Charming the Shrew (11 page)

“Strengths? She has no strengths. She is all aflutter over a little teasing. She is without sufficient backbone to even stand up for herself—”

“Then perhaps you should have done it for her.”

“Me? I do not owe her anything!”

He shook his head and said quietly, “Aye, you do not owe anything to anyone, do you? You are the most selfish person I have ever met.”

“I…why should…” She glared at him. He did not know her, did not understand her. How dare he judge her so harshly. “’Tis not true. I care only for my clan.”

He shook his head and gave a half-laugh. “Nay, you care only for yourself and your troubles. You do not have half the dignity of that timid little sparrow inside.” With that he turned and strode back toward the hall.

Catriona couldn’t believe what he had said. Selfish? And how much dignity could Dolag have when she allowed her own clan to tease her so with nary a retort? Determined to strike back at him, determined to make him feel the same gut-twisting she endured at his words, she launched herself after him, grabbing him by the arm and forcing him to face her.

“I don’t know where you get the nerve to speak to me this way,” she said, gripping both of his arms now and standing on her tippy toes so she was nearly nose to nose with him. “’Twould only take a word from me and you would be stuck with me for the rest of your life!”

“Aye, lass, and you would be stuck with me,” he said, his voice low, his warm breath washing over her face. “Can you say which is a worse fate?”

Catriona’s heart was beating fast, and she felt strangely light-headed, almost as if she stood outside herself watching these strangers argue as they stepped nearer and nearer to each other. She struggled to hold fast to her anger, for another deeper, darker emotion was threatening to sweep over her. She swallowed. “’Tis easy. I would never spend my life with you.” She struggled to think of the one thing that would drive him away from her. “I must wed a better man than you,” she hissed.

He didn’t even have the good manners to flinch. Instead he cocked his head and pursed his full lips as if she were a puzzling child. “So you say. How do you know another man is any better than I?” His voice was quiet now, yet there was something dangerous about it.

“Anyone would be better than you.”

“Even Dogface MacDonell?”

She tried to say aye, but she could not utter that large a lie, even to make her point.

“So there is at least one man I am better than. You have a fine sense of gratitude toward someone who saved you from freezing to death, found you a hot meal to warm your belly and a place by the fire to rest your head this night.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, looked her in the eye, then lowered his gaze to her mouth. Catriona’s breath hitched at the intensity, the concentration, in his cinnamon eyes.

“We are lucky they are not making us sleep in the snow after that performance in there,” he said, as if to himself.

“’Twas you who called her a p—”

Before she could finish the word something snapped in his eyes and Tayg leaned in and covered her lips with his own.

Catriona gasped but was immediately mesmerized by the sensations his touch sent racing through her. He took advantage of her hesitation and pressed his lips to hers again, softly yet firmly. Catriona felt a thrill run through her, that same warm chill she had experienced when he had helped her hide her hair. Intrigued, she let him continue the kiss. Standing perfectly still, she let her eyes drift shut so she could better concentrate on the surprising sensations that were coursing through her. His lips were warm, gentle as they played over hers. She rested her hands on his arms and stepped a bit closer, giving in to her instincts.

T
AYG PULLED BACK
and looked into her midnight eyes. How could such sharp words come from such a sweet mouth? His gaze moved from her surprised eyes to her full lips and, God help him, he kissed her again.

This time, however, she leaned into him. He moved his hands to her face and tilted her head to get better access to that surprising sweetness. He plundered, kissing and nibbling, letting his pent-up frustration guide his actions instead of his head. He needed more, wanted…

Tayg coaxed open her mouth, then taught her the delights of the deeper, more intimate kiss. He pulled her against him, crushing her soft breasts into his chest. A small moan escaped her, and he smiled against her lips.

“See, lass,” he said, nibbling first on the corners of her mouth, then moving to that tender spot below her ear, “there are better tasks for a tongue than slicing away at a man’s pride.”

Catriona went from warm and pliable to cold and stiff in a heartbeat. She shoved him hard, and he stumbled backward. Tayg wished he was the one who had held his tongue this time.

“If you ever try such a thing again,” she said, poking him in the chest with one sharp finger and glaring up at him, her eyes narrowed and her temper clear, “I’ll slice more than your pride.” She shoved him again then swept past him and into the hall.

Tayg stood there, trying to figure out what had just happened. What was he thinking, kissing her? Was he daft? He no more wanted that woman than he wanted Dolag. Then he laughed at himself, for certain parts of him were quite certain he did want her.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his blood. She was the oddest mix of prickly pride and soft, sensuous woman when she allowed herself to be. The memory of her molding herself to him, that small sweet moan escaping her dewy lips. Och! If he continued like this, he’d have to sit himself down in the snow before he could return to the hall.

He looked up at the sky, the stars filling the heavens now that the clouds were nearly gone. Good, perhaps tomorrow would be a good day for traveling. If only he could leave Catriona here—but that was impossible. He was just going to have to find some way to stop this unwanted attraction he felt before he ceased thinking altogether and did something really stupid.

T
AYG ROLLED OVER
and stared into the dying fire. Each time he had drifted off to sleep he’d dreamed of the kisses he had shared with Catriona. Waking each time with a start when the lass he kissed turned from a bonny young woman into a wild cat-a-mountain who flayed his skin with its claws. ’Twas an image he should hold close, for she was as dangerous to him as any of the hungry cats that roamed the Highlands.

He glanced over at the sleeping subject of his troubled night. She slept, oblivious to the problems swirling all around her. He sat up, adjusted his plaid, and belted it tightly about him. If he could keep the terror of his dream in his mind, he felt sure he would not be tempted to kiss those amazingly sweet, soft lips…no, he must not let his mind wander to that again. She was as feral and dangerous as any cat, and he would not forget it again.

He rose from his pallet and slipped away from the sleeping Cat. Outside the air was cold and misted with a heavy fog, the pale gray light of winter’s late dawn barely piercing the billowy stuff. He looked about for a privy but could not see far in the fog. He shrugged and headed for the nearby wood. A privy was not a necessity.

He trudged between the hall and a cottage and into the wood. Just as he was about to slip back out of the cover of the forest, he heard voices and the muffled sound of horses in the snow cover. His scalp tingled, a feeling of danger long experience had taught him to heed. He circled behind the cottage and crept along the far side until he reached the front that faced the trail he and Cat had arrived on last night.

The fog was still thick, and the voices were muffled. He waited.

“Good day to you!” a deep voice yelled as if from beneath a thick blanket. “Are you not up and about yet?”

There was something oddly familiar in the voice—not the voice itself, but rather the cadence or perhaps the demanding inflection as if the speaker expected…

Tayg froze.

“Aye, we are out and about this morn,” Farlan’s voice drifted to him from somewhere in the direction of the newcomers. “What would
you
be wanting in Fionn?” His voice did not hold the welcome he had shown Tayg and Cat the night before. Today he sounded wary of the newcomers.

“We search for a lass, a shrew-mouthed lass you should not wish upon your worst enemy. She is here and we come to relieve you of the burden of her company.”

The tingling in Tayg’s scalp spread down his backbone. He knew without a doubt that the newcomer was none other than Cat’s brother.

Broc MacLeod had found them.

T
AYG CREPT CLOSER
, keeping to the deeper shadows in the vague, fog-shrouded dawn. No doubt Broc had tracked them through the snow. It took precious little skill to follow a sole rut in the fresh snow. But what did the man know? Tayg moved closer to the front of the cottage and peered carefully around the corner.

The thick fog made details hazy, but ’twas clear that Farlan stood facing the newcomer…newcomers, Tayg corrected, for there were at least three horses. The fog parted unexpectedly, and Tayg swallowed an oath. He pulled back behind the corner of the cottage, but could still hear the conversation.

“And why would you be chasing a lass through this weather? Has she stolen your manhood, perhaps?” Farlan’s voice had an odd edge to it.

“’Tis none of your concern, auld man. I am Broc MacLeod of Assynt—”

“I ken well who you are, lad, so do not take that tone with me or I’ll drop your wee arse over yon cliff. Trouble licks your heels like a loyal dog, and ’tis a rare man in the Highlands that does not ken it.”

There was a moment of silence, and Tayg could imagine the bluster that was going on between the two Highlanders.

“We have followed her trail through the snow. It led us here. We will have the lass back.”

“We have no—how did you describe her?—
shrew-mouthed
lasses here. The lasses of Fionn are sweet-tempered as clearly your lass is not.”

“She is not mine.”

“Then why do you track her?”

There was more silence, then Broc cleared his throat. “She is my sister, betrothed to our ally. I have sworn to bring her back for her wedding. Where is she?”

“I told you. There is no lass here by that description.”

“Then who made the trail to this shite-hole?” Broc was clearly losing any patience he might have started with.

“The bard did,” a small voice piped up.

“Alasdair!” Farlan’s voice was stern, reminding Tayg of his own father’s voice when Tayg had raised his ire. “Get you back to your mother’s skirts and leave this to your elders.”

He winced in sympathy for the lad. Though he could not see him, he was certain there was a slump to his shoulders and an anger simmering at his sharp dismissal.

“There is a bard here?” another voice asked, masculine, but not as deep as Broc’s.

“I see not what a bard has to do with your runaway lass.”

“There was some sign that two people traveled the trail we followed,” a third voice said.

“Was there a woman with this bard?”

There was a long silence, and Tayg chanced another look. The fog had closed up around the band of men again, but he could still make out the form of Farlan standing there, his thick arms crossed over his barrel chest. His shoulder-length brown hair was wild about his head, and though the fog sought to hide him from Tayg’s view, ’twas clear Farlan glared at the men in front of him.

At last he said, “Aye, there is a woman with him—his own sister.”

“How do you ken she is his sister?”

“’Tis easy enough to tell. He introduced her. He baited her. She baited him—but she had no shrew-mouth. The bard bested her easily enough, as any older brother should. Aye, they are brother and sister, no doubt to my mind.”

Broc snorted, sending the fog swirling about him. “Triona has plenty of experience being bested by an older brother. ’Twould be an easy part for her to play. I shall see this lass for myself,” he said. “Come, lads. If Farlan will not show us where to look, we shall have to find her ourselves.”

Tayg was certain Farlan would not allow a search, but he took no chances. He sprinted around the backside of the cottage and dashed to the hall.

Cat was the link between Dogface MacDonell and the brothers MacLeod. As long as Tayg controlled her fate there was a chance the plot against the king would fail. He could not see either clan trusting the other without such a link between them. Even if he did not make it to the king in time to warn him, keeping Cat from marriage to the MacDonell chief might be enough to fray the tempers of the conspirators and stop them.

He laughed to himself. ’Twas feeble reasoning, but he would not look at other, more personal reasons for keeping her with him.

Tayg slipped through the doorway and made his way down the hall to where Cat still slept near the fire. He nudged her with a hand on her shoulder. “Wake up,” Tayg whispered as she tried to shrug off his hand. “Your brother is here.”

Cat’s eyes popped open. “What?”

“Broc. He is here, asking for you, and others with him.”

She sat up, her eyes wide, with fear skittering through them. “I will not go with him!”

“Wheesht! I ken that. Come,” Tayg said as he gathered his own belongings. “We must away, quickly and quietly.”

“But why…”

“Do not ask questions. Unless you wish me to reconsider my plan and leave you here to face him alone?”

“I shall ask any question I deem—”

“Ask later. Leave now. Broc will be here any moment.”

She glared at him, but quickly stood and pulled her cloak about her, rolled her blankets, and tucked them under her arm. “I am ready.”

Tayg was surprised that she gave in so quickly. Broc must be formidable indeed.

“There is but the one door which faces the village, but there is a thick fog to cover our passing. Be very quiet, for sound is unpredictable in such weather.”

He grabbed her hand, and she followed him without another word. Tayg told himself he held her hand only to make sure she did not get lost in the fog or so that he could quiet her with a squeeze if necessary. But he also knew that the grudging trust she showed increased the warmth of her touch and pleased him to no end.

They left the warm confines of the hall and moved quickly along the edge of the building to the horse byre. Tayg was grateful so many feet had packed down the path between the buildings so their footsteps would not show. They slipped inside, and Tayg had his horse saddled and their goods loaded in no time. He led the animal out of the stable, vaulted into the saddle, and held his hand out to Cat.

“Get on,” he whispered.

She hesitated when angry voices wafted through the fog as if ghosts argued. Whether Farlan delayed Broc and his men for the purpose of letting them escape or simply because he did not like the man mattered not at all to Tayg. Once all was settled with the king, Tayg would have to send his thanks to Farlan. But still Cat stood, transfixed by the voices. Nothing would be settled if the lass would not climb up.

“Do you wish to be taken back to Dogface trussed up like a gutted deer?”

She gasped and whipped her head around to look him in the eye. Fear made her eyes bleak, and Tayg found himself wishing to reassure her. Before he could say anything, she took his hand and scrambled up behind the saddle. As quietly as he could, Tayg guided the horse out of the village.

C
ATRIONA LOOKED BACK
over her shoulder, afraid they would be spotted at any moment and Tayg’s harsh words would become a reality. Thankfully the fog remained, obscuring all but the faintest dark outline of the hall.

“Enough! Where is she?” It was Broc’s voice. Thank all the saints that the bard had discovered Broc before Broc had discovered—

The fog parted for a moment. Catriona shrank against Tayg’s sturdy back but could not look away.

’Twas not just Broc who had come after her, but all her brothers! She could not take her eyes from them, but they thankfully had their backs to her. She blinked, willing the fog to cover their escape once more. Suddenly Ailig, her youngest brother, glanced over his shoulder. He seemed to look directly at her, but then he turned away again just as the fog finally obeyed her heartfelt command. She listened for Ailig’s voice, for the sound of pursuers. But there was none.

They made the cover of the forest, and Tayg continued into its dark depths. Catriona noticed that little snow had made it to the ground through the thick pines and the close-growing leafless birches. Their tracks would not be so easily followed here.

Tayg nudged the horse to a swifter gait, and they rode in silence save for the pounding of the horse’s hooves. When they were well away from the village, he allowed the horse to slow and finally to stop.

Catriona needed to walk, needed to rid herself of the nervous energy that had accompanied her sudden awakening and their swift departure.

“Let me down,” she said.

Tayg let her slide down then followed her. “So you heard him?” he asked.

“Aye, though ’twas more than just Broc.”

Tayg’s eyebrows rose, and Catriona nodded.

“’Twas all of them.” She did not tell him of Ailig’s glance. Obviously he had not noticed them, so there was no reason to disturb the bard with the news.

“They know you are with me,” Tayg said.

“How?”

“I heard them talking to Farlan. They know I arrived with a lass, though Farlan assured them you were my true sister. Broc did not believe him, thus the argument.”

“So they suspect, but they do not know for sure.” She paced the trail they had been following. “We must find a place to hide. They are not likely to give up just because we have eluded discovery this time.”

“They will have a bit of scouting to do, for there were few clear tracks to follow in the village, and now we lead them on a merry chase.” He grinned at her. “We will continue this way for a while, then circle round to our true path.”

Catriona looked about her. “What?”

“This way,” he said, pointing in the direction they had been traveling, “lies north. Our path to the king lies south along the river.”

Catriona’s eyebrows drew down over her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

Tayg pulled a carrot from a bag and fed it to the horse. “He is tired.” He grabbed the reins in one hand and her hand in the other and led them down the track.

“Why, bard?”

He continued, practically dragging her along. Catriona trotted to keep up.

“Tayg?” she said, hoping his given name would tease him into speech.

He looked at her. “You wished to see the king. Perhaps I am daft, but I will see you to him.” He cocked a grin at her and broke into a run before Catriona could press him further.

Eventually Tayg turned aside onto a deer trail, and Catriona dropped back to follow him and the horse. She was tired and desperately needed to rest her aching feet.

She followed Tayg and the horse as they descended into a deep ravine along a faint trail. She was grateful Tayg had helped her this morning, though she still did not understand why he had done it. It seemed the perfect opportunity for him to rid himself of her.

She thought back to when he had awakened her. Why hadn’t he just left her there? He’d made it clear he did not wish to travel with her. He’d made it clear she was not a welcome partner. So why had he helped her when ’twas clearly to his benefit to leave her there to face her wretched brothers alone? It made no sense.

“We’ll stop below for a rest and a bit of food,” Tayg said over his shoulder to her.

Her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry and thirsty. They had not eaten, had not stopped, had barely spoken since they had escaped from the village. He’d stopped her questions, bullied her out of the village, and told her she could ask questions later. Well, it was later now, and she would have some answers. She would know what he was up to, for he was surely up to something.

She glowered at the broad back before her. His glossy brown hair shone in the filtered sunlight. His plaid flapped back and forth, sweeping his well-formed, trews-covered legs in time with his step. But the horse was between them.

She sped up, protecting her face from low branches as she slipped past the horse and made her way to Tayg’s side.

“Why did you help me?” she demanded. “You wanted to take me back to my brothers from the start. Why didn’t you leave me to them now?”

He said nothing, staring straight ahead.

“Bard!” She smacked his arm with her fist to get his attention. “Why would you do such a daft thing?”

He glanced at her, but she could read nothing in his expression. He shrugged and lengthened his stride. Catriona had to jog to keep up with him or chance being overrun by the horse. The trail pitched suddenly downward, and she stepped quickly to the side, letting the horse block her from the object of her rising ire. She followed more slowly, picking her way down the icy slope carefully. She would have an answer. She had too much experience with brothers and their schemes not to recognize the signs. She also had plenty of experience getting her answers from them. Tayg would be no different. ’Twould only require persistence.

A burn came into view, and Tayg bounded the last few feet to its edge, dropping the reins as he went. He knelt by the edge of the water and dipped his face to it. Sitting back on his heels, he turned and glanced at her, his eyes dark and serious.

“Come and drink.”

But Catriona was unable to move. All her anger and frustration drained from her as she watched the glistening droplets that clung to his lips. Every sensation that had coursed through her last night when he kissed her careened through her again, stealing her breath and making her feel uncomfortably warm despite the chill in the December air.