Kidnapping the Laird #3
Long ago his father had built a small house for his mother.
Not one to live in, but one that sat on the stream that fed into the loch nearby.
Her “lady’s house” his father had called it and it became a place of refuge for his mother, a place of quiet and a place of privacy.
From the far-away expression in their eyes whenever this place was mentioned, Padruig could only imagine, and did not want to, the time spent and the things done here.
The sound of wood scraping along the floor drew his attention back and he saw Catriona pushing the tray nearer to him.
She remained just far enough back so that he could not reach her, but close enough to manoeuvre the tray to sit within his reach.
A bowl of water. Some cloth scraps. A small jug. A piece of bread and another of cheese.
“You must be hungry,” she said, walking across the room and sitting in the chair there. “You missed both the noon and evening meal.”
He wanted to deny it, but his stomach chose that exact moment to rumble loudly, enough that he witnessed a fleeting smile pass over her mouth.
Padruig slid back down and pulled the tray closer.
She’d had him kidnapped but offered him food and water …
and the small comforts to clean himself of the blood that now trickled down his arms and hands from his wrists.
In the midst of planning such a radical thing, she’d taken time to notice he’d missed meals and had food ready for him.
Her eyelids began to flutter as she watched him eat.
By the time he’d consumed the last crumb of food and drop of ale, she sat asleep in the chair, her head leaning to one side.
Padruig would wait, not that he had any choice in the matter, and get his answers in the morn.
Thinking on the implications of all of this, he realized something else.
She might want a new husband, but she did not wish him dead.
Or, at the least, not dead yet.
Three
Catriona woke with a start, forgetting where she was and why she was sleeping in a chair.
Scant daylight entered through the one small window left uncovered near the doorway, revealing that morn had broken.
She rubbed her neck as she straightened her head, easing the pain of sleeping with her head leaning to one side.
Only as she did so did she remember … everything. “Good morn, Catriona,” he said.
His tone was so pleasant she could have believed them meeting in the hall of the keep to break their fast. Glancing over at him, she gathered her loose hair back into its braid and stood, her arms and legs screaming in protest after hours spent in one position.
He’d cleaned his wounds and wrapped some of the cloth rags around them to protect them from further injury.
Cat stumbled as she stood and he moved against his chains.
Had he tried to help her? She met his gaze and nodded at him.
“Padruig.”
They lived separately, though under the same roof, so she had no experience with him in the mornings.
Or the nights, though she knew, as did everyone in Clan Grant, how he spent those.
Cat walked to the small hearth, stretching her arms and legs as she moved, and found the kindling there and started a fire.
Dougal and Jamie had been thorough in stocking this house for her use – the storage room below held weeks worth of food and supplies, a cistern fed fresh water through a pipe, and wood and peat stood waiting to be burned.
She thought about the room above her head and felt her cheeks warm from a blush at the thought of the unusually large bed with its plush furs and bedcovers that sat waiting there.
Cat turned back and found him watching her every move.
“I will have some porridge ready soon,” she told him. This casual chatter would be difficult between them.
“So, you need me alive then?” he asked. His question was posed quietly, but it did not fool her – he was probing for information about her plans. Not that it surprised her.
Padruig had become laird a few years back and was accustomed to being in charge.
He oversaw every aspect of the clan – its people, its farms, its lands and its future – and was considered, even by her father, to be one of the canniest men in Scotland.
She tried to gather her thoughts and her arguments, but they remained scattered.
Cat ignored him, or attempted to, and was successful in her attempts until he interrupted her again.
“I need to …”
He paused and so she was forced to face him.
With a few gestures he indicated his need to take care of a personal task and Cat found herself with the heat rising in her cheeks at the thought of such a thing.
She found a pot and slid it over to him, turning back to cooking, blushing even more when the sound of it reached her. Worse, he whistled throughout!
Cat focused on her task and soon the porridge bubbled in the cooking pot.
She avoided looking over her shoulder at Padruig.
Cat prepared the meal, scooping some into two bowls, adding a spoon in each, and then pouring some watered ale in cups.
As the eldest sibling in a large group of them, cooking was something familiar to her.
Though he probably knew it not, she’d been cooking meals at the keep for months, bringing with her the favourite recipes of her mother and her mother’s mother and helping in ways that made her feel useful …
especially since she was not fulfilling any wifely duties.
She carried his bowl and cup over to him.
His grin was purely masculine, one that spoke of things left unspoken, one that dared her to meet his gaze, which she avoided while handling the rearrangement of the tray, the bowls and the cups.
She removed the pot. Soon, he was eating and Cat sat in the chair doing the same.
She understood that he would wait no longer for an explanation and that she had only the time it would take them to eat left to her.
Padruig could not help but grin. From fearing for his life to wondering what she would demand of him for his freedom, he’d thought on this situation all night.
While she slept, he considered all or most of the possibilities and she had him puzzled.
Her declaration the morning after they were wed, one that demanded he not trouble her again in that manner, set the pattern of their lives.
If she had objected to his seeking a mistress, he would not have done so, but she showed no willingness for an intimate relationship between them.
He shifted his position on the floor and waited for her to finish.
Catriona blushed then, under his gaze, and he wondered what had made her do so now.
He’d watched it happen the night before, just before he lost his temper, when she’d glanced at the stairs leading to the loft above.
Thinking on his own reaction to the purely decadent bed that lay waiting above them, he thought it must be that.
Padruig finished his ale and put the cup and bowl back on the tray.
“So, now that I am fed and dry,” he said, enjoying the way she coloured in reaction to his reference, “is it time to learn the truth of my fate?”
Catriona’s expression changed in that instant from one of indecision.
His wife had grown up in these last months under his constant watch.
She did not know that he observed every move she made when they were together.
She did not know that his family reported back to him about her activities, her health and even her unhappiness.
Though circumspect in her words, he understood how she felt about her position within the clan and her reasons for remaining there.
Or at least he’d thought he knew until last night.
She glanced away and seemed to be struggling on the words to say, so he pushed a bit to get her started, realizing that they’d already spent more time alone together since his kidnapping than they had in the months since their wedding.
“You want a new husband.”
“I did not say a new husband,” she snapped back at him. “I said I wanted a husband.”
“You have a husband,” he replied. “Clearly you know who he is since you had him kidnapped.” He pushed himself to his feet and tried to cross his arms until the short length of chain stopped him. “Speak plainly, Cat,” he said. “Tell me why you did this and what will remove these chains.”
She started at his words before speaking. Then he watched as she straightened her shoulders and stood, mirroring his own stance. But she could cross her arms.
“I find that our arrangement is not acceptable to me any longer, Padruig. I tire of being humiliated by your whore. I tire of being a wife, but not a wife,” she said softly.
He let out his breath, stunned by her admission. Of all the things he thought he would hear, this was not any of them! He fought to keep the smile from his lips for her words could mean several things. To gain more insight, he asked, “When did you decide this?”
She shrugged and shook her head. He thought she would answer, but she did not, turning away for a moment. Dear God! She brushed tears from her eyes. Even on that disastrous morning she had not cried. “It matters not.”
He recognized pride when he saw it and allowed her to keep hers. “So, you wish to end our marriage so that you can seek another?” He held out his hands with the chains. “Could you not simply have discussed this with me? Did you have to resort to violence?”
Padruig knew the moment he’d pushed her far enough, for the glimmer in her eyes was one he’d not seen before – pure anger.
And he was much more adept at dealing with anger than with tears.
“We both signed that marriage contract. We both are held to its clauses and both understand the cost of failure, Padruig. My father will not allow this marriage to be ended and neither will your clan – they, we, cannot afford the cost of it.”