Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (32 page)

He loved her
. Just hearing him say it had given her some courage. Lord Torriden lurked only two miles away, looking for her, but that knife edge of terror and panic had dulled a little. Munro loved her. She wasn't alone. Unless he'd given up on her, that was. After all, he'd vanished almost three hours ago.

“I hate to say it,” she offered after a moment of digging in silence, “but I think we're going to be doing this same work all over again in the spring, after the snow melts.”

“Aye,” Gilling replied, “but keeping my hands busy is better than reminding myself that I let Laird Bear go off to the village withoot me. Again. He isnae supposed to do that.”

“Go after him, then,” she said, grimacing. “I was here before ye found me, and I'm here alone at night.” At least as far as the servant knew, she was. Actually, she'd forgotten that Munro was supposed to have an escort with him at all times; he'd come to visit her by night for the past week without anyone else being aware, much less riding with him. The idea that coming to see her might leave him vulnerable to an enemy of the MacLawrys made her shiver. Aye, he could take care of himself, but no man could stop a musket ball.

“I reckon I'll stay here,” the footman commented, retrieving more scraps of wood. “I have orders.”

“Do ye, then?”

“Aye. ‘As long as that MacDonald buffoon is aboot, ye and I willnae take our peepers off Lady Cat,' he said. Torriden seems too pretty to be much of a menace, though, if ye ask me. Fellows like that dunnae like to risk getting their noses broken.”

She hid a grin. “But Bear is pretty.” Or rather, devastatingly, devilishly handsome.

“I suppose so. But ye'll never see him wearing those collars so high they poke a man in the eye if he turns his head. Or one of those neck ties with more frills than a flower.”

“I'll have to agree with ye about that. I cannae precisely imagine him wearing a dandy's clothes.”

Peter chuckled. “Aye. It'd be akin to ye putting on a lace gown, I suppose.”

Well, that hurt. Thunking the shovel against the bricks to cover her flinch, Catriona sent him a sideways glance. How did he see her? Of course she'd never worn anything but a shirt, jacket, trousers, and boots in his presence, because that was all she ever wore, and all she owned. But evidently even the idea of her putting on a gown was the stuff of hilarity.

She closed her eyes for a moment. That was the same uncertainty that had dogged her since she'd overheard Elizabeth's mother mocking her attire, which Anne had taken to doing after the viscountess's attempts to dress her properly had been rejected by the viscount.

“Sometimes I hate being correct.”

For half a heartbeat Catriona thought Bear was speaking. The voice wasn't quite as low, though, and aside from that, she'd heard it before. With a shriek she lifted the shovel, whipping the sharp end around toward the well-dressed man standing in the shadow of the ruins. “Stay back!”

“Lass! There's nae need fer that,” Peter Gilling broke in with a gasp. “Lower yer weapon! Ye cannae threaten the MacLawry on his own land.”

She didn't want to threaten him. He was Munro's brother, for heaven's sake. “I only told him to keep his distance,” she retorted aloud, abruptly realizing she was very much alone again. Aside from the two huge deerhounds flanking the marquis, Peter would never so much as counter anything his clan chief said. “And this land isnae his,” she went on. “It belongs to Munro.”

The Marquis of Glengask tilted his head in the way that reminded her of his youngest brother. His eyes, though, were a hard steel blue rather than Bear's crisp green. And those blue eyes continued to gaze at her levelly.

In fact, he seemed content not to say anything. Perhaps he was so startled by her presence—or her appearance—that he had no idea how to respond. Given what she knew about him, though, it seemed more likely that he meant to allow Peter and her to argue until he had all the information he required. His reputation had traveled to all corners of the kingdom—clever, hot-blooded, but with an ice-cold resolve.

Catriona lowered the tip of the shovel. The best strategy for her, then, would be to make him talk. “So ye've seen me,” she said, managing to keep her voice mostly steady. “What do ye mean to do about it?” There. Hearing him say something—anything—would serve to give
her
a bit of information. And the more she had, the better.

“Considering ye're spoken fer by a MacDonald chieftain and that ye've brought the MacDonalds to my doorstep, I ken what I
should
do,” he replied coolly. “But ye've tangled my brother into it now.”

A scowl furrowed her brow before she could stop the expression. “I didnae tangle Bear into anything,” she snapped. “I told him to go away and leave me—us—be. And then ye came and stole Elizabeth, and he felt obligated to … look in on me, because I was alone. That puts this on ye, I reckon.” Whatever else happened, she wasn't about to trap Munro.

“We'll see aboot that, I suppose. In the meantime, if my brother's looking in on ye, where might I find him?”

“He rode into An Soadh, m'laird,” Peter answered quickly. “He ordered me to stay here and protect the lass.”

The marquis lifted an eyebrow. “And I recall that
I
ordered ye to protect Munro.”

“I—”

“Go and fetch him. Now.”

Catriona didn't turn around, but she heard Peter setting down that last stack of lumber and stripping off his gloves. A moment later the footman fled around the side of the abbey.

“Now,” Glengask went on, finally moving forward and taking a seat on the bottom half of a broken cherub statue. “I've an offer fer ye.”

“Do ye, then?” She kept the shovel in her hands, wishing the musket she'd leaned against a tree a few yards away was much closer. Glengask didn't feel … safe. Bear didn't either, but in a different way. Munro would never hurt her; of that she was absolutely certain. At the same time, he was a strong, dangerous man. Like a giant club or an axe. The marquis seemed more like a sword—sharp, well balanced, and fast.

“Aye. I've a thousand pounds in my pocket. It's yers. All ye need do is make yer way into Edinburgh and nae come back here. I'll tell Lord Torriden that my sources thought ye'd been spotted in Aberdeen, and ye're as free as ye ever were, with enough money to see ye in a nice hoose with a servant or two.”

“And why would ye do that fer me?”

“Because the MacDonald wants ye wed to Torriden. I dunnae care fer either one of them, but neither do I want the MacLawrys put into the middle of another clan's affairs.” He looked her up and down, and she was abruptly very conscious again of her man's clothes and heavy work gloves.

Never mind that just the thought of living in a large town, having to wear a gown and pretend she knew how to manage as a single lady in proper Society made her want to scream and cast up her accounts. Glengask wanted her gone because she could cause trouble for his family and for his clan just by her presence.

Oh, fleeing would be much more simple than standing there to be looked at by someone who viewed her as an inconvenience, as an object to be shifted and maneuvered in the way that best suited his own ambitions. That was how her uncle had viewed her. And it was undoubtedly how Lord Torriden saw her. Not Bear, though. He saw …
her.
Giving him up would utterly break her inside.

“Thank ye fer yer kind offer,” she said when she thought she could control her voice again, “but I must decline.”

“That's very proper language fer a lass who dresses like a drover,” he observed.

“Enough,”
Munro growled, striding into view, Peter on his heels.

Thank goodness.
She didn't need him to fight her battles, but simply having him there meant she wasn't alone. Now, though, the problem became preventing the two brothers from coming to blows. “Bear, dunnae—”

“Did ye tell Torriden where to find her?” he demanded, skidding to a stop in front of the marquis.

Glengask kept his seat. “Nae. This isnae aboot him. It's aboot—”

“Dunnae ye tell me what it's aboot,” Munro interrupted. “Ye'll nae say a word to Torriden, or I'll see to it he never leaves Glengask alive. And ye'll leave my Haldane Abbey. Now.”

“Look at her, Bear. She can take care of herself. Ye dunnae need to take in every wounded, peculiar animal who crosses yer path. This is trouble. Trouble the MacLawrys dunnae nee—”

Munro hit him. The marquis rolled backward, deflecting most of the blow to his shoulder and landing awkwardly on his feet. His expression looked more stunned than pained, as if he couldn't quite believe that his own brother would punch him. Catriona felt stunned, herself.

Bear lifted him up by the collar before Glengask could find his footing. “Leave!” he bellowed, shoving his brother backward, toward the front of the house.

The marquis spat on the ground, pausing only to gesture at the hounds to stay where they were before he strode forward. “Down, dogs,” he snapped. “I'll see to this myself.”

When Bear stalked forward again to meet him, Catriona dropped the shovel and rushed in, grabbing hold of his shoulder. “Stop it!” she yelled. “He's yer brother. He's yer clan chief.”

Bear curled his big hands back into fists. “He insulted ye.”

For him that seemed to be all that mattered. “For Saint Andrew's sake, Bear, I've been insulted before. I can bash someone as well as ye can if I feel the need to do so. Ye apologize.”

He sent her a startled glance. “Beg yer pardon?”

“Aye, that'll do. But say it to Lord Glengask.”

“Nae. I willnae apologize fer protecting ye, wildcat.”

She shoved at him. It didn't budge him an inch, but he did lower his arm and open one closed fist. “For the last damned time, I dunnae need yer protection. Nor will I be the cause of a rift between ye and yer family. So ye make this right, or I'm going.” A tear ran down her cheek as she spoke, but damnation, she was serious. He had a family he adored. She could not—would not—separate him from that. Not for anything.

“Ye arenae going,” he muttered darkly.

“Today, that is up to ye, Munro MacLawry.”

With a heavy breath he faced the MacLawry, who'd stopped his advance to watch the exchange intently. No doubt he was trying to decipher if she was manipulating his headstrong brother or not. She didn't think yelling at someone and ordering them to do the correct thing was manipulating them, but she had little experience with subterfuge.

“I apologize fer hitting ye, Ranulf,” Bear stated, his jaw clenched. “Ye can pummel me back, if ye like.” He took a half step forward. “But I'll nae have ye here. Nae if ye cannae talk to Catriona in a civil manner.”

For a long moment the marquis looked from one of them to the other. Then he put a hand down on the larger deerhound's head. “Come along, Fergus. Una.”

“And ye'll nae say a word to Torriden.”

Lord Glengask's footsteps slowed. “I willnae. But the next time ye set foot in my hoose, Bear, ye'll have that lass with ye so we can resolve this mess, or she'll be gone from here and this mess will be removed from my lands. If ye need someaught, ye can send word through Peter Gilling.” He faced them. “Do I make myself clear?”

Munro nodded. “Aye. We're in agreement.”

Steel-blue eyes met Catriona's. “Aye. We're in agreement. Fer now.”

 

Chapter Fifteen

Once Ranulf strode out of sight, Munro expected Catriona to sag to the ground or reach for him. Instead she bent down, picked up a clod of dirt, and threw it at him. Hard.

“What the devil, woman?” he muttered, taking the blow on his shoulder. He might have dodged it, but then she likely would only have thrown something heavier.

“Ye might have warned me that he knew I was here,” she retorted, the color in her cheeks and the edge to her voice the only real indications that she was flustered.

“I didnae have any idea he suspected someaught.” Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist before she could throw something else. “I wouldnae have left ye if I did.”

Abruptly she seemed to deflate, her shoulders lowering as she put her free hand on his arm. “Ye struck yer clan chief, Bear,” she said, looking up at him from beneath the brim of her old hat. “Yer own brother.”

“Aye, I did. And ye made me apologize.” Slowly it began to sink in that they were still together, that Ranulf hadn't arrived with half the clan in tow and escorted Cat forcibly off their land. The marquis hadn't brought Torriden along to claim his bride, or even ordered the two of them to stay clear of each other. It could have been much, much worse.

“Did ye think that would help anything, ye brute?”

“Dunnae call me that,” he retorted. “I saw ye aiming a shovel at him.”

“I was ready to protect myself. I'm nae accustomed to … being caught unawares.”

He lowered his head and kissed her. At this moment, that seemed more important than anything else he could conjure. “
I
was protecting ye,” he murmured, closing his eyes as she kissed him back. If a few weeks ago someone had told him he would find such ecstacy in a mere kiss, he would have laughed. Now he felt … light inside, as if his feet barely touched the ground.

After a long moment she let go of his hair and stepped back. “Stop kissing me,” she ordered, though her gaze remained on his mouth. “Ye've been banished from yer own home. Ye did hear that, aye?”

“I heard it. It saves me the effort of riding home and then sneaking oot every night.” The larger scope of it, the idea that he couldn't return to Glengask at all, he would contemplate later. Because however much he disliked anyone—even Ranulf—telling him what to do, his oldest brother had done him a favor. The marquis had granted him more time with Catriona.