One Scottish Knight: A Medieval Novella (Perthshire Series)

by E. Elizabeth Watson

  “Caty, lass. I saw Gregor leave Drummond Castle and sought permission to come home. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time,” he said, closing his eyes to smell her, feel her supple and soft in his arms as she melted to his chest.

  “I love how you call me ‘Caty’,” she whispered. “I…” She looked up at him now and he opened his eyes to gaze down into hers. “I saw you in the stable at home. Today.”

  His face flushed. Thank God it was starless and moonless, because knowing she had seen him satisfy himself was hellishly embarrassing and no doubt his face and scar were bright red. He started to turn away from her.

  “I’m sorry. I should have announced myself,” she continued. “But Eachann, why have you never told me how you feel about me?”

  “Catriona.” He said her name gruffly. “I promise I’m nay like Gregor. I would never have allowed you to see me—”

  She grabbed his arm and he turned back to her. “Why?”

  Her question, and the suggestion in it, made him pause. “Because I respect you.”

  “You called me, ‘your woman’. Is this true?” she asked, her words quieter still, her hand upon his arm gentle, sliding down to his fingers. When he didn’t say a word, she turned away from him. “Unless, of course… Ah, I’m foolish, sir. Mayhap you were just being kind to protect me from him and in the moment I misunderstood—”

  “Nay,” he cut her off, pulling her back to him so they stood flush, chest to chest. “I’ve been well-pleased to be with you again, after so long.”

  He lowered his head, slowly, his breath feeling labored and heavy, and planted his lips to hers. She didn’t misunderstand a damn thing. His interest in her was well beyond friendly, and well above simple lust.

  He didn’t know if Gregor had kissed her yet, though he didn’t taste another man on her lips. He deepened his kiss and to his pleasure, she didn’t shove him away. At first, she stood frozen. And then, Lord, but she was returning his kiss! Triumphant pride bloomed in his chest. He rolled his tongue over her lips, their pending punishment from Laird Murray receding into the distance as he savored what such a joining of lips was doing to his pounding heart. God, her lips were even softer than he imagined. She smelled so wholesome. He took her chin in his thumb and urged her mouth open.

  Heaven. His tongue delved between her lips. She tasted like honey and warmth. He enveloped her in an arm, his hand on her chin sliding up to cradle her cheek, and he tilted his head to get a better angle. She mewed against him. He swallowed the sound with a groan of his own.

  “Caty,” he muttered, gruffness thick in his throat. “Hand fast with me. Right now. I’ve thought about you for years. I want you as my own. When I got to the cottage and Stephen told me Gregor had come for you I—I can nay explain my fear.”

  His lips crushed back against hers, and he felt her arms cinch about his waist, clinging to his back.

  She nodded against him. “There’s no one else I would rather belong to. Even as bairns, I was drawn to you. I’ll hand fast with you.”

  He ran his hands up and down her back, then he reached down and withdrew his sgian dubh from his boot and proceeded to slice off a thin strip of wool from his plaid. He sheathed the blade and took one of her hands in his.

  He swallowed. This was actually happening.

  He wrapped the strip of wool around their gasp, and they both looked at it. His chest inflated with so much pride as he watched a shy smile capture Catriona’s lips.

  “I’d be pleased, lass, if you would call me ‘husband’.”

  She threw herself against him again, their hands locked in their knot as their bodies embraced each other, and he took to petting her hair, almost as dark as his, down her back.

  “It is so, then,” he whispered, a lopsided smile breaking out on his mouth. If only he hadn’t been such a fool and waited so long to finally tell her how he felt. “If, in a year’s time, you no longer want to be coupled, you may leave the marriage—”

  “Nay. I was at your side when I was young, and I look forward to growing old at your side, too. You’ve always looked out for me, Eachann.”

  He ran his thumb down her cheek. “And you’ve always taken care of me, Caty.”

  She grasped him. “I missed you. I was so happy you returned home, for I didn’t think I would ever see you again. I thought when you left as a lad, you’d see the world and never want to come back.”

  Such a sentiment deserved another kiss. Eachann didn’t hold back, but dipped his head to hers. Happiness, nay—wholeness, unlike anything he’d ever felt—surged through him as he finally gave into the urges that had plagued him for so long.

  “Lord de Lough’s household was fine indeed, and his grounds lovely to behold. But no place would have been home to me without my brother…and without you,” he said, running his thumb down her cheek.

  Sakes. They should be on their way to Laird Murry to denounce Gregor’s accusations, for the bastard had the advantage to ruin them both. Yet in this moment, all he wanted was to drag Catriona onto the soft grasses beside the road, hoist up her skirts, and flip aside his kilt. Nay, not for their first time together. Their first time should be special, careful, a chance for his wife to explore his body and become familiar with his preferences and he, hers. And that wouldn’t happen with their looming punishment from Laird Murray hang over their heads.

  “Let us go face Laird Murray, and I will do what I can to get us out of this mess.”

  Catriona shivered. “What of our—”

  She blushed so profusely, she couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “Our union?” Eachann asked, dipping his head to get a look at her downcast face.

  She nodded.

  He tilted up her chin. “Never be ashamed of such thoughts with me. I’m your man now. And I definitely like the thought of you wanting such from me. But I’d rather we enjoy it with this problem off our trencher. I do nay want to rush it, lass. Our first time should be special.”

  She blushed some more. He could feel her skin heating beneath his hands. Eachann felt the corner of his mouth turn up. He was her man. He planted one more kiss to her lips, pulled apart, and draped the cut strip of his tartan around her neck and tucked it beneath her gown.

  She sucked in, holding still for him to do what he would, and closed her eyes.

  “There,” he said, his voice gruff. “You wear my colors. There’s no disputing it now.”

  She smiled so brightly, he was certain the cloudy night brightened. He lifted her up onto Ghost and collected Gregor’s clothing and weapons that had fallen at their feet. Bundling them, he mounted in front of her.

  “Hold tightly, love. We must make haste so that Gregor has little time to inflict damage on our reputations, for the law is on his side.”

  Catriona nodded and slid her hands about his waist, clenching him in spite of the sword across his back. How easily names like “love” slid from the tongue. He turned the reins and urged Ghost into a gallop. His jaw hardened as reality reared its ugly head. Catriona had nearly sliced away Gregor’s cock. That the whoreson deserved it, was irrelevant. Pray he could keep them both from being cast in a dungeon. Pray Laird Murray would be honorable and recognize his son for the pond scum that he was.

  Chapter 6

  Catriona shivered. Eachann’s wool against her skin, so near to her face beneath her bodice, smelled of him—warm, soft, comforting, like leather and heather and fresh air and his sweat.

  Windblown and nervous, she needed comfort now, for the butterflies flitting about her belly were eating her alive as she ascended Drummond castle’s steps. Her hand was firmly encased in Eachann’s. Had she really done such a thing to Laird Gregor? Had she really threatened him such bodily harm? She shivered again as the guards pulled back the doors to the sleeping castle, for it was now the wee hours of morn.

  “Sir Eachann!” boomed Laird MacLaren.

  Catriona jumped, but Eachann clenched her hand to keep her steady. He strode confidently across the floor, pulling h
er with him. Apparently, though the yards were silent and the shops shuttered tightly, Gregor had roused both his father, as well as Laird MacLaren. Both men sat by the hearth in high-backed chairs carved intricately from solid oak. Gregor, now wearing trews, stood beside his father, who glared at them both. Sakes, but Eachann’s handiwork was brutal. Gregor’s face was purpled, his eye swollen shut, and his lips split and fattened. Eachann had done that for her.

  “Good morrow, my laird.” Eachann dipped into a bow, and Catriona hastened to curtsy.

  Laird MacLaren rose slowly, his eyes stern. “You had best explain yourself, lad. Gregor Murray bears the proof that you attacked him out of jealousy as he and Catriona Morganach engaged with one another.”

  Catriona trembled, not just with fear, but with burgeoning rage. How dare Gregor lie and claim what they did was consensual?

  “Indeed,” Laird Murray rumbled. “You attacked my son, and a man of stature compared to yourself.”

  “You cause me trouble, for I had already bartered your training to Laird Murray in exchange for repaying your debt to me for seeing you fostered, and he rethinks such a contract now,” the MacLaren laird continued. “He questions your suitability for such a role. Such is an insult to me and to Clan MacLaren.”

  Eachann rose to standing again, his grip upon Catriona so tight, she sensed that he, too, was nervous.

  “He attempted to rape her. They nay ‘engaged’.”

  “That’s nay what he said,” argued Murray.

  “That’s the truth. He takes what’s mine by force.”

  All of them furrowed their brow, but Eachann continued, tossing down Gregor’s kilt and effects at Laird Murray’s feet.

  “You wanted to give me a lady wife, my laird, as compensation, but I took Catriona for my own tonight. I know you would expect me to seek permission, but it sort of…” Catriona felt him glance at her, though she kept her eyes downcast. “Just happened. Laird Gregor tried to corner her in the stable yesterday, but I knew she was unwilling. I intervened and took her home to safety.

  “So instead, he rode out to our village and claimed that your daughter, Lady Therese, was ailing and in pain. He lied to Caty to lure her away, but in sooth, took her into the forest to take liberties and punish her for rejecting him in your stables.”

  “Untrue!” Gregor exploded. “He was jealous that she chose me!”

  “I assure you that when I saw her crying and fleeing barefoot from the trees, you half naked and dragging on her hair, she was most unwilling!”

  “She’s nay your wife! She’s a village peasant from Crianlanch, Laird MacLaren’s land, and fair game! You lie now. She came with me willingly, and you attacked me like the vicious dog you really are!” Gregor seethed.

  “Shall I summon my brother and Catriona’s sister to describe what they witnessed? For when I arrived home, they both inquired into Mistress Therese’s health, telling me that you came for Caty to help her. They said she was unwilling to go with you, but when you insulted her for nay caring if Mistress Therese ailed, they prompted her to hurry.”

  “Liars! All of you!” Gregor lunged at him.

  Eachann dragged Catriona behind him and slid free his claymore from his back sheath. Her chest rose and fell. She clung to Eachann’s hand, watching Gregor’s face cloud with rage.

  “Son!” Laird Murray exclaimed, bolting to his feet and catching Gregor by the arm.

  “Stand down!” Laird MacLaren ordered Eachann.

  Eachann’s chest heaved and the scar down his face darkened into a menacing red. He held his sword on guard in spite of MacLaren’s command.

  “I’ve never been a liar,” Eachann retorted.

  He ripped his hand free from Catriona’s grip and pulled her, still barefoot, beside him. Servants had roused at the yelling. Faces peered over the great hall from the darkened gallery above.

  “Look good and hard at the colors me wife wears,” Eachann growled.

  Sakes, but even in such a dire moment, Catriona’s heart fluttered. He might have been trained and molded by an Englishman, but in his anger, his fiery Scottish blood had revealed itself. Eachann pulled out the end of his tartan hidden inside her neckline.

  Catriona trembled.

  “Mine,” Eachann growled. “And any man who attacks Catriona Donnachaidh is lucky if he walks away from me when I’m done with him. I care nay if Gregor’s a noble or a serf. When I studied under Lord Reginald de Lough’s tutelage, the code of chivalry was well-branded on my conscience. He was a good man, with good lessons for a lad like me. I stand by those lessons learned and will always intervene when I see a man in the wrong. It has made me a strong swordsman, skills you both want me to teach to your men. Let it be known, if a man touches me wife inappropriately, I shall always intervene, and I do nay guarantee that he’ll be alive when I’m done with him.”

  The men hushed.

  “She wears naught even a ring to denote your marriage,” Gregor said, smirking.

  “As you know, I wasn’t born into a good circumstance. I haven’t a ring to give or a means to buy it. But the promise was still made betwixt her and me.” Gregor scoffed at Eachann’s explanation, but Eachann persisted. “Shall I further tell you how my wife was able to free herself from Gregor’s molesting hands? Why your son returned to you in naught but his tunic?”

  “Lies…” Gregor fumed, shaking his head, though his voice lowered and he shrank back.

  Eachann turned to their growing audience in the gallery. “He held a blade to Catriona and threatened to cut out her tongue if she screamed for help! So when he dropped his kilt, she put the same blade to his cock and threatened to castrate him like the unruly bull that he is!”

  Gasps ensued. And then, faint chuckling rose through the hall. Catriona dared a glance at Gregor whose face burned at the humiliation. No one laughing dared show their face, but the laughter could be heard all the same. Catriona perused them. She couldn’t see any of the offenders. No doubt no one wanted to be in trouble for laughing at the laird’s son.

  And then, unexpectedly, Laird MacLaren’s mouth turned up.

  Laird Murray, embarrassed for his son, dipped his head and braced his hand to his forehead, shaking it. “’Tis proof enough for me that the lass is Eachann Donnachaidh’s,” he muttered. He turned to his son with a sigh of resignation. “Go to your chamber, son. We must talk.”

  “What?” Gregor fumed. “He’s allowed to attack me and get away with it? Bollocks, Faither! I’m your heir and he’s naught but a—”

  “Get ye gone to your chamber!” thundered Laird Murray, “and nay defy me again!”

  Gregor froze, then wisely bowed to his laird and father, and quit the hall for the bedchambers above. Moments later, a door slammed.

  “All of you busy bodies, return to bed!” Murray further hollered at the castle onlookers.

  The staff hastened back to their pallets for the remainder of the night, though there would no doubt be gossip spreading like wildfire. Laird MacLaren approached Eachann. He laid a hand upon his shoulder and Eachann dropped into a bow.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted to marry Catriona? I would have blessed the decision.”

  Eachann glanced her way.

  “I supposed I didn’t have the courage to ask her, until now. You seemed intent to offer a bride to me, and I suppose, I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  Catriona’s heart dropped. Eachann seemed like a son fessing up to his father. She supposed, in this regard, Laird MacLaren was the closest thing to a father Eachann had ever had, apart from the English lord who had fostered him. She felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. She knew she was a peasant, and Eachann had worked hard to elevate himself. She had seen him yesterday when she arrived at Drummond Castle with Therese’s herbs, sitting at the knights’ board, a place of prestige he had earned. Had Eachann known he would disappoint his laird if he hand-fasted with her?

  Her eyes fell to her bare feet.

  “’Tis I who am the disappointment,�
�� she murmured. If Eachann was going to be punished for hand-fasting with her, she would do what she must to make sure he bore no shame in the decision. “I’m sorry if I ruined plans you were both making for a better marriage—”

  “Wheesht,” scolded Eachann, lifting her chin sternly. “Never say that again, woman. No one could be disappointed by you. The laird had no idea how I felt when he sought a marriage for me. And I turned it down when he offered.”

  “I’m pleased by the arrangement,” Laird MacLaren smiled. “Eachann is a man of good taste.”

  Catriona blushed, embarrassed by both men’s attempts to assuage her insecurities. Eachann wasn’t known for saying a lot, and right now, he was fretting.

  “I hand-fasted with you, because I love you, I always have, and missed you during all my years away,” he added.

  ’Tis true. He loves me. Lord, but she had missed him also, so very much. The ache he had left in her chest when he left seven years ago was love. She had loved him then, as she loved him now.

  His mouth turned up into a hint of a smile. With no regard for Laird MacLaren standing before them, he dipped his face to hers and kissed her, then pulled her against him to settle her head against his chest. They no longer needed to hide their affection – from their people, or from each other.

  “Son. I still must sanction you for attacking a man high above your station. You should have come to me to discuss your concerns yesterday after Gregor’s first actions.”

  Eachann stood tall, still clenching her. “I understand. And I’ll accept your punishment, whatever it may be, if you’ll see well to absolve Catriona of any wrong-doing.”

  Laird Murray came to join Laird MacLaren’s side.

  “Nay. My son was in the wrong. I had no idea he liked to engage in such sport. I can only assume you were nay the first lass to be so wronged. Eachann Donnachaidh did what any man of honor must do when someone is so wronged. I’m sorry, lad.”