1. To Market #2
Bouncing back, Catriona’s head shot up, eyes wide. She found herself staring up at a man who was certainly not a local. No, she would have remembered him.
Firstly, he was blond. Very blond, with thick locks of curling hay-yellow hair that one might see in a book illustration, perhaps a drawing of a handsome prince or knight.
Tall, sturdy, and square-shouldered, he really did look like a knight, with his well-sculpted face.
He even had blue eyes too, as blue as cornflowers.
In short, he looked like exactly the kind of man she’d walk a mile out of her way to avoid.
A slow smile spread over his face. No, not a smile, a smirk, the irritating kind that she’d seen entirely too often.
“Watch where ye are going, lassie,” he purred, tilting his head. The grin widened. “Where are ye going in such a rush? Or was it me ye were hurtling towards? If so, congratulations, for here I am.”
She rolled her eyes. “Good lord, does that line work on most women?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, turning on her heel instead and striding off into the crowd.
To her horror, the stranger followed, keeping pace easily. She cast a quick, searching gaze at him, looking for clues.
There weren’t any. He wore a plain kilt with MacLeod tartan, no visible ornaments, and only a plain linen shirt billowing loosely in the breeze. A memory stirred.
It was MacLeod tartan I saw in the courtyard that night. The man who stabbed that person in the courtyard was a MacLeod. He probably looked just like this man.
The wind pushed back his hair, ruffling it as artfully as if he’d spent an hour on it that morning. Golden stubble glinted on his cheeks. She guessed that he was about twenty-two or three, only a handful of years older than herself.
Catriona averted her gaze. She supposed that he was pretty handsome, if one liked that sort of thing. Which she did not, of course.
“Just shopping, then?” he remarked, grinning. One of his perfect white teeth was crooked, the canine on the left side. It gave his smile an imperfect cast, a sort of lopsided mischief.
Like he’s going to bite someone, she thought, and then wondered why she’d thought it.
“Working,” she responded crisply.
“Ye don’t look as though ye are working. I heard that there’s not much coin to be made at these market stalls.”
Catriona sighed, shaking her head. “There isn’t. Truth be told, I could use an opportunity to make more coin. My parents are… Well, they aren’t getting any younger.”
The handsome stranger pursed his lips. “Then ye are in luck. I have a proposition for ye.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Whatever it is, I am not interested.”
He danced ahead of her, his long legs easily putting some distance between them, and turned to face her.
He stopped, forcing her to stop, too. She eyed him uncertainly.
On either side, people streamed by, not bothering to spare either of them more than a passing glance.
They were focused on their own work, on their own chores.
I could probably push past him, Catriona thought uneasily, taking in the stranger’s height and bulk. He might grin and joke like a dandy, but it would be foolish to imagine that there was anything but steel beneath that smile.
“Hear me out. It’s a position at the Keep. At Keep MacLeod, no less,” he continued. “Nothing fancy. Probably just cooking and cleaning. But Laird MacLeod pays well, and ye will have yer board and food, with yer pay on top of that to send back to yer parents.”
Catriona drew her lower lip between her teeth. “And what do ye have to gain by offering me this?”
He grinned wider, taking a half-step forward. “A pretty wee face to look at.”
“I’ll not be beholden to ye for anything.”
“Nay, of course not,” he laughed, circling her. She longed to turn and watch him as he passed by behind her but fought to stay calm. “Where would the fun be in that?”
“So ye offer me work at the Keep. And let me guess, I have to go riding off with ye to claim it?”
He huffed. “No sensible woman would accept such a thing. I mean ye no harm, lass. No, simply go to the Keep and tell them that ye are here for a position at the Keep. And ye can tell them—”He took another step forward, gaze intent on her—“that the heir himself offered ye the position.”
Catriona blinked, not immediately understanding what he meant. When his words rang out in her head, the heir himself, her blood ran cold and she stopped walking. He almost bumped into her.
“Niall MacLeod,” she breathed, eyes widening. “Ye are the Laird’s son.”
In the blink of an eye, memories surged through her mind. Blood. Smoke. Her own childish horror, watching helplessly as bodies stirred and groaned in the MacAlpin courtyard. In her mind’s eye, she watched a man in MacLeod tartan step forward, weapon glinting in the moonlight, ready to kill…
She tightened her fist, clenching her jaw until her teeth squeaked.
I want to dig my teeth into his neck.
A few breaths, and the fury abated. She drew in another breath, steeling herself.
The stranger took a step forward and made a deep, flourishing bow.
“The very same. Impressed?”
“Not particularly.”
He straightened up, his grin widening, and dropped her a wink. “Aye, ye don’t seem easy to impress. Fortunately, I love a challenge.”
“Considering the fact ye approached a stranger at a market and offered her work when it’s clear she does not like ye, I would argue that ye love banging yer head against a stone wall.” She shot back wryly. “Are ye going to let me past, or not?”
A flicker of disappointment crossed the stranger’s face, quickly gone. “Will I see ye in the Keep? I’ll certainly remember yer face.”
She frowned. Why? Why would he remember her face? She was hardly ugly, but there were more beautiful women at the market.
“I suggest ye seek out Nancy, the golden-haired, beautiful daughter of the fishmonger,” she said. “She’s a vision, if ye can get past the smell.”
“Tempting. But I like a pair of blue-green eyes, and I like a steady stare. Or glare more like,” he corrected, meeting her gaze and lifting his eyebrows.
She sighed. “Well, I’d best take my eyes away, then. Good day to ye, sir.”
Not waiting for a response, she slipped past him and hurried off, refusing to allow herself to look back at the stranger.
Not a stranger, she told herself, a lump lodging in her throat once more. Niall MacLeod.
His father was one of the men who destroyed Da. My real Da. He attacked our Keep, and scattered us.
He’s my enemy.
The sun set slowly. Even if she left now, turning aside at the gates to Keep MacLeod, Catriona wouldn’t make it back to the market before dark. Even now, John would be looking for her, uncertain.
She’d left a note for him, wedged under a rock at their stall. If he somehow missed it, she’d asked their stall neighbor to tell him where she had gone.
He’d probably hear from her first.
They’d be upset, John and Marion. They’d probably travel to the Keep and try half-heartedly to convince her to come home, but the plain fact was that they needed more coin.
More than that, she thought grimly. I need to go back to my true family.
Taking a position as a servant here at the Keep was perfect. Handsome, arrogant Niall had given her the perfect way to get inside the MacLeod walls and take stock of what she should do next, all the while supporting John and Marion in their time of need.
I won’t see him, Catriona told herself firmly. He’ll lose interest in me once I wear a serving wench’s apron, I’m sure.
A MacLeod soldier strode towards her, gripping his pike in one thick-knuckled hand. For a moment, Catriona was back in Keep MacAlpin, standing in a doorway, watching in horror as a faceless soldier drove a pike point-first into a shadowy body on the ground.
Nausea bubbled inside her, and she managed to swallow it down before the soldier spoke to her.
“Can I help ye, lass?” he asked, his voice surprisingly kind. “We lock the gates in less than an hour. Are ye coming in or out?”
“I’ve been given a position here at the Keep,” Catriona managed, forcing a smile. “I’ve come to take that position.”
The soldier frowned. “And who hired ye, lass?”
Catriona couldn’t prevent her smug smile. “The one ye take orders from.”
She saw the soldier going pale. “I’ll fetch the master. Wait here.”
Catriona shifted from foot to foot, trying to swallow down her nerves. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she felt the familiar circle of silver there.
Ma’s ring. It hung on a chain around her neck most of the time, but her green gown was cut around her collarbones and would show the chain. The ring was probably valuable, and losing it would be… would be bad.
I ought to have left it with Marion. She would have kept it safe for me.
Too late now. The soldier returned, striding out across the courtyard.
“This way, lass,” he called.
She hurried towards him, lifting her skirt to avoid her hem trailing in the filth of the cobblestones.
“So is the heir waiting fer me inside?”
“It’s not him ye will be answering to,” the soldier responded.
“What? But he…”
The soldier chuckled, leading her to a doorway. An elderly woman waited for her, a heavy bunch of keys hanging around her waist. She must have had sharper ears than Catriona had bargained for, because she spoke up as if she’d overheard.
“It may have been Master Niall who offered ye this position, lass,” she remarked coolly, “but it’s Master Kenneth who runs this Keep. Follow me.”