and haunt her, for there was no possible way of hiding the surprising array of emotions that were exploding within her. But that, in itself, appeared to please these men and women...and to please her husband even more.
Having been led to a space in front of the large dais, Catherine held tight to her husband’s hand as he introduced her to the gathered clan as the new countess of Athol. But the raucous shouts of endorsement did nothing to prepare her for the roar of approval that followed when John Stewart, earl of Athol, swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately before the entire assembly.
Once back on her own feet, Catherine gave him a scowling glare, and as the minstrels struck up their music again, she leaned closer to him and whispered her complaint. “You are a rogue, John Stewart. That was particularly inappropriate.”
“True, Cat. But I believe we crossed all boundaries of decorum the moment I climbed into your bed that first night at my hunting lodge.”
Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) Page 10