Dangerous Pride (41 page)

Slowly pushing himself to his feet, in deference to wounds that were still healing, Lachlan banked the fire in the hearth and blew out the candles before slowly making his way up the stairs.  The castle was quiet and dark, all the staff having taken to their beds hours earlier.  If he was lucky his volatile bride would be asleep when he reached their room, and he wouldn’t be forced to endure any further arguments.

Quietly, Lachlan pushed open the chamber door, silently grateful that Catriona hadn’t seen fit to use the bar to prevent him from entering his own quarters.  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.  The only light in the room was being cast by the fire that burned brightly in the hearth.  Stepping quietly across the carpet, he had almost reached the bed when he heard Catriona enter the chamber from the adjoining dressing room.  She held a silver hairbrush in her hand as she crossed the room to stand before him, her deep auburn locks shining from the enthusiastic brushing he had obviously interrupted.

“Catriona,” he mumbled, nodding as he sat down heavily on the bed, pulling off his boots one by one.  Given her unreasonable behavior earlier in the day, he was hardly going to give her a warm greeting now.  Better to let her stew in her juices, he decided as he pulled his heavy linen shirt over his head.

“It warms my heart to see you take such care of yerself, my lord.  Especially after so many of us have gone to such great lengths to save you from yerself.”  Lachlan’s eyes flew up to meet Catriona’s before he could hid his surprise at her sarcastic tone.  Clearly, this was not the docile Catriona he would face this eve, he decided with a heavy sigh.

“I am perfectly well, though I appreciate yer kind interest,” he replied after several long, tense moments, the sarcasm in his tone matching her own.  He could see her cheeks flushing as she struggled to control her temper.

If he weren’t so frustrated and exhausted, he would almost find her response endearing.  The way she carefully enunciated every word when she was furious made her brogue all but disappear; her temper made her sound more Sassenach than Scot.

“I think I will be the judge of that,” she returned haughtily, pushing him flat on the bed with more force than was absolutely necessary.  Lachlan stared at her through narrowed eyes as she loosened the bandages that covered his wounds.  She studied them thoroughly before applying a thin coating of ointment from one of the many jars on her dressing table.  Her hair drifted over his arm as she leaned forward, stirring a desire for her that was difficult to deny, despite his state of mind.

After what seemed to Lachlan an eternity, Catriona finally covered the injuries with fresh bandages.  “They are healing nicely,” she offered grudgingly, her tone grumpy and clipped, “though it’s no thanks to you.  You have no’ given yerself enough time to heal and regain yer strength.  It matters no’, I suppose,” she went on petulantly, “for no matter what I say, you will do whatever you want.  It is no’ as if my opinion matters.”

As frustrated as he was at Catriona’s belligerence, Lachlan was too weary to do battle with his bride.  Her deep green eyes were flashing with anger, and for the first time in his life, Lachlan appreciated how truly beautiful a woman could be when her passions were riled.  No matter how wrong he felt she was – and how very right he knew he was – there was no disputing the wave of hunger he felt for his wife.  “That’s no’ true, lass.  You ken me better than that.  Can we no’ leave the argument for another day?” he asked, his tone conciliatory as he reached his hand out to draw her closer.  Catriona quickly took a step back as she avoided his grasp, walking across the room to the hearth.  The firelight that shone through the thin fabric of her shift outlined her tall, shapely body to perfection, and did little to curb his growing desire.

Even though she stood a distance from him, he could see the determined thrust of her chin.  Her eyes still flashed with evidence of her temper, but her expression was less guarded, somehow softer and more accommodating. He’d be damned if the lass hadn’t realized the power she held over him – and she was only too willing to wield it.

“We can leave this all behind us, if you will agree to take me with you when you leave for Boyne tomorrow,” she replied, her voice soft and beguiling.  “Though I would prefer to delay the trip for several days, to give you more time to recover, I am willing to compromise and leave on the morrow.”

Lachlan’s brows shot up, betraying his surprise at his wife’s blatant attempts to manipulate him.  He hadn’t known the lass had such steel in her, and it pleased him mightily, despite his irritation.  “It is no’ for you to decide when I leave, or with whom I travel,” he replied carelessly.  Regardless of his current state of arousal, he could hardly have his bride dictate his every move, particularly when she had no understanding of what it took to lead the clan and keep them safe.  “If you think it is yer place to decide what I do and when I do it, you’re mistaken, lass.”

Catriona glared back at him for a moment, disappointed by his display of temper, and hurt at the tone he was using with her.  Aware that she might have pushed him too far, she took a step closer, reaching her hand out to him as she struggled to keep her expression bland and inviting.  “Let’s put this disagreement behind us,” she suggested, gently caressing his shoulder with the tips of her slender fingers.  “Let me come with you to Boyne tomorrow.  I promise I won’t be any trouble at all – and you might even be glad of my company.”

Fighting against the need that threatened to destroy his resolve, Lachlan pushed himself to his feet, sending Catriona stumbling backward with the suddenness of his movement.  “If you think a few pretty words and gentle touches will change my mind, yer sorely mistaken.”  Lachlan’s eyes were hooded as he reached down to grab his shirt. “You are no’ coming with me to Boyne – and that is my final word.  Do no’ push me further, lass, or you will no’ like the result.”

After struggling into his shirt, Lachlan reached up to rub his temples, already throbbing with the beginnings of a fierce headache.  Desire for his wife warred with his need to show her that he would not submit to her manipulations, souring his mood even more.  Shoving his feet into his boots, he crossed the room to the door in quick, sure strides, throwing back the bar that locked the door before turning around to meet her startled gaze.  If he could not command his wife’s obedience, he had little right to the title of Laird of Clan Forbes.  “You would do well to use the time I am gone to learn more about yer place in this keep,” he said quietly.  “If no’, we’re sure to have many more  disagreements in the future,” he added, slamming the door in his wake.

Catriona could only stare in surprise at the door as she slowly eased herself into a chair, contemplating her husband’s heated reaction.  The man was too stubborn and too arrogant to listen to a word she had to say.  In truth, it seemed that she was of little use to him unless she was healing his wounds, or warming his bed.

As she began to pace the room restlessly, Catriona resolved not to let her husband win this argument.  She may have been forced to marry the brute, but she certainly hadn’t agreed to let him walk all over her.

Nay, she thought as she began to pull together the beginnings of a plan.  If her husband believed he could blindly dictate the actions of all around him, herself included, he was sadly mistaken.  She would show him just how truly misinformed he was about her place in his keep.  And in his life.

It was a lesson he would not soon forget, she vowed, as she set about sealing his fate.

###

As Lachlan pulled himself into the saddle early the next morning, he began to wonder if he shouldn’t have paid greater attention to his wife’s counsel.  His wounds already throbbed from the effort of climbing astride his horse, though he could hardly show his discomfort in front of his men.  He had slept poorly, hunched in a settee in his study, and those muscles that didn’t ache from the attack by Leslie’s men were cramped from the miserable, uncomfortable night he had passed.

Lachlan had risen early, as much due to his discomfort as the fact that his mind was racing with thoughts of what he would do when he arrived at Boyne Castle to confront his father-by-marriage.  He was quickly learning that the Earl’s daughter had inherited a fair measure of his stubbornness, not to mention his headstrong nature.  There was little doubt the meeting would be an uncomfortable one, but it was essential for the well-being of both their clans.  The sooner they presented a united front – not just to their neighbors, but to the Duke and others who might threaten their way of life – the better off they would all be.

Rory had instructed the men to be ready to leave the keep at first light, and when he arrived at the stables Lachlan was pleased to see that all was in readiness for their departure.  Mairi had seen to it that the men were given a hearty breakfast in the great hall before they left, and she had packed provisions that would see them through to their arrival at Boyne.  Though the journey itself was not a long one, the group they were traveling with was large enough to slow their pace.

As Rory gave the men their final instructions, Lachlan found himself searching the faces of those gathered in the inner bailey, silently looking for any sign of his disobedient wife.  Finding none, he scolded himself for his sense of disappointment, though in truth he couldn’t deny his feelings.  It would be difficult enough to be away from her for several days, but leaving when things were unsettled and angry between them did not sit well with him.

Be damned if marriage wasn’t turning him into a simpering whelp, Lachlan thought ruefully.  Before he had been wed to Catriona, he would have left the keep without so much as a backward glance.  The lass had changed the way he looked at so many things – probably more than she would ever realize.

“You can stop looking for her, son.  She is not here.”  His mother’s accusatory tone swiftly pulled him from his idle thoughts.  “Of course, if you had behaved like more of a gentleman and less of an idiot, it would hardly have come to this.”

Lachlan peered down in surprise at his mother’s harried expression.  “I’m an idiot then, am I?” he replied, torn between embarrassment and amusement.  His response was rewarded with a brief look of contrition from his mother, an expression which was quickly masked by a stern frown.  “Is it no’ a wee bit early to be gossiping with my bride, mother?  I would have thought you would still be abed this early in the morning.”

“I have hardly been gossiping with yer wife, or anyone else, for that matter,” the dowager replied haughtily, furtively looking about to ensure that no one was close enough to overhear their conversation.  “It’s hardly a secret that there were angry words coming from yer chambers yesterday, or that you spent the night in yer study.  You are not nearly as discreet as you think you are, Lachlan.”

His features schooled in a mask of disinterest, Lachlan refused to show any sign that her words affected him in any way.  “It is naught of consequence, mother – but then I’m sure you will find that out for yerself soon enough.  Catriona is merely put out that I will no’ have her make the trip to Boyne.  As long as Calum Leslie is unaccounted for, it is no’ safe for a woman to be making this journey.  You can tell her that yerself when you next see her,” he added, grabbing up Laeg’s reins as he prepared to give his men the signal to depart.

An inelegant snort escaped the dowager’s lips before she could stop herself.  “I know you well enough to realize you will do whatever you want, regardless of what I might think.  The question is when you will learn that you cannot expect to treat yer wife the same way – not if you want to have the kind of marriage that’s worth having.”  With a heavy sigh, the dowager looked down the line of men who waited on Lachlan’s instructions to leave Tolquhon.  “One of the serving lads came to me this morning to ask permission to accompany you on the journey so he might see his kin in Seafield’s keep.  He’s a good lad, and I told him that he could join you provided he kept pace with the others.  You needn’t trouble yerself over it.  I…just wanted you to know you will have an extra body on the journey.”

Lachlan scanned his mother’s face carefully for a moment before replying.  “Aye, and I ken you well enough to realize you did no’ come here to ask my permission.  We both ken you will do whatever you want, regardless of what I might say.  Do you think it’s a family trait, perhaps?” he teased, the twinkle in his eye betraying his stern tone.

Before the dowager could respond, Lachlan bent over to place a kiss on her wrinkled, perfumed cheek, refusing to acknowledge the pain the action caused him.  If he gave any indication that he was less than fully recovered, he would have to endure no end of lectures before he would be able to leave Tolquhon.  “I’ll see you in a few days then, mother.  Be well,” he added, signaling to his men and steering Laeg away before she could respond.  He had little doubt the look of indignation and outrage on the dowager’s face would be the talk of the staff for several days to come.

Stubborn fool, the dowager thought as she watched her son, tall and proud in the saddle, lead his men out of the inner bailey and through the keep’s raised gates.  He could hardly expect to keep his bride if he didn’t treat her with more kindness and respect.  The dowager struggled to hide her amusement as she turned and made her way back inside the castle, pretending to ignore the transfixed expressions of the servants.  The next few days were going to be very interesting indeed, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

###

The journey to Boyne Castle should have taken only a few hours, but as the day dragged on, Lachlan knew he was reaching the limits of his patience.  The party traveled at a snail’s pace, a fact that Lachlan attributed to their desire to spare their still recovering laird from the toll of a hard ride.  Their kindness only served to stoke the fire of his temper.  Every minute they extended their journey was another minute they exposed themselves to the risk of attack.

The party had barely passed the midpoint of their journey when the serving lad’s horse threw a shoe.  Lachlan’s men must have sensed his impatience, for Rory and another warrior immediately set about seeing that the lad was given another horse as quickly as possible.