Charming the Shrew (13 page)

She ran to catch up with him, grabbing his sleeve and stopping him. “What have you done? You forced me to act your sister—”

“I did not force.”

“Then you embarrassed me, calling me names in front of the entire village of Fionn.” Her voice rose with each point.

“And you had naught to do with that situation?” he asked, his eyebrows raised and his mouth drawn into a line, though the corners seemed to tremble slightly, as if he struggled to keep them under control. “You take no responsibility when ’twas you that pulled the lass before the crowd and left me no choice but to sing to her?”

“I take responsibility when it is mine to take. You had no need to include me in your ridiculous excuse for a song. That debacle was entirely your fault.” She stabbed him in the chest with her finger to emphasize her point. “You are just like all the other men in my life—”

“Do not lump me in your life. I am but a reluctant victim of your scheming.”

“Aye, a reluctant something, but not a bard.”

“Ah, we’re back to that, are we?”

“We’re back to that. What are you really? You cannot sing better than any average Highlander. You cannot play even half as well as you sing. So what are you? A spy for the king, come to the Highlands to see if we are behaving ourselves? A convict escaped from Edinburgh’s gaol? Maybe some earl’s son off on a lark before winter sets in good?”

Tayg’s face went as white as the snow that surrounded them, but she was not sure which of her possible explanations had hit home.

“Any of those would be better than what you really are,” he said, his voice tightly controlled. “A spoiled wee lass, too hardheaded to see her own folly.”

“I am a grown woman, bard. And the only folly I see is in continuing to travel with you.” Catriona swung away from him and headed down the trail.

Tayg’s laughter followed her. Whirling around she shouted, “Why do you laugh at me?”

“Because you are heading back to your home.” At her blank stare, he added, “You are going the wrong way if you wish to get to the king in Dingwall!”

Catriona looked about her and was horrified to see that she was indeed retracing their steps. Her face heated, and Tayg laughed again as he turned to continue in the correct direction.

“You would not have made it past Loch Assynt without me,” he said.

The words hit her in the stomach as surely as if he had thrown a punch. Too angry to speak, she reached for the only weapon she had…snow.

Scooping a large handful into her mittens, she packed it quickly, as her brother Ailig had taught her. Aiming, she let the snowball fly. It landed with a faint
thud
and a splat right in the middle of Tayg’s back. The impact made him stagger a little, then he turned, a look of fury on his face. But Catriona had another missile ready. She let it fly, this time splashing over his chest. At least she had learned something of use from her bullying brothers.

Fury was quickly replaced with determination on Tayg’s face. When he stooped to scoop up his own snow, Catriona darted behind a tree, grabbed more snow, and prepared her next volley. She peered around the tree just in time to be splattered with flying snow as Tayg’s barrage hit the trunk just beside her. He darted behind a tree, and she used the opportunity to change trees herself. When he looked out, she let hers fly, hitting him square in the face.

“Ah! I’ll get you!” Tayg raced toward her, one hand scrubbing snow from his face, the other arm cocked to let his snowball fly.

Catriona quickly rearmed herself, then raced away from him through the forest. This time, though, Tayg’s aim was true, and she stumbled forward as his icy ball slammed into her back. She turned and threw hers, missing him as he stepped behind yet another tree. Catriona took off again, darting from tree to tree until she thought she was far enough away to stop and form several hard-packed balls. She grabbed the edges of her cloak and formed a pocket to hold her arsenal, which she quickly loaded into it. She peeked out from the tree to see where Tayg had got to when she felt a light tapping on her shoulder.

Whipping around, she came face-to-face with him. He promptly dropped his snowball on her head. Snow slid down her face and under her collar.

“Why you—” But before she could think of a good name to call him, he was racing away again.

She chased him, throwing ball after ball, hitting him with some, missing with others, which elicited wild laughter from the demented man. Her last one landed against his backside. He stopped to face her, trying to look indignant, but the grin on his face, combined with bits of snow, pine straw, and odd bits of bracken, made him look rather silly. Catriona covered her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle.

When he started at a run toward her again, she waited just until he thought he had her, then sidestepped out of his way. He skidded to a halt, his back to her. She couldn’t help herself—she leaped onto his back, knocking him face-first into the snow.

“Get off me!” His voice was muffled by the snow.

“Not until you admit I’ve won.”

“I’ll teach you—” Tayg flipped over, grabbing her and pinning her beneath him in one fluid demonstration of his strength. “Now what are you going to do?”

Catriona’s hand was flung out to the side. She quickly grabbed as much snow as she could. “This!” she said, bringing her arm up and smashing the snow against his bare neck.

Tayg’s grin froze, and he tried to get her hand away from his exposed skin. She took advantage of his distraction and managed to flip him over onto his back in a move she’d learned from watching her brothers wrestle. He quickly took back command of the situation, and before either of them realized what they had done, they were sliding down the steep side of a gully.

They slid to a stop at the bottom, just shy of a small burn, their arms and legs all tangled together.

“Are you hurt?” Tayg asked, his voice full of concern.

Catriona considered a moment. “Other than a bit of snow in places I’d rather not have it, I’m fine. You?”

Tayg burst out laughing. “Aye, I’m fine too. Who taught you—” She cut his question cut off with a renewed assault. This time he had an ear full of the cold stuff. Quickly he flipped on top of her again, pinning her beneath him. He grabbed her wrists, rendering her his captive.

Catriona breathed hard, trying to catch her breath, which suddenly seemed to have escaped her. Each time she pulled in the crisp, wintery air, her breasts rose, brushing against his hard chest. Her nipples puckered, and a strange pressure began low in her belly. His chestnut eyes mesmerized her, and she had the sudden understanding that he was breathless too.

A yearning sang in her head, though she wasn’t sure exactly what it was she yearned for…perhaps his kiss? Aye, that was it. She wished his soft lips upon hers again. She wished him to run his hands through her hair, caress her skin, ease this ache deep within her. She raised her head from the snow as he lowered his. Catriona closed her eyes and waited.

She felt the change in Tayg’s body first, a sudden tenseness, followed by complete and utter stillness. She opened her eyes to see him peering up at the top of the ravine, his attention no longer on her. Disappointment surged through her, chased by frustration, but before she could say anything, he had his hand over her mouth.

“Shh. Rider,” he whispered.

Catriona nodded slightly so he knew she understood. Who was up there? It could not be her brothers, could it? Suddenly she realized that their horse was up there in the wood somewhere, abandoned during their battle. Would the rider notice it and the snowy trail that must lead over the ravine’s edge? They were surely discovered.

She heard the rider draw near, but the horse did not slow. They remained as they were for several minutes, making sure the horse and rider were truly gone.

Tayg took his hand off her mouth, then seemed to realize he was still lying atop her. Quickly he rose, the intimate moment lost to stark reality. Tayg offered his hand to help her up, and they spent a few minutes brushing off the snow and bracken they had collected in their slide down to the burn side.

“I will fetch the horse,” Tayg said. “Wait here. Stay out of sight as best you can. Perchance I can see who rides above.”

Unwilling to trust her voice lest her frustration show, she nodded, then turned her back to him while he climbed up the slope.

She stared down at the ice-edged burn. What had just happened? They had been laughing, racing through the snow, having fun. Catriona tried to remember the last time she had had fun. It must have been when she and Ailig were children. She remembered climbing trees with him, running wild over the heath and swimming in the frigid waters of Loch Assynt. It seemed as if that must have been another person, not her. Just as she could not connect herself with the lighthearted, laughing lass who had pelted Tayg with snowballs.

She tried to bring back the feelings of exhilaration she had experienced just before they tumbled down the slope, but lost herself in those darker, more earthy sensations that had enveloped her as they lay at the bottom of the slope. Had he wished to kiss her too? She had thought so, but then the rider came, breaking the spell their play in the snowy forest had woven about them, reminding them of what they risked if they were found in each other’s company. Especially if they had been found entangled as they were.

Her cheeks heated as she tried to hold the memory of that moment, his weight upon her. His eyes seeing only her. His lips, full and fascinating.

Nay, ’twas folly. Aye, Tayg the Bard was a handsome man, with more than his share of charm when he chose to use it. But he was a bard. He could not further her goal to protect her clan from the stupidity of Broc and the sheep.

She shivered, realizing for the first time that she knew naught of the man she planned to wed. Was Tayg of Culrain handsome? The songs said so. Was he kind? Intelligent? Charming? Would he have a slightly crooked smile? Full lips…

This would not do. She must get her mind off Tayg the Bard and fill it with what was necessary to win a husband. Aye. That she must do, and the bard must help her. She would keep them both from further folly. She would keep the conversation trained on her goal, and she would enlist the bard’s help, prying from him any knowledge he had about his kinsman, preparing herself so that she might present the most appealing version of herself to the king and her future groom when the time came.

Aye, that was her plan. There could be no more play, and no more anger, for that was what got her in trouble over and over with this man. She would be reasonable, and he would help her reach her goal.

Whether he wanted to or not.

B
Y THE TIME
Tayg had returned from collecting their horse and trailing the rider far enough to determine that it wasn’t Cat’s brothers but rather a lone traveler, the lass was shivering from her snow-dampened clothes.

They walked briskly and much more quietly than they had at the start of the day, quickly warming up as they crossed the narrow burn then turned to follow it to where it finally met the River Cassley. Little passed between them, and Tayg wondered if that playful side he had glimpsed was allowed out often. From Cat’s reaction, he guessed that even she had been surprised by it. Pleasantly surprised, if her pliant body and upturned lips had been any indication of her mood.

He grinned to himself. She was as complicated as a well-played chess game, showing herself in feints and glimpses, then retreating back to the shelter of her shrewishness. Of course, she hadn’t retreated that far back this afternoon. Nay, she had been positively quiet, compliant.

He suspected she was doing a bit of thinking about their situation—which was becoming more dangerous by the day. Not only were her brothers searching for them, but Tayg was finding it increasingly difficult to stay away from her. Even when she’d cut him with the sharpness of her tongue this morning, his blood had pumped and his heart had raced as no other lass had ever made happen. Maybe it was simply that he never knew what she was going to say—or do—next.

He smiled as he remembered the cat-a-mountain that had leapt upon his back, knocking him face-first into the snow. Oh, he’d have to get her back for that one…though that would be inviting more moments that he dared not allow. Perhaps he would have to let it pass. Perhaps.

They trudged on, little passing between them except for the occasional look when Tayg glanced back to make sure she still followed. She seemed as lost in thought as he, and he did not know whether that should frighten him or please him.

They paused briefly to eat the last of the food. If they did not find a village in which to bide the night Tayg was going to have to do some hunting, which would mean delaying their journey. There was precious little daylight for traveling this time of year as it was. He did not want to squander it chasing hares through the snow. The sooner they got to the king, the better it would be for both of them—and for King Robert.

The afternoon wore on. The river wound in and out of sight as the trail swung first around the edge of a slope, crowding the riverbank, then away to become a smoother path through the trees. As they neared the river after one of these forays into the wood a huge flock of snowy white whooper swans swooped over them, their wings whistling in the crisp air as they glided in to settle in one of the slower-flowing parts of the river. Green-headed mallards and sharp-billed goosanders gathered in rafts on the water, and Tayg found his mouth watering at the thought of fresh roasted duck or savory swan instead of the dried provisions he’d eaten too often of late.

They needed to find another village or at least a cottage where they could resupply. He knew Duchally, a village with a proper castle, lay somewhere ahead of them, but whether it was a mile or ten he could not tell.

He glanced back at Cat, who plodded along in the trail he and the horse made. At least in that way he was able to make the journey a little easier for her, though earlier his attempt to break the trail had triggered their snowball fight. He grinned just as the wind hit him hard in the teeth.

The sky was no longer bright and sunny, but Tayg had been so distracted by his thoughts of a hot meal and of his companion’s deadly aim with a snowball he had not noticed the change until now, when it was almost too late.

’Twas a dangerous thing to travel in the Highlands at any time of the year and not pay close attention to the weather. It could change from balmy and brilliant to vicious and deadly in a trice, no matter the season. Tayg looked up where the peaks of the mountains had been visible not long before. A gauzy gray haze shrouded their crowns and crept down their sides, obscuring the outline of the peaks even as he watched. The pewter sky was lowering rapidly, the clouds growing darker, flatter. Dangerous.

“We’ve got to find shelter!” Tayg yelled to Cat over the rising wind.

C
ATRIONA CLUTCHED HER
hood under her chin to keep it from blowing off in the sudden icy blast. “Shall we look for a cave?”

“Nay! This storm looks bad. We need food and fuel if we do not want to freeze. We need to find Duchally and beg their hospitality.”

She nodded though she did not wish to have to dissemble before another crowd of strangers. On the other hand, being alone with Tayg was not something she wished for either. Well, if she were honest with herself, some deep, unfamiliar part of her wished for exactly that. That part wished to see how far his charm would go and what he was hiding behind it. But such a way led to disaster. Folly. A crowded castle would be better, and if it meant playing the part of his sister again, then so be it. She had played the part of sister her entire life. A few more nights would not change anything.

And they needed to get out of this weather.

Just that fast the storm was upon them. The wind picked up snow from the ground in frigid gusts, blowing it around them in shifting waves of icy-white misery, now in their faces, now down their backs, now lifting their cloaks and pulling as if to yank them away.

Catriona hunched over, leaning into the gusts until she almost walked into the horse’s backside. Tayg had stopped, and for a moment she thought they must be lost.

“Are you all right?” Tayg asked as he appeared in the swirling ground snow, which now was joined with painful pellets from the sky.

Cat nodded, unwilling to uncover her face from the plaid she had wrapped about her neck and looped over her mouth and nose. Her fingers and toes were so cold they hurt, but that was better than not being able to feel them at all.

Tayg looped something over her hand, and she realized it was a rope.

“Hold onto that. I’ve tied it to the horse’s saddle. I do not want you wandering lost in the whiteness, lass,” he said. His voice was so soft and so full of concern that she didn’t have the heart to complain about the reference to her lack of directional sense. She gripped the rope hard, glad that he had looped it over her wrist, too, in case her hands did go numb.

“I thought I smelled smoke a moment ago, though with the wind ’tis impossible to tell what direction it might have come from. I hope ’tis Duchally and we can escape this blast soon.”

She nodded again. Tayg looked at her for a moment then returned to lead the horse.

Catriona’s world quickly became defined by the faint outline of the horse’s dark rump, the painful tingling in her fingers and toes, and the unrelenting whiteness of the stinging snow. Her cloak and the plaid protecting her face quickly gathered a heavy layer of snow. If they didn’t find shelter soon…her mind sidled away from the thought. Tayg would find them shelter. He had taken care of her so far. All would be well…it had to be.

Just when she thought she could go no farther she felt a tug on the rope about her wrist and almost had to run to keep up with the horse and his unseen guide. Her leather boots squeaked in the granular snow. Her feet were numb, and she slipped repeatedly, barely managing to stay upright. When the horse slowed again a few minutes later she huddled at its side, letting it block some of the wind. She squinted into the whiteness.

A castle seemed to rise from the swirling snow, a gray giant looming over the river. Catriona had never been so glad to see stone walls before. Tayg glanced back at her, and she nodded at him. They covered the distance to the gates at a trot, the promise of a fire and shelter from the maddening wind lending them a surge of energy—enough to make it to the gate that was, blessedly, open.

Guards stopped them long enough to determine their business. They seemed well pleased that a bard had come along with this first serious blast of winter. A lad of nine or ten led them to the stable where another lad took the horse, promising to give him a good rubdown and a bucket of oats. Tayg and Catriona grabbed their belongings and followed the first lad back out into the weather long enough to cross the deserted bailey and up a stair. Just before they stepped out of the cold they stopped and shook as much snow from their clothing as possible, then entered the chief’s chamber.

The chief was seated at a table, his back to a roaring fire. His graying hair was pulled back in braids at his temples, revealing a face of middle years, and he was wrapped in a plaid so old it had no particular color. Tayg and Catriona waited at the back of the room, puddles of melted snow spreading about their feet, while he conversed with a trio of white-haired men.

Catriona shifted from one foot to the other, trying to overcome the pins and needles that heralded the return of feeling. Her hands and face were starting to thaw too. She peeled off her mittens and stuffed them under her arm while she tried to chafe some warmth into her hands. The chief swiftly completed his business with the men, then nodded at the two of them to come forward.

“Good day,” Tayg said, his voice bouncy and cheerful.

“Good day to you, sir,” the chief replied, looking from one to the other of them. “What takes you traveling in such foul weather?”

Tayg told him the same story he had told Farlan of Fionn, that Catriona was being taken to her husband. She had to admit that he was an excellent storyteller, remembering the details of her supposed betrothed’s hunting accident, his broken leg, her desire to rush to his side, and Tayg’s selflessness in escorting his sister though the winter was upon them. In fact, she realized, he told it better this time, embellishing it with bits of humor and playing up her love for her beloved Rory. Rory? She’d best remember the name.

“We beg your hospitality,” Tayg was saying. “In exchange, we will entertain you well. Cat sings like an angel.” Catriona glanced at him, startled since he had never heard her sing. He winked at her, then turned his cocky grin back to the chief. “I tell a grand story.” Cat snorted but covered by pretending to cough. “Together,” he continued, “we will more than earn a night’s rest and a meal or two.”

The chief looked at them. “You do not look like brother and sister.”

Catriona bit her lip to hold back the retort that leaped to her lips. Tayg glanced at her as if to remind her to hold her tongue.

“We have different mothers,” came his quick reply. “I look like my father, but Cat here favors her mother.”

“Ah,” the chief said. “’Tis often so, is it not? Well then, I offer you the hospitality of my castle. Cat?” He looked to her for confirmation of the odd by-name.

Catriona nodded.

“You may stay with my daughter. ’Twill be a cold night, and her small chamber will be warmer than the hall. I cannot give you a chamber of your own for we are suddenly overrun with guests this day. I have never seen so many traveling so late in the season.”

“Other travelers?” Tayg asked. His voice was light, but Catriona recognized the tension that wrapped about him suddenly.

“Aye, a tinker, my neighbor’s wife, and her cousin, another traveler from the west. We do not have overmany chambers for guests.”

“We thank you for your hospitality, sir,” Tayg said with a little flourishing bow. He nudged Catriona.

“Oh, aye, we thank you most humbly,” she said, adding a small curtsy to complement Tayg’s bow.

The chief smiled. “I fear you will be earning your keep well with this storm. You may find yourself amongst us for the winter.”

“Nay!” they said together.

The chief looked at them, his eyebrows raised.

“We will be on our way as soon as possible,” Catriona said, glancing at Tayg. “My Rory needs me,” she added with what she hoped was a wistful smile.

“Aye, and he will wait until you can arrive safely and unfrozen, lass.”

Catriona started to reply, but Tayg cut her off. “We are grateful for your hospitality however long we must impose upon it.”

The chief agreed and called over the lad who had brought them to him. “Kester, show the lass here to Isobel’s chamber and show the bard to the great hall. I expect you are both wishing for a hot meal and a warm fire?”

They nodded.

“A meal will be served shortly. If you will join me in the hall, you can begin to earn your keep by telling me of your journey.”

“We thank you,” Tayg said. He took Catriona’s arm, and they followed the lad out the door.