Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After dining in her chamber that evening, Catriona went down to the hall and spent some time in conversation with some of the castle women, councilors wives most of them.
But she excused herself after a while, having adopted the habit of taking a walk around the castle each evening, for exercise, entertainment, and to tire herself in preparation for restful sleep.
She had brought her cloak with her for the purpose.
She was absorbed in thoughts of home when she happened to pass an archway leading into one of the towers.
As children, she and Duncan and Ewan and Malcolm had often played up and down the tower stairs, make-believe warriors with wooden swords, taking turns to defend and attack the castle.
A tug of nostalgia made her suddenly decide to make the climb up to the battlements to admire the view she remembered from childhood, never mind her handicap.
It was a laborious climb, but she really wanted to see the view and thought the extra effort worth it. Besides, she hoped the exertion would help her sleep later on, as sleep often eluded her.
When she finally reached the top and stepped out onto the battlements, puffed with exertion, she was startled to see Malcolm there. He was about twenty feet away, alone, leaning on the ramparts, looking out over his domain. She figured the gusty wind was the reason he had not heard her coming.
She stopped to get her breath, taking the opportunity to observe him unseen.
She felt very naughty as she allowed herself the luxury of admiring his long, muscular legs encased in tight moleskin trews, which he wore tucked into his favorite black riding boots.
Her gaze ran over his impressively broad shoulders and brawny arms. The muscles strained against the confines of his leather jerkin, showing off his powerful body to perfection.
Just looking at him set her pulse racing and made the most private parts of her body tingle. He was big, strong, hard, and fearsome. He could kill a man without a second thought. And he was utterly, sinfully gorgeous.
“Monarch of all ye survey,” she said, creeping up behind him and leaning on the adjoining rampart. She laughed at the mixture of surprise, alarm, and concern that appeared on his face.
“Cat!” he burst out, then stopped, clamping his lips together as if he had misspoken.
Her ears pricked up at his use of the old diminutive, the name he had always called her in happier times.
Warmth spread unexpectedly through her chest at the sound on his tongue.
Since meeting in the priory tunnels, except for that one exception when they had been sitting in the Great Hall the other night, he had always addressed her formally as Catriona.
She had not questioned it, she supposed because for much of the time, she had been angry with him for not being Duncan and had wanted to keep a distance between them.
Now, she yearned to hear him say it again.
But he was already speaking. “How the hell…” he began, his beautiful dark eyes frowning at her. “Tell me ye didnae climb all the way up here on a sprained ankle.” He glanced at her stick, which she had propped against the wall. “With a bloody walkin’ stick!”
She chuckled, pleased with her surprise. “Nay, dinnae be so daft. I flew up here on me broom,” she joked.
He looked away from her, out over the lush valley, shaking his head. “Christ, woman, ye’re unbelievable.”
“Shall I take that as a compliment?”
He snorted softly. “Aye, if ye like. Once again, I havetae admire yer determination. I just wish ye wouldnae be so… so reckless with yer own safety. It drives me mad.”
“If I remember rightly, I used tae accuse ye of bein’ reckless,” she countered, feeling his warmth soaking into her, liking the way the wind was blowing his dark locks across his forehead.
His handsome profile looked as though it had been chiseled out of granite by a master sculptor, stirring enough to make her sigh inwardly.
“Aye, ye did.”
Silence fell between them, while the wind buffeted them and tugged at their clothes and hair like an overlarge, playful puppy.
Catriona sensed a heaviness in his silence, a hidden darkness within him, something weighing on him she had not noticed before. But she had no idea what it could be. If she knew what it was, then she thought maybe she could help him.
I’d like tae try, she thought. I owe him me life.
“So, tell me,” she said gently, breaking the silence at last, “d’ye ever rest? Or has guardin’ the castle has become yer entire life now?”
There was a long pause before he answered. “Responsibility has a way of takin’ over everythin’ else in yer life.” He spoke so softly, she almost did not hear him over the wind.
Catriona thought about it. “When we were younger, ye never seemed burdened by anythin’.”
“When we were younger,” he repeated with a note of scorn. “What a long time ago that seems now. Things change with time. People change. I’ve changed. I had tae after becomin’ laird.”
Catriona felt the ache within him in her own chest. “Aye, true. But I think there’s more tae it than that fer ye.”
His dark eyes turned upon her. “Is that so?”
She only wanted to help.
Meeting his gaze head on, ready to risk his anger, she said quietly, “Aye. I believe ye carry somethin’ inside ye, somethin’ more than ye allow others tae see.”
For a long moment, Malcolm said nothing as they continued to regard each other. Then, he turned his head back to the view, clasping his hands as they rested on the stone.
Then he said, “Ye ken, Catriona, I’m awful glad ye’re safe here with me.”
With relief, Catriona felt the tension between them slacken. “Aye, Malcolm, so am I.”
Malcolm, who was not of a nervous disposition, found himself feeling nervous the following evening when he knocked on the door of Catriona’s chamber.
After their talk on the battlements the previous evening and Catriona’s extraordinarily moving attempt to connect with him on some deep level, without judgement, he had thrown caution to the wind and decided it was time for her to be formally presented to his clan.
When the chamber door opened, he was confronted by a vision of loveliness that left him left him temporarily speechless.
He knew he was staring but could not take his eyes off Catriona. She looked dazzling in an amethyst colored gown that flowed over her slender figure like shimmering water, clinging to every curve and hollow as she moved.
Her hair shone as it rippled down her back, held in place by a gold circlet. Its rich auburn hue seemed more vivid than ever against the pale purple of the gown, as if a fire glowed within each strand.
He cleared his throat to recover his voice. “I think I vaguely recall Aunt Maggie wearin’ that dress once or twice,” he said, still eyeing her. “But it didnae look anythin’ like it daes on ye.”
She gave him a wry glance but could not quite hide the smile that lifted the corners of her lips. “Ye have such a way with words, me laird. I’m flattered.”
“Ye’re welcome. I believe a man should always tell the lady he’s escortin’ tae dinner how lovely she looks.”
He was a red-blooded male with all the healthy appetites and, frankly, as he stood at the door watching her gather up her reticule and shawl, he could not help thinking that now he had seen her in the gown, he very much would like to see her out of it.
That’s out of the question.
But it was going to be so much harder than he could have ever anticipated, he realized.
As she tottered past him into the hall, leaning on her stick, a cloud of delicious perfume wafted over him. His mouth practically watered, for she smelled good enough to eat.
Nay, nay, dinnae go down that road. It only leads tae peril.
“The stick definitely completes the outfit,” he remarked, giving her his arm. She promptly hung her reticule on hers, then linked her free arm with his.
“I think so. It has a certain… elegance.” She looked him up and down assessingly. “Ye dinnae look so bad yersel’. Ye’ve combed yer hair, I see. And shaved.”
He rubbed his chin. “Every effort fer ye, me lady.”
While they made their way to the hall, she confessed to be very excited about the supper.
“Ye have nay idea how deliciously naughty it feels fer someone who’s lived with nuns fer five years and wore black all the time tae dress up in a lovely gown and sit down tae a fine supper with people who dinnae want tae pray every five minutes.”
“Understandable.”
“Nae that I have anythin’ against prayin’ per se. But I think there should be limits on these things. I mean, I used tae get very sore knees.”
“Clearly, ye’re nae cut out fer the religious life, ye havenae the knees fer it,” he told her, trying not to laugh as he escorted her down the stairs, taking each step one at a time. He did not want her to slip.
“Aye, I’m beginnin’ tae suspect I’m irredeemable.”
Malcolm smiled as he listened to her excited chatter. She made him laugh more than any one he knew, save Ewan. She made him feel alive.
The effect of her shining presence at the top table was immediately apparent. She greeted every person he introduced her to with such genuine warmth he could see even the crustiest, hardest hearts melting beneath the heat of her smile.
And she had not been exaggerating when she said she had already met a lot of people. He watched with amazement as she addressed the courtly ladies on first name terms and chatted happily to them for several minutes before he called everyone to sit down.
He watched her interact with his people with a pride he knew had no right to feel.
He knew what it looked like when a man was seriously in love with his wife, as Duncan was with Elaina.
His eyes sought his wife where ever she was in the room, he took every chance to be near her, touch her, feed her tasty morsels from his plate. Take her to bed.
I’m nae in love with her. I’m just… drawn tae her. I like her. We’re friends.
Catriona was seated directly opposite him at the table. Though he maintained conversation with the others seated nearby, including his brother, who always sat to his right, he found his eyes inevitably returned to her. Because she sparkled.
“Would ye like some more wine, Catriona?” he asked, seeing her cup was almost empty.
She twinkled at him, clearly enjoying herself. “Och, thank ye, Malcolm, I will.”
Five minutes later, he was at it again. “Have ye had enough tae eat, Catriona? Have ye tried the roast ham?”
“I’d love tae try some ham, Malcolm.” He placed it on her plate for her, internally basking in her radiance.
He made sure to point all the sweet things, which he knew she liked, even troubling the other guests to pass the dishes up the table just so he could put some on her plate.
Midway through the meal, he was talking to Rory and John Morrow, both to his left.
But out of the corner of his eye he was watching Catriona at the same time.
She was talking to Ewan. Ewan, who knew how to charm people, tell jokes, always knew the right thing to say, made people warm to him. Especially pretty women.
He could hear his brother was on fine form because Catriona was very animated, smiling and laughing. He tried hard to hear what they were talking about but it was too noisy for him to catch anything but a few odd words and phrases. He found himself growing increasingly frustrated.
A hot little nugget of jealousy ignited in his gut. He tried to quench it with more wine, not quite successfully.
“I reckon we can increase the output by about fifteen percent by next summer with the right investment. What d’ye think, Malcolm?”
He suddenly realized John was asking him something and snapped his attention away from Catriona and Ewan.
“Sorry, John, I didnae quite catch that,” he said apologetically. John repeated his question, and gradually Malcolm was pulled into a discussion about his plans to expand whisky production from the Gordon distillery.
Even so, he was intensely aware of Catriona opposite him, and he could hear the hum of his brother’s voice chiming with her light, feminine tone.
He tried to pay attention to what Rory was saying about increasing the workforce at the distillery.
“If we need extra workers, there are plenty of men down in the villages who need steady work. We should see about hirin’ some of them on,” he was saying when he was rudely interrupted by a peal of feminine laughter.
His belly knotting, he turned his head slightly, to see Catriona with her head thrown back, still laughing, her eyes shining brightly with mirth. She met his eyes, her smile widening.
He turned a little further. Just as he suspected, Ewan was grinning, looking very pleased with himself. To add insult to injury, when Ewan saw his brother looking at him, he winked. Malcolm looked back to Rory at once, not wanting his brother to see the glint of jealousy in his eyes.