Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Gently awakened by the early morning light creeping between the gaps in the curtains, Catriona stirred beneath the heavy blankets and smiled sleepily as she felt the warmth of Malcolm’s body beside her.
Opening her eyes, she saw he was already awake. Propped against the headboard, one arm behind his head, he was watching her quietly. The softness in his dark eyes made her heart flutter.
He had taken her on a sweet voyage into unknown pleasures that had changed her from a maiden into a woman—she could feel transformation in her body, heavy, languorous, sated, and slightly sore in places.
He had left her feeling fulfilled in ways she could never previously have dreamed of.
He had roused a burning passion from deep within her that, even now, shocked her, for she had never known she possessed it.
Looking up sleepily at his handsome features and soft eyes, she knew she would never have enough of him.
However, beneath the tenderness she saw in his eyes, she glimpsed something else. Something was troubling him. Which, she supposed, with the danger and uncertainty surrounding them, was not surprising.
“Good mornin’,” she murmured, smiling up at him, silently resolving to find out what was on his mind and try to soothe his worry.
A faint answering smile touched his mouth. “Mornin’, bonnie lass.”
He bent and kissed her gently. Unlike the hungry desperation of the night before, this kiss was slow and careful, almost reverent. Catriona melted into it willingly, her fingers brushing over the hard planes of his bare chest.
But when he drew back, the worry remained upon his face in a tightness around his beautiful mouth and eyes.
Her smile faded slightly. “Malcolm, I can see somethin’s troublin’ ye. Will ye tell me what it is?”
Malcolm exhaled through his nose and looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to hers.
“What happened between us changes everythin’, Cat.”
A nervous flutter stirred low in her stomach.
He reached for her hand, threading his rough fingers through hers. “Duncan trusted me tae protect ye. I cannae pretend last night didnae happen, nor would I wish tae.” His darkly stubbled jaw tightened further. “I mean tae speak tae him properly and ask fer yer hand.”
For a moment, Catriona simply stared at him.
Marriage?
Her heart contracted. The word should have filled her with joy. And it did, in part. Yet another part of her tightened painfully.
She pushed herself upright, clutching the blanket to her chest. “Malcolm… I dinnae want ye tae marry me out of guilt.”
His brows furrowed immediately. “Guilt?”
“Aye.” She swallowed. “Honor. Duty. Duncan’s trust. All those things ye place above yer own happiness.” She searched his face anxiously, then dropped her gaze. “I dinnae want tae be another burden ye feel responsible fer carryin’.”
Pain flickered across his expression. “Cat,” he said quietly, “look at me.”
She raised her eyes to his.
“I choose ye as me wife.”
The words struck her heart with fierce warmth.
He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “God help me, I’ve been choosin’ ye fer far longer than I wished tae admit and than ye ken. But I still owe Duncan honesty. He’s me closest friend. I’ll nae dishonor either of ye.”
Emotion thickened her throat. But before she could frame an answer, they were interrupted by a hard knock at the chamber door.
Malcolm muttered a curse beneath his breath.
“Me laird?” called a voice from outside. “Ewan asks tae see ye in the study.”
Malcolm closed his eyes briefly as though the interruption pained him physically.
“I’ll come presently,” he called.
“Very good, me laird. I’ll tell him.”
They waited until the messenger’s footfalls died away.
Sad they were being pulled back so abruptly from their magical bubble into the real world beyond the chamber door, with all the problems that came with it, she nevertheless smiled faintly at him. “Duty calls.”
“Aye, it has a bad habit of daein’ that just when ye most wish it wouldnae,” he muttered darkly, climbing from the bed with a sigh of reluctance.
Catriona felt the loss of his warmth and solaced herself by quietly admiring the lithe power of his body as he crossed the room and disappeared behind the screen.
She smiled as she listened to the unfamiliar, intimate sounds of him going about his ablutions.
When he reappeared a few minutes later, she could see his hair was damp and that he had done his best to comb the thick, dark curls into some semblance of order.
She admired the attempt, though it had not been altogether successful in taming its natural unruliness.
It was still adorably tousled, a sensual reminder of how she had tangled her fingers within it during the throes of passion several times throughout the night.
She watched as he strode towards the armoire, his muscles flexing with every movement, flung open the doors and began to dress, putting on clean braies and a snowy white shirt.
He was pulling on a pair of tartan trews, which outlined his long, muscular legs in a fashion that made her want to run over and rip them from his hands, when he suddenly stopped and turned to her.
“Shite, I just remembered, Kenneth Forbes and Lady Sorcha are supposed tae be arrivin’ sometime today.”
Catriona blinked at him. “Today?”
“Aye, today. Unless somethin’ delays them on the journey.” Malcolm fastened his trews and raised an enquiring brow at her. “Daes our deal still stand?” he asked, tucking in his shirt.
Catriona nodded, a little piqued he would even ask. “Of course! I wouldnae promise tae help ye and then change me mind,” she replied. “’Tis me way of fightin’ back against Sinclair.”
She was perturbed by the unwelcome little stab of unease pierced her at the mention of Lady Sorcha.
Sorcha’s clan was rich and powerful. She was a noblewoman.
Unwed. Young. Beautiful perhaps. The sort of woman Malcolm deserved rather than one who was probably about to bring Sinclair down on his head.
As if sensing her thoughts, Malcolm crossed back to the bed and cupped her cheek, looking down at her with his dark, chocolatey eyes.
“I can see ye thinkin’. Dinnae fash yersel’, lass.”
“I’m nae fashin’,” she lied, frowning a little at being so transparent to him yet melting beneath his gaze just the same.
His mouth curved knowingly. “Liar.”
Heat flooded her face, earning a low chuckle from him. Then his expression softened once more, making her heart clench with love.
“I must go. But we’ll speak again later, me beautiful Cat.”
Despite her lingering jealousy, she could not help smiling. “Aye, later,” she said, adding pointedly, “At supper... with Lady Sorcha Forbes.”
He laughed and kissed her tenderly on the lips before going to put on his coat and winding his breacan about his shoulders.
She watched him stuff his feet into his boots and strap on his weapons, thinking him even more deliciously handsome than before.
Finally, he blew her a final kiss and went out.
The moment the door shut behind him, Catriona touched her lips and let out a slow breath.
Marriage! Tae be Malcolm’s wife? Tae be taegether every night as we were last night?
The thought of it was at the same time thrilling... and terrifying.
From the study window, Malcolm watched the courtyard below. Catriona had come outside and was standing with several of the clan women near the washing lines, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, auburn braid hanging over one shoulder as she laughed softly at something one of the older women had said.
Jesus, she fits in here so easily, like she belongs in me keep.
The sight stirred something dangerous in his chest—something warm and aching and frighteningly close to hope.
The study door opened behind him, pulling his attention away from the scene below. He turned away from the window to greet his brother with a nod.
Ewan grinned at him. “Ye look grim fer a man who spent the night with the woman he loves.”
Malcolm frowned. “How the hell d’ye ken about that?”
Ewan’s grin only grew wider. “I have me ways.”
“Bugger yer ways. And keep yer voice down, will ye? I dinnae want the whole place tae hear. Think of Cat’s reputation,” Malcolm said, his worry making him irritable.
It was water off a duck’s back as far as his brother was concerned for he only shrugged and looked around the study. “Er, there’s only me and ye here.”
Malcolm turned back toward the window, remaining silent for a long moment. Then, very quietly, he said, “I’m gonna marry her.”
Ewan brows rose, his grin fading into something gentler. “And?”
Malcolm’s jaw tightened. “Honor leaves me little choice.”
Ewan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Och, wheesht, Braither, away tae hell with that nonsense.”
Malcolm turned and frowned at him, hands clasped behind his back. “What d’ye mean by that?”
Ewan crossed the room to join him. “Listen, man, this is me ye’re talkin’ tae,” he said, squaring up to his brother. “Dinnae stand there pretendin’ ’tis only because of duty that ye mean tae wed her. I’ve eyes, Malcolm. Ye look at her like a starvin’ man looks at food. Ye love the lass.”
Despite himself, Malcolm huffed a laugh. Then his face darkened again.
“Aye, I love her,” he admitted roughly. “Christ help me, I dae, with every bone in me body.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “But what sort of life can I offer her, Ewan, eh? A husband haunted by ghosts? A man who still wakes up in a cold sweat of a night, dreamin’ of Arran’s screams?”
Ewan tutted impatiently. “Fer Christ’s sake, Malcolm, ye were a lad, twelve years old. It could just as easily have been me there instead of ye. Nay one blames ye for what happened, except yersel’.”
But he had shouldered the guilt for so long now, it was hard to even think of giving it up, however logical Ewan’s arguments were. “Nay matter what ye say, I failed him.”
Ewan’s voice sharpened. “Nay. Ye didnae.”
Not to be swayed, Malcolm looked away.
Ewan stepped closer. “Arran’s death wasnae yer fault then and it isnae now. Ye’ve punished yersel’ fer long enough. D’ye think he’d wantae see ye like this? Ye deserve some happiness.”
A heavy silence stretched between them as they glared at each other without any real rancor.
Malcolm looked down at the courtyard as Catriona tilted her face toward the autumn sunlight, smiling at one of the maids. Malcolm’s chest tightened painfully.
“I’m afraid, Ewan,” he admitted quietly, watching her.
Ewan looked out of the window too and nodded when he saw her, his expression softening completely then.
“Aye,” he said with a wisdom that belied his years, “ye’re afraid because ye finally have somethin’ worth losin’.”
Before Malcolm could answer, footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. A servant knocked and was gruffly told to enter.
The man stood on the threshold and doffed his cap. “Me laird, the Forbes party has arrived.”
“We’ll be there directly,” Malcom said before dismissing him, rallying his wits for the important few days ahead. “We’ll talk more later,” he told Ewan as they strode to the door side by side.
Ewan clapped his shoulder as they stepped into the hallway. “Aye, we will. But fer now, Braither, ’tis time tae stop yer broodin’ and greet yer future ally with a smile, eh?”
By eight o’clock that evening, supper in the Great Hall was well underway.
From his customary seat at the top table, Malcolm sipped his wine and took a moment to glance about the vast chamber.
Fires blazed in the twin hearths, spreading warmth throughout the room. Logs of applewood and pine crackled in the grate, their sharp, rich scents mingling with the smell of slow-burning beeswax, and the mouthwatering aroma of roasted meats.
A steady buzz of animated conversation and laughter arose from the packed benches where his clansfolk cheerfully partook of the sumptuous meal, their spirits warmed by as much ale and cider as they could drink.
Strains of gentle harp music wound through the human commotion, adding to the convivial atmosphere.
An army of servants bustled between the tables, laden with platters of food and jugs full of ale and cider.
Malcolm nodded to himself, satisfied that despite the air of uncertainty and danger surrounding his keep—and his heart—he had nonetheless laid on a warm welcome for his important guests.
But that was the only satisfaction he was capable of feeling at that moment. Because Laird Kenneth Forbes was seated beside Catriona and was having the effrontery to try to flirt with her. And though he maintained the affable smile of a host, Malcolm hated it.
He grudgingly acknowledged that Kenneth Forbes was handsome in a polished sort of way.
Cleanshaven, with pale blue eyes, sandy blond hair neatly tied back, his clothes were far finer than most Highland lairds favored.
Malcolm recognized him for what he was, a charming courtier, a keen politicker, always looking for ways to expand his wealth and power. A fine match for any noble lass.
But the man smiled too easily and spoke too smoothly for his liking.
Plus he had spent nearly the entire meal focusing his attention to Catriona. Which meant that, while he made efforts to make it appear otherwise, almost all of Malcolm’s attention was focused on them.