Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (30 page)

“He liked it that way. Rejoining the rest of the MacDonalds would lower him to a minor chieftain forced to obey the dictates of the MacDonald. By sending me to them, he would satisfy his part of any peace accord, but they wouldnae be happy aboot it. I was his way to insult the MacDonald withoot spitting at him outright.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath, but he didn't say anything aloud. She didn't know what she wanted him to say, anyway—that she wasn't an insult to anyone, that it had been cruel of her uncle, that Robert was a clever bastard—none of it would leave her feeling any better.

“I knew then that if I married—I couldnae marry Torriden. It was bad enough being alone and laughed at in my own land. To be set up as a parody of a viscountess in the north…” She shivered again. “I couldnae do it, Bear. I dunnae ken if ye understand, but I couldnae.”

“So ye ran. What happened with Elizabeth, then? Was that all just a coincidence?”

“Ye mean to say, did she actually want to marry the duke, and I convinced her to run instead? Nae. She wrote me. I knew I couldnae stay on Islay, but I hadnae yet decided what to do. And then I received her letter. She was so afraid, and her mother Anne wouldnae listen to anything she said. That's when I decided to go down to London and rescue her, and then rescue both of us.” She took another breath. “And here we are.”

Listening to herself, she heard a coward, someone who'd put the well-being of her clan at risk because she feared looking and feeling like a fool, because someone else had called her one. Trying to explain further would likely only serve to dig her hole deeper. Instead she folded her hands together and lowered her gaze to study the stone floor.

“Ye didnae answer my question, lass,” Bear commented after a long moment. “Are ye mine?”

A sob ripped out of her chest. A week or two ago the idea of ownership had annoyed her, but she didn't see it the same way any longer. “I want to be, Bear. But how can I be, when I'm promised to someone else? I cannae be with anyone, because if I am, that means I've decided to do someaught against my own clan's orders. As long as I'm just … running, then naught's been decided. Do ye ken?”

Bear stood, straightening to his full height. “Torriden's here because Ranulf wrote the MacDonald. My
bràthair
thinks I've got it in my head to marry Elizabeth, and he'll nae waste an opportunity to gain influence with another clan. The viscount brought his laird's letter of agreement, but wanted to ask yer sister face-to-face if she had an idea where ye might be, since ye're betrothed to him.”

And she hadn't told Elizabeth anything about this. How could she, when her sister had been faced with marriage to a monster, and she'd run from being laughed at? “I dunnae know what to say, Munro,” she finally whispered. “I thought we'd be safe from the MacDonalds here. I never expected to meet ye. Even less to … to…” She shut her mouth before she could ruin everything, and wiped at the warm wet on her face.

“Finish yer sentence.”

Catriona looked up at him. “What?”

“Ye never expected to meet me. Even less to … What? Finish it.”

Springtime eyes held hers, mesmerizing, giving her no time to think of an alternative or a direction she could turn away. And she actually wanted to say it. Her largest fear, in fact, was that he didn't return the sentiment. “To fall in love with ye, ye brute,” she muttered, lifting her chin. “Now how does that help anything?”

“It helps me some,” he returned, moving toward her. He didn't stop until he threw his arms around her, bent her backward, and lowered his mouth over hers.

She kissed him back, hope and joy and even gratitude flowing through her. He hadn't laughed, hadn't turned away, and he hadn't agreed with her uncle's—or her own—assessment of her character. No, saying it aloud hadn't helped anything. Except that it had. It changed everything.

 

Chapter Fourteen

Much of what Cat said didn't surprise him. She'd spoken enough about being alone and being uncomfortable around other people that the particular facts only served to fill in names and dates. None of that mattered, though. Not any longer.

“I love ye, lass,” Munro murmured, lifting his head from her just long enough to say the words. “I'll nae have anyone take ye from me.”

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as if she was trying to climb inside him. “I should've told ye about Torriden,” she managed, in between kisses. “I didnae know how to admit to being such a … poor excuse for a lass.”

Well, that couldn't be allowed to stand. Munro took her shoulders and held her at arm's length. “I dunnae ever—
ever
—want to hear ye say such a thing again. Yer
athair
sent yer life in a direction I dunnae ken if ye wanted. But ye're yer own lass now. I love this.” He yanked down the collar of her shirt and put his palm roughly over her heart. “How ye dress it doesnae matter to me.”

“This is all I know,” she returned, soft tears filling her dark eyes again.

He took a breath, wondering if they'd both lost their minds, and why he was so content to remain a madman if he could be with his wildcat. “I'm nae a dainty man,” he stated, pulling her to him again, “but I've a younger sister I helped raise. If there's someaught ye want to know, I'll do my damnedest to show ye. But only if ye want to know; I think I've already told ye what I think of ye in trousers.”

Finally he felt her chuckle against his chest, and he relaxed a little. He didn't want her to flee, but short of spending every moment at Haldane Abbey he couldn't do much physically to stop her. She had to want to stay. “I dunnae feel like a proper lady when I'm with ye,” she murmured, “but I feel like a woman.”

The catch in her voice made him clench his jaw. He wanted to call her father a fool for making her into something that no one else would accept, simply because he'd been dealt a daughter rather than a son. At the same time, if Cat hadn't felt so much an outcast, so unfit to represent either her sex or her clan, he would never have met her. She would likely be wed to Lord Torriden by now, and the two halves of clan MacDonald would be happily reunited. He would be … continuing on, trying to avoid being trapped inside a household with a wife simply because it was the thing to do.

“Whatever it was that brought ye here,” he said aloud, choosing his words more carefully than he generally did, “I'm glad ye're in my arms now.” Separating from her a little, he bent to lean his forehead against hers. “And I've nae intention of letting ye go.”

She frowned. “I said I love ye, giant, but do ye have any idea what trouble comes with me? And nae just from Torriden. I ken ye've other lasses ye've … been with. Choose one of them.”

For a long moment he studied her expression, the faint laugh-kissed dimple in her cheeks, the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, those chocolate-brown eyes and that luscious scarlet hair. “They were convenient,” he stated, willing her to understand. “Ye're nae convenient. Y—”

“Well, then,” she interrupted, flushing. “I dunnae—”

“Shut up. I'm nae finished with my sentence. Ye're nae convenient. Ye take some effort. Ye drive me mad. And there's nae another lass in the wide world who would do fer me now. So dunnae ye fret aboot Torriden. Ye dunnae belong to him. Ye belong to me.”

“Only if ye belong to me,” she retorted, typically stubborn.

It was one concession he was happy to give her. “That, I do, lass. I swear it.” He snuck in to catch another kiss from her. When she wrapped her hands into the lapels of his coat, he lifted her off her feet so he could kiss her more squarely. And he wondered if she realized what it meant, when a MacLawry claimed a lass. Because nothing would keep them apart now, no matter the cost.

“M'laird?” Gilling knocked at the barred kitchen door. “Lady Cat? It's too quiet in there. Ye're scaring an old man.”

Munro blew out his breath and set Catriona onto the floor again. “I made ye a solid door, at least,” he muttered, walking over to shove up the bar. “And we cannae have him running to Glengask fer help.”

As Munro pulled open the door, the footman stayed where he was. Given the reputation of his temper, he wasn't surprised at Peter's hesitation, but he couldn't quite believe that anyone would think he would actually hurt Catriona. He'd sooner throw himself off the second floor of the abbey. “Ye're nae so old, Peter,” he returned, motioning the man to enter. “Grizzled, aye. Old, nae.”

“I dunnae ken if that was a compliment or an insult,” the servant replied, sending an appraising look at Catriona, “but I'm glad to see ye smiling, my lady.”

“Aye,” Munro put in. “And it's my aim to make certain she keeps smiling. So I reckon we need to convince Lord Torriden there's naught fer him here, and see him on his way.”

How he meant to do that would be slightly more complicated, but it had to be done. With the viscount at Glengask, anything might happen. And while he and the MacLawry were likely to be pulled into MacDonald politics regardless, it would likely be wiser if it didn't happen over the muzzle of a weapon. If it came to that, though, so be it.

Both Cat and Peter were looking at him, so he shook out his shoulders. “Let's finish patching up the ceiling,” he said aloud, “and make the kitchen secure. And then I reckon we need to start tearing doon the back half of the abbey. We'll set aside the usable stone and brick and then start rebuilding it. Once we've the back done, we'll move ye there, wildcat, and we'll do the same to the front.”

Gilling blinked. “Ye mean to say we're tearing this place doon and rebuilding it?”

“Aye. It's a bit too far gone fer a few plaster patches and some nails, dunnae ye think?”

“Just the two of us?”

“The three of us,” Catriona amended, but her brow furrowed. “That seems like a great deal of work, Bear. The kitchen has what I require.”

“But not what I require fer ye. Ranulf thinks I'm repairing the abbey so Elizabeth and I can make a home here. He's half right. And patching a few holes willnae make this a place to live in. Right now it's a place to survive in. Ye deserve better than that, lass.”

Tears shining in her eyes again, Cat walked up to him. “Peter Gilling, turn around,” she ordered.

“I beg yer—”

“I'm going to kiss Laird Bear,” she interrupted. “So turn around, if ye please.”

Shaking his head despite the grin tugging at his mouth, Peter did as she asked. The servant likely wouldn't be smiling later, when he had time to consider what such a kiss meant for the future of two clans—but that was later. Cat's uncle had meant her to be an insult, a jest sent to the northern MacDonalds that they would have to accept but wouldn't approve. A life of humiliation and behind-hand comments following two decades of similar treatment from her own. Well, that was now ended. And no one would be making fun of her again. Not while he had any say in the matter. Which he would make certain he did.

None of that mattered, though, as Cat slid her arms over his shoulders and leaned up against him to favor him with a deep, soft kiss. Perhaps because she wasn't very sophisticated where kissing and sex were concerned, her kisses mirrored her moods. And this kiss left him deeply … satisfied. It wasn't about sex or even lust, but felt and tasted of possession and happiness. He'd never had a kiss like it. He would never forget it. And he wanted more of them.

“Ye said yer brother was half right in thinking ye were building a home for yerself and Elizabeth. Which half is right, and what's the other half?” she whispered, running her fingers down his cheek.

His heart hitched. He wanted to say it, wanted to ask her, but she'd taken great pains to vanish rather than stand up to her own clan. Even after she'd learned they considered her to be an insult to the MacDonald. Aye, he would ask her, but not until he'd fought and killed all her dragons. “I'm building a hoose fer myself, of course,” he drawled, forcing a grin. “And my horse.”

Cat chuckled. “If ye say so, Bear.” She pushed against his chest, and he reluctantly let her slip out of his arms.

“There's one thing I dunnae understand,” he commented, realizing that they would not be having sex while Peter stood in the corner. “If, as ye say, yer uncle meant ye to be an insult to the MacDonald, why did Torriden come all this way on the slight chance of finding ye?”

She shrugged. “All I can figure is that Torriden has something to gain from it. Mayhap the MacDonald promised him someaught to mend the alliance, regardless of who he has to wed.”

“Stop that,” he stated, frowning. “I told ye that I love ye, so now when ye claim there's someaught wrong with ye, ye're insulting
me.
And I'll nae stand fer being insulted.”

Whether she took his words seriously or not, she did nod at him. For a lass as wild-hearted and striking as she was to feel so inferior—her father hadn't done her any damned favors at all. If she wanted to learn how to be more proper he would do his best to show her, even if propriety wasn't exactly his strong suit. For her, he'd make an effort. She at least deserved a choice in how she wanted to be perceived.

“Thank ye for saying that, Bear.”

“Aye. If ye dunnae believe I was serious, try calling me a liar.”

“I dunnae want to.” She took a breath. “As manly as ye and Peter are,” she said, walking over to pat the footman on the shoulder, “I cannae see the three of us tearing this place down and putting it back together by ourselves.”

And there she went, changing the subject again. One day soon he was going to convince her just how attractive and desirable she truly was, but he couldn't do it until she was at least half ready to believe him. Instead he sat in the chair. “Aye. I could hire workers from the village, and half of Glengask would tote hammers if I nodded at 'em, but ye'd have to stay closed up in the kitchen while they were here.”