Dangerous Pride (36 page)

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With Rory’s capable assistance, the tour of Tolquhon was completed in short order. The Duke was particularly interested in seeing the defenses Lachlan had added to the keep since he had become laird, and asked several intelligent, probing questions, which Rory capably navigated.  The Earl of Seafield remained on the fringe of the group, speaking only when questions were specifically directed to him.  He steadfastly avoided any contact with Catriona, seemingly as uncomfortable as she was at the prospect of any meaningful conversation between the two of them.

When the men were busy exploring the battlements, Catriona slipped away to the kitchen to ensure that dinner was well in hand.  Much to her relief she found that all was in order, and Mairi shooed her from the beehive of activity before she could ask too many questions.  She then found the dowager in the foyer, issuing instructions to the Duke’s servants to see to the placement of his things in the chambers he had been assigned.  A series of rooms on the third floor of the castle had been prepared for the Duke’s use, while the rest of his party would be housed in a separate wing.  The guards and soldiers who traveled with the entourage would join Lachlan’s men in the great hall, sleeping wherever they could find space.

Catriona rejoined the men as they made their way past the stables, having inspected the huge stone wall Lachlan had built to encase the inner bailey.  “You should be proud of what yer husband has accomplished here, my lady,” the Duke commented as she stepped forward to take his arm.  “As much as I have counseled the people of Scotland to seek peace amongst themselves, any man who owns land does well to protect what is his.  Tolquhon is a fine keep, and there are many who would be willing to spill much blood to gain it by force.”  Seeing the look of concern on Catriona’s pretty features, he reached out to lay a comforting hand on her arm. “I meant not to cause you concern, but only to give you confidence in yer husband’s ability to keep you and yer home safe from those whose intentions are less than noble.”

Catriona felt suddenly awkward under the Duke’s intense gaze, wondering if there was more significance to his words than would be obvious at first glance.  “Thank you, my lord,” she said finally, her features schooled in a politely reserved mask.  “I ken my husband will be well pleased by yer kind words.  But he would not think much of me if he kent I allowed our guests to go hungry.”

The Duke’s laughter was rich and genuine as he gestured to the other men to join them.  “We are being summoned to the banquet this fine lady has seen fit to arrange for us, men.  It will not do for us to keep her waiting.”

The great hall was filled clansman and guests standing shoulder to shoulder as they waited for the Duke’s arrival.  A hush gradually fell over the crowd as they struggled to get a glimpse of the Duke as he entered the room, Catriona on his arm.  The Baron walked behind with the dowager at his side, followed by the Earl of Seafield and other important members of the Duke’s party.  Once the Duke was settled at the front of the room, the rest of the guests hurried to take their seats at the remaining tables. Servants bearing huge trays laden with food descended upon the Hall, first serving those at the Duke’s table, and then working their way throughout the room.

Catriona’s eyes were bright with pleasure as she saw the magic Mairi and her staff had worked in preparing the banquet.  In addition to the roast pig, lamb, pheasants and deer, the tables were piled high with freshly baked breads,  meat pies, cheese, fresh salmon, boiled turnips and even haggis.  Servants ensured that those guests at the head table enjoyed wines appropriated from Lachlan’s cellar, while the others consumed the keep’s heather ale, which was being dispensed with a generous hand.  No one could complain of the offerings, which were plentiful by even the most lavish standards.

With the Duke to her left, and the Baron at her right, Catriona groaned inwardly at the thought of the long night that stretched before her.  Neither Rory nor Annella were within earshot, and she had little choice but to struggle to make conversation with these two powerful men.  Mercifully, they were both ravenous, and paid her little attention as they fell upon the food that was placed before them.  The Earl sat several chairs to her right, and Catriona was grateful that she would not have to make conversation with him.

Her stomach still in knots, as it had been for the past two days, Catriona merely pushed her food around her plate, offering the occasional comment or smile of encouragement to the serving staff.  Silently, she began to wonder how long it would take before the dinner was over.

“You have done yer husband proud, my lady,” the Duke said finally as he ran his hand over his carefully trimmed beard.  “The meal is wonderful, and it came not a moment too soon.”  The Baron simply nodded his agreement, still hunched over his plate.  Catriona was learning that the Baron was a man of few words, but a prodigious appetite.

“I believe the cook has prepared some sticky pudding as well, my lord, if you have a taste for such sweet things.”  The Duke’s broad grin was answer enough, and Catriona beckoned for one of the servants to bring the treat to the table.

As the Duke savored the sweet dessert, and enjoyed the relaxing effects of the wine which had been served freely throughout the meal, his eyes focused on the young woman beside him.  “If memory serves me correctly, you have only just been married to Laird Forbes.”

Catriona smiled, nodding her agreement.  “Aye, my lord.  I have only been here for a few months now.  We were married in the early spring.”

“Does the marriage suit you?”

Though shocked at the Duke’s bluntness, Catriona didn’t hesitate in her response.  “Certainly.  Mind you, it was a bit of an adjustment at first, but the people of Tolquhon have been very welcoming.  For that, I am grateful.”

“I am happy to hear you are content, young lady.  Too many arranged marriages are a boon for the clan, but end unhappily for those who bear the results every day of their lives.”  Catriona wondered if the Duke was referring to his own marriage, an alliance that had been said to offer him both power and riches, but quite possibly little else.

Catriona was about to give free rein to her curiosity about the Duke’s own marriage when he pushed his plate aside, relaxing in the chair as he rubbed his stomach in contentment.  “The Baron, yer uncle-by-marriage, has been most helpful to me in keeping order in these lands.  Of late, I have been in France for much of the time, supervising the army and working to reclaim our position there.  The Baron has helped me keep the clans loyal to Queen Anne – no easy task, you can be sure.”

Catriona nodded demurely, lowering her lashes in a show of deference.  Though she certainly had no shortage of opinions about the monarchy, she knew better than to express her opinions.  The Duke of Marlborough was renowned for his fiery temper, and she had no desire to ignite it.  “Of course, the Old Pretender has been causing no end of trouble in northern Scotland.  It is going to make the Baron’s job much more difficult, I fear, but I have no doubt he will be up to the challenge.”

The Duke grasped the stem of his silver goblet between his fingers, casually toying with the glass.  “That’s why yer father was at court: to swear his loyalty to the Crown, not to the Jacobite Pretender.  I wonder,” he added, his intense gaze shifting to the young woman before him, “would yer husband be willing to do the same?”

Catriona’s heart was in her throat as she contemplated the Duke’s question.  Like many Scots, Lachlan had backed James VIII’s claim to the throne of Scotland.  Yet to admit such loyalty to the man many considered the Old Pretender would surely spell ruin for a clan whose lands, homes and very lives depended on the goodwill of the monarch in power.

Besides, she was but a newcomer to the clan – and a woman who had no right to guess at her husband’s feelings on the matter.

A loud voice from the back of the hall stopped Catriona before she could begin to answer.  “You can save my wife the trouble of answering that question and ask me yerself, my lord.”  All eyes were on Lachlan as he strode confidently to the head table, his eyes steadfastly fixed on the Duke.  He paused to place a kiss on his wife’s pale cheek before he reached out to clasp the Duke’s hand in his own.

After mumbling a greeting of sorts, the Duke awkwardly motioned for one of the servants to bring another chair to the table to accommodate the young laird.  “Welcome home, Lachlan.  Though we were not expecting yer company, it is a delight to see you.”

You lie as if you were born to it,
Lachlan thought angrily, even as he admired the older man’s ability to recover so quickly.  Instead of voicing his contempt, he smiled politely at the Duke as he struggled to restrain his surging temper.  It was just like the Duke to try to manipulate his wife into revealing more than she should.

Catriona could see that her husband’s body thrummed with tension, regardless of his mild tone.  His posture was rigid, and she saw his pulse beating rapidly in his throat as he struggled to reign in his anger.  Slowly, Lachlan turned to his right, his eyes sweeping down the table until they rested on the Earl of Seafield.  “I am surprised to see you at Tolquhon, my lord, but I welcome you to my home nonetheless,” he said cooly, though his polite greeting was in marked contrast to his stoney expression.

Seafield did not respond, but kept his eyes fixed firmly on Lachlan’s dark features.  “I trust you will use this opportunity to spend some time with yer daughter, sir, for I believe you have no’ seen her since long before our marriage.”  Lachlan left this comment to hang thickly in the air, unconcerned about the impression he might be making with the Duke.  The Earl had been indifferent to his daughter’s feelings – callously so, to Lachlan’s mind – and the man deserved no protection from him.

Lachlan walked deliberately to the Baron’s side, capturing his uncle in a bear hug.  “It’s always good to see you, John.  I trust we will have time to catch up during yer visit here.”  The Baron nodded, clearly taken aback by Lachlan’s barely contained fury.

To diffuse the awkwardness, Catriona turned to the Baron herself, anxious to distract her husband from what could very well be an unpleasant confrontation with the Duke.  “If you would be so kind, sir, I would have my husband sit beside me while he dines,” Catriona said gently, a beguiling smile on her lips.  When the Baron nodded his agreement, Catriona motioned for the serving lad to place the chair beside hers.  The sound of wood scraping against stone filled the air as the Baron shifted his chair to make room.  Lachlan’s eyes met Catriona’s as he muttered his thanks, taking his seat at the head table.

Catriona could feel the Duke’s eyes upon her as she motioned for the servants to bring food for their laird.  He seemed to be taking their measure, perhaps gauging their response to his query.  “We weren’t expecting yer return for several days, husband,” she said lightly as Lachlan settled to his dinner.  She was relieved to see that he seemed to have gained control of his temper.  Under the table, out of sight of the others, he reached his hand to her, gently squeezing her leg as he shot her a look of contrition.

“Rory sent word to me in Aberdeen that the Duke would be paying us a visit, and in good conscience I could not leave him bereft of company,” Lachlan replied, directing his words to Catriona.  Deliberately, he paused to sample the meal that sat before him, savoring the rich flavor of the food.  “I must beg yer forgiveness for my appearance, my lord.  I came here directly from Aberdeen, and did no’ stop to change my clothes.”  Lachlan looked pointedly at the Duke as he offered his apology.  “I did no’ want you to lack for company or conversation, most certainly.  It’s a laird’s responsibility to see to such matters, is it not?” he added, with a telling look.

The undercurrent of reprimand in Lachlan’s words was not lost on the Duke, who silently conceded that particular battle to the younger man.  He had been warned that the laird of Tolquhon was not a man to be trifled with, and he was pleased to see that the young man had lived up to his reputation. 
But that more Englishmen could have this laird’s strength and conviction,
he thought ruefully.  “Your timing could not have been better, Lachlan,” the Duke replied, taking a generous sip from his goblet.  “Your wife has seen that we have enjoyed the most generous of welcomes, but of course we are more than delighted that yer able to join us.”  The Duke raised his goblet to salute Lachlan, who returned the gesture.

“I believe you were asking a question as I joined you, sir,” Lachlan prompted, holding the Duke’s penetrating gaze with his dark grey eyes.  “As always, the people of Tolquhon remain loyal to their monarch – as have countless generations of the Forbes clan been loyal before them.  You’ll not find better warriors anywhere in the Highlands, or all of Scotland, for that matter.  Wherever our monarch requires our swords – or our wits – you will find our men fighting for what they believe in.”

Check and mate
the Duke thought as Lachlan calmly turned his attention back to his meal, his bland expression in sharp contrast to the deliberate bite of his words.  This young man would enjoy a fine career in diplomacy, if he ever tired of serving as laird to his people, the Duke realized.

As the dowager artfully redirected the conversation, the older man reflected on how refreshing it was to spar with someone who wasn’t interested in being a sycophant.  Perhaps there was something to be said for the Scottish spirit after all, the Duke decided, as he motioned for another glass of wine.  There again, the young man demonstrated his skill, for the offerings from his cellar were among the best the Duke had enjoyed in many a month.  Grateful for such small mercies, the Duke settled in for what was sure to be a long night, an amused grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

Lachlan had barely passed through the doors to their bedchamber when Catriona began to inundate him with questions about the Duke’s visit.  “Please, lass, give me a minute afore the interrogation,” he pleaded mockingly, raising his hands in surrender.  Embarrassed at her impatience, Catriona wisely held her tongue as Sorcha followed Lachlan into the room, depositing a clean pile of linen toweling in front of the hearth before she quietly left.  “I really must wash the dust away afore I am fit for conversation – or aught else,” Lachlan teased, watching affectionately as his wife retreated to a corner of the room, her nose quickly buried in a book.