Charming the Shrew (21 page)

T
HEY HAD STRUCK
a tentative peace since resuming their journey along the snowy trail next to the ever-widening river. He didn’t antagonize her. She didn’t snap at him. In fact, she had relaxed enough to fall asleep, her cheek resting against his back, her arms slack about his waist. He could almost imagine she liked him. She liked him well enough to worry over his well-being. She liked him well enough to melt into him like a fine beeswax candle beneath a flame when he kissed her.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm the surge in his body that happened whenever he thought about those kisses, her lips, and the way her body warmed under his hands.

He took another deep breath. He would have to tell her the truth about who he really was, and soon. Yet there seemed so many reasons not to reveal the truth, at least not now. She was content to travel with her bard. She was relaxed, easy, and only when she was afraid of something did she retreat back into the shrew. The closer they became, the softer she became.

Dangerously soft.

Of course once he revealed himself and his true purpose in bringing her to the king, all that would change. She would hate him. He could hear her calling him a liar, hear the hurt in her voice, see the hurt in her eyes. He didn’t want to cause that hurt, but he couldn’t keep the truth from her forever, just a day or two more. Soon they would be nearing Munro land where he would be known. But not yet. The quiet was healing. The trust inherent in her relaxed form was wonderful. And he was not ready to lose that.

A deer crashed out of the woods on his right, spooking the horse. He grabbed Cat’s arms just as she tightened her grip, pressing against his tender ribs just a little too hard.

“’Tis all right, lass. Just a red deer.”

“Too bad we cannot stop and hunt him. I would like some fresh venison,” she said, her voice sleepy and warm. Tayg found himself wishing to hear her like that more often.

Almost immediately another deer crashed out of the forest, nearly running into the horse this time, scaring it into a sliding sidestep on the icy trail. Tayg struggled to calm the horse, and the deer disappeared down the trail the way he and Cat had come. Just as suddenly a horse carrying a great lump of a man crashed out of the woods where the deer had emerged from and nearly collided with them, pushing them dangerously close to the steep bank of the river.

“My apologies,” the man said as he struggled to control his snow-white horse.

“You nearly sent us into the river!” Cat’s voice was filled with alarm. Tayg moved their horse away from the edge of the trail.

“Aye, mistress, I should be more careful. I was chasing a deer.”

“It went that way,” Tayg said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “but ’tis long gone by now.”

The man nodded. “I should not have allowed myself the pleasure of chasing him, but it has been a long time since I hunted.” He smiled at them. “I am Friar John of Auskaird Abbey. Where are you bound, friends?”

“To Dingwall,” Catriona said. Her voice was calmer now, though Tayg found it hard to breathe with the grip she had about his middle.

“Ah,” the friar said, “I’m bound near there. Have you heard of the new abbey the Earl of Ross’s sister has founded?”

Tayg nodded. Catriona shook her head.

“Ah, ’tis a modest place yet. The abbess has only a small number of followers, though ’twill grow quickly, I am sure. I am bound there to help organize their accounts and of course to attend the wedding of the king’s sister and the earl’s son.” His grin was so wide in his round face that it seemed to stretch from one ear to the other.

“You should travel with us, then,” Catriona said.

Tayg twisted in the saddle to look at her, his stomach suddenly knotted. Did she want them discovered? She lifted an eyebrow as if daring him to contradict her then made a point of separating herself from him. So that was it. She wanted to use this friar to protect herself from acting on the feelings that were becoming more and more evident, more and more difficult to ignore.

“That would be delightful,” said the friar as he made his horse move beside them on the path. “But you have not told me how you are called. I cannot travel with complete strangers,” he added with another wide smile.

“I am called Cat, and this is Tayg.”

The friar cast a startled glance at Tayg.

“I am a bard,” Tayg said quickly, before the friar could ask a question he really did not want to answer just now.

The friar looked at him a moment, then turned his attention to Cat. “’Tis pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Cat and Tayg the Bard.”

Tayg saw a glint in the friar’s eye that made him nervous. He did not recognize the man, but that did not mean the friar did not recognize him. He would have to find out what the man knew, but not while Cat was within hearing distance.

They headed down the trail, the horses side by side here where the track was relatively wide.

“Why are you traveling this time of year?” the friar asked after a few minutes.

“To be wed,” Cat said. Her voice held a strange smugness to it that pricked at Tayg’s temper.

“You are not wed? Why are you waiting for Dingwall? You should not be traveling alone together when you are not wed.”

“We are not—” Cat started, but Tayg cut her off.

“The wedding will be with the blessing of the chief and, if we are lucky, the king, which is why we are bound for Dingwall.”

The friar’s heavy black eyebrows drew together, forming a deep vee over his eyes. “But your chief is…Angus Dubh of Culrain?”

Tayg tried to suppress a flinch. Did this man know him, then?

“And you had to fetch your bride?” the friar continued. “Why did her family not bring her to you?”

“The bride has no family,” Cat said quickly, before Tayg could cut her off again.

Tayg pinched her arm where it was looped around his waist.

“Ow!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, love. Did I pinch you? She is such a tender thing,” he said, with what he hoped was an innocent smile.

The friar just nodded. “I had thought to pass the night with my cousin’s family. You shall come with me and we shall travel to Culrain together. I hear the king shall be there before he travels to Dingwall for the wedding. You may receive what blessings you like, and I shall serve as suitable escort for you.”

“Nay,” Tayg and Cat said in unison.

“Your offer is kind, but we have been delayed already. We need to travel as fast as is possible,” Tayg said. “We have come this far alone, so another day or two will make no difference.”

“I cannot agree, young bard. ’Tis not right for the two of you to continue on so, without the vows and God’s blessing. You must allow me to escort you or—”

“Oh, we have said vows, friar,” Cat said.

Tayg and the friar both twisted in their saddles to look at her. Tayg tried to signal her with his scowl to be quiet, but she just grinned and wrapped her arms tightly about him, pressing her breasts into his back and temporarily blanking his mind.

“How is this, lass?” asked the friar, his bushy black eyebrows moving lower over his nose.

“You are right. ’Twould not be seemly for a maid to travel unescorted with her betrothed, so we said our vows in front of witnesses this very morning, before we left on this journey. We travel to Culrain—” she looked at Tayg for confirmation, but he just rolled his eyes “—for the chief’s blessing and of course a celebration.”

The friar grinned. “Then this is your wedding night?”

Tayg felt Cat go stiff against his back, but she did not pull away. The distracting pressure of her breasts pressed up against him, even through his thick cloak, made it hard to concentrate on the quagmire she was creating for them to slog their way through.

“My cousin’s is not far. We shall have a wedding dinner there, and you shall have a bed for your wedding night instead of some hard-won place in the snow.” The friar nudged his horse to a faster pace and pulled ahead, leading the way.

Tayg glanced over his shoulder and glowered at Cat. “Our wedding night?” he said, pitching his voice low and easing all the innuendo he could into the words.

She scowled back at him. “Do not get any ideas, bard. ’Tis no wedding night. ’Tis but a warm place to rest, and then we can be on our way again. I am cold and hungry and you are not yet healed.”

“You did not have to lie to the man.”

She had the grace to blush. “’Twas out of my mouth before I could stop it.”

“Well, say no more then, lass. We shall have to tread very lightly and take care not to give ourselves away.”

Tayg turned back and stared over the horse’s head. Wedding night. How was he supposed to keep his hands off the lass when their hosts expected them to be anxious newlyweds? He could barely keep his hands from her when he did not have such opportunities as were about to present themselves. He took a deep breath and began to go over his list of reasons why he should not want Cat…only he couldn’t remember any.

For now, they were stuck with the friar, at least as far as his cousin’s cottage. If he thought hard enough, and kept his mind away from the image “wedding night” conjured in his head, perhaps he could find a reason why they could not stay the night in a comfortable, warm cottage, in a real bed…together.

He tried to banish the image of Cat, sprawled across his own large feather bed, her silk-soft ebony hair spread around her and her pale skin glowing in candlelight.

He groaned. Perhaps they would just slip away in the night. After all, they had done so before. They were getting quite good at slipping away unnoticed.

If they didn’t, he wasn’t sure how either of them would sleep this night.

D
EEP SNOW SLOWED
their progress, so it was near dark when they approached the cousin’s cottage. The familiar aroma of peat smoke lay gently about the squat structure. In spite of the dangers inherent in spending more time with the friar, who seemed to know more of Tayg than he had said, Tayg was grateful for the promise of a warm meal and a place by the fire for the night. Catriona shivered against his back, and he knew she too would be grateful for the cousin’s hospitality. Still, the cousin’s family could know Tayg, and there was the problem of the friar believing this to be their wedding night. The first he could do nothing about, at least not at the moment, but the second he could. He had decided they would sleep by the fire where surely they would be surrounded by the family and the friar and thus could not give in to the increasingly hard to ignore attraction that blossomed between them.

The horses stopped in the cottage’s dooryard, drawing Tayg’s attention back to the moment at hand.

“We will wait here while you greet your cousin and his family and tell him of his additional guests,” Tayg said. He gripped Cat’s arm when she made to dismount. She glared at him but stilled at his look. She was cold, as was he, but he needed a moment alone with Cat to get her agreement for his plan.

Friar John rounded his own horse and looked up at Tayg, a determined look upon his pudgy face. “Nonsense, lad. Get you and your lady off that horse and come in from the cold. Gair and Lina will not mind the extra company.”

Tayg jerked at the name. It could not be. ’Twas a common enough name, Gair, and surely they were not so close to Culrain that this could be…

The friar reached up to help Cat, and Tayg had no choice but to allow her to swing down. He followed quickly, dread twisting in his gut, his senses fully roused as if for battle.

Cat touched his arm, and he was surprised by the concern in her eyes. “Tayg, what is it?”

“Mind your tongue, Cat,” Tayg whispered to her. He was rewarded with a glare.

“I do not need to be reminded, bard.” She twisted the word so that it was more akin to an epithet than a title.

Had she noted the friar’s reaction to his name? Did she doubt him too? Nay, she was simply nervous and cold and thus she retreated into her prickly self.

“We must act as newlyweds,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her in an attempt to make her smile.

“I realize that,” she said, her voice sharp and abrupt.

“You say that as if ’twould be a horrible fate,” he said, tucking her hand into his as they followed the friar. “Would it be so horrible?”

Cat started to reply but stopped, a shocked look in her eyes.

“Come, come, my children. ’Tis bitter cold and I smell something delicious within.” The friar banged once on the door with his fist then swung it open with a bellowed “Hellooo the house!”

Tayg and Cat were left standing by the door looking into a room filled with people. A large, round woman in a simple gown of rusty-red stood by the hearth stirring up something in a huge blackened caldron. A linen veil covered her head, but a long ginger braid, liberally laced with steely gray, snaked down her back.

“Och, John!” she called, a huge smile on her face. She brandished her ladle in an odd salute.

“Come ye in and be welcome!”

Children were everywhere, some laughing, some fighting, some setting dishes on the end of a rustic table near the fire, but all stopped and rushed the friar with squeals of glee, giggles of delight, and hugs as he entered.