Chapter Five
Catherine settled into the saddle on the giant black warhorse, realizing with some frustration that she was still dressed for dinner. Her hair was curled and powdered, she wore formal silks and velvets, and the priceless Drumloch jewels were strung prettily around her neck.
“I don’t suppose you’d permit me to go back inside and put on something more … appropriate.”
The horse tossed his big black head, and his shiny mane flung about as he whinnied and grumbled.
“Nay, lassie,” the Highlander replied as he checked his saddlebags to make sure nothing was missing. “No time for that. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to change your mind about not turning me in.”
He swung up behind her and gathered the reins in his hands, then urged the monstrous snorting creature out of the stable to the meadow beyond. They galloped hard until they reached the forest; then the Highlander drew lightly on the reins.
“Whoa.” His horse slowed to a walk.
“It’s very dark in here,” Catherine said as they entered the pitch-black depths of the wood.
Unable to see much of anything through the silent, murky gloom, she became more intensely aware of what she could feel—the firm wall of the Highlander’s chest at her back, rubbing up against her.
“How will we see where we are going?” she asked, struggling to ignore the vital sensation of his big, hard body, so close to her own.
“Leave that to me.” The creature’s hooves plodded heavily over the damp ground. “How long will it be before someone notices your absence?”
“Not until morning. Though my maid will notice later tonight.”
“Will she speak up?”
Catherine considered it. “No, she’s quiet and discreet. I believe she will wait for someone to question her.”
Catherine’s eyes adjusted eventually to the reduced light, and she was thankful at least for the full moon, which provided some illumination through the thick autumn foliage.
The horse picked his way gallantly over the leaves and dry twigs, and they soon found a narrow bridle path that took them farther away from the manor house.
“What is your name, Highlander?” she asked. “You have not yet revealed it.”
“I am Lachlan MacDonald, former Laird of War at Kinloch Castle.”
“Ah. A powerful and battle-seasoned warrior. I should have known.”
He gave no reply, and she did not press him for one, for she had not accompanied him on this journey in order to become better acquainted. All she wanted was to meet the man who had allegedly been her lover. She had so many questions for him.
But what if she found him hideous? What if he was cruel?
What if she still loved him?
“Tell me about Angus,” she blurted out, hoping to quench some of her curiosity and ease the nerve-racking fires of doubt in her belly.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Why do they call him the Lion?”
“Because he is a fierce and ruthless warrior, famous for his killing exploits during the rebellion.”
“The Jacobite Rebellion?” Her family had claimed she was a passionate supporter of the cause before she went missing.
John, on the other hand, was a Hanoverian.
“Aye. His father raised an army for the battle at Sherrifmuir.”
“That is particularly interesting,” she said. “Catherine Montgomery’s father, the former earl, died in that battle.” She turned her head to the side. “Does the Lion’s father still live?”
“Nay, he died for the cause, too, and now Angus just wants peace.”
Catherine considered all that Lachlan had told her so far and strained to remember. She tried to imagine a ruthless, lionish warrior who fought bravely in Scottish battles, but alas, nothing seemed familiar.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
He leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice that was snide and taunting. “He has a beautiful wife and child.”
Catherine turned quickly in the saddle. “A wife and child? Since when?”
Lachlan frowned at her, and his head drew back slightly. “You truly do not remember? Or are you just a gifted actress?”
“How many times must I say it? I do not remember a thing. I cannot even imagine what Angus looks like.”
Lachlan regarded her with increasing frustration, and she wondered if he would ever believe her about her lost memories. Either way, he seemed disappointed that she was not throwing a tantrum about the mention of a wife and child.
“Imagine this,” he answered harshly. “He looks like a lion, and has a mighty roar.”
The horse lost his footing slightly over the uneven ground. Catherine slid sideways in the saddle, but Lachlan held her steady.
Again, to her dismay, his touch sent a tingling flow of excitement through her body. It was a feeling she fought hard to crush.
“You expected me to be jealous,” she said, referring back to Angus and his beautiful wife. “But how can I be, when I have no recollection whatsoever of the time we spent together?”
Lachlan considered the question thoroughly. “I’ve never heard of anyone losing all their memories before, and I’m still not sure I believe it. So don’t get too comfortable, thinking I’m convinced.”
She scoffed. “Trust me, I am not the least bit comfortable with you.” How could she be, when everything about him overwhelmed all her sensible thoughts? “Clearly I did not make a good impression on you,” she added, “when we knew each other before.”
“Nay, you did some appalling things.”
“Like what, besides the curse?” She realized in that moment that without the benefit of memory, there were no regrets. There was nothing to feel guilty about. It was like living in a constant state of innocence and purity.
And it was so very empty.
“Tell me the worst thing I’ve done,” she said, for she wanted to know the truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be. She wanted a real life. “Perhaps it will trigger a memory.”
Though nothing her grandmother told her had ever triggered anything. Not even the return to her childhood home had brought back her past.
But maybe that was because Lachlan was right: she was not Catherine and never had been.
God, help me. She was so confused and desperate to learn the truth. Desperate enough to go off into the night with a dangerous, unpredictable Highlander who despised her …
“Can you not answer the question?” she asked, growing almost frantic. “Or have you lost your memories, too?”
“I apologize, lass, but I don’t know where to begin. The choices are endless.”
She shook her head with derision. “You are a cad.”
“All right, all right,” he said at last. “I’ll start with how you followed Angus back to Kinloch after he said good-bye to you in the Hebrides. But you better brace yourself for the whole story, because you were a villain like none I’ve ever known. You won’t like how the tale ends.”
“Enough with the suspense,” she said, her heart pounding. “Please tell me what I did. I must know.”
He inhaled deeply, and she found herself leaning into the warmth of his broad chest.
“You followed him to Kinloch to tell him that he had less than a month to live, and that he’d die by the noose.”
She frowned. “Was it true?”
“Nay, he still lives. But you also told him that his wife—who you called a manipulative slut—would betray him, and it would be her fault that he would end up in the noose in the first place.”
“Good Lord! Was that a lie as well?”
He hesitated. “It was partly true, but it’s a long story.
All you need to know is that you tried to lure him back to your bed when he was happily married and expecting a child, and you were the one who told his enemies that they should hang him.
You were responsible for the near fall of Kinloch Castle, and another Scottish rebellion—when all Angus ever wanted was peace. ”
God in heaven … She swallowed hard, trying to manage her composure. It was a lot to take in, and if she truly was Raonaid, the oracle, she would not be proud of these things when she recovered her memories. How would she ever live with herself?
“Did I do these dreadful things because Angus jilted me?” she asked. “It sounds like I was very jealous of his wife.”
“Aye, you were, and you were bitter toward me for the loss of him. That’s why you cursed me.”
She turned in the saddle. “What part did you play in it?”
“First, I was the one who found him with you in the Hebrides, and encouraged him to return home and reclaim his castle. That’s when he left you.
And when you followed, I helped convince him that you would wreak havoc on his marriage if he let you stay, and that he should banish you from the castle for good. ”
Evidently, she had been jealous and spiteful on more than one occasion, if she had further retaliated by placing a murderous curse on Lachlan.
“You don’t suppose I have purged all my memories because of an overwhelming sense of guilt? Perhaps I could not bear what I had done, and therefore tried to erase it, or block it all out.”
“That would make sense, I suppose, if you felt the least bit guilty, but I’m not sure you are capable of that.” The deep scorn in his voice left her shaken. “I never met anyone more vengeful than you.”
She could not accept this. She simply could not.
“And yet, your powerful clan chief lived with me for more than a year,” she argued, “and we were lovers. Surely, Raonaid—or rather I—must have had some redeemable qualities.”
He considered that. “Your ability to predict the future, I suppose. And you’re a beautiful woman.” He spoke the words in a velvet murmur and rubbed his nose across her hair. “Not even I, who hate you most, can deny that, Raonaid.”
Their tempestuous kiss in the stone circle came flashing back at her suddenly, and she experienced another persistent spark of arousal, deep and heavy in her belly.
She should have been angry with herself for such a response, after he just admitted how much he hated her, but instead, she decided to accept these sensations, for at least they were proof that she was alive. She existed as a passionate being.
A light breeze blew through the canopy of autumn leaves overhead, and the moon shadows rippled like waves across the ground.
“Perhaps Raonaid is not all bad,” she suggested, grasping for some hope that she could somehow redeem herself. “Did you ever really talk to her, like we are doing now?”
He laughed. “Nay! You and I despised each other with a passion. And stop calling yourself her. You are one-and-the-same, and when you say things like that, you sound a bit mad.”
“Like a lunatic. Isn’t that what I am?”
He paused. “I don’t know. But I don’t like it, lass, because it makes me forget who you really are.”
She considered that. “I rather wish you would forget. Then perhaps you would be gentler with me.”
“Gentler? Me? With you?”
Just then, a light drizzle began, which quickly turned to a heavy downpour.
Lachlan uttered an angry oath and steered them deeper into the forest. “This curse of yours knows no mercy,” he growled.
“You can hardly blame the weather on me.”
He grumbled something in Gaelic, then kicked in his heels and told her to hang on.