Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (29 page)

Slowly she sat back, one hand over the open book, and ran the other through her curling red hair. What was this, when she could simply relax for a morning? When she didn't have to waste time wondering what would happen next, what someone else meant to do to upend her life? When she had to remind herself that humming or singing likely wasn't a wise idea—because she had the urge to burst into song at odd moments? Was this peace? Contentment?

Contentment didn't quite feel like the correct word, but it was close. Happiness sounded even better, but made less sense. After all, she had no idea how long she would be able to remain at Haldane. And winter was definitely approaching. But at this moment, this morning, after a night in Munro MacLawry's arms, she did feel happy. And something more, that she didn't quite feel ready to put into words, even inside her own head.

“Ye're daft, Cat,” she muttered at herself, but couldn't help grinning. “Completely mad. And now ye're talking to yerself, ye half-wit.”

Twenty minutes later she took the rabbit off the fire and began separating the meat from the bones to make a rabbit and onion soup for herself and her lads. Bear had said they would be at the abbey by ten o'clock, but they'd already missed that by nearly an hour. Hopefully he'd overslept; whatever he might say, she knew he had to be exhausted. She smiled again. Aye, she'd told him he didn't need to bother with staying overnight in her company, but she had no complaints about it, either.

She'd stated several times that he and she together didn't have a future, but she was beginning to wonder if she were wrong about that. They could certainly never marry; as a brother of the MacLawry his marriage would have weight and consequences, and it would definitely be noticed. And she would only remain free of her family's entanglements as long as she stayed hidden. But here she
was
hidden, and if everything could stay as it was now, if a hundred things went the way she wanted and not the way they were supposed to—

The heavy door rattled. “Cat!”

Jumping, she glanced at the open pocket watch beside her. Half past one. Had something happened? Pushing to her feet, she hurried to the door. “Bear? Are ye—”

“Open the damned door!” he interrupted, in an angry growl.

Catriona put her hand on the bar. “What's amiss?” she asked, her heart hammering.

“I'm nae telling ye again! Open the door!”

Taking a hard breath, she left her hand where it was. “I dunnae think I will,” she answered. “Ye're a big man, and someaught's got ye angry. So I'll open the door when ye convince me ye're nae going to begin tossing my things—or me—aboot.”

Silence, except for her heart pounding so loudly in her chest he could likely hear it. Then with a resounding boom something solid collided with the door. Hard. It happened again, accompanied by a string of curses in mixed English and Gaelic. So this was what happened when she began to daydream about a perfect life with a man who seemed to like her the way she was.

Moving away, she reached behind her for the musket. “I'm armed, Bear,” she called out. “Ye'd best behave yerself, or go away!”

The thumping stopped. A minute or two later a more polite knock sounded. “It's Peter, Miss Cat,” the servant said in his gravelly voice. “I'm to tell ye that Laird Bear's gone fer a stalk aboot the garden, and he'll be back in a moment. And he'll be civilized.”

“Ye arenae lying to me, are ye, Peter? He's nae standing right there waiting for the door to open?”

Another delay. “Well, he isnae now. He's outside. I swear on my mother's hair, Miss Cat.”

Rather than debate over what made the hair of Peter Gilling's mother so swearworthy, she lifted the bar over its braces and set it aside. “What the devil's happened?” she asked, half yanking the servant inside and shutting the door so she could bar it again. “He told me I could shut him oot of the kitchen, but I didnae think I'd need to do so.”

“I'm nae to tell ye a thing,” the footman said stoutly.

“Can ye tell me why ye're here so late today? Bear told me ten o'clock.”

The servant lifted on his toes, then sank back again. “All I can say is that we had some visitors today. Unexpected ones.”

That didn't sound promising. Not at all. “Is my sister well?”

“Oh, aye. It has naught to do with that old duke who's after her. Dunnae worry yerself over that.”

“Well, that's something. But why is Munro so angry? At me, apparently?”

“Ye'll have to speak with him to find that oot.”

“I'll nae speak to him while he's trying to break my door down.”

He shrugged. “It's nae wise to tell Laird Bear what he should or shouldnae do, but he seems to listen to ye. Give him a minute. I'll go oot and see that he's civilized himself some. If I knock two times, then two more times, it's safe to let us in. If I knock three times, then three more times, then dunnae open the door.”

That all seemed very complicated, but since Peter was at least willing to help, she settled for nodding. “Thank ye. Even if ye willnae tell me what's afoot.”

Once she closed him out in the hallway again, she leaned back against the door. A few weeks ago if Bear had approached her like that she would already have shot at him, been packed, and likely would have turned up the table so she could cut through the tarp in the corner and exit out to the roof. It might be wiser—and easier—to simply escape now, anyway.

But that would mean not seeing him again. Ever. And evidently for the opportunity to be with him again she was willing to risk his anger and her continued freedom. That didn't mean, however, she wouldn't be cautious about it.

She waited, her cheek pressed against the door. The hallway sounded empty, but they'd made the door solid for a reason. She'd just never thought it would actually be to keep Bear outside. What could have happened? Thank God the Duke of Visford hadn't come calling, but
something
had clearly set Munro off. And it had something to do with her.

Had it been her uncle? She felt the blood leave her face. Had Uncle Robert heard that Elizabeth was here and thought her mad sister might be somewhere nearby? Oh, goodness.
No, no, no.
Because that would mean that not just Bear, but his entire family, had heard how … odd she was, and how difficult it had been to find a match for her, and how much was at stake if they didn't return her.

Two knocks reverberated against her cheek. Then two more. That supposedly meant she was safe. In reality, though, she wasn't nearly as certain. Catriona shut her eyes for a long moment, then opened them and lifted the bar. Even a coward had to face up to her past eventually. And today might well be her day to do so.

She pulled open the door, lifting her chin as she did so. Peter Gilling was there somewhere, but her gaze, all her attention stayed fixed on the giant who filled the open space. His green eyes were narrowed, fury and something she couldn't put a name to blazing through them and through every inch of his six and a half feet. He looked magnificent, even apparently ready to strangle her.

“What happened?” she asked, keeping her voice level.

“May I come in?” he returned, his own tone clipped and hard and clearly reined in as tightly as he could hold it.

Catriona stepped back from the doorway. “Certainly.”

“Peter, go away.”

“M'laird, y—”

“Go away,” he repeated, through clenched teeth.

“Dunnae fret, Peter,” she took up, though she didn't dare look away from Munro. “I've made a rabbit and onion soup for luncheon. It'll be ready soon.”

With a grunt that sounded reluctant, the footman retreated. Bear, though, advanced, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. When she'd last seen him, before dawn this morning, he'd been amused and affectionate. Now he looked ready to erupt.

“I've a question fer ye,” he said after a moment, stopping short of the fireplace.

“I'm listening.”

“Are ye mine?”

The question caught her by surprise. “What happened after you left here?” she asked, moving around behind the table to where she'd left the musket, just in case. It seemed … wiser to keep at least one piece of furniture between them at the moment.

“Answer my question, and I'll tell ye.”

“I like being with ye, Bear,” she said slowly, trying to feel her way through what felt like a much more important question than it sounded. “I like ye, more than I want to admit to ye. And I've told ye before, I dunnae think we'll suit. I've nae lied to ye aboot that.”

He gazed at her levelly. “Viscount Torriden. Do ye think ye belong to him?”

Oh no.
Catriona's legs went ice-cold, and she sat heavily on the floor. “Is he here?” she whispered, clutching onto the table leg.

“Aye. He is. Dunnae ye think ye might have mentioned that ye were betrothed before we … before I—”

“
They
said I was betrothed,” she snapped back, taking deep breaths and trying to pull herself back to her feet. She was
not
going to convince him, herself, or anyone else if she couldn't even stand. “I never agreed to any such thing!”

“Dammit.” Bear strode forward, grabbed her beneath one arm, and half carried her around to the chair. As soon as she was seated he released her again, as if touching her burned him or something. “I had to sit there over luncheon,” he ground out, “and listen to him telling Ranulf how ye'd gone missing, and how ye'd been promised to him.”

He stalked to the wall and back again, while she twisted to keep him in sight. “Bear, I—”

“Elizabeth lied when he asked if she'd seen or heard from ye,” he cut in. “But I dunnae think he's convinced that she would come to the Highlands withoot someone to lead her here. Ranulf'll be the next to start wondering why a lass who'd been away from the Highlands for eleven years would return now—and why she wouldnae head directly to the MacDonalds fer protection.” He sighed. “Yer sister didnae think to be apprehensive when Torriden drove up. She was excited to meet someone from her clan.”

Catriona lowered her head. “Ye may as well keep pacing, Munro. I'll tell ye what I can, and it'll be easier if ye're nae looking at me.”

Instead he pulled the table a few feet away and sat on it to face her. “I like looking at ye, Cat. I lied to ye aboot who I was when we first met, because I didnae want to frighten ye off. I've nae lied since. Now I want to know if ye've been lying to me all along. If ye were just … making use of a man to gain ye protection from another. Or if ye've been playing, when ye mean to go and do as yer family wants.”

She wanted to protest that she'd never lied to him about how she felt. How he made her feel. But if she said it now, either before or after she told her story, she knew precisely how it would sound: as if she was playing on his sympathies, and
was
using him for protection. All she could do, then, was continue to be honest.

“I've nae told ye some things, Munro, but I've nae lied aboot them.” Since he wanted to watch her, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “My father wanted a son. He wanted a basketful of sons, actually. My mother, though, gave him a daughter, and she died before they could try for another. Withoot her, he decided he would raise me as he wished.”

She gestured at herself. “I grew up wearing this. I learned how to hunt, how to shoe a horse, how to forage for myself. He kept my hair short until I refused to let him cut it. The MacDonald began pushing at him to wed one of the lasses from the Sutherland branch of the clan, so being a stubborn Highlander he went and found a Sassannach lady with blue blood and a need fer a title, instead. Then she gave him a daughter, too.”

“Elizabeth,” he put in.

At least he was paying attention. He hadn't decided she wasn't worth listening to. “Aye,” she returned, nodding. “At first Anne tried to put me in dresses and teach me how to walk and talk properly, but Papa wouldnae stand fer it. Neither of them liked Elizabeth and me playing together, and when Anne caught Papa with a wee kilt fer Elizabeth, she took my sister and went back to London.”

“Ye corresponded, ye said.”

“Aye. From time to time. Less and less as we got older. We had naught in common.” Cat shrugged. At the time she'd been relieved to only have to think of pretty things about which to write once or twice a year. “As I got older, I started to notice … well, lads, but most of 'em didnae want to be anywhere around me. That's when I realized I'd become some odd monstrosity. My father was a chieftain, so people had to be respectful to my face. That didnae mean they were so behind my back. And I heard things, of course.”

“That's when ye stopped cutting yer hair, aye?” His expression had softened a little. To her relief she didn't see pity in his eyes, but then he'd never seemed to view her as odd.

“Aye. In a way it made me feel a little more like a lass, but I didnae have anyone I trusted to show me anything to do with it, or how to dress differently even if I wanted to. Then Papa died two years ago, and my uncle Robert became the Earl of Islay. A year or so ago he and the MacDonald began meeting, to try to mend the bad blood between the two halves of the clan. They decided I should marry Viscount Torriden.”

She couldn't help the tremor that ran down her spine. The dread, the certainty that she would both embarrass the clan and be a poor wife and a very poor viscountess, all came rushing back again. “I'd never met him,” she made herself continue, “but I'd heard of him. Educated in London and Edinburgh, handsome, and very … sophisticated. Which ye may have noticed doesnae describe me.”

“Nae. I hadnae,” he returned.

With a swallow, she grimaced. “My uncle wanted to be rid of me, I'm certain. I reminded him of his brother, and I'd nae to offer by way of power or prestige except by my marriage. And one night I went to go talk to him, but I heard him talking to my other uncle, Ràild. He said the MacDonald had asked him to supply a bride whose bloodline would help mend the tear in the clan, but by the grace of God he'd become the laird of his own grand island.