Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
During the night, the weather had worsened, thick clouds rolling low over Gordon lands like a warning from God Himself.
A warnin’ of the Devil approachin’, Malcolm thought, glancing at the rain hammering against the windows of his study as he stood at the head of the long oak table, both hands braced against its polished surface.
A fire was blazing in the hearth, and the faint, familiar smells of damp wool, peat smoke, and wet leather filled the air as he looked around the table at his gathered advisors.
Ewan was lounging against the wall beside the window overlooking the courtyard, arms folded across his chest. He appeared to be keeping an eye on the movements outside, though his attention never strayed far from his brother.
A scout, soaked from head to toe after what appeared to have been an arduous ride, was standing, dripping near the hearth, in the act of tossing a dram of whisky down his throat. He swallowed, shuddered as the fiery liquid went down, then went on with his broken report.
“We tracked them tae a spot near the eastern ridge at dawn, me laird,” he reported grimly. “Five riders. One of them was Sinclair himself.”
The atmosphere in the room thickened with unease as each man ruminated over the implications.
Malcolm was unsurprised by the news. It was what he both expected and dreaded. Things were inevitably coming to a head. Though his cold, unreadable expression did not betray it, the rogue laird’s blatant disrespect had him seething with silent anger.
So, he dares trespass on me land himsel’, daes he?
His fingers curling tightly around the table edge as his hatred for Sinclair crystallized into a diamond-hard intention
If he dares come tae me gates, I’ll command him tae take his men and leave. And if he refuses, then I’ll have the lawful right tae fight him... and kill him.
“Aye,” he said evenly. “I thought as much.”
Rory frowned. “Ye think he means tae attack?”
“Nay, nae yet,” Malcolm straightened up slowly. “Sinclair’s testin’ us. Watchin’ and lookin’ fer weakness.”
“Aye, right enough. But if he attacks, will he find any?” Quentin, the former warrior, asked. The others nodded and looked questioningly to Malcolm.
“Nay,” Malcolm replied coldly. “The castle’s tight as a drum, the men well drilled.” He looked at the scout. “Thanks for the intelligence, man. Now go and get yersel’ a change of clothes and a hot meal in the kitchens,” he told him with a jerk of his chin at the door.
The scout bowed his head and withdrew, leaving the chamber tense and quiet.
Ewan pushed away from the wall. “The men are uneasy. Word’s spread through the castle already that Sinclair himsel’s been seen.”
“Let it spread,” Malcolm said. “I want them alert.”
Ewan nodded. “They’re alert all right.”
Malcolm’s let his gaze pass slowly around the table, over each of his councilmen in turn.
“There’s something else ye all need tae ken.” His expression darkened slightly. “A few days ago Sinclair nearly got his hands on Lady Catriona.”
The council men sat up in their chairs, cursing under their breaths as they stared at him in obvious shock.
Malcolm briefly explained what had happened. Catriona riding ahead on their return to the castle after a disagreement and the Sinclair rider attempting to seize her before Malcolm intervened.
By the time he finished, the chamber had grown deathly still.
“That bastard grows bolder by the day,” John muttered, his lined face drawn into a deep scowl.
“Aye,” Malcolm agreed grimly.
Quentin shook his grey head slowly and piped up, “The lass has suffered enough already. We cannae let her fall intae that monster’s hands.”
At that, Malcolm’s jaw tightened instinctively, his hands bracing on the table’s edge.
Forcing his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he continued, “There’s some hopeful news as well. I received word late last night that Duncan Grant’s already on his way here with his men.”
Malcolm noted the signs of relief which flickered briefly around the chamber. But then John asked, “How many men?”
Ewan stepped in. “Two hundred. And he’s bringin’ extra supplies as well. With Grant reinforcements added tae our defenses, perhaps Sinclair will think twice before attackin’ us outright,” he suggested to Malcolm.
“Perhaps,” Malcolm said, nodding. “But ’tis hard tae predict what a mad man will dae if he wants somethin’ enough. It would be dangerous tae underestimate him.”
“True enough,” Ewan agreed, nodding.
Malcolm drew himself up. “So, our priority remains Lady Catriona’s safety above all else. If Sinclair attacks, we hold the castle until Duncan arrives. Is that all understood?”
A murmur of agreement immediately followed the question, satisfying him of their support.
He looked to his brother. “Ye ken me orders. I want the walls manned day and night,” he continued. “Archers positioned on the southern battlements. Double patrols beyond the outer grounds. And nay one enters or leaves this castle without clearance.”
“Yer commands are already in hand, Braither,” Ewan said, more for the benefit of the councilmen than Malcolm. Since Malcolm’s return to the castle with Catriona, the brothers had spent countless hours together preparing for an attack.
John leaned forward slightly. “Me laird, d’ye truly think Sinclair would risk open conflict with both the Gordons and Grants?”
Malcolm’s eyes hardened, reflecting his inner thoughts on the matter.
“Fer Catriona?” he said quietly, the blood chilling in his veins as he met John’s eyes then swept his gaze over them all. “I’m sorry tae say that, judgin’ by his actions these past five or six years, I dinnae think there’s any question about it.”
His words settled heavily over the chamber as the men exchanged worried looks.
After a few moments, Ewan said with an air of finality to the room in general, “We’ve all kenned fer a while this was likely comin’. We’re ready.”
The discussion went on, but as far as Malcolm was concerned, he had gotten what he had come for. His interest waned and his thoughts soon drifted elsewhere.
Towards Catriona.
What’s she daein’ right now?
His chest tightened.
Christ, man, get a hold of yersel’.
“Malcolm?”
He blinked and focused on his brother’s knowing smirk.
“What?” he asked, scowling.
“I asked if ye wish tae send additional riders tae meet Duncan halfway,” Ewan replied, his smirk widening.
“Aye,” Malcolm answered immediately, ignoring the amusement on his brother’s face. “Send ten men. If Sinclair’s scouts are nearby, I want Duncan warned before he reaches our borders.”
The meeting continued another quarter hour before Malcolm finally dismissed them.
As the councilmen filtered from the chamber discussing patrol routes and supply counts amongst themselves, Ewan lingered behind.
“Ye’re worried, Braither,” he observed quietly.
Malcolm snorted. “We’ve Sinclair lurkin’ on our land. Of course, I’m worried.”
“Aye,” Ewan replied mildly. “But I reckon only half of that worry concerns Sinclair.”
Malcolm shot him a dark look, but he said nothing, unwilling at that moment to admit Ewan was right. Uncertainty held him in thrall over Sinclair’s next move... but more so over what Duncan was going to say when he asked for Catriona’s hand.
He knew he was not worthy of her… who would want his sister to marry a man who had left his brother to burn to death? His best friend had known him since boyhood.
“I’m nae in the mood. Go and see about me orders, will ye?” he told Ewan shortly.
“All fight, dinnae fash, I’m goin’.” Ewan merely grinned and clapped him on the shoulder before departing.
Left alone at last, Malcolm crossed slowly to stand before the rain-streaked window, jaw clenched, arms folded, looking out beyond the courtyard walls to the mist-covered valley and moorland that lay beneath the pewter sky.
His lands.
But somewhere out there, Torcall Sinclair was waiting. And for the first time in years, Malcolm realized there was something he feared losing more than his own life.
“Ye’ve crushed the same sprig three times now. I think ’tis dead.”
Catriona paused, the broken sprig of lavender poised between thumb and forefinger as she glanced up guiltily at Sorcha Forbes seated across from beneath one of the solar’s large windows.
Following Sorcha’s amused glance, she looked down at the bundle of dried lavender lying in her lap. She was supposed to be sorting the heads from the stalks and realized with embarrassment that she had long since stopped paying attention.
Her thoughts had been elsewhere entirely. With Malcolm.
“I’m sorry, Sorcha,” she apologized sheepishly, her cheeks growing hot as she forced her fingers to return to her task. “Me mind wandered fer a few moments.”
The solar was warm with afternoon light despite the storm outside.
A fire crackled gently in the hearth, while rain pattered against the windows.
The stone walls were lined with colorful tapestries and shelves full of books and table games.
Baskets full of sewing and embroidery paraphernalia lay scattered about, lending the chamber a feminine softness rare within the stone walls of the castle.
Sorcha smiled faintly from the chair opposite her, one dark brow arched knowingly.
“Dinnae apologize,” she told Catriona, setting aside the book she had been reading. “But I can tell that somethin’s troublin’ ye.”
Catriona lowered her gaze to the lavender between her fingers, wishing not for the first time, that she were not so transparent.
“Ach, ‘tis naethin’,” she replied with a shrug, hoping Sorcha would ask no more. That was, but for the part of her that longed to give voice to her worries to a trusted confidant, perchance to gain valuable guidance.
Sorcha snorted softly, her bright hazel gaze resting warmly on Catriona. “Hmm, in me experience, that phrase usually means precisely the opposite.”
Despite herself, Catriona smiled, but she made no attempt to fill the silence the followed.
Then, Sorcha leaned slightly forward in her seat and said softly, “Ye miss Elaina, dinnae ye, Catriona?”
The unexpected question caught Catriona off guard. “Aye,” she admitted quietly. “Every day.”
Sorcha nodded slowly. “Kenneth has visited yer braither’s keep many times, and he says she’s very kind.”
“Aye, she is.” Warmth glowed in Catriona’s chest at the thought of her beloved sister-in-law, hoping their long separation would soon be at an end. “When she first came tae Grant lands as Duncan’s wife, she treated me more like a sister than merely Duncan’s responsibility.”
“And ye came tae trust her.”
Catriona swallowed and nodded. “Aye, she’s a good friend.”
Sorcha leaned further forward, her lovely face bright with hope. “I understand. I’d like tae be yer friend too, Catriona. Perhaps, if ye’ll let me, I can be tae ye what she was, at least in part.”
The simple sincerity in her voice unraveled something tight inside Catriona’s chest. Emotion burned suddenly behind her eyes.
“Och,” she whispered shakily. “Ye barely ken me.”
“Sometimes women recognize somethin’ in each other that seems tae click. That’s how I feel with ye,” Sorcha replied. “Certainly we’re better at it then men,” she added jokingly, drawing a soft laugh from Catriona.
She met Sorcha’s smile with one of her own. “That’s kind of ye, Sorcha.”
Sorcha’s smooth forehead creased as she asked, “Will ye trust me enough tae tell me what’s on yer mind? I promise I’ll nae betray yer confidences.”
Catriona hesitated. Then she quietly replied, “I love him.”
Sorcha’s expression softened instantly. “Malcolm?”
Catriona nodded, fingers twisting nervously together amid the lavender stalks.
“I didnae mean tae fall in love with him,” she admitted softly.
“At first I could hardly tolerate him. I thought him arrogant and reckless and impossible, as he often was when we were younger.” She briefly explained how their fathers’ friendship meant they had spent a lot of time together, the four of them, while growing up.
Sorcha listened attentively.
“I thought I’d outgrown him,” Catriona went on, a helpless smile flickering across her lips as she finally confessed, “But now... well, I cannae hardly seem tae breathe properly whenever he enters a room.”
Sorcha’s eyes sparkled warmly. “Och, a dangerous affliction indeed.”
Catriona laughed faintly before her expression dimmed once more. “But lovin’ him changes everythin’, ye see, Sorcha.”
“How so?”
Catriona looked toward the rain-streaked window. “The man I mentioned at dinner, Laird Torcall Sinclair.”
A shadow passed across Sorcha’s eyes. “Aye,” she said. “What of him?”
“As ye ken, he wants me fer his wife.”
Noting Sorcha’s obvious surprise, Catriona went on to tell her all the details of Sinclair’s unrelenting pursuit of her as his bride, including how Malcolm helped her escape from the priory.
“Och, dear Lord, Catriona, what an awful state of affairs,” Sorcha said when she had finished, her face aghast.
“Aye. And so, if Malcolm marries me...” Her voice grew quieter. “... his life would be tied tae mine forever. It would put him in danger, and his clan too, all because of me.”
“All because of Sinclair, ye mean,” Sorcha said, studying her face closely.
Catriona did not respond to the comment but went on, “I’d be in fear of Malcolm bein’ hurt the whole time. And if we had bairns…” She paused again, her throat tightening painfully. “...what sort of life would that be for them? Always lookin’ over their shoulders? Always fearin’ Sinclair?”
Understanding dawned slowly across Sorcha’s face. “Och, Catriona, I’m so sorry.”
“I want a family someday,” Catriona whispered, touched by her new friend’s’ sympathy. “One of me own, tae live in peace and safety. But I worry that perhaps lovin’ Malcolm means givin’ those things up before there’s even a chance of one day havin’ them.”
For a moment, the only sounds were the rain pelting at the window and the fire crackling in the grate.
Then Sorcha rose and crossed to kneel beside Catriona’s chair. Gently, she took her hand in hers and looked into her eyes, her own shining with sincerity.
“Listen tae me, please, Catriona,” she said softly. “Noble women like us are taught tae weigh love against duty from the moment we’re born. Most never find both together.”
Catriona clutched her hand, blinking rapidly against threatening tears.
“But what ye and Malcolm share…” Sorcha squeezed her fingers lightly. “That sort of bond is rare. Truly rare.”
Catriona looked down helplessly. “And what if fear destroys it?”
“Ye’ll destroy it anyway if ye try tae run from it.”
The words struck painfully at Catriona’s heart.
Sorcha’s voice gentled further as she continued, “I beg of ye, Catriona, take this chance at true happiness God’s sent ye. Dinnae abandon love out of fear before it’s even had the chance tae live.”
Catriona squeezed Sorcha’s hand, her heart clenching as the woman’s clearly heartfelt plea echoed in her mind.