by Mary Wine
“I’d be a fool to think I could do it a second time,” he announced. “And double so for thinking Marcus does no’ know that is a lass.”
“So it’s true, then,” Adwin announced. “Me cousin said the MacPhersons have an English hellion living among them. I thought it was just a good story.”
“English, ye say?” Rolfe asked.
“No’ a chance,” Cedric argued. “Now, a Highlander lass might”—he held up a thick finger—“just might have the strength to keep up with the lads. But English? Nay. Their blood is too thin.”
“Who else would be allowed to train like a lad?” Adwin insisted.
Rolfe didn’t listen too closely to his men as they began to debate the shortcomings of the English. His mind was full of the girl and the way she’d blinked when he touched her chin. Damned if there hadn’t been something strangely hypnotic about it. Like he’d touched a fae creature.
He chuckled at his own whimsy.
She was just a lass, and a foolish one at that. If anything, he should go home and pen a letter to Marcus MacPherson, because Rolfe wasn’t going to ride up to MacPherson Castle. Marcus would enjoy slapping him in shackles, no doubt. Rolfe had once held Helen Grant for ransom. It was all in good fun, in a Highland fashion. Helen had never been in any real danger. That was a point of honor.
Colum Gordon was a different matter. The man had lost touch with the world around him, cradling his vengeance for his dead son and blind to the fact that Bhaic had killed Lye Rob for a just reason.
Rolfe was torn. Somehow, he felt protective toward his nameless fae creature. She was playing a dangerous game, riding at night when clansmen were out raiding. More than one man would consider her a fine prize, and if she had no family to notice her missing, her fate might be a grim one.
“Let’s get the cattle,” he commanded in frustration. Marcus deserved the dig at his pride for allowing any female to train in his yard. Look what sort of recklessness it had bred in the lass! The bloody Gordons would not be so kind to her if they found her.
Hellion?
More like hell-bound. Her behavior was going to land her in her grave.
* * *
She’d ridden the horse too fast.
Katherine spent over an hour rubbing the poor creature down and praying that she would go undiscovered while she was tending to the chore. At least the work gave her something to do, because she was pulsing with nervousness and yet, at the same time, a strong sense of victory.
She couldn’t stop smiling, and she was muffling her giggles while working on the horse.
She’d really, really done it.
Escaped.
All of the reprimanding looks and lectures melted away as her accomplishment burned bright enough to overshadow them all. She’d been so frightened for a moment when the rope was biting into her and she was being pulled along like a cow on the way to be slaughtered.
And then she’d used her wits to cut through that panic, opening a doorway for her training to come through. Things Marcus had said during training classes suddenly made sense in a bold manner that filled her with a confidence she had never experienced before. It was heady and dark and seductive.
Just what she’d needed after weeks of toiling in the kitchens, where she was clumsy and ignorant and so much less skilled than the rest of the women. She held a new respect for the toil necessary to put a meal on the table, and that was a solid truth.
Yet, she didn’t belong there.
The men didn’t want her near either. It was a puzzle that seemed to have no solution. At least not one that pleased her. Katherine wound through the passageways toward her chamber, left with the sure knowledge that she was not frightened of the shadows or the night hours or even McTavish clansmen. She would not trade that for any amount of acceptance from the other women. She’d earned it with every blow and knock, all the times she’d fought back her tears and kept training. Her courage was hard-won and, it would seem, her sole possession. For her name was tarnished, and among the Scots, her blood was hated.
So she held the courage she’d cultivated tightly to her chest and felt something that had been missing since the day Robert had told her she couldn’t ride out with the men.
Contentment.
A sense of belonging.
She realized that she’d been longing for it, and now she felt at ease again, as if she’d found a part of herself she’d thought was broken away. It wasn’t. Even if she was separated from the training yard, everything she had learned was still hers and could never be taken from her because she’d earned it.
The moment she closed her eyes, she saw him again.
Rolfe McTavish.
Out in the darkness, he’d been a brute, to be sure. Not that she doubted he was any less fearsome by the light of day, but the night hours cast things in a way that made them seem more intense. That had to be the reason why she would have sworn she still felt his fingers on her skin.
He’d touched her for a mere moment. Moon madness was the explanation for why it lingered in her thoughts.
She’d heard his name many times. He’d held Helen for ransom when Marcus had first brought Katherine to the Highlands. She had been barely fourteen at the time, and grateful to Marcus for not wedding her as the Earl of Morton had demanded. Katherine had been too young, and Marcus had been outraged. He had stolen her away into the Highlands to ensure she’d have time to grow up.
She was doubly grateful tonight because Marcus had trained her. Rolfe McTavish would have been sending another ransom note if she hadn’t known how to escape.
But she had, and she fell asleep with that truth warming her.
* * *
“Ye allowed Katherine to leave the kitchens?”
Marcus arrived in their bedchamber, demanding an answer to his question before the door closed. Helen shot him a hard look of reprimand because he’d startled their babe. Roderick opened his eyes and let out a wail. Helen cradled him close as she rocked him, waiting for him to close his eyes once more. Marcus waited while she settled the infant in his cradle, caught in the moment, still finding it hard to believe that he was so fortunate.
His wife turned to him, lifting one eyebrow. “Do ye think I have any more stomach for crushing her spirit than ye do?”
Marcus didn’t miss the point of her reply. He’d braced his feet wide and crossed his arms over his chest, but now he ran a hand over his head. He kept his hair cut short so it couldn’t be grabbed in a fight.
“Ye’re right.” He placed his sword by their bed and checked on Rae before sitting down next to her.
“The kitchens are an unkind place to put her now,” Helen continued. “She lacks the skill of the other women her age.”
“Because I allowed her to train,” Marcus finished as he set his boots aside. He turned and considered their second son. “I think it might be a good thing that we have only sons. I seem to have no wisdom when it comes to raising lasses.”
“I’ll have a daughter,” Helen warned him. “Don’t be thinking to deny me one.”
Marcus slowly grinned at her. It was a wicked one that she enjoyed seeing on his face.
“Well now, Wife,” he began in a deep voice that warmed her blood, “ye know I hate to leave ye unsatisfied.”
Helen snorted at him as she was drifting off into sleep. “I do nae believe that nonsense.”
“That ye only conceive daughters when a man leaves his woman unsatisfied?” Marcus clarified.
Helen opened her eyes and looked at him. “We are going to have to move Rae to a different chamber with the way ye talk.”
“Ye mean with the way I pleasure ye.”
She made a little sound of agreement under her breath. “As for Katherine, what is yer quarrel with her working with the hawks?”
“It’s in the stables, a place where men are often rougher in their words.”
> Helen scoffed at him. “Katherine has been training in the yard for nearly six years. If ye were concerned with her hearing about lust, ye are far too late, and I don’t doubt that she has seen everything there is to see about what is beneath a kilt.”
“Aye,” Marcus agreed as he pulled her close and inhaled the scent of her hair. “As I already admitted, I do nae seem to have much wisdom about where a lass should and should no’ be.”
“Ye were thinking of her English blood and the hatred of it here in the Highlands.”
Marcus nodded. “I was. Fate has given the lass a hard hand to play. Bastard born to a noble, no less, and with her mother lowborn, her noble stepmother will not be wishing her good health.”
“The Earl of Morton would no’ have found it simple to steal her away and keep her if that weren’t so,” Helen agreed. “She’s been left to whatever fate Scotland holds for her. She was far too young for that.”
“I knew it was nae correct to train her, and still, I could nae argue with the sense of it.” Marcus spoke softly. “But now, well, she’s a woman grown and can no’ hide it.”
“Who does nae know how to be a woman,” Helen finished. “Nor does any of the clan treat her like one.”
Marcus’s hand stilled on her hip. “Well, now, that’s something I do know a bit about. I’ll see to it tomorrow.”
“See to what?” Helen asked.
But her husband had lost interest in the conversation, now that he’d come to a conclusion. He was far more interested in stroking her body and bringing it to life as he always did. Helen lost track of anything beyond knowing that they needed to move their children to another chamber soon, because time had not dulled the reaction she had to her husband, and she still could not keep her cries of delight to herself.
* * *
“Katherine Carew.”
The great hall of MacPherson Castle went quiet as Shamus MacPherson spoke her name. The laird of the clan was old now, but at times, his voice still rang with authority.
Tonight was one of those nights.
His retainers turned to consider her as she hesitated with one leg over a bench and her supper still in her hands. One of the women who was serving the long tables that filled the hall reached over and took it away from her.
Katherine pulled her leg back and lowered herself.
“Ye’ll join me,” Shamus informed her.
One of his men went toward the end of the high table and pulled a chair out for her. It was a position of honor, one reserved for members of the laird’s family and his captains. Everyone seemed to be watching her, so she started moving toward the head table, though it felt as if each of her boots suddenly weighed as much as a young colt.
She stopped and lowered herself once more before she climbed the steps to where the high table sat. The chair was large and furnished with a pillow, and the retainer pushed her in toward the table once she’d sat down.
“It has been some years since Katherine came to this castle.” Shamus spoke clearly, and his men gave him their attention. “So tonight, I want to take a moment to remind everyone that she is considered me son Marcus’s sister. The Earl of Morton, the king’s regent, wanted an alliance with me family, and we will honor his wishes.”
There was a long moment of contemplation from the men and women of the clan. Many of the men stroked their beards while their eyes narrowed in thought. But the laird’s word was law, and in the end, his men nodded to him before they turned back to their supper.
“Ye may stay with the hawks, so long as ye keep to wearing a dress,” Marcus said softly beside her. “And ye will sit beside me at meals so no one forgets yer place.”
She nodded, but Marcus turned and his eyes narrowed.
“So that pleases ye?” he asked.
Marcus was suspicious by nature. A trait that served him well as war chief to the clan. Katherine had been frightened of him for most of her first year in the Highlands, but after that, when it seemed he wouldn’t keep her from training, she’d decided it was part of his charm.
“Aye,” she answered him. “It pleases me far more than turning bread.”
“Ye would no’ have been a maid,” Marcus explained.
“Helen was clear on that matter.” Katherine stiffened as she knocked elbows with a maid who was leaning in from behind her to serve her. Marcus chuckled softly.
“It takes a bit of getting accustomed to,” he muttered once the maid was finished. “Being served, that is.”
It seemed she’d also have to learn how to eat while being watched. Katherine snapped her mouth shut as she realized there were plenty of people looking directly at her. She lifted a linen napkin from where it was laid over her right shoulder and made sure her lips were clean. After that, she took only small bites to ensure she wasn’t chewing with her mouth open.
Marcus made a sound under his breath. “Helen asked me how one managed to eat at the high table when she first wed me.” He sent Katherine an amused look. “I told her, very carefully, or ye’ll be used as a teaching example by MacPherson mothers.”
“No, thank you,” Katherine answered. She was strained, so her English accent was more pronounced.
“I knew.”
Marcus had spoken so softly that she had to think for a moment to make sure she’d heard him correctly. He cut her a look.
“I knew ye were there, lass. In the yard.”
He watched his words land, taking note of the smile that lifted the corners of her lips. He scoffed before reaching for a round of bread. He tore it and placed a piece on her plate.
“Pleases ye, does it?”
“You are not a man who gives out false flattery, so yes.” Katherine reached for the bread, forcing herself to handle it more daintily. “I consider it a compliment earned.”
“Fair enough,” Marcus responded. “Mind me, Katherine. On the matters of yer dress and this table. I would make certain ye are afforded protection.”
“From my blood, you mean?”
Marcus looked back at her, and this time she saw the frank, bluntly honest man who had trained her. This was the war chief of the clan. “Ye’ve heard with your own ears the way the men speak of the English. I allowed ye to train because I can no’ be changing the fact that many men will visit the sins of yer countrymen upon ye. Yet Robert is correct: ye are a woman grown now. So, ye’ll sit beside me so every man here understands I consider ye me family.”
She nodded and went back to her supper. Marcus got caught up in a conversation with his brother, Bhaic, so she was left to contemplate his words.
Being on the outside was something she understood well. It had been her life; Scotland was no different. So she would celebrate her victory in escaping the kitchens.
A wicked little thought moved through her as she contemplated just how much easier it would be to ride out at night now that she didn’t serve directly under Helen. The master of the hawks was an old man who had plenty of younger apprentices to do the work for him. He took to drinking before the sun set and slept soundly until after dawn.
Yes, a victory. That’s what it was indeed.
* * *
“Looking back toward MacPherson land?”
Rolfe jumped and growled at Adwin. His captain only flashed him a grin, which the moonlight illuminated.
“That little lassie will no’ be venturing out again.”
“I am no’ so certain of that,” Rolfe declared. “She is brazen by nature.”
Adwin made a low sound under his breath. “Learned so much about her in that wee moment ye were together?”
Rolfe answered him with a shrug. “Perhaps I understand females a wee bit better than ye do.”
“No’ bloody likely,” Adwin scoffed. “I’m still a good eight seasons older than ye, lad.”
“And still,” Rolfe said softly, “ye missed that fine pair
of tits.”
Adwin humphed and gripped his belt.
* * *
It was a moment that seemed frozen.
Katherine had no idea how long she stared at the scene before her. One moment, she was feeling the sting of a blush on her cheeks as she heard Rolfe boldly talking about her breasts, and the next, she blinked, because a conversation was coming up behind her.
“If I catch whoever has been raiding our cattle, I’m going to hang them.”
“Feuding is forbidden by the regent,” another voice said.
There was a grunt and a brushing of leaves as Katherine crouched in a thicket.
“The Earl of Morton can go fuck himself. Ever since he’s been insisting on peace in the Highlands, all I do is watch me inheritance bleed away. One hanging will send a message. MacPhersons, McTavishes, Robertsons… They all need to know the Gordons will nae be trifled with. Now shut yer jaw… Cleo is coming back.”
There was a blur of motion. Katherine watched as a bird glided past and perched on a tree near her. It turned, displaying its large, amber eyes.
An owl.
It could see in the dark and had been trained to hunt men. She shivered as one of the shadows shifted behind her and lifted a gloved hand. The owl took flight, gliding over to the gauntlet and eagerly taking the bit of meat offered to it. But the meager amount of food was consumed quickly, and the bird turned to look for the prey its master would reward it for. As it started to lower its head and raise its wings, Katherine started moving.
Rolfe and his men had no idea how close they were to being discovered.
She bumped into the thicket on purpose, making it shake and fill the air with a rustling sound. The owl turned toward her, flying straight at her as she turned away from Rolfe McTavish.
It was a rash action, and yet so satisfying to know she’d protected them. She turned to run back to where she had left her horse. Rolfe had only a few men with him, and the Gordons were more than twenty strong. Many would label her foolish for interfering in the business of men, but she did not regret doing so.
“After him!”
Katherine ran, digging her feet into the earth as she pushed herself up the hill toward the crest. On the other side, her horse was waiting, and the animal’s strength would carry her away. Her lungs burned as she heard the men behind her. They were closing the distance, but she knew not to look behind her because it would slow her down.
