Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Early the following morning, Catriona was on her way back from picking herbs for Mairead when she encountered Malcolm. He was talking to a group of mounted guards who were preparing to ride out of the castle on patrol.
As soon as she spied him, a wave of intense heat washed over her body, rising inevitably to her face. She slowed her walk, simultaneously hopeful and scared to face him. But when it seemed like he might be about to avoid her again, she resigned herself to it and carried on her way.
She had reached the steps of the keep when she felt him rather than saw him behind her. Immediately, she began to tremble.
“Hello, Catriona. Did ye sleep well?” came the familiar rich, deep voice, sending tingles up her spine.
Bravely, she turned to face him, tilting up her chin and squarely meeting his eyes, which had no business being so dark and melting in her opinion.
“Nay, I didnae,” she replied truthfully.
She did not elaborate by telling him that she had hardly slept at all because all she could think about was him and the taste and feel of him.
Nor that she had felt his hands moving over her naked flesh for hours after the kiss, and had finally resorted to touching her forbidden places in search of some relief from the ache he had left her with.
To say nothing of the shame and guilt that wracked her even now for her part in it. For she had hardly fought him off, had she?
Besides that, how dare he look so braw, when she knew she must look pale and drawn, save for her blushes.
One smile, one kind, intimate word in acknowledgement of the passion they had shared would have settled all her worries.
But it was not to be. He ignored her honest response to his question, which made her briefly wonder why he had asked it at all.
Instead, he said, “Ye ken, Duncan always insists that the courtyard here is too windy for comfort.” He gestured toward the keep doors.
“Mayhap ye should go inside before the cold worsens.”
Pah! As if she cared for the cold when she doubted, she would ever feel it again. For all she had to do was to think of what had happened between them the night before to feel like she was on fire.
He ran up the steps and opened the doors for her, following her inside.
He took her arm and pulled her gently to one side, standing so close, his warm breath brushed her face, making her quiver.
Hope leaped in her breast that now that they were away from prying eyes, he was about to say something that would wipe all the hurt away.
“Catriona,” he began, keeping his voice low, “what happened last night shouldnae have happened. And it cannae ever happen again. Ye ken as well as I dae that it was a mistake.”
A mistake?
Hope curled up and died. Catriona stared up at him, while a knife slowly twisted in her heart.
“A mistake. Aye,” she murmured. If that was what he truly believed, then she was not going to argue otherwise. She had too much pride to let him see how wounded she was.
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled,” he went on, a hint of relief evident in the slight relaxation of tension around his eyes and mouth. No, she would not think of his mouth.
“I must go. I’ll see ye at supper.”
Then, he was gone out of the door.
Weighed down by anger and sadness and shame, Catriona slowly made her way up to the infirmary to deliver the herbs to Mairead, who looked at her with concern when she told her she felt unwell and was going to rest.
But instead of going to her chamber, feeling in need of some nurturing, spiritual calm, she went into the castle chapel, hoping to find it empty.
But a maid was there, dusting the huge brass altar candelabra with a feather duster. She turned when Catriona entered, and when she saw who it was, smiled.
“Good day tae ye, me lady,” she said, bobbing a curtsey.
“Good day, Theresa,” Catriona replied with an answering smile as she approached her. “How’s yer maither farin’?”
“Aye, me lady, nae so bad as before, thank ye. She’s over the moon, fer the laird has sent us a great load of firewood that’ll last us all winter. Ye can hardly get inside the cottage, ’tis stacked so high.”
It was yet another example of Malcolm’s kindness, showing his dedication to his clansfolk.
Managing somehow to maintain her smile, Catriona replied, “Och, I’m very pleased fer ye both. Hopefully, yer maither’s cough will improve now she can keep nice and warm.”
Theresa continued dusting, chatting about all the work going on around the castle, whilst Catriona began straightening a pile of prayerbooks stacked upon a side table, a curious question forming in her mind.
Why it did so was a mystery to her. Yet something in the atmosphere of the chapel, perhaps the lingering smells of polish and beeswax, had prompted some vague memory buried deep within her to stir.
“Tell me, Theresa,” she said, arranging the books symmetrically, “daes the laird ever come in here?”
The maid paused what she was doing, feather duster poised, and looked at her in obvious surprise, clearly taken aback by the strange question. Then she shook her head.
“Nay, me lady,” she replied in a hushed voice, glancing at the doors as though expecting Malcolm to burst in and take her to task. “In truth, he daesnae even like it if anyone speaks of it openly. Everybody kens it, but naebody kens why.”
“Och, is that so? I’m glad ye told me, thank ye,” Catriona murmured, finishing with the books, silently pondering the mysterious information the maid had supplied, wondering what to make of it.
After Theresa had finished her work and departed, Catriona went to pray, hoping for some peace to ease her troubled mind and heart.
But though she knelt and closed her eyes and pressed her hands together, instead of praying, her mind groped to pull that tantalizing memory into the light so she could examine it fully.
For some reason, she felt it might hold the key to understanding Malcolm.
And despite all, she wanted to understand him better.
But the memory remained stubbornly ephemeral, lurking below the surface of her consciousness as nothing more than a faint recalling of a Gordon family tragedy that had been mentioned when she was young. But the details remained just out of reach.
No better off for her ponderings, she eventually rose and left the chapel, her knees stiff from kneeling. And a headache starting up behind her eyes.
Later that day, Malcolm was seated at his desk in his study, poring over a map of his domain.
He had marked on the locations of the several run-ins his men had had with Sinclair’s caught trespassing on Gordon land.
It made him deeply uneasy to see the level of encroachment, for he knew it likely meant that Sinclair had somehow scented the trail of his escaped quarry and was closing in on her.
The thought of Catriona falling into the evil man’s clutches made him feel physically sick. and not just because he had promised Duncan to keep her safe. He simply could not stomach the thought of any man but himself laying a finger on her, even though he could never, ever do that himself again.
“Damn the bastard’s black soul tae hell,” he cursed under his breath, scowling at the areas marked on the map.
Hid brother gave a sharp rap on the door and then opened it. He looked up from the map and immediately noticed the tense expression on Ewan’s face, and the parchment in his hand. His heart sank, for he knew at once that it was bad news.
“What is it?” he asked, throwing down his quill and leaning back in his seat.
Ewan strode forward and placed the letter in front of him on the desk. “From one of our border scouts,” he said, throwing his long frame into the nearest chair and steepling his fingers beneath his swarthy chin.
Malcolm smoothed out the parchment and scanned the report, which advised him of unusual activity taking place in the villages clustered around his eastern borders.
“Ach, what a surprise. More of Sinclair’s armed riders on our land questionin’ the villagers and searchin’ the area without me permission,” he muttered grimly, rolling the parchment and shoving it aside as if in disgust. “Aye, Sinclair has got wind of somethin’ that’s drawin’ him here.
He’s huntin’ Catriona on me land, the bastard. ”
“Aye, clearly he daesnae yet ken she’s here in the keep, but he’s definitely gettin’ closer,” Ewan agreed, sounding as grim as his brother. “Have ye informed Duncan of the situation?”
“Aye, he kens it well enough,” Malcolm said, the rising tension in his jaw becoming almost painful.
“Mayhap ye should consider sending him another message, tae tell him the situation is now more pressin’,” Ewan suggested.
“I’ll consider it, but I’m certain that if he’s nae already on his way here, he will be as soon as he can.”
“So, in the meantime, what will ye dae about Sinclair’s men?”
“More of the same,” Malcolm said decisively.
“I want eyes on them at all times, so step up border patrols in the area. I want each and every one of those riders challenged fer bein’ on our land without me permission and killed if necessary.
And any wounded men are tae be brought here tae the dungeon, so I can interrogate them mesel’ about Sinclair’s plans. ”
Ewan rose to his feet. “I’ll issue new orders right away.” He went out, closing the door behind him.
Alone once more, Malcolm rested his fists on the desk, curling and uncurling them, his face thunderous. He did not want any of his people to die, but part of him hoped that Sinclair and his army would show up outside his gates and put an end to this cat and mouse waiting game.
Because when he thought of the danger Catriona was in because of the black-hearted Sinclair, the urge to slit the man open from throat to gizzard and watch him die in front of him grew stronger with every breath he took.
With all the emotional turmoil going on inside her and her lack of sleep the night before, Catriona supposed it was no great surprise that she had a headache.
After leaving the chapel, she had gone up to her chamber, intending to lie down quietly for a while, in hopes of shaking it off. When she started awake an hour or so later, the worst of the ache had gone, but her mind still felt foggy and slow.
A ride would have been the ideal way to blow away the cobwebs, but with things as they were, it was out of the question. Thus, she roused herself and put on her cloak and a pair of sturdy boots, on loan from Malcolm’s Aunt Maggie, whose feet were luckily about the same size as her own.
When well wrapped up, she went outside into the damp, chilly afternoon to take her usual limited perambulation about the castle grounds, heading first for the gardens. Now her ankle was so much better, she did not have to worry about taking her stick with her when she went for a walk.
After doing her tour through the different areas of the garden, admiring the autumnal tints and bursts of color from the late blooming flowers, she wended her way back to the main courtyard, heading for her last call of the day—a visit to the horses.
She shared a few friendly words with the stable lads outside and petted the horses being led in from grazing, then went into the stable.
She had been making a point of visiting the handsome mare Brianna for the last few days, trying to win her trust with regular treats and gentle handling.
Today, she was pleased when the mare greeted her with an affectionate nickering and nuzzled her with her nose.
“Aye, I’m pleased tae see ye too,” she whispered in the horse’s ear before giving her a good scratch behind them, which she loved. She was feeding Brianna sugar lumps from the flat of her hand when she heard a familiar deep voice behind her which galvanized her.
Malcolm!
She saw him further down the aisle, wrapped in the cloak she had returned to him recently, clearly waiting for his stallion to be saddled.
Where was he going? She felt rather indignant that he was free to ride alone outside the castle gates whenever and wherever he wished. Without even thinking about what she would say when she got there, her feet propelled her towards him.