Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (33 page)

“Ye did what?” Peter Gilling interjected, his own expression a mixture of stunned horror and disbelief—as if he hoped he'd dreamed the entire incident.

“That doesnae signify now,” Munro returned. “Peter, I'll make ye up a list of things I need. If ye could fetch 'em tonight I'd be grateful.”

“Munro, ye ken that ye do have another option.” Cat took his hand, twining her fingers with his as if she couldn't quite keep herself from touching him. “Glengask said ye could come home when I was gone.”

“Stop that right there,” he cut in. “I'll nae have ye telling yerself ye're doing me a favor by stomping off into the wilds. We're likely to have snow by the end of the week, if nae sooner. Aside from that, nae. Ye arenae leaving.”

“So ye expect me to go there with ye and be handed over to Torriden? I'll nae do it. I dunnae want to leave ye, but I didnae come all this way on a whim. I'll nae be an insult and a joke.”

Her voice shook as she spoke, and he wanted to pull her close again. That would likely begin another argument about how she'd looked after herself quite well before she'd met him, and she could do so again. He didn't want to hear that she could live without him, because he wasn't certain he could live without her. The idea of her vanishing sent a shiver through his muscles and tightened his chest.

“Mayhap it's good that he found me,” she went on, her fingers still twined with his. “The longer we pretended we could continue like this, the harder it would be to stop. Now we have to figure out how we end.”

All of the options she imagined, he realized, ended with her being a social outcast, ridiculed and miserable and alone. He didn't know why, but she couldn't seem to imagine herself in any other way. It didn't matter how he saw her. With a hard breath he tightened his fingers on hers and tugged her closer. She could try to kick him if she wanted to.

“Here's what I see in yer future, my lass,” he said, putting his free hand beneath her chin so that she had to meet his gaze. “Ye arenae leaving. That means ye're staying. And
that
means ye'll be joining me when I return to Glengask.”

She frowned, already shaking her head. “Bear, I—”

“I told ye that I'd show ye as best I can how to be civilized, if that's what ye want to know. There's no sense hiding ye now, except from Torriden, and there's nae a man likely to gossip to a MacDonald. That means I can hire men to help put Haldane back together. Which means that ye and I have a bit of time together, so I can prove to ye that ye should hold yer head high.”

“And then what, ye give me away?” A tear started in her eye, and she wiped at it.

“I'll nae give ye away. Glengask is the one who informed the MacDonalds where to find yer sister. This is his mess.” He grinned. “Mostly. But I like a good mess.”

After a moment her lips curved. “That does explain some things, giant.” She continued to eye him, the brief humor fading again from her expression. “Ye ken this could end with ye being sent away from here forever. Ye already hit Lord Glengask. How much more do ye think he'll tolerate from ye?”

Whether that question troubled him or not, was his own affair. For her, he shrugged. “I have what I want. Everything else is secondary. But ye have to agree, wildcat. And ye have to trust me.”

“I trust ye.”

“Then it's settled.”

“I dunnae wish to sound like I'm complaining, Munro, but if what yer brother said was right, and ye felt the need to rescue me like ye would a stray dog, ye need to realize that before we do someaught … someaught that cannae be undone.”

She'd avoided using the word “marriage,” more than likely on purpose. “I ken what I'm saying. But I'll nae ask ye the words until I know ye'll agree to them.”

Cat took a slow breath, her dark gaze meeting his. “I wouldnae be doing my part if I didnae ask ye once more if ye're certain—before ye ask any questions ye cannae take back.”

Damnation.
This wasn't just about him. She wasn't a burden to him. And he was going to have some work to do to convince her just what a rare, valuable, precious lass she was.

“Why dunnae ye join me in the kitchen to see if the stew needs stirring, and I'll try to explain myself to ye,” he suggested.

Color rose in her cheeks. “Nae while Peter is here,” she muttered.

Munro moved closer. “He's leaving as soon as I send him after clean shirts and a shaving razor. And ye ken that in some parts of the Highlands we've been handfasted since the first time I had ye. So ye decide which words ye care to use when ye think aboot the two of us, my lass, and I'll go find some paper.”

As he made his way around the front of the house he decided that however much simpler it might make things, if Cat had been the sort of lass he could shake some sense into, he wouldn't have felt the way he did about her. She was damned stubborn, and she'd been seeing herself in a particular way for so long that a few weeks of one man singing her praises wasn't enough to alter her opinion. For once his size and strength counted for nothing; all he could give her was time, and love, and hope.

For the first time in his life, he was going to have to be patient, however poorly he generally managed that. With a snort he walked into the kitchen and found a piece of paper and pencil, then took a few minutes to contemplate which things he needed to have with him. It was odd, because he already had the one thing he truly needed, and nothing else mattered.

Well, nothing mattered except for the fact that he wasn't certain Catriona was willing to go to the same extremes that he was. He knew damned well what Ranulf had meant—he was to give her up, either to Torriden, or by sending her away out of the range of MacLawry responsibility. Or rather, blame.

Being banished from Glengask was supposed to make him see what a mistake he would be making and how uncomfortable life would be without a clan and his brother the clan chief. Clearly Ranulf didn't know how attached he'd become to his wildcat. He paused in his writing. In fact, his brother had sounded fairly certain that Cat was there only because of his propensity to protect wee things. Hm.

That could be a benefit. Ranulf thought him tangled with Elizabeth—not Catriona. Therefore this was only about teaching him a lesson. If Glengask had realized that it wasn't merely a barely remembered clanswoman his brother wanted, that Munro meant to marry the lass selected by a MacDonald chieftain to likely begin a clan war, he wouldn't have ridden away and let them be. Aye, for once Ran had made a mistake. And Munro would use it to his own advantage.

“Bear?”

He turned to face Cat. “Nae. I dunnae want to hear ye tell me what I shouldnae be fee—”

“Shut yer gobber, giant. I'm talking,” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips.

Well, that was promising. Perhaps. “Then talk, lass.”

“Ye'd defy yer brother and yer clan to be with me, ye say. Are ye certain of that? Have ye truly thought about what it means?”

“Aye, I've thought aboot it. Ye're worth it to me,” he replied.

“Clan MacDonald wants me wed to Lord Torriden. Would ye have them angry with ye, when ye've nae clan of yer own?”

“Do ye think me a lad who's scared of a fight?”

“Nae. But what if I dunnae want ye to fight?”

“Then I reckon there are places we could go where the MacDonalds and the MacLawrys cannae stir up trouble fer us. And aye, I'd go to any one of those places, with ye by my side.”

He gazed at her expectantly as she dug her fingers into her hips, her eyes meeting his but her thoughts clearly far from here. Wherever she was going, he hoped he was there with her. Finally she blinked, taking a deep breath. “I dunnae want ye to have to leave yer kin, Munro. I dunnae want us to have to leave the Highlands just so we can be together. But if it comes to that, I'll do it. I want to be with ye. I love ye. Ye drive me mad, and I dunnae ken what ye see in me, but I love ye.”

Thank God,
he thought, then said it aloud. “Thank God.” He grinned, relief flowing through him like the summer sun. “Now I'd fight the world fer ye, wildcat.” Stepping forward, he caught her mouth with his, pressing her back against the door frame with the force of his kiss. She wanted him. She wanted to be with him. And for her to simply say it aloud—he knew it hadn't been an easy thing. “I love ye,” he murmured against her mouth.

She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved. “So ye mean to drag me to Glengask and say yer piece to yer brother and to Lord Torriden, then?”

“Aye. I'm nae going to sneak away like a snake. I'm a brawler, lass, and I'll have a fight before I'd walk away.”

Catriona nodded. “Then I dunnae want to be the one to embarrass ye—or myself. Can ye help me with that?”

He tilted his head. “Ye ken ye look very fine to me as ye are, I hope.”

Color touched her cheeks. “I ken. But for my sake, I … I dunnae want anyone whispering about me because I'm odd. They can gossip about why ye'd want a MacDonald, but nae about why ye'd want
this
MacDonald.”

Munro nodded. “By God, ye're a marvel. Aye, I'll help ye. I've a few things to add to my list, then.”

Swiftly he added a note to the bottom of his list of necessities, then went to find Peter. The servant couldn't read, which made things a bit more complicated, but he thought he might have someone on his side. Or she would have been, if he'd trusted anyone enough to confide in her.

“I dunnae understand, m'laird,” Peter said, taking the note and shoving it into a pocket. “Ye dunnae want me going back to Glengask?”

Munro shook his head. “Gray House. And ye're to give this note to my sister only. Nae another soul but Rowena. Into her hands. Do I have yer word?”

The footman scowled. “Of course ye do. Ye may have noticed that I've known aboot yer lass fer weeks now, and I havenae told a soul.”

“I noticed, Peter. And I thank ye fer it. Gray House. Stay the night there. We'll see ye in the morning.”

“I dunnae think Lord Gray's shirts will fit ye, though.”

“Winnie will see to it. She'll likely ride with ye to Glengask in the morning with her own list.”

“As ye say, then. But I dunnae like the idea of leaving ye here with naught but a door between ye and trouble, Laird Bear.”

Clapping the servant on the shoulder, Munro nudged him in the direction of the cart. “There's been naught but a door between me and trouble fer the past week, Peter. And if ye look at this mess closely, there's been naught between me and trouble at all.”

“I'll go, then. Fer God and Saint Bridget's sake, dunnae get yerself killed, m'laird. I would consider it my fault.”

“I wouldnae.”

“But ye'd be dead, so with all respect, Laird Bear, yer opinion wouldnae signify.” Gilling rolled his shoulders. “I saw yer brother all the way from London to Gretna Green with Campbells on our trail. That made me uneasy. This”—and he gestured from Munro to the ruins—“gives me the horrors. Ye're assuming that MacDonald doesnae have spies aboot here, waiting fer ye or the lass to be caught unawares.”

“Peter, go. If a MacDonald comes fer me or my lass, it'll be the last thing he does.”

With a final grimace and nod, the footman stepped onto the cart and clucked at the mare pulling it. He rumbled down the badly rutted drive, and in a moment the sound of the wheels vanished amid the moaning sound of the crisp evening wind. Munro took a last, careful look about the grounds, telling himself it was merely caution and not anything prompted by the servant's wild imaginings, and then returned to the warm kitchen and the warmer arms of his lass.

And she
was
his lass, whatever anyone else thought they could dictate. She'd stepped into the fray with both feet, and he wasn't about to let her down. Now or ever.

*   *   *

“I'm here,” Arran said, stripping off his heavy coat as he stepped into the office. A blast of cold air followed him into the room. “What's amiss?” He scowled. “And why do ye have a black eye?”

Ranulf narrowed both of his eyes, ignoring the resulting ache in the left one. “Close the door.”

His brother did as asked, while Ranulf continued to weigh what he wanted to say. Generally he had a fairly straightforward view of the path he meant to lead his clan along. The family had become decidedly more complicated of late, but by now he'd thought he had that under control, as well.

“I'm trying to decide who would have the balls to punch ye,” Arran went on, walking to the window and back again, “and I'm having a wee bit of difficulty coming up with more than one name. So I'm guessing ye either ran into a door, or someaught happened between ye and Bear.”

“I didnae run into a door.”

Arran uttered a soft curse. “I ken he was even more unhappy to see Lord Torriden than we realized. Did ye nae accept the dowry offer fer Elizabeth?”

“I found the sister. Catriona MacColl.”

This time his brother sank into a chair. “She's here? Elizabeth lied to us, then?”

“Aye.” She had, and he hadn't even thought to approach her about any of this. In his own defense, any conversation with Bear's nearly betrothed would have to be a delicate one, and he didn't feel diplomatic at the moment. “She lied to us, and so did Bear.”

“B— She's at Haldane, then?” The middle MacLawry brother swore again. “No wonder he keeps going oot there. Why's he hiding her, though? Did she spin some tale about Torriden? Bear never could resist a rescue. Or a pretty lass.”

“I dunnae know what she told him. She's an … odd bird, though. Wears men's clothes. I caught her digging oot the old Haldane garden with a shovel. She threatened to run me through with it.” He hadn't believed her, of course; her expression had been more startled and horrified than anything else. Not frightened, though. Not of him, anyway. Just of him seeing her.