Charming the Shrew (18 page)

“I would like to dance at your wedding,” Isobel said with a sly cutting of her eyes to Tayg.

“It’s not…”

“Wheesht. Go now. The storm is strengthening, and you need to get to shelter quickly. Remember, stay close to the river, then follow the first burn uphill. The traveler’s hut is not far, but ’twill be far enough for tonight. The storm will cover your tracks, and I will keep your absence hidden as long as I may.”

“I do not know how to thank you.” Catriona gave her another hug.

“’Tisn’t necessary. We are friends. I do not like having my friend’s…brother…attacked in my own home.” Isobel handed her a screened lantern, the flickering candle just visible through the cracks in the shield. “Do not show the light until you are well away from the castle. Follow the line of trees to the river, then go left, downstream. Now go!”

Isobel put the horse’s reins in Catriona’s hand and pushed her through the gate. As soon as the horse followed her through, she heard the muffled sound of the door closing and the bolt being thrown. There was no turning back.

She turned into the wind and followed the snow-covered trail down to the riverside, mumbling Isobel’s final instructions all the way.

C
ATRIONA TRUDGED THROUGH
the increasingly deep snow. If it weren’t for the occasional snorts of the horse behind her and the times she had to stop and force the beast to follow her through deep drifts, she would have felt completely alone in the snow-filled darkness. Tayg was silent. He had been hurt badly, and she wasn’t even sure he was conscious. Every so often she would stop and reach up to make sure he was still slumped in the saddle. She did so now, eliciting a moan when she missed his leg and touched his side.

“Tayg?” She nudged his leg. “Tayg, you must awaken.” She held the lantern Isobel had given her high to cast its weak circle of light on his battered face.

Slowly he opened his eyes. “Are we there?” he asked, though he did not sit up.

“Nay. I have not found it, though we have not reached the burn yet…at least, I don’t think we have.”

Tayg closed his eyes again, abandoning Catriona once more.

She sighed and turned back in the direction she thought they should journey in, back into the face of the wind-driven snow. The river ran somewhere to her right, and sooner or later they would encounter the burn. Isobel had said not to cross it, but to travel up it, looking for a giant boulder that sat at the foot of a huge, ancient pine tree, not far from where the burn met the river. She said if you looked just so at the tree’s limbs they pointed up the embankment directly to a traveler’s hut. Unfortunately, in the middle of the long winter night, with the wind blowing the heavy snow into her face, Catriona didn’t think she’d see the burn until she fell into it, never mind the tree.

But she had to keep going. If they stopped they would freeze. Tayg might anyway, though the horse should help to warm him a little. Catriona shook her shoulders, loosening the snow that clung to her cloak. They needed shelter, a fire, and something warm to drink soon. She wiggled her toes, grateful that she could still feel them.

They moved slowly forward, Catriona breaking the trail, the horse moving behind her, balking occasionally. Tayg’s continued silence scared her more than anything. He was completely dependent on her to see them safely to the traveler’s hut. She bit her lip, ducked her head down to keep the driving snow out of her face, and forced her feet to move. She would not let him die. Her breath hitched. She owed Tayg too much. He was her bard. She’d see him to safety, then tend his hurts. How could she do anything less?

Her foot slipped and she heard the crunch of brittle ice, then felt the sharp slice of cold water seeping into her boot. The burn. She backed up, shaking the water from her foot. Her mind flitted around the knowledge that she was in serious trouble if her boot turned to ice or her skin froze. She lifted her lantern and tried to make out shapes in the darkness.

The snow was swirling about her, causing moments where all she could see in the feeble light was a heavy curtain of white shifting and dancing against the night’s black blanket. She bent, lowering the lantern through the whiteness until she could make out the edge of the burn.

Uphill.

The single word formed in her thick brain like a beacon in the night.

Uphill.

She turned and picked her way up the steep, slippery slope. Each step squeaked in the icy snow, and she realized that she could no longer feel the foot that had gotten wet. Wind whistled down the hill sending biting snow into her face, then shifted suddenly and gusted from behind as if it quarreled with itself over whether it should be coming or going.

A vicious gust caught her by surprise, shoving her to her knees and knocking the lantern from her hand. She watched as is rolled into the whiteness and disappeared.

“Nay!”

“Cat?” Tayg’s voice came from the complete blackness around her. He was depending on her. She had to get him to safety.

She struggled upright and trudged back to the horse. Cat leaned for a moment against Tayg’s leg, needing the reassuring warmth of him to know she wasn’t all alone in this. She rested her head against him and fought the tears of frustration, anger, and fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

“You can do this, lass.” Tayg’s voice drifted down to her, quiet and weak enough to scare her. “I know you can do this, Cat.”

“The lantern is lost,” she said, hating the sound of defeat in her voice. “I do not know how I can find the shelter in the darkness.”

“You can. Clear your mind. Concentrate on Isobel’s words. She’s our friend. She would not lead us astray.”

Tayg’s confidence warmed her. The memory of her first friend gave her resolve. She would do this. She must. Tayg was depending on her. And she would not let Isobel blame herself for sending them out into the storm. She reached up to place her hand gently on Tayg’s back. He lay still upon the horse’s neck again, but she could feel him breathing, shallow and quick. He had not left her.

Near.

The word was another beacon in her muddled thoughts. Isobel had said the shelter was near where the burn met the river. They must be near the shelter.

She moved forward, glad she had remembered Tayg’s trick of looping the reins around her wrist so she did not have to worry about frozen fingers losing their grip. She tugged and got the horse moving again. Almost immediately she stumbled over the lantern. She reached down and retrieved it. The precious flame was gone, but the lantern was sound and the candle only half burned. Once they found the hut, she could kindle a new flame.

The horse snorted, and she tugged on the reins, forcing the unhappy animal to follow her up the steep slope. Three steps, four…

All she could see was deepest black. All she could feel was the bite of snow driven into her raw skin by the never-ending wind. Another step and another. ’Twas all she could think of until suddenly she realized the wind had all but stopped, as if she had stepped out of a fast stream and into a pool where the current eddied and paused.

Cat reached forward, her hands outstretched, and took another step. Nothing. Another step. Nothing. Another, and her mittened hands bashed into something hard that stood directly in her path. She felt around until she was sure this was a wall made by man. Relief surged through her. She’d done it! She’d found the shelter. She turned to Tayg, grinning, but he just groaned. She had to get him out of this storm. She had to get herself out of it too. As quickly as her frozen mind could work, she began to feel to her left and her right, searching for a door.

She led the horse along the edge of the shelter, searching for the door on the first wall and around the corner to the second. Finally she found it on the far side of the small hut. She took the reins from her wrist and looped them around the latch then pushed open the door.

“Tayg, we made it!” she said as she moved inside and looked around. Water sloshed in her boot, and she realized that they were not safe yet. It was as cold inside the hut as it was out, though at least the wind was stopped. She needed to get Tayg off the horse and into the shelter. The horse would have to come in too, both to keep it safe and to help warm the space. She needed a fire. She needed to get her wet clothes off. Tayg’s too.

She stepped outside and moved to the side of the horse, untying the tether that had helped hold Tayg in the saddle.

“You must awaken,” she said, shaking him. When he didn’t respond, anxiety poured through her. “Tayg! Awaken!” She winced at the note of panic in her voice, but there was no help for it. Her mind was slow, and she knew they were still in grave danger. She was tired, cold, hungry, and scared. He damn well better not have died on her just when she had rescued him.

Gently she poked him in the ribs. “Tayg!” she said in her nastiest voice, hoping to rouse him. “I cannot carry you, so you’d best wake or I’ll leave you here in the snow. At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to your pitiful singing anymore.”

Slowly Tayg opened his eyes and pushed himself up until he was sitting, though he swayed enough so Cat grabbed his arm.

“You need not take that tone with me, lass,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice, though the groan that followed told her how much pain he was in.

He all but fell into her arms as he tried to lower himself from the saddle.

“I’ll take whatever tone I must, bard.” She wrapped one arm around his waist and grasped his arm where it draped over her shoulders with her free hand. “Come on, then. My feet are freezing, and I’ve still got to start a fire.”

Tayg grunted and moved slowly with her. She stopped them just before they entered the hut and took care to shake as much snow as possible from their cloaks, then led him into the cave-like shelter.

She propped him against the wall at the back of the space and headed for the door again. “Where are you going?” Tayg asked, his voice pain-sharpened.

She sighed. “I’ve got to get the horse in here.”

Catriona settled the horse on the opposite side of the hut from where she had left Tayg then pulled the door firmly closed behind her, shutting out the wind and swirling snow, and enclosing them in complete and utter darkness. She tried to think what to do next, but she was so cold and so tired she could barely stand.

Heat.

Yes, that was always the first thing Tayg did when they made camp. His first priority was always a fire. Isobel had said the hut was stocked with wood, as most such huts were. There was only the task of finding it in the dark, building a fire in the as-yet-undiscovered fire pit, and then the small problem of actually getting it to burn.

Catriona began searching along the walls and quickly stumbled into the woodpile, which was neatly stacked right next to a pile of dried heather and other tinder. She gathered up the makings of a small fire and turned to what she hoped was the middle of the chamber. She stubbed her toe on the ring of stones that defined the fire pit and quickly laid the fire. She groped for the horse, who blessedly made enough noise with his shifting and occasional snorts that he was easy to find. She felt her way through the bags that Isobel had managed to remove from the great hall until she found the fire kit.

She knelt by the ring of stones and laid the fire starter kit in her lap so she could peel off her sodden woolen mittens. She had to take a moment to warm her fingers with her breath before she could pull her
sgian dhu
from its sheath at her waist, grasp the flint, and bring the two together. Another moment and she had sparks, but it took longer than she wished before she finally had a tiny flickering flame lick to life in the bits of heather. Finally the delicious smell of burning wood rose into the frozen air.

She sat for a long time feeding the fire, tending it carefully until she had a roaring blaze going. Only when she was sure the fire would not go out did she move to Tayg’s side and begin to remove his wet clothing.

T
AYG WOKE SLOWLY
, aware of a pleasant warmth along his back and the weight of several blankets over him. When he could finally get his eyes to focus it was on the glowing embers of a fire. He didn’t remember building a fire. Truth was he didn’t remember much. His stomach growled, his ribs and jaw hurt, and his bladder complained.

He tried to rise, only to realize the warmth along his back was connected to the viselike grip about his middle. Cat was snuggled up to him, keeping him warm though he could feel her shivering. Carefully he pried her arm from his waist and gingerly rolled to face her. She shifted closer to him until her head rested against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her and started rubbing her back to warm her while he considered his surroundings and struggled to remember how he had come to be here.

Gradually bits and pieces of the night and their flight from Duchally Castle came back to him. He remembered the beating the MacLeod brothers had given him. He remembered the look of concern when Cat found him, followed by righteous indignation when she discovered who his attackers were. But then his memory went fuzzy.

Flashes of Cat and Isobel huddled together, then cold and pain as every step the horse took jarred his tender ribs. Nothing more…except a vague memory of gentle hands removing his sodden plaid and apparently his trews.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the glowing fire. His clothes were draped from pegs on the wall. The horse was contentedly sleeping, his head drooping and one hind leg cocked in repose.

Catriona had managed to get them here. She had very likely saved his life. He smoothed a strand of hair away from her face and was rewarded with a contented sigh. He marveled at what she had accomplished.

Catriona MacLeod was a bundle of contradictions. One moment he wanted to throttle her, the next to kiss her. One moment she was scolding him, and the next she was carefully binding his ribs or trying to warm him in his sleep. She was not the shrew she appeared to be, and she certainly wasn’t the shriveled crone the gossips gave her to be.

Nay. She was a bonny lass, with a sharp tongue, true, but a sharp mind as well. And he was proud of her. Less than a sennight ago he had rescued a lost lass from a snowstorm. This night—if ’twas the same night—she had rescued him with the help of a new friend. It was almost as if she had never been given the opportunity to be herself. She was more than anyone had guessed. More than she knew herself.

He kissed her forehead lightly, inhaling the sleep-warm scent of her, then lightly stroked her silky hair. In the dim light from the fire he couldn’t see more than the paleness of her skin and the dark fringe of eyelashes against it. She was truly a bonny lass, a sweet lass in her own tart way, a staunch friend in the face of trouble. He remembered the sound of her laughter and the sweet taste of her lips. She was brave and determined and, he realized with a start, loyal. He felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with their shared body heat.

She did not deserve to be married off to that ugly, traitorous, horse’s arse of a MacDonell who clearly did not want her for herself. She did not deserve to be hunted down by her brothers, who clearly did not understand how strongly she hated—or was it feared?—Dogface. Either way, how could they hunt her and force her into wedding him?

Separately Dogface and the brothers would have been formidable foes. Now they would no doubt join forces, and he and Cat would have to be even more careful not to be discovered.

He remembered the missive he had intercepted. Dogface suspected Tayg had the damning parchment, but he didn’t know Tayg could read it, had read it. And the longer it stayed that way the better. So many problems and they all seemed to be drawing together—her brothers, Dogface MacDonell, the missive threatening the king. Even his own mother’s plot to marry him off seemed to be tied into this mess since that’s what forced him into this position in the first place—and what kept him from revealing his true self to Catriona.

Cat sighed, drawing his attention away from the downward spiral of his thoughts. She was tired and cold, and he was injured thanks to her brothers. No matter what happened, they were in this together now. They would discuss what to do when she awakened and they were both clear-headed.

He carefully rose, pulling a blanket about him. He placed a log on the fire and fanned it to a blaze, then retrieved dry clothes from his bags.

C
ATRIONA SAT ACROSS
the fire from the sleeping Tayg. At some point in the night he must have moved because she had awoken to the pleasantly disturbing feeling of being surrounded by him, or nearly so. He had been scooped against her back, his arm tucked around her waist, holding her tight against him though she clearly remembered pressing up against his back last night, desperate to warm him. And he had not been clothed when she went to sleep. She vividly remembered struggling to get him out of his wet things while averting her eyes from his battered body. He had dressed himself sometime during the night.

Now she sat across the fire and stared at his bruised face in the flickering light. It was light out, though the snow still raged on the wind. Dogface, Broc, and the rest of the sheep would be after them soon. The smell of the fire would draw them to this hut. Their sanctuary would quickly become a prison, and she feared that Broc would finish what he’d started with Tayg.

Anger slithered up her spine and settled its teeth around her heart. Why didn’t Broc give up? And why was Dogface so determined to marry her? Surely he loathed her at least as much as she loathed him. She would not make a good wife to him, so why?

She leaned forward and stirred the stew she had made from the supplies Isobel had provided. A smile warmed her face as she thought about the golden-haired lass. She was a true friend, and Cat still could not quite understand how that had come to be. Oh, she knew she had followed Tayg’s advice—though she would be sure not to tell him that or she’d forever have to listen to him gloat. A lump formed in her throat. At the moment she would like to hear a bit of gloating from him.

He was so still, his face so battered. She wanted to awaken him, just so she’d know he was going to be well, but she let him sleep. There was little else she could do for him at the moment. Keep him warm. Feed him when he awoke. And wait.

But not too long.

If there had been room in the confines of the hut, Catriona would have paced. But there wasn’t, so she satisfied the need to move by braiding and re-braiding her hair. Isobel had said she would send the brothers and Dogface off in the wrong direction, but Catriona knew that would not last long. Broc was an excellent hunter, and he would know quickly which way Tayg had gone—and which way he hadn’t—though the storm would slow him down. She had no doubt that soon Broc would find their trail, despite the snow and wind. She and Tayg would be trapped.

Then what would happen? She’d protect Tayg as long as she could. Ailig sometimes could be prevailed upon to take her side against the other brothers. Perhaps that would work. But not likely. From Isobel’s description of the fight, Catriona was sure Ailig had done nothing to stop it. Nay, Broc would see Tayg punished—a bard daring to travel with his sister.

And she would be dragged back to Assynt and forced to marry Dogface.

She would die first.

“You look cold, lass.”

Catriona startled then frowned. Tayg’s voice was scratchy, but strong.

“’Tis winter in the Highlands. Of course I am cold.” She dropped her braid and stirred the pot again. “Are you hungry?”

Tayg sat up slowly, as if testing his body. “Aye. You cooked?”

Catriona glared at him. “I cooked.”

Tayg frowned at her. “I see you’re feeling back to your old self.”

She ladled the stew into a wooden bowl and handed it and a horn spoon to him.

“We must leave here as soon as we can travel,” he said.

She nodded and watched him eat the stew.

“We cannot stay here. Your brothers and Dogface will track us down.”

She nodded again. “But you can’t travel yet. We must wait here—rest—another day.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth.

He regarded her for a moment as if she held some secret he could read in her eyes. “Do not be afraid, lass.”

She glanced at his strong hands with the battered knuckles holding his bowl, then up to his bruised face.

“’Tis not me I am afraid for.” Her voiced was strained despite her efforts to sound annoyed.

A slow smile spread over Tayg’s full lips, and an answering heat spread in Catriona’s chest.

“You fear for me?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“I…I…” Catriona busied herself with another bowl of the stew. She lifted the spoon to her mouth, then lowered it and glared at the grinning bard. “I wish to get to the king as soon as possible, and I need your help to do that. I do not fear for you,” she said quickly, then turned her undivided attention to the food in her bowl.

His soft chuckle irritated her. Damn the man. She was afraid for him, but she’d not say so. The gloating would be bad enough over what she had already admitted to.

After a few moments of silence, save for the horse’s soft snorts, Tayg put his bowl down. “Why do your brothers wish you to marry Dogface?”

Caught off guard by the concern in his voice, she glanced up and was shaken to find the same concern shining from his eyes.

“I do not know,” she whispered. “I do not know why Dogface would want me either.”

She dropped her gaze to her bowl, for she was unused to such concern from anyone and did not understand why it made her want to curl up in his lap and cry.

“I will never marry him.”

“I do not blame you. Indeed, I would not let you. He is an ugly brute and a horse’s arse besides.”

“You would not let me?”

He took a deep breath. “Isobel is not your only friend. I could not in good conscience let you marry one such as he.” Tayg put his bowl down. “Besides, he was not looking for you at Duchally.”

She didn’t know which of his statements disturbed her more, that he would not let her marry Dogface—a nervous thrill ran over her skin—that he was her friend, or that Dogface was not looking for her. That one was easier to think about; she’d think about the others, and what they meant, later.

“He was looking for me,” she said. “He was there, sitting next to me in the great hall, and later in Isobel’s chamber.” Her voice rose slightly, and she tried to hide the shrill edge that had crept into it.

Tayg moved stiffly to her side of the fire, lowering himself to face her, his legs folded between them. “He…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “’Tis not you he is after, lass.”

“He thinks I am to be his bride. Who else would he be after?”

“Me.”

Catriona’s breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

“He is after me. I have something he wants.”

“Well, if you wish to think of it that way, I’ll not stop you, but it comes down to the same thing. He wants me.”

Tayg smiled, picked up her hand, and held it between his own. “Nay, you misunderstand. You forget the missive. I have his message that was to be delivered to Broc though he said ’twas for you. ’Tis not something either of them would wish to fall into the wrong hands. And mine are definitely the wrong hands,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles.

Catriona was mesmerized by the soft, featherlight kiss. He lowered their hands, but he did not release hers. What had they been talking about? Oh yes, the missive.

“But you read it to me,” she said, her voice more breathless than she liked.

“Aye, but there is more there than the words say, Cat. Clearly you know nothing about the intent of the letter. That is all to the good. If you know nothing about the intent, then you cannot be held responsible for it.”

“But I do know about the missive. Leaving Dogface’s intent to my imagination will surely not be wise.”

He shook his head.

“Is it important enough that if something should happen to you another should be able to deliver it into safe hands?”

“Nothing will happen to me, lass.” He rubbed a thumb over her palm, and Catriona found the sensation both fascinating and comforting. “Just be assured that Duff—Dogface—does not know you were in that castle. He is after me.”

Catriona yanked her hand away from his caresses and quickly folded her arms, hiding her hands from him.

“Then why was he in Isobel’s chamber?”

“Perhaps he saw me heading to that tower and was searching all the rooms—hers is amongst the first he would come to.”

“Perhaps, but it does not matter which of us he searches for. If he finds you, he will also find me, and we’ll both be in bigger trouble for it.”

Tayg placed his large, callused hand against her cheek. Catriona struggled not to lean into it, not to relish the comfort she gained from his skin against hers, not to sink into the sensual haze he called forth in her with just a glance or a touch. She struggled to maintain her glare.

He smiled, his eyes twinkling, and before she realized what he was up to, he had hooked his hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him, halting her forward motion with his kiss. Surprise kept her from reacting, and before she could even think, she was engulfed in that delicious heat that she had experienced twice before.