The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) (14 page)

She wasn’t plain or boyish. She knew Seonaid was just
being cruel, but the words still stung—and made her want to sting back. Gregor did care for her. And one day he would marry her. She knew it deep in her soul.

It shouldn’t matter that no one else knew. But like the taunts of “bastard” that had followed her as a child, Seonaid’s words had hit a tender spot—a defensive spot.
“My father is the greatest knight in Christendom.”
The old boast rang in her ears, and she felt the same compulsion to make them sorry for teasing her rise inside her.

“He will marry me,” she said fiercely. “And not because of a pretty face or big bosom, but because he loves me. The most handsomest man in Scotland will be my husband—you’ll see.”

The unwavering confidence in her voice seemed to take Seonaid momentarily aback, though she recovered quickly enough. “The only way you will ever get Gregor MacGregor to marry you is if you trap him,” her gaze swept over Cate’s modest bosom, “and you lack the proper enticements for that.”

Cate smiled, recalling the attraction simmering between her and Gregor a few nights ago. “Which only proves how little you know of enticing. You don’t have any idea what’s between us. If you don’t think I can do it, you are wrong!”

Seonaid’s eyes widened, hearing her confidence.

Suddenly Cate cringed. The conversation was deteriorating, leaving her feeling as if she needed to jump in the loch to wash. She shouldn’t stoop to Seonaid’s level, no matter how well baited.

Holding Maddy tightly, she swept regally past the three women before Seonaid could muster her verbal weaponry for another attack.

Cate had barely turned the corner into the churchyard where everyone had gathered when she ran into John and Farquhar. “There you are,” John said. “We wondered where you had gone to.”

Cate’s smile was strained; she felt drained from the episode
with Seonaid and her friends. “Maddy needed to stretch her legs after the sermon.”

“It was rather a long one,” Farquhar said with an understanding smile.

The easygoing smile surprised her. The reeve’s eldest son was something of a scholar and had recently returned from university study on the continent. From what she remembered of Farquhar before he left, he’d always seemed rather dry and serious.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and Cate was surprised when Farquhar offered to escort her back to Dunlyon. John seemed surprised as well, but mentioned that he and Gregor had business elsewhere. Cate was about to refuse when she chanced a glance at Gregor and reconsidered. She froze. He hadn’t moved very far from where she’d seen him last, but it was to whom he was talking, and the darkening expression on his face, that made her rather in a hurry to leave.

It was Màiri, which meant Cate was in trouble.

Seven
 

If Cate thought she could escape from him that easily, she’d better think again. Gregor now knew whom he had to thank for interfering with his assignations the past few days. God’s bones, the lass could give Robert the Bruce lessons in sabotage!

It took him a moment to recognize the man with whom she’d made her escape. He didn’t recall the reeve’s eldest son as being so tall—or so broad of shoulder. For a scholar, he looked like he spent most of his days out in the field or with a smith’s hammer in his hand. The observation wasn’t a welcome one. That Farquhar was both suitable and seemingly interested should have gladdened him—Farquhar was one of the men on Gregor’s list of potential suitors for her—but Gregor didn’t like the way the man was looking at her.

A lass could be disarmed by that friendly smile. Who knew what kind of trouble an innocent like Cate—inexperienced with the wicked ways of men—could find herself in? If Farquhar touched her, Gregor would string the pup up.

The vehemence of his reaction took him aback. He was only being protective—as her guardian, he told himself. He should be glad to find a suitor to take her off his hands. Then he could get down to focusing on getting his head back on straight. The next time the king needed him, he’d be ready. He wasn’t going to let him down again. But it
took a long time for his fists to unclench after she’d made her swift escape.

As tempted as he was to go after her, his tenuous truce with the neighboring MacNabs required his attention.

He and John rode out to Lochay after church, but the meeting did not go well.

Kenneth MacNab of Lochay, a kinsman of the MacNab chief who’d stood with John of Lorn against Bruce at the Battle of Brander, was practically foaming at the mouth with outrage. “The termagant drew a dagger on my son when his back was turned. A dagger! The lass should be put to the stocks for what she did. You are fortunate I do not demand her arrest.”

Gregor’s jaw hardened, the only indication of how close he was to slamming his fist through the other man’s teeth at the idle threat. They both knew that there was no way in hell MacNab would draw more attention to his son’s humiliation—the incident had become public enough. And it was one thing for Gregor to call her a termagant; it was quite another for MacNab to do so.

“The lass is my responsibility,” Gregor said with surprising evenness. “If anyone is to punish her, it will be me.”

“And just how do you intend to do that?”

Gregor’s mouth thinned as he eyed the battle-scarred chieftain. Coarse, thickly built, and more wild and roughshod than most, MacNab was a handful of years older than Gregor and had retired from the battlefield, but was still a warrior with whom to reckon.

“Caitrina recounts the events differently.” As he’d been trying to avoid her, he’d actually gotten the story from John, along with confirmation from a surly, defensive Pip. “According to her, it was your son who pushed her down when her back was turned. She defended herself with the knife when he attempted to kick her while she was on the ground.”

“And you believe that? My son is twice her size. Not to mention the fact that she is a woman.”

If the bruises Gregor had seen on Dougal’s face when they arrived were any indication, MacNab believed it as well. But the clan’s pride had been damaged enough by a lass getting the better of Dougal in a fight, and MacNab was obviously trying to put his son in the best light by rearranging the facts.

“The lass is more than capable of defending herself against a lad Dougal’s size,” John said. “I taught her myself.”

MacNab turned on Gregor with fury. “And you permit this aberrant behavior? What kind of unnatural lass practices at warfare?”

Gregor’s eyes narrowed in warning. He understood MacNab’s anger, and the blow to his pride, but he would not hear Cate maligned. “I not only permit it, it was at my suggestion. I find nothing unnatural about a lass learning to defend herself against cowardly men who think it acceptable to hurt women.”

MacNab turned scarlet at the jab, which he knew was aimed at him as well. His wife’s bruises were well known.

If it weren’t for the meeting being held under truce, Gregor suspected MacNab would have drawn his sword—despite Gregor’s superior skill. “So you plan to do nothing?”

Gregor’s jaw hardened. As much as he disliked MacNab and would prefer to tell him to go to the devil, he didn’t want to leave John to have to contend with a renewed feud. Still, diplomacy didn’t come easily to a man who’d done nothing but fight for seven years, and the words tasted sour in his mouth. “I will speak with her.”

“You need to put a harness on her. The lass has been running wild for years. She needs a strong hand—”

“The lass is not your concern,” Gregor snapped.

MacNab made her sound like a horse that needed to be broken. Caitrina wasn’t wild, she was spirited and … unique. She was unrestrained. Self-confident.
Honest
. She never held back, having that same no-holds-barred approach to life that he and every other great warrior he knew had. She was strong and unpretentious, with an easy grace and natural appeal that was impossible to resist. If she was at times a little too brazen, it was done without artifice. He wouldn’t have her any other way, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn her into something else to please the likes of MacNab.

Attempting to smooth the waters, John added, “She is to be married soon anyway.”

“Married?” MacNab scoffed. “I hope you plan to include a scold’s bridle with her tocher. Or perhaps her husband will find something else to put in her mouth to prevent her from opening it.”

Gregor saw red at the crude remark. Diplomacy and the truce forgotten, he would have broken more than just a few of MacNab’s teeth if John hadn’t grabbed his arm to hold him back.

Perhaps realizing that he’d gone too far, MacNab let the matter rest. Still, it was with superhuman effort that Gregor managed to get a rein on his temper and not only refrain from killing MacNab, but also continue negotiations to successfully extend the truce.

By the time they returned to Dunlyon, he was tense, foul-tempered, and looking for a fight. In other words, he was more than eager to hunt down his wee “ward” and have a little chat about her interfering in his private life.

He should have guessed she was the one responsible for Màiri missing their assignation and the two other interruptions. Unfortunately, it seemed that for once the lass was avoiding him. She’d retired early for the evening—the coward—and even in his present mood, he wasn’t fool enough to knock on her bedchamber door.

Nay, he had a better plan. He would wait for her in the stables early the next morning and intercept her before she went on her morning ride.

He was barely through the open door to the stables the next morning, however, before he was the one intercepted.

“There you are!”

Gregor stifled a groan. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was another young lass who thought she “loved” him. Seonaid MacIan was undoubtedly a beauty, but she was a perfect example of everything he tried to avoid. She’d left him no doubt of what she wanted from him, and what she would be willing to give up to get it—as if her maidenhead were some kind of prize to be bartered. He wasn’t interested. Not on those terms. Hell, not on any terms. But he was never cruel unless he had to be, and she was Cate’s friend.

“I thought I’d missed you,” Seonaid added. “I went to the Hall, but they said you’d just left.”

From her pink cheeks, he guessed she’d come running after him.

The lazy smile slipped onto his face without thought. “I thought I’d go for a ride.”

She peered out at him from under her lashes, a coy smile curving her pretty mouth. “I imagine you are a very good rider.” The way she emphasized “rider” left no doubt about the kind of riding to which she was referring. “I’m afraid I do not have much experience. But I’d be willing if you’d like to teach me—most willing.”

Good God, this had to be one of the most ridiculous conversations he’d ever had. Still, he returned her naughty smile. “I shall remember that. But I’m afraid I shall be riding alone today.”

She pouted prettily and moved close enough to him for the tips of her breasts to brush against the leather of his
cotun
. They were very ample breasts and the cut of her gown gave him a nice view of the deep crevice between
them, but the display (surprisingly, given his deprived state) failed to stir him.

“Did you need something?” he asked, cognizant of the time and wanting to rid himself of his unexpected “company.”

“I brought you some sugared buns. You mentioned you liked them yesterday. I left them with your maidservant.”

“Thank you,” he said. “That is very thoughtful of you. I’ll have one when I return.”

He started into the barn, hoping she would take the hint. She didn’t. Instead, he felt her hand on his arm.

Her coy, innocent expression had turned hard and impatient. “I thought you might perhaps thank me another way.”

He pretended not to understand, quirking a brow. “What did you have in mind?”

“This.” She tilted her face to look up at him, offering him her perfectly parted lips.

The lass was unflatteringly brazen, but her not-so-subtle invitation gave him an idea. Cate would be here any minute. Kissing Seonaid would be as good a way as any to put a decisive end to Cate’s infatuation with him.

He told himself it had to be done. Cate was like every other young girl who’d taken one look at him and fancied herself in love. She thought she
knew
him. But she didn’t know him at all. He wasn’t the man for her—hell, he wasn’t the man for anyone. The sooner she realized that, the better. It would save her more heartbreak later.

With something burning in his chest that felt surprisingly like regret, he lowered his mouth.

Half-expecting Gregor to be lying in wait, ready to pounce on her the moment she left the safety of her chamber, Cate didn’t leave her room until she heard the door open and close across the corridor, and the familiar heavy fall of footsteps down the stairs.

Of course, she’d known there would be hell to pay for her interference; she’d just hoped to have more time before paying it. But her plans to have him realize how perfect they were together hadn’t progressed as quickly as she’d hoped, and she could not stand by and do nothing while he took more women to his bed.