Ian gave her a sharp nod, and the council revived their discussion about a land border, seemingly forgetting that Katherine was even in the room.
She sighed and looked out the window beyond the grass, the wind howling across the moors. While they were barely in the spring months, the weather was still cold, and she imagined it was not going to get any warmer in the next few weeks. A late summer meant a bad crop, and a bad crop meant empty stores for the winter. That was what they should be discussing.
Yet still, she did not interrupt them, lost in her thoughts. Her council knew best, and she was just the figurehead that sat in the seat—the laird’s seat—and inputted her words every so often. If the council could not reach an agreement on something, then she would be the deciding vote.
Until then, she was forced to listen and wait, which meant her mind could wander far and wide.
There was a particular thought on her mind, one that had occurred just last evening, and it had to do with her cousin’s second-in-command.
Katherine felt her heart flutter before she pushed the feeling aside. There was no love lost between Cameron and her. He thought her a spoiled child who had nothing more than time on her hands. She thought him uncouth and incapable of caring about anyone but himself.
And that had just been in the first days they had been together three years ago.
But when she had seen him last night, she hadn’t known what to say. Luckily, he had opened his mouth and caused her to retort the way he mocked her, making her storm off and leave him in the great hall.
Actually, Katherine couldn’t wait to get away from him, and only in the safety of her chambers had she allowed herself to draw in a breath, her body shaken by the encounter.
Not from fear. No, she would never fear Cameron.
She wasn’t sure why he had affected her so, but it would be the last time. She had no thought of being alone with him again.
Finally, the clan council concluded, and Katherine escaped to the great hall, where Arran waited for her. “Katherine,” he stated, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
She poured herself one, only because she needed to chase away her thoughts of the infernal Scot from the night before. “Arran, I’m sorry, but the council is right. We dinnae need any panic.”
He swore, thrusting a hand through his hair. “Yer life could be in danger, lass.”
She took a tiny sip of the amber liquid, letting the fire slide down her throat and give her strength. “Arran, really. If someone were trying tae harm me, why would they set the wall on fire? Why not try tae murder me in mah sleep?”
“I need for ye tae take this seriously, Katherine,” Arran demanded, his eyes flashing.
“I am!” she cried out. “If I cannae be safe in mah own clan, I might as well go live in Ainslee’s healer hut. I wilnae run from this, Arran. If someone is trying tae kill me, they wilnae find me cowering in a corner somewhere.”
Arran laid a hand on her shoulder, his gaze sympathetic. “I know, lass. I just, I wish yer council would take this threat seriously. Give ye a guard or something.”
Katherine laughed. “I have plenty of warriors, Arran. They will protect me.”
The laird’s expression hardened, and he dropped his hand. “Yer warriors are only as good as the threat they can identify.”
“I need ye tae let go,” she forced out, surprised by the emotion in her voice. “Ye have given me instruction over the years, and I appreciate it, Arran, but ’tis time for me tae lead mah clan, not ye.”
There, she had said it. She had told him to return to being a laird of his own clan and not hers.
Arran reared back as if she had slapped him. “Och lass, ye didnae think I was trying tae take over, did ye?”
“Nay,” she said softly, her eyes tearing up. “I didnae think that at all.”
Arran cleared his throat, his gruff demeanor returning. “Be careful who ye trust, Katherine. Those that might seem tae have the best of intentions could turn out tae be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
His words stayed with Katherine after he left, and she stared into the fire, wishing she had an answer for what had happened. It had to be an accident. The wall, while it had protected the keep, could be repaired. No one had been hurt.
It made no sense.
Besides, she had not told her cousin anything that she did not believe. She had warriors, albeit they were not as good as her cousin’s were. Still, they were charged with protecting their clan, and Katherine felt they would not stray from their cause.
Sighing, she wished she had not hurt Arran with her words. While he had not told her that she had, she could see it written on his face. He had done so much for her to get her to this point in her life, and she would be forever grateful for what he had done.
It was just time for her to do it on her own.
An hour later, Katherine found herself wandering the halls of the keep, her mind troubled. She felt as if she was fighting an uphill battle with Arran and everyone. It seemed that everything she wished to do was not turning out as she had hoped, and Katherine wondered if she was ever to have a peaceful life and a thriving clan. It was all she wished to have.
But now Arran was upset with her because she did not believe she was in danger, and Cameron...she didn’t want to think about Cameron. Perhaps it would be best if there was some distance between them for a while, giving her a chance to find her own footing in her new life and for Arran to return to his duties as laird. He had taught her many things, but he couldn’t teach her everything.
The only way she was going to learn was to live through it.
Katherine ran her hand along the cool stone wall that led to her chamber, feeling the grooves in the stone from generations past. She could do this. She was a McDougal and had faced far worse things in her lifetime than to let Arran’s worries or what everyone else thought about her as a laird. She had been given a powerful position, one that was coveted by many.
Now it was time to show the clan that she could be the leader they deserved. Liam had been horrid, but she was going to heal those wounds.
4
Cameron drained the last bit of ale from the tankard before slamming it down on the scarred table, rewarded with cheers as he did so. It was his sixth in the past hour, and his brain was starting to feel addled from the heady liquid. Around him sat the warriors he had picked to accompany them on this journey, the men he trusted to not only protect their laird but also protect him in battle.
Lately, however, they had done more drinking than fighting.
That didn’t sit well with Cameron. Fighting was in his blood, and without it, he felt lost, like a hand without a sword. Arran was basking in the time of peace, but surely there would be a time that he would be able to wield a sword again.
If not, they would all grow fat and lazy from the ale they partook in.
“Another!” he barked, motioning to the tavern wench that had been serving them. The pub was on the outskirts of the McDougal village, the air heavy with unwashed bodies and stale ale. It was his sort of place, with ruckus laughter and bawdy songs that would carry on into the morning where he would wake with an aching head, sometimes in a bed he did not recognize.
It would be the last of these days as well. Once they returned to McAiwn land, he would put his time in his farm and not in the inside of a tavern. After all, he wasn’t going to find a decent village lass in these walls.
As long as she didn’t have hair like a fiery sunset and a temperament to match, he would be just fine.
The wench winked at him, giving him a generous view of her bosom as she placed the ale before him. “Anything else?” she asked innocently, though there was a knowing look in her eye, one that he would like to revisit later.
Cameron grinned, swatting at her arse. “Maybe later, lass.”
Her own heated eyes roved over him, and her lips turned up into a saucy smile. “I hope so, warrior.”
She had his cock as hard as a staff. “Go on, quit distracting
me.”
She flounced away, and Cameron turned back to his warriors, realizing they had all grown quiet. “Wot?”
“Cameron.”
Turning, he found Arran standing a few feet away, a disproving frown on his face. “Mah laird,” he acknowledged quickly, raising his tankard. “A drink?”
Arran didn’t respond, and Cameron cleared his throat, pushing his chair away from the table. If Arran had found him here, then he was in no mood to share a draught of ale. “Aye, carry on, men.”
He didn’t leave his tankard, however, and followed Arran out into the cool night. “Mah laird,” he said, his words slurring slightly. It seemed that the ale had caught up with him, and he felt pleasantly warm inside.
Arran sighed heavily. “Cameron, ye’re foxed.”
“I’m well on mah way, aye,” Cameron replied, lifting the tankard to his lips for another draw of the earthy liquid. “I do believe ye’re jealous.”
Arran smirked. “Ainslee likes for me tae have mah wits about me. Besides, ’tis hard tae get up with Myra when mah head is spinning.”
Cameron drained the tankard and threw it into the hay pile nearby, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I dinnae think ye came tae check on me.”
“Nay,” Arran replied, leaning against the rough boards of the building. He looked troubled, and Cameron started to become wary of what his laird might say. It had been a long time since he had seen Arran in such a state. “I need for ye tae stay behind.”
The words doused Cameron like a bucket of cold water, and the ale threatened to rise dangerously in his throat. Surely, he had heard him wrong. They were due to leave in a matter of days.
“Stay?”
“Something is not right here,” Arran stated, looking at him. There was stark fear in the laird’s eyes. “I fear for Katherine’s life.” Cameron had never seen that before with Arran except for the time that his wife had been captured by her cousin and nearly killed. He was truly worried, but Cameron couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t.
“I cannae,” Cameron protested. “Mah allegiance is tae ye. I will pick warriors tae do so.” He could not be separated from his laird and protect him at the same time. It was his only duty—to ensure that his laird was protected.
Arran shook his head. “I cannae take the chance, Cameron. Katherine is new in her role, and if something happened tae her that I didnae prepare for, I couldnae live with mahself.”
Cameron slumped against the building, feeling both anger and understanding from Arran’s words. When he had been given the position as second-in-command, he had pledged not only his allegiance but his word that nothing would ever happen to his laird on his watch. “I am supposed tae protect ye as well.”
Arran chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can protect mahself, Cameron. This is important tae me, and I dinnae trust anyone else with this task.”
Cameron knew he had no choice in the matter. If his laird was asking, he had already made up his mind for Cameron.
Protect Katherine. He had vague memories of having a conversation with her in the great hall, one that had her storming off into the shadows and him sleeping in a chair that had caused a crick in his neck. She did not wish to be in his presence, and he couldn’t help but agree, but now Arran wanted him to guard her to ensure her safety?
It was not going to end well.
“Will ye ever tell me what happened during yer journey?”
Cameron blew out a breath, the conversation making his addled brain clearer, sharper. “Nothing happened. She was a spoiled child, and I was done with her endless chatter, is all.”
“I dinnae know if I believe ye,” Arran replied evenly as he pushed away from the wall. “But I’m asking that ye keep her safe.”
“Aye, I will,” Cameron said.
“And no more ale.”
Cameron laughed as the laird walked off, disappearing into the night. He would need a storehouse full of ale to deal with Katherine himself.
Instead of walking back into the tavern, he set off in the opposite direction of Arran, breathing in the night air. It wasn’t that he detested her so much that she hadn’t followed his commands back then. Katherine was a lass that wished to do what she wanted, without a care for her own safety.
That would prove to have her harmed if she did not start to see the danger that surrounded her.
There were things about that journey that he cared not to tell anyone, and his reasoning was because he did not want to embarrass Katherine.
* * *
Three Years Ago
Cameron stoked the fire with the stick in his hand before throwing it into the orange flames, watching it spark. The weather was cold for the time of the year, and the air was heavy with moisture, which meant there was a threat of rain on the way. He had just hoped that it held off until they could reach the keep.
The sound of a distant scream caught his attention, and Cameron was on his feet in an instant, drawing his sword. The horses neighed in concern as he moved in the direction Katherine had taken off, his heart hammering in his chest. He had found her a small river to wash up in, giving her the privacy so she could wash the filth from her body and provide him with a measure of peace in the process.
But now he realized he had sent her unarmed.
Cameron crashed through the brush and found Katherine attempting to fight off a tall figure that had her straddled on the ground, her arms pinned high above her head. Cameron growled and charged the man, pushing him off Katherine and into the water. The Scot roared as he flailed in the water, but Cameron was already on him, wasting no time in spearing him with his sword. Only when the Scot quit twitching did he back away, his breathing harsh to his own ears.
“Cameron.”
Her broken voice tore at him, and he found her still on the ground, her arms wrapped around her waist clad only in her shift. “Lass,” he breathed, placing his sword back into its scabbard before falling on his knees beside her. “Did he hurt ye?”
Her eyes were on the floating body in the water, the moonlight the only source of light. “Nay, ye came just in time.”
Cameron closed his eyes and breathed a small prayer. “’Tis mah fault. I never should have sent ye here alone.”
She sobbed and launched herself at him, causing Cameron to pull her tightly to his chest. She smelled of lilacs and earth, her body trembling in his arms. Cameron cursed his own stupid decisions. “I’m sorry, lass.”
She clutched his tunic, and he smoothed his hand over her hair, swallowing hard. He was not in the business of taking care of weeping lasses, but her tears were breaking his heart. “Dinnae cry, lass. Ye’re safe.”
Her tears came harder, and Cameron made the decision to pick her up in his arms, carrying her back to the fire. When he tried to put her down, she clung to him, whimpering. “Dinnae let me go.”
So, he didn’t. Cameron awkwardly lowered them both onto the bedroll, and Katherine curled up against his chest, her sobs turning into quiet sniffles. Cameron clenched his jaw, thinking of the Scot that was floating in the river and her things that were likely still at the riverbank.
He needed to think about anything but the way she felt against his chest.
When Katherine finally pulled away, he felt the loss of her warmth. Removing his plaid, he wrapped it around her shoulders. “I will go and get yer things.”
She grasped his hand, and Cameron was forced to look into her eyes, the eyes that nearly gutted him. “Thank ye, Cameron. Thank ye for coming tae mah aid.”
He swallowed hard and pulled away before he did something stupid. “I will be back.”
She nodded, and he stalked off into the wood, attempting to cool his body from not only the fight that he had just been in but also the way Katherine had felt against her chest. She was his laird’s cousin, yet he had not wanted to let her go.
Cameron wasted no time gathering her things and pushing the Scot’s body downstream, to let it float until some animal found it, di
sgusted by what the man had put Katherine through. No matter how annoying she had been, no lass deserved to be taken advantage of.
Katherine was lying on her side with the tartan pulled over her when he returned. He placed her sodden dress on a nearby rock so it could continue to dry. “He’s dead,” Cameron said softly. “Sleep, lass.”
She met his gaze, looking nothing like the lass that had been so confident when they had left the keep. “I cannae.”
“Ye can,” he urged. “Picture me dressed in yer gown.”
A smile pulled at her lips, and he grinned as well. “Nothing will get ye tonight, lass.”
“Ye promise?”
He felt the rock in his chest grow larger by the moment. “Aye, lass, I promise.” He would tell her anything for her to close those tear-filled eyes, and he could start to think about what his next move would be.
Her eyes fluttered closed; he let out a breath, pulling his sword out of the scabbard so he could clean the blood off the steel before it rusted, a task that would keep him busy so he would not think about the lass that was sleeping across from the fire.
He had to get Katherine to the keep so he could get the bloody hell away from her.
She was going to ruin him.
Cameron shook out of the memory, rubbing his chest at the phantom ache that had never ceased to disappear since that night. Katherine was a different person.
He was a different person.
But the look in her eyes when she had clutched at him...he would never forget the fear there.
“Shite,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair roughly. He was about to spend time with the lass that he wanted to stay well away from, and Cameron doubted she would take the news well.
Well, it mattered not. If Arran thought there was a threat, then he was rarely wrong, and Cameron would do all that he could to keep her safe until the threat could be eliminated. Just as he had done three years ago, he would not hesitate to run his sword through another Scot for the sake of keeping her alive.
Highlander’s Royal Blood: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 3