One Scottish Knight: A Medieval Novella (Perthshire Series)

by E. Elizabeth Watson

  “Are you just going to stand there?” Gregor beseeched. “Hurry, woman, if you’re worth your salt as a midwife!”

  She wrapped her mantle around her shoulders, then found her slippers by the hearth. Lord, but her stockings. She was wearing none. There was no time. She slipped her bare feet into her shoes and grabbed a basket of medicinals.

  Face ashen, she went to the door as Beth now also rose, wrapped in a robe. Catriona looked at her, eyes wide.

  “What’s the matter, sister?” Beth asked.

  “I, eh…” she couldn’t find the words.

  If she accused Gregor of what her blood was telling her to be true, and something awful befell Therese because of her disbelief, she would never forgive herself, nor would the Murrays. But if this was only a ploy, then she was about to put herself into a lion’s den. A hungry lion, who had already vowed to finish what he’d started.

  “Dammit, woman. You’d let my sister suffer?” Gregor scoffed incredulously.

  “Nay, I…” she swallowed. “Let’s away.”

  The gooseflesh on her arms never dissipated as she descended the steps. Gregor lifted her onto the horse’s rump, then mounted before her.

  “Hold tight,” he cautioned. “The ride will be rough.”

  She shuddered. The implication frightened her. She might be innocent, but she wasn’t naïve. She did as he bade, her basket on her elbow, and wrapped her arms about his muscular torso. He tapped the horse, sending the beast into a lumbering run. She had no choice but to squeeze him tightly or bounce off.

  They traveled back down the highroad leading into the countryside. The terrain was hilly and forested, but she never felt threatened by the animals, day or night. The predators she feared the most were the men that would pinch her rear as she passed, the ones that would comment on her bosom as they pleased—men like the one she clung to now. But still, the horse ran. Mayhap in this regard, Gregor spoke the truth. Mayhap they truly made haste back to Drummond Castle to his ailing sister.

  The village was out of sight when Gregor slowed the horse to a trot, then to a walk, then veered off the forest road into the trees.

  “M’laird, where are we going?” she asked. The wary prickle on her arms exploded into panic.

  “Going to finish my business… Before Eachann gets to you first.”

  She let go and sprang from the beast’s rear, landing hard on a rock embedded in the brambles. She cried out and dropped her basket, the contents scattering, but ran in spite of the pain, limping. They weren’t far into the trees yet. If she could get to the road and scream, mayhap someone would hear her.

  Gregor stopped the horse and jumped down behind her. She heard his heavy footfalls crunching the leaves and twigs. No sooner did she break out of the trees, Gregor snagged her around her waist. She flailed, but he dragged her back into the trees.

  She screamed. Gregor threw his hand over her mouth.

  “Now listen to me,” Gregor said, his words soft, considering how forceful he was being. “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time…” His hand roved across her chest and squeezed her through the fabric. She cringed away, but his arm holding her waist tightened.

  Oh God. She pinched her eyes closed. She shoved at him, gripped his wandering hand, and tried to push it away.

  “One night is all I want. You denied me the pleasure today, but I’ll nay be truly denied, Catriona Morganach.”

  Catriona twisted her face to the side as Gregor attempted to land a kiss upon her.

  “You used your sister’s health to lure me away?”

  He laughed wryly, loosening his grip on her waist.

  “Ah, but Catriona, you believed it.”

  She hadn’t. She had known something was amiss, but her compassion for Therese had gotten the better of her, and Stephen and Beth had urged her to hurry. She hadn’t been able to push the words over her lips to tell them that Gregor frightened her. Fear had lurked in the back of her mind that Therese might really be losing the bairn.

  But now, she was at Gregor’s mercy. No one was nearby to hear her scream. He wrestled her under control. She kicked him. She no longer cared that he was the Laird Murray’s heir. She had reflected on Gregor and Eachann all afternoon. She knew she had been in danger when Gregor took her by the wrist and lured her to the stables, but she had been too shy to argue and make a scene in front of the crowded hall filled with men at arms and important clansmen. But then Eachann had, by some miracle, needed to return home and had come to the stable…

  It hit her.

  Eachann hadn’t done anything when he came home. He didn’t retrieve an important article, didn’t deliver anything that needed delivering. He had brought her home, come inside to warm himself, only to bolt the moment she finished changing. He hadn’t needed to come home at all. Had he intervened and taken her home purely for her sake and nothing more? True, he had said he’s seen her leave the hall with Gregor, but he had also told Gregor he needed to venture home anyway.

  Eachann is the one. He’s the man for you. You have to get away. Eachann wants you. He told you as much, has shown you as much. You must be strong and fight your way free!

  She fought harder as Gregor’s grip bruised her. Managing to yank free again, a horse could be heard galloping down the high road.

  “Help!” She gave a strangled cry, but Gregor pounced from behind and threw his hand over her mouth again.

  She writhed in his grip. Then she felt cold metal press against her lips. She froze.

  “That’s it, wench,” Gregor growled in her ears. “Temper your tongue, or it comes off.”

  Panic consumed her. But what choice did she have? She trembled. She wanted Eachann to appear as he had before. She wanted him to walk into the woods, unassuming, as he had that day, as if only searching for his horse. A tear leaked over her eyelid as the galloping grew louder, louder, and thundered past them. It was too dark and they, too far in the trees to see who it might be. But the hoof beats receded down the road. Soon, the rider was gone.

  Her hope drained away. Still. She couldn’t give Gregor what he wanted when all these years, her heart had belonged to Eachann.

  She had watched Eachann in the throes of desire for her, heard him say he wanted her. He had saved her. She needed him now. She needed to continue struggling, make Gregor regret that he had even tried to submit her. Knife or no, if he cut out her tongue, she would have lost it honestly. But if she could get the knife…

  Could she slice him with it? Could she plunge it into him? Would she be punished for attacking someone so superior in station?

  Men like him took what they wanted with impunity. And many women wanted a chance to lie abed with Gregor Murray. He was handsome, virile, and granted favors to maids and serving women who vied for his approval. But she wasn’t one of them. She didn’t live on Murray land, and therefore, had avoided his attentions more than most. Except, with Therese so sick with pregnancy, Catriona had spent much time in Crieff of late, putting her right in Gregor’s sights. And sadly for her, he had liked what he saw.

  He guided her, now subdued, further into the trees, then removed his mantle and draped it on the ground.

  “Lie down, Catriona. And lift your skirts. I’ll take my pleasure, and that will be that.”

  Though it was dark, she was close enough to see that his blade had gone back into a sheath at his waist.

  “Why?” she asked, pushing away another tear. “Why me? Why must you do this when so many other women would welcome your attention?”

  Gregor lifted her chin and looked into her face. “Because no one refuses me. No man, no woman. No one. And you did just that. And so you must learn, that if we are to get on together, you will be an obedient lass and do as I bid.”

  She furrowed her brow.

  “You have sickness in your mind,” she said, plucking her chin free from his hold and glaring defiantly at him. “You do nay even seek pleasure. You seek revenge, because I hurt your pride by rebuffing your advances.”

&nbs
p; His grip renewed on her chin and his eyes narrowed angrily at the affront, but she laughed.

  “Aye, for someone so large, so powerful, you certainly have a fragile pride.”

  The slap he administered sadly didn’t surprise her. Her face stung, but it had been worth it.

  “You prove my point,” she seethed. “Only a weak man would slap a woman because she didn’t want to lift her skirts for him.”

  Another slap. This time, he wrenched her down onto his mantle. He stripped off his belts, dragged free his tunic from his kilt, and began unwinding the lengths of fabric from his waist until he was nude below his navel. She saw his manhood, engorged, stiff, like Eachann’s had been that afternoon. She shuddered now. Eachann had respected her. Gregor wouldn’t know how to respect a fly.

  But his belts were beside her, his dagger in its sheath having fallen next to her fingers. Gregor pulled his tunic over his head. She seized the moment of his blindness. She whipped free the blade, grabbed his heavy manhood, and pressed the sharp edge to his shaft.

  He flinched back, but her grip held tight. He froze.

  “That’s it, my laird. Temper yourself or it comes off,” she fumed, using his words against him, and watching the sheen of shock spread across his face. “When I let go of this disgusting appendage, I’ll get up and leave. You lied to lure me away. You knew such a lie would be compelling. You knew my conscience wouldn’t allow me to ignore your plea for your sister in case there really was something wrong.”

  This voice welling inside of her had never reared its head before. But she shook with anger at the liberty he tried to take. Felt such revulsion at his presumptions and notions of conquering others. She hated that he had lied to her, then blamed her for believing it. She hated men like him. But could it be that she was in love with Eachann?

  Of course I am.

  Could it be that Eachann loved her, too? A fortnight ago, he had sat stupefied in the saddle, looking at her. But the only other indication he had given her that he liked her, was his abrupt departure today and his private tryst with his hand in the shed.

  That wasn’t true. She loved the beautiful tension that lingered intangible in the air whenever they were near each other, their surreptitious gazes and quick, averted eyes. Aye, time would tell, but she felt strong affection for him and always had, a foundation for love to build upon.

  She stood slowly, let go of Gregor’s cock, and stepped backward, stepped again, guarding herself with his knife brandished at the ready. But when she bent to collect her basket, he lunged.

  “Crazed wench!” he growled. She fell beneath him, the knife slicing across his arm.

  He yanked his arm back, but grabbed her wrist and squeezed it. She shrieked in pain. Her gasp failed and the blade fell.

  “You’ll pay for this!” he roared.

  How she managed to twist free, she wasn’t sure, but she turned into a whirling, screaming tempest, flailing and bucking beneath him, until she was up and running, her slippers having come off in the fray. She hardly felt the ground beneath her cutting into her feet. Hooves were in the distance again, growing louder and louder. The ground began to vibrate.

  “Help me!” Catriona screamed. “Help me! Help me─”

  Gregor grabbed her hair and dragged her back to him.

  “Help me!” she gasped, throwing her elbow backward into Gregor’s stomach.

  He relented his grip, if only for a moment, but she bolted, making it to the main road as a horse thundered close. Gregor snatched a fistful of her hair again. A grey-white horse was upon them.

  Boots landed on the ground. Gregor’s painful grip vanished. Relief flowed through her scalp.

  Men were grunting, hard thuds, fists, she realized, were pummeling flesh. She whirled around, breathless, unable to make out who the man was in the darkness. But he was atop Gregor, a fist landing hard, fast punches.

  She backed up to the horse, feeling its muscle at her head and shoulders, smelling its scent of leather and fur. The stallion panted from his galloping. She turned her face into it to blot out the brutish beating the man was administering to Gregor, when she recognized the beast.

  Ghost. Eachann’s beloved destrier he rode back proudly from England. She whirled around. Now she recognized him, as he dragged Gregor up to standing by a handful of tunic at the nape of his neck like a lad being dragged away by a punishing father.

  Still half naked, Gregor coughed, wheezing for air.

  “Caty,” Eachann breathed, also winded from the attack. He dragged a hand across his brow to wipe his sweat. “Are you all right, love?”

  She nodded, feeling a flood of tears cascade over her eyelids, so relieved it was over. Gregor paused at Eachann’s affectionate word. He looked back and forth between them.

  “I’ll make your life hell, you bastard, for ever daring to touch me,” Gregor sputtered, his mouth turning up into a wicked grin.

  “Aye, you might,” Eachann agreed. “But I’ll have had the satisfaction of beating the shite out of you, for molesting my woman. And Laird Murray’s wrath will be worth it when I announce the embarrassing state in which I found you, with your cock swinging free.”

  Catriona shuddered.

  “What happened, Caty?” Eachann persisted. She swallowed, shaking. “Tell me, lass.”

  “He begged me to help Lady Therese. He said she was in horrible pain and pleaded with me to return to Crieff,” she said, wiping her eyes. “If there was any truth to his claim, ’twould have been my fault if something happened and I had ignored it. I had to go, just in case.”

  Eachann’s glare never severed from Gregor, though he continued to talk to her. “What did he do to you?”

  “He tried to… he tried…” She couldn’t force out the word. She didn’t need to.

  “Did he succeed?” growled Eachann.

  “Nay,” she replied, shaking her head. “I drew his knife on him and managed to defend myself.”

  Eachann turned to look at her, lifting a brow.

  Her confidence, gotten moments before, bolstered her now.

  “Shall I tell Sir Eachann how I managed to ward you off?”

  “I’ll see you punished for the misdeed,” Gregor fumed.

  Eachann looked back at Gregor, finally noticing the blood oozing from the slice on his arm. Gregor rested quietly, still hanging exposed to the air below the waist.

  “I held his blade to his—”

  “Nay,” Gregor said

  “Tell me,” Eachann demanded.

  “Nay,” Gregor repeated, shaking his head. “Nay—”

  “He cantered convincingly down the high road for a short while, before diverging into the trees. I tried to run, but he wouldn’t allow it, and put a blade to my tongue.” An unmistakable growl rolled up from Eachann’s throat, but she continued. “He promised to cut it off if I screamed for help. And when he had me upon the ground, I returned the favor. I pulled his blade from his belts and threatened to cut off his mast if he proceeded.”

  After a moment of stunned silence, a grin turned Eachann’s lips up, then a chuckle rumbled from his throat. Gregor looked away. Good. She hoped Gregor was embarrassed by the tale.

  Eachann’s chuckle turned into a laugh. It was such a rich sound, so husky and deep. If only the situation were less dire, she might have basked in the warmth it evoked in her heart. He was always so serious. She hadn’t heard him laugh so openly since they were children.

  “Aye, Caty. You protected yourself well. We should inform Laird Murray upon our return tonight.”

  “Such isn’t necessary,” Gregor said, jerking himself free from Eachann’s lessening grip.

  Catriona took in the dark image of Eachann. His sable hair hanging loose, his claymore strapped across his back, his tunic cinched to his firm body by his jerkin. He had left her as a lad, but had returned to her a man, and her heart fluttered as she remembered what he had just said to Gregor.

  “My woman.”

  Chapter 5

  “Aye, I think it
necessary,” Eachann countered.

  His blood was still pounding. He could still see Caty in the bastard’s clutches as he chased her out of the trees and captured her by the hair. He might be chuckling now, they might be surrounded by nighttime, but all he could see was red.

  The whoreson, he cursed inwardly.

  The beast in him had come out, to see Caty so desperate and terrified. One punch hadn’t been enough to sate his furious fists. Gregor was going to be sore. His eye was already swelling, and soon it would be a puffy purple and red bruise. True, he might be in trouble for attacking a nobleman’s son, but he had administered such a beating honestly.

  He glanced back at Catriona. In spite of his rage, he was bloody proud of her. She was always so soft-spoken, so demure and quiet, that it was heartening to know she had a Scot’s fire in her soul when she needed it. The problem was that she should never have needed to use it. Gregor should have known better than to press an unwilling woman, no matter her station.

  “I think Laird Murray oughts know that his son is using his sister’s pregnant state to lure women away as his victims. I think he oughts know that Catriona was so desperate, that she had to pull a knife on you. And I think you should return to Drummond Castle with your cock hanging loose, so that all might see your embarrassment for themselves.” Gregor looked at him incredulously, but Eachann persisted. “Caty, go and fetch his effects and his horse. We shall deliver his kilt and belts to Laird Murray for him and leave him to walk back on foot.”

  Catriona scrambled back into the woods in the direction from which she had run and returned moments later with the beast’s reins, holding them at the bit, wincing on her bare feet. He assessed her. She seemed to be in pain.

  But as she merged back where Eachann stood with a hand tethering Gregor, Gregor ripped free, bolted, and jumped over the horse’s rump into the saddle, kicking the beast into a gallop. Catriona stumbled as the animal yanked away from her hold. He shot off into the night toward Crieff.

  Instead of making immediate chase, Eachann grabbed Catriona and dragged her to him. He encircled her in his arms, burying his face in her hair. He hadn’t touched her more than what was polite since they were children playing in the countryside, running through streams, as friends. But as his anger dissipated, he couldn’t help touching her now.