Chapter 20
Cat spent the next day largely on her own, since Effie had some task that required all her attention, yet none of Cat’s assistance.
Cat knew better than to press—she could tell when she wasn’t needed.
So she walked near the estate, clambering up a hill mostly for the sake of doing so.
At the top, she found a small ring of stones, the center of which was occupied by one white sheep.
Figuring that if a sheep was allowed inside, so was she, Cat took a step, waited for some admonishment from the faeries, got none, and sighed.
“You might at least try to kidnap me,” she announced. “Though I’ve already been kidnapped once this month.”
The only reply was the wind.
“I suppose he didn’t actually kidnap me,” she admitted.
“It was more of a desperate choice to save my own life. But I don’t know if my life is worth saving.
I don’t know what I’ll do with it in any case.
I’ll not get married, or be a useful woman in the house of some relative.
I don’t have any relatives who’d need those services of me.
I’m no good at minding children, and I don’t sew well, and I am hardly a pleasant conversationalist when people come to tea.
I talk about the rights of women, and I quote the thinkers I admire, but I’ve done almost nothing to further the cause I profess to believe in.
I shall be a spinster, and everyone shall say it’s sour grapes when I explain that women should not have to depend on a man for her daily bread. ”
The faeries did not respond. The sheep was also unmoved by this speech, and continued to pull on the tender green grass.
“It’s all right for you,” she told the sheep. “Your meals are available on every hillside. Women are not so lucky. I shall probably starve at some point. What work am I suited for, and who would hire me to it? No one pays a woman to dream of a better world.”
The sheep bleated in what Cat chose to believe was sympathy.
What would she do? Her time at Kinlochlie had shown her one ugly truth at least—she’d been sheltered and coddled before, at her own home.
Even though she had joined the League and gone to rallies and given speeches (well, the beginning of a speech), Cat faced no real challenges to her own survival…
until someone tried to kill her, that is.
She was well provided for by the trust her mother set up for her.
Aunt Tacita was a kind and wise guardian.
And she had a lovely home with a full complement of servants. Who was she to complain?
“It’s not a complaint to see a flaw in the world and ask that it be fixed,” she told herself, echoing words Mrs Roberts often used at meetings.
But the words felt hollow now. She must seem like a strange and laughable figure to Thane and his friends.
They were helping her for Brodie’s sake, not because of any particular connection to her.
At that, the thought of Thane’s kisses the day before came to her unbidden. She wished she could say that they didn’t affect her, but that would be a lie, and Cat didn’t like lies.
The few moments in Thane’s arms had been wickedly, wildly exciting, and she wasn’t going to pretend that she’d forget them anytime soon. And in fact, she was conscious of wanting to find out more, what would happen if she found herself alone with Thane again.
No. That was how women ended up trapped, following a few moments of pleasure and earning a lifetime of regret. Cat had enough regrets.
And anyway, Thane and she didn’t even like each other.
Cat sat at the top of the hill for a while, but not a single faerie appeared to steal her away, and eventually the sheep wandered off too.
When the sun sank enough to make the stones’ shadows grow long, Cat returned to the castle.
She barely took note of the burly guard who’d stood on a hill about halfway back, at a vantage point where he would have been able to watch Cat the whole afternoon and report to Thane if anything suspicious occurred.
When it was time to dress for dinner, she pulled on her black evening gown, loathing it.
She had the sudden notion that mourning wear was perhaps designed to hasten the progress of grief by making the wearer so utterly despise their wardrobe that they had to cast it aside, along with the memory of those they lost. What she wouldn’t give to wear anything else. Even puce!
But black was what she had, though she did keep the shell-pink wrap that had somehow ended up in her trunk the day her maid so hastily packed for her.
Cat wound the wrap about her shoulders, feeling that summer might never truly come to this part of the world. Long days were one thing, but the breeze was still full of northern chill.
She walked into the hall and stopped short on seeing the preparations for a festivity. Was there some Highland holiday she didn’t know about?
The high table was draped with a new cloth, and tall candles flickered in their brass holders, brightening the scene.
Spring flowers had been put in small vases and jars and tiny pots, dozens of them.
Even the surprisingly pretty white flowers of the wild onion had been included.
The overall effect was that of a lush glen having magically been transported to inside the hall.
“What’s all this?” she asked, looking around. Why were people smiling at her?
“It’s for your birthday, lassie!” Effie said, beaming with pride. “I thought you needed a celebration.”
Cat’s heart thudded once and dropped into her stomach. “Oh. Oh. Thank you,” she added faintly, having forgotten it was her birthday. The polite response was rote—her brain was too overwhelmed with memory to fully focus on the present.
The memories of birthdays past: Brodie giving her a beautifully wrapped box that contained a live frog; her and Brodie getting sick on cake; Brodie and her whispering their wishes to each other before bedtime.
She made her way to her seat, and caught Thane’s green gaze, but couldn’t sense the emotion behind it, if there was any. Did he tell Effie to do this? Did it matter?
Dinner was awkward, for all that the whole room seemed intent on celebrating something, and here Cat was in the middle of it all, shocked and somber.
She could tell that Effie was trying so, so hard to keep the mood light.
But how could anyone do that when Cat was unable to even smile for more than a moment?
She pulled out everything from her reserves, all the admonishments and advice given to her by her grandmother, her mother, her tutors, her aunt…
all the words about behavior and grace and never letting your own poor mood ruin others’, especially when they had good intentions.
And what was Effie but five feet and a few inches of good intentions?
As for Thane, Cat didn’t dare look at him. She could maintain a facade of politeness around others. But him? Never. He had such a gift for needling her with just the wrong word or phrase, and she would not lose her composure to fight him. Not now.
She couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking of all this. And he didn’t try to speak to her, which was probably the one reason she was able to endure the dinner so far.
There was roast beef, whipped potatoes, a leek soup, and more. It was so much more elegant than the usual fare, which was always good, but simple. The kitchen staff must have worked since dawn to prepare all the dishes. Cat wished that everything didn’t taste like ash on her tongue.
When the last course was served, Cat could have wept with relief. Now she could escape. She nibbled a piece of cheese, and took a final sip of wine. She turned to her hostess. “Everything was delicious. Thank you, Effie. I believe I’ll retire now.”
“Oh, you can’t yet!” Effie said, holding her hands out to prevent Cat from fleeing. “We’ve made you a cake!”
And there it was, on a tray borne in by one of the kitchen servants. It was a confection worthy of a Paris patisserie: a lovely round cake covered in buttercream, with real blossoms tucked all along the lower edge and scattered over the top.
“That’s not big enough for everyone,” one of the men at the table objected, the man next to Andra, who giggled.
“It’s Catriona’s cake, because it’s Catriona’s birthday, silly!” Effie replied with a laugh.
But Cat couldn’t join in the joking.
Catriona’s birthday.
It was never just her birthday, it was always their birthday. Hers and Brodie’s.
Cat pushed back from the table, muttering, “Please excuse me.” She turned and walked out of the hall, her gaze fixed on the floor lest she see the puzzled glances and questioning faces, these people who had no idea how Cat’s heart was breaking over and over, every time she looked at anything meant to celebrate her own existence while Brodie couldn’t share it.
The candlelight, the cake, the food, the fire.
God help her, she had to get away from all this joy before she screamed like a howling ghost, unleashing fury at all these innocent people.
She didn’t even know where she was going. She ran, one foot in front of the other, turning when the castle walls steered her this way or that. She was perfectly willing to get lost in a labyrinth if it meant she wouldn’t have to face the pain.
Finally, she emerged outside, exiting the tower that formed one end of the western walk, parallel but high above the lawn. The sky was dark, and rags of clouds obscured most of the stars. If there was a moon, it hadn’t risen yet.
Cat sank down against the stone well, black fabric puffing outward in a cloud.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and tucked her head down to better hide from the world.
It was quiet here, with only the whistle of wind coming through the gaps in the wall.
Cat tried to stifle her sobs, hoping that no one overheard.
But of course someone had.
Thane found her where she was huddled, and simply sank down next to her. “Cat, what’s wrong?”