Chapter Fifteen #2
Catarina nodded, although she had no idea how to ‘roughen up her speech’. Instead, she made up her mind to remain silent.
“Father, this here is Quinn MacVie. We sailed together on La Vierge under Captain Bellerose. And the pretty lass at his side is his wife, Katie. She hails from Berwick. Her father was an English sailor and her mother an Italian merchant’s daughter.”
Catarina squeezed Quinn’s hand. She had not realized that Quinn had given her a new family history.
Glancing sidelong at Quinn, she saw he bowed to the laird.
In turn, she dipped into a low curtsy, her eyes sweeping over Laird William Sinclair.
She would guess he had more than fifty years to his credit.
His eyes were a foggy blue color, but she imagined in his youth they would have been as vibrant as a summer’s sky.
He had a thick, gray beard that fanned out from his chin, covering much of his chest. His shoulders, although still broad, stooped a little, and when he stood and walked toward them, he did so with a pronounced limp.
“MacVie is a name I hold dear,” the laird said, crossing to stand in front of Quinn.
He gave Catarina a hard, sidelong look. “Normally, I’d no be inviting a Sassenach onto my land, but ye must have some sense for marrying this good man,” he said, slapping a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.
“Indeed, ye’re both most welcome.” He let out a rumble of laughter before turning and motioning for the woman still seated at the high dais to join them.
Laird Sinclair extended his hand for the older woman when she drew closer.
Then he turned back to Quinn and Catarina, and presented her as, Lady Joan, his wife.
Lady Joan had long, black hair, streaked with silver, which she wore unbound.
And on her head, she wore a small, white head covering that several of the women in the village had also worn.
Joan dipped her head to Quinn and smiled warmly. “I’ve often wondered whether I would have the opportunity to thank the man who saved my son’s life.”
Catarina’s eyes widened in surprise, which had not gone unnoticed by Joan.
“Yer husband did not tell ye about his brave actions on board La Vierge?”
Catarina shook her head and smiled, choosing not to speak.
Joan stepped close to Quinn and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Then she smiled at Catarina. “A line broke, and the boom of one of their ship’s sails swung wide, hitting Hamish in the head and dragging him overboard.
Quinn jumped in after him and held Hamish afloat until the rest of the crew could haul them both out of the water.
” Joan smiled at her. “Ye’ve found yerself a good man.
” She cupped Catarina’s cheek. “I can tell ye’re weary.
Hamish will lead ye to where ye can rest and have a meal. ”
Catarina smiled gratefully and once more dipped into a low curtsy, choosing still to remain silent.
When they had stepped out into the courtyard, Catarina shielded her eyes against the bright sunshine. Quinn held her hand, and she listened while Hamish pointed out various sights as they walked through the meandering village pathways before stopping in front of a small cottage.
“This used to be ol’ Dunner’s home, a widower without children. He was a good man, hardworking. Passed away over the winter, he did.” Hamish opened the door and motioned for Quinn to enter. “It should be clean. I’ll send along a lad with supplies and food.”
“What do ye think?” Quinn asked after Hamish quitted the cottage, leaving the door open to provide them with light.
“It is a hovel,” Catarina said.
Quinn’s smiled faltered, but she laughed and grabbed his hands. “The most beautiful hovel I have ever seen. Look,” she said, pointing overhead. “It even has a roof.”
Quinn laughed and watched while she roamed the small room.
Her fingers grazed the stones, dragging across the wall until she reached the window.
Tying back the hide curtain, she peered outside.
“I will not lie. I would prefer a warm bath and a four-poster bed with down pillows and silk sheets, but this is most welcome.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Well now, I can’t promise ye a warm bath, but a cold bath—that I am confident I can make happen.”
She cocked a wry brow at him. “Let me guess, you will lead me to some village bathing hole where I am required to share a chunk of soap and dry off out in the open for all to see.”
Quinn leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I had a more private affair in mind, yer own chunk of soap not to mention a warm plaid to wrap up in. But yer hair will have to dry unbound for only me to see.”
Her olive cheeks turned pink, the instant before she looked back out the window. “My hair?” she said. “I did not know you were curious about my hair.”
He drew a slow, deep breath while he continued to study her. His eyes journeyed from her bound hair, over her slim shoulders and gentle curves. Her shape was full and womanly. And despite her humble clothing and meager surroundings, her stance was as regal as a queen’s.
“There is nothing about ye that doesn’t pique my curiosity,” he said softly. “Do ye know what I am also curious about?”
She turned away from the window, meeting his gaze. “What is that?”
He closed the distance between them and took hold of her hand. His thumb grazed her smooth, flawless palm. “How are we going to pass ye off as Katie?”
Her hands flew to grip her head, and she groaned. “Saints above, but you are right. I am Katie. Quinn, what am I to do? You have been made quite aware of my talents. I will never pass for a common lass.”
“Ye can sew.”
“Tapestries, needlework. I am not a seamstress.”
“No matter. Ye’ve grown quite apt at building fires and making oatcakes. Yer lack of skills is not at the center of my concern. ‘Tis yer bearing, the tilt of yer head, how ye walk.” He reached again for her pampered hand. “Yer soft skin.”
Her lips parted, drawing his gaze. More than anything, he longed to taste those lips again. His eyes moved higher to her neck where her pulse visibly raced. He drew closer. Her breath caught when the back of his fingertips grazed both cheeks.
“Quinn,” she breathed, closing her eyes.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed her flush against him. A soft moan fled her parted lips. His hand closed around the back of her neck.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His other hand tightened around her waist. He could feel her racing heart. His own beat to the same erratic rhythm. Slowly, so slowly, he lowered his lips until they grazed hers. She trembled in his arms.
“Please, Quinn,” she breathed.
He cupped her cheeks and—
A knock sounded at the door.
“Damn it,” he cursed.
Her eyes flew open, and she jerked away.
“Come in,” Quinn bit out.
A lad of around twelve summers entered, carrying a large basket made of sea grass. “Good morrow,” he said, smiling. His hair was so light a blond, it almost appeared white, and his bright green eyes widened when they settled on Catarina.
“Good morrow,” Catarina mumbled, her eyes trained on the ground.
“We appreciate the laird’s generosity,” Quinn said. “Please give him our thanks.”
Still staring at Catarina with unconcealed admiration, the lad said, “Ye can do so yerself. He’s expecting ye in the great hall. Yer to join the hunting party.”
Catarina looked up then and met his gaze. Her eyes were a mirror of his own unfulfilled longing. Quinn cleared his throat. “I’ve no wish to leave my wife on her first day in a new place.”
The boy shrugged. “Suit yerself, but ye don’t say no to the laird.”
Quinn expelled a long breath. Then he turned to the lad. “Can a bath be brought here for Katie.”
The lad nodded. “That is easy enough.” Then he turned to Catarina. ‘Do not fash yerself, Katie. Yer man will be home before sunrise tomorrow.”
“That long?” Catarina said, unable to hide her surprise.
Quinn crossed to her side and took her hands in his. “Have a bath and rest. I will be back before too long. I promise ye.”
She stepped closer. A mischievous smile curved her lips. Rising up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “I trust your word...husband.”