Chapter Nine
At the top of the steps, Catriona hurried along the corridor, then opened her bedroom door and slipped in, closing it firmly. She leaned against it, breath heaving, as she heard them on the stairs and in the hallway.
Acting so impulsively and emotionally was unlike her.
Heart pounding, she waited. She had fled to her bedroom to think in solitude.
Though she might have yearned for Evan, she could not marry him if he asked only out of pity or obligation.
And she had just come from Kenneth Grant’s appalling attempt to blackmail her into marriage.
Two strange proposals within the same hour!
She shook her head and leaned against the closed door.
She wondered what had been said in her father’s office before she arrived.
Later she might be able to reason in private with her father, but she expected little sympathy from her aunt.
Judith’s heart had hardened years ago with her husband’s death.
Losing her happiness seemed to make her want to smother happiness in others.
Catriona had lived under her aunt’s harsh scrutiny since the death of her mother, when Aunt Judith felt duty-bound to play stern surrogate mother to her brother’s six children.
As the youngest, Catriona stayed at home while her five siblings left one by one, peeling away protective layers, leaving she and Finlay subjects of Aunt Judith’s strict behavior.
Judith had cowed her brother Thomas in childhood and he still caved to her.
Finlay, an easygoing sort, often ignored his aunt’s demands, while Catriona did her best to accept and comply.
Now, she feared Judith could convince the reverend either to send his daughter away, or force her to marry the Earl of Kildonan.
Who was not the man she thought. She would rather leave her beloved glen than become his wife, and what she resented—part of the aristocratic family that held Glen Shee and had sent so many away from its peaceful slopes.
And the marriage would separate her from the people of Glen Shee, and from the songs, part of the glen’s heritage.
The knock on the door startled her, rattled through the wood as she leaned there.
“Open the door,” Evan said, knocking.
She put her mouth to the crack of the door. “Go away!”
“We need to talk,” he said, quieter now.
“I do not need to talk with you. Go away.”
“Open the door!” He smacked his hand against it.
“A young lady does not open her door to a gentleman. Nor does a gentleman ask to be admitted to her boudoir. Nor does he beat on her door. Go away.”
“If the lass spends the night in the gentleman’s arms,” he whispered, his voice floating to only her, “and if the gentleman asks her to marry him, that changes the rules.”
“I am no fool. You do not want to marry me. You have been forced. But I will not marry you!” She nearly shouted this for the benefit of her father and aunt, surely listening.
Silence. Then a creaking of the wood as if he leaned against it. “Catriona, open this damned door.”
“I will not.”
“Open the door, lass, or we share this conversation with the others standing here.”
She turned the handle and yanked the door open so fast that Evan nearly fell through the gap. He caught the door jamb and widened his eyes at her. She returned a glare.
“Lovely, but hardly the expression I hoped for,” Evan said low, “when I proposed.”
“But you did not want to do that.”
“How do you know that?” he asked low, near a whisper.
Behind him, she saw her father; her aunt; Finlay; Peggy, the little housemaid, who stood with an armful of linens, her mouth agape; and Mrs. MacAuley, standing with Glenachan’s chubby cook, Jessie, peering up from the lower landing.
“All of you go downstairs,” she told them. “Kildonan and I need to talk.”
“It is clear you are on familiar terms. No doubt now you must marry the earl,” Aunt Judith said. “Think, girl. You will be a countess! Marry the man or leave Glenachan House. Tell her, Thomas.” She elbowed her brother.
“Papa?” Catriona looked past Evan toward him. “Would you send me away?”
“I would not.” Thomas MacConn frowned at his sister and then sighed.
“Catriona, it seems you saved the earl’s life, and he may have saved yours.
But none of this is proper and your aunt is right about reputation—yours and mine, as kirk minister.
But the earl can make it up to you. To all of us.
” He glanced away, looking gray and sagging, weak where he had always seemed strong.
Catriona felt herself begin to soften. She had to consider her family, too.
“Your father could lose the living of this manse,” her aunt said.
“I do not think it would be that bad, Judith,” her father muttered.
Standing in the doorway, Evan was silent, hand on the doorframe so that she could not shut the door. While the others spoke, he did not take his eyes from her. His gaze, his presence blocking the door, was not intrusive. He was a rock in a storm, a haven.
Her resolve and resistance melted further. She met his eyes.
“Everyone,” he said, holding Catriona’s gaze, “Miss MacConn and I will resolve this matter on our own. Please give us privacy.” His fingers drummed on the wood.
Her aunt huffed and whispered to Thomas MacConn, who shook his head and took her arm to guide her to the stairs. Finlay vanished after them and the servants followed.
Evan sighed, waiting. His tall body filled the doorway; his tweed jacket, which he had once draped over her shoulders, emanated a lingering hint of peat smoke. The memory was keen. She dissolved a little further.
“Hear me out,” he said.
Drawn into his gaze, she nodded. Her pulse pounded so that she thought he could see its thump in her throat. Part of her still felt indignant, and part of her wanted desperately to be with him, even marry him. But she simply did not know how he felt.
He leaned toward her. “I made a dreadful mistake.”
“Oh.” Her heart sank. “So you do not want to marry me.” She lifted her chin.
“I mean,” he said, “I was mistaken that night when I took advantage of the situation.”
“You apologized.”
“I owe you.” His low, intimate tone took her breath away. “Let me make it up to you.”
“No need. We both looked for—comfort that night. Nothing is owed,” she whispered fiercely. Blushing, she remembered how she had craved him that night. She shook her head against it. “And I thought no one would ever know but us. Now this—”
“Now this,” he agreed. “But we came too close to consequences, my lass.”
“You stopped it before a true compromise could happen. I thank you for that.”
He shifted, lowered his bracing hand to reach out and tip her chin up with a finger. “Compromise or not, we are reaping the outcome.”
“Only because they made assumptions,” she said, tilting her face away from his touch. The thrill of it made her ache. “That night was to be our secret, I thought. And now there is all this—this drama. I apologize for my family.”
“What happened is still our secret.” His gaze searched hers. He stood close enough, just the doorframe separating them, that she could feel his warm breath, could see his thick black eyelashes and his moss-green, honey-gold irises. “As for other secrets, I meant to tell you, uh, who I am.”
“But you did not. Perhaps it is better if we forget all this and go our ways, Lord Kildonan.” She said it more sharply than she meant.
“Ah, is that the troublesome point?”
“Partly,” she said through tight lips.
“I was about to tell you, but you seemed very upset about my father and the glen, and it was not the time. Then we had unexpected visitors to our wee mountain chalet. I should have said something sooner.”
“‘What’s done cannot be undone,’” she quoted.
“And then Lady Macbeth says, ‘To bed, to bed, to bed,’” he murmured.
“That is not helpful,” she said primly.
He huffed. “I can see you are not in a forgiving mood. Still, the best solution now is marriage. I think we both know that.”
The deep, mellow register of his voice was compelling; Evan Mackenzie could have recited a rhyme or read an advertisement, and she would feel the same fillip of pleasure.
What he said was the stuff of precious dreams, an offer of love, marriage, and an escape from a lonely life.
But he did not mention love, and she could not trust the other reason.
She looked away. “You would not marry me otherwise, Lord Kildonan.”
“How do you know?”
“You would not even look at me if we met somewhere else.”
He leaned near. “I have a good reason,” he said low. “Standing here in front of me.”
She caught a breath. “And she represents obligation.” Stepping back, she began to push the door shut.
He pushed his side of the door so firmly that it swung open despite her hold, and he crossed the threshold. She stepped backward against his advance.
“Listen now.” He kicked the door shut and took her by the shoulders, not ungently. She wanted to lean toward him, but resisted on principle. “Stubborn lass, listen. I compromised you, so I will honor my obligation. But I want to marry you. Do you understand? I want to. Do you?”
“Since there is no chance of a child, obligation is not necessary.”
“It is to me. You will find no forgiveness in this household, I fear. They could send you away. How could I live with that?”
“We will cross that bridge—” Seeing his quick frown, she stopped. “We shall see.”
But with his hands on her, something turned, needful and poignant, inside her.
Every instinct told her he had integrity and kindness, and she could make a good marriage with him, even from an accursed start.
Yet privately she felt she had cajoled him into loving her, which obligated him.
And she could not forget that he had concealed his identity.
Marrying a bridge engineer was far different than marrying the earl of this glen.
She had only wanted to feel loved that night, but she had fallen too deep and now she did not know what was right and best. Tears stung her eyes, and she shook her head in a sort of miserable silence.
“Catriona, let me take you out of here,” he said.
“So you can take me south, away from the Highlands? What will you do in the south, when you realize I am not fit to be a countess?”
“That,” he said, “will not happen.”
She lifted her chin, not willing to share all her doubts—nor could she tell him about Grant’s threats, or what he had said of Evan’s true intentions for Glen Shee. She turned her head away.
“Why make this so blasted difficult?” he said, dropping his hands away.
“We hardly know each other,” she finally said.
“We were doing fine the other night,” he murmured.
“Shall I remind you?” He pulled her to him again and dipped his head to give her a rich, tender kiss that made her head spin and her knees give way.
She grabbed his forearms as he kissed her again, and she felt herself succumbing to the powerful desire that she had felt in his arms before.
He drew back. She stood with eyes closed, breaths quick. “We have the makings of something here, lass, do you feel it? Marry me. Just do, and we will find out, hey?”
The words were spoken so gently that again she felt that surge of surrender, a tug of passion and the warmth of affection.
Or love, though she hardly dared think it.
He towered over her, one of the few men she knew taller than she, stronger-willed, too.
The magic of his hands, his lips, his voice, sank through her, untying knots, softening resistance, strengthening hope.
“Well.” She looked up. “If we marry, you do not owe me, aye?”
His hands soothed over her shoulders. He drew her toward him. “Catriona, my lass,” he said, “I think I would marry you if I only met you today.”
“You expect me to believe that?” She could not keep from smiling a little in relief and aye, the chance that she could believe that indeed.
“I do. Let me prove it, aye?”
She nodded. Suddenly she wanted to be kissed again, to erase the tension that had clouded the air. He seemed to understand, for he bent to kiss her, then smoothed her hair back. He turned for the door and opened it.
“Come downstairs. We’ll let them know.”
In the hallway, Catriona saw her aunt coming toward them. She wondered if the woman had eavesdropped through the oaken door.
“We have decided,” Catriona said.
“We will marry.” Evan took her hand.
“And a good thing. You two were alone far too long in there. Lord Kildonan, I came up to tell you that your sister and her husband, Sir…Henry, I think, have arrived.”
“Sir Harry Gray,” Evan supplied.
“Aye. Lady Jean and Sir Harry are anxious to see you.” She frowned. “I leave it to you to inform them of this awful scandal. Come, Catriona.” She headed for the stairs, then spoke over her shoulder. “The reverend wants this done tonight.”
“Tonight?” Catriona glanced frantically at Evan as her aunt trounced down the stairs.
“He insists,” Mrs. Rennie answered. “I have begun the arrangements.”
“But—” Catriona began.
Evan took her arm to speak low. “Tonight is fine. The sooner we marry, the sooner you are free of this so-called disgrace. And this house,” he murmured.
She whirled, stopping on the step above him. “But this is my home! I do not want to leave like this, so fast. That truly feels like disgrace.”
“You need a rescue,” he said low.
“You are wrong,” she snapped, defensive. “This is my father’s home. My home. I love it here. I just do not love—some of the attitudes.” She glanced at Judith, preceding them.
“Come back every day if you like. Things will change for the better if you let it. It took me a long time to realize that myself,” he added.
She sighed. Her life had changed the moment she saw him, and would never be the same. He was right. She had to allow the unknown to enter, had to let change happen. That meant trusting the future. And that, in its way, was the hardest thing.