by Mary Wine
* * *
“Stay where ye are, son.”
Rolfe curled his fingers into fists as his father settled back into his chair.
“She is a prize that will net more than ye thought.”
“Since when do we play into the hands of the bloody Douglas?” Rolfe demanded softly.
“Since the man can bestow a title on me.” William turned his head to lock gazes with his son. “One which ye will inherit and pass on to yer own son one day. A laird always thinks of his clan first. Every McTavish will benefit.”
Rolfe disagreed. He shot his father a hard look but kept his jaw tight.
“Women are meant to wed for purpose,” William offered softly. “Why do ye think the MacPhersons allowed her to turn hellion? They do nae want the burden of providing a dowry for her. The Earl of Morton will find her a husband with a position, and her children will have better lots for it.”
Rolfe couldn’t fault his father’s thinking. It was the way the world was. A solid truth that only a fool argued with.
So label him a fool.
* * *
“Do nae let me father’s words wound ye.”
She hadn’t thought Rolfe would follow her into the chamber, much less touch her, but she felt him cup her shoulder. It was so tempting to indulge in a moment of bliss. Linger in the sensation that seemed to result when he touched her. It was a mystery—in many ways, an alarming one—but her pride refused to allow her to take shelter in it.
“Your father”—she made sure to enunciate every syllable exactly the way she’d been taught by her tutors in England—“does not have the power to frighten me.”
Rolfe knew she was lying. The look in his eyes told her she could not hide her emotions from him.
“So…go on with you.” She tried to make her tone one of disdain. “Or are you looking to gloat over what profit you have gained by bringing me here?”
“That is no’ why I am here,” he replied softly.
She shifted away from him, her belly twisting in response to how close he was. Her craving for him was undermining her ability to recall why she had to shun him.
“I meant what I said when I brought ye here, lass.” He spoke each word in a tight tone that sent a warning through her. “It was for a bit of ransom, and so ye might learn the value of thinking before ye took to acting rashly and placing men in peril.”
She nodded, in spite of her temper. It pleased him. For one small moment, there was peace between them. But she closed a door inside herself, refusing to let him see any more of her feelings. She had to do it or be flayed alive.
“But me father…” Rolfe’s tight expression crumbled for just a moment, allowing her a glimpse of his frustration. “He is laird here. I failed to think about how he’d treat an Englishwoman.”
Englishwoman…
Katherine stiffened but Rolfe cupped her shoulders, keeping her near him as he aimed a hard look into her eyes.
“I do nae share his feelings, Katherine.”
“Oh, really?” She twisted away from him, stumbling because of how much force she used. “Do not coddle me. I know your true feelings on the matter.”
His face was a mask of determination. “I’ve a mind to kiss ye again, woman.” He pulled her close enough to feel his breath on her lips. “So ye do nae forget.”
“Kiss me?” she demanded. “Why? So you can jerk away from me once more, to make certain I know you cannot stomach the fact that you lust for me?”
He sealed her against him with an arm around her waist, while his other hand captured her nape and he pulled her the last remaining inches toward him.
“So ye know I must have ye.”
She was melting, cravings rising up from inside her, but she jammed two knuckles into the soft spot where his neck and torso connected. He recoiled instantly.
“Your father is laird here.” Her anger had drained away, leaving her tone nothing more than a soft lament.
Rolfe drew himself up stiffly. “I can nae be a man of honor if I do nae agree with ye on that.”
Somehow, she’d still been clinging to hope. The look in his eyes made her release it. He turned but paused at the door.
“I should no’ have brought ye here, Katherine.”
* * *
“I know that look,” Adwin said when Rolfe emerged. His longtime friend was shaking his head in warning. “Ye’re plotting.”
“Ye’d rather I acted like a dog?” Rolfe asked. “Accept what me father does with me prize like a hound being tossed a table scrap? She is me prize.”
Adwin contemplated him seriously for a long moment. “This is likely no’ going to end well. Ye know that?”
Rolfe shot him a cocky grin and made sure it remained on his lips. He wasn’t going to admit how many doubts he had.
Four
“Boyd will take the chit to Morton.”
His father was making sure his voice was heard by half the men in the hall.
“And give that Douglas the opportunity to take the payment without giving us what is due?” Rolfe inquired. “Better that I go. He can raise me up in yer stead, in front of witnesses, and I’ll make very certain no’ to let him even see the wench before he seals the patents of nobility in front of men he’ll think twice about crossing.”
His father was suspicious. Rolfe watched him weigh his words along with the looks on his men’s faces.
“Morton is a Douglas, sure enough.”
“Send only yer senior captain, and ye might be waiting until the end of time for yer title,” Rolfe said.
William grunted. “Aye, and aye.” He slapped the tabletop. “Ye’ve a fine head on those shoulders, right enough. Take the English girl down there, and if that Douglas does no’ keep his end of the bargain, bring her back, and we’ll ransom her to the MacPherson.”
There were nods of agreement from those watching. Rolfe caught Adwin giving him a curious look, but he didn’t linger in the hall. He offered his father a tug on his bonnet before going to make preparations to leave.
His father enjoyed the fact that he had a good head on his shoulders? Rolfe hoped so, because he was going to test that.
* * *
She shouldn’t have any feelings for him except loathing.
Katherine intended to lecture herself firmly on the merits of cultivating a deep dislike of Rolfe McTavish, but all of her words seemed to slip away once she was in his company again.
He was too handsome, but it was more than his exterior that she found attractive. The man had honor in the truest sense of the word, and it took self-discipline to maintain such a thing. So she was drawn to him, both in flesh and spirit.
The fascination would only do her harm. Rolfe would obey his father. It was his only option if he planned to maintain his honor, and she would rather suffer being handed over to the Earl of Morton than watch Rolfe McTavish become less than he was.
She fought to keep her attention off him as they rode. At least during the day, it was simple enough. His men were over forty strong, and they clung to her hem in groups of four anytime she was out of the saddle.
Which wasn’t often.
At least that thought offered her a twinge of distaste for Rolfe at last, but it wasn’t in the form she wished. Instead, what she felt was a sense of impending parting that was going to leave a scar on her heart.
At last she came to a hard truth, one that nauseated her.
The Earl of Morton was a man, like many nobles she had encountered among her father’s sort. They were men who had been raised believing they were elite, placed in their positions by God himself. There was no arguing with such men. They expected submission, and she suspected they enjoyed the odd person who didn’t give it immediately because it offered them the amusement of breaking that person.
Today was different, though. It drew her from her
thoughts as Rolfe took them near a village and up to the doors of an inn.
She was grateful to him for it.
And chided herself for thinking of him in any way that was positive, but she simply couldn’t seem to loathe him.
More the fool her. He was driving them hard in an effort to deliver her to the man willing to pay the McTavish the most for her. She’d be wise to remember her purpose, because Rolfe certainly would.
Still, it had been raining the entire day and the opportunity to lay her head down in a dry place was too enticing. There was also something to be said for knowing when to see one’s blessings and enjoy them before they were gone. Katherine slid from the back of her horse and happily went toward the front of the inn. The McTavish retainers crowded around her, but tonight, she decided that they were just as eager to get out of the rain as she was.
Once they were inside, the scent of supper drew a rumble from her belly. Conversation filled the great room where trestle tables were crowded in with benches for travelers. A buxom woman by the hearth wore an apron sporting numerous splotches. She wielded a ladle and called out a greeting to them.
“Plenty of bread and supper for all!”
Rolfe still stole Katherine’s breath.
It was an admission she couldn’t avoid as she caught sight of him sending a smile toward the woman before he turned to her husband and began to discuss the details of business.
With the rain, the tavern was full. Katherine ventured toward the hearth, only to be pushed back by two large Scots.
“Excuse me.”
It was an ingrained response, polite manners that had always served her well. Tonight, they had the opposite effect. The two men turned on her, their expressions dark.
“English bitch.”
One of the men reached out and started to shove her away from him. Another response came from the years she’d trained with Marcus. She stepped to the side at the last moment, so that his own motion sent him stumbling past her. His companion roared with amusement.
The first man snarled and flipped around to face her. “Think ye’ll be getting the best of me? No English will ever live to see the day.”
“Causing trouble already?”
Rolfe was suddenly there, pressing her behind him as he shielded her with his body. The two clansmen faced off with him.
“What are ye doing with an English wench, McTavish?”
“Better still, why are ye bringing her into our taverns?” The second one spat on the ground at Rolfe’s feet. “Let her bed down in the stable.”
“But apologize to the horses first for making them suffer her presence,” the first man added with a grunt.
“I’m on me father’s business,” Rolfe said firmly. “And I’m no’ one to question him.”
Rolfe hooked Katherine by the upper arm, turning and pushing her toward the back of the room where there was a narrow flight of stairs. The woman from the hearth was in front of them, and she pushed open a door at the top of the stairs.
“In here.” She was flushed and gestured Katherine inside, as though she were stuffing someone with a case of the pox out of sight before word got out and her business was deserted.
Katherine made it inside and heard Rolfe snort. She turned on him. “Don’t think I will be apologizing for keeping that man from putting his hands on me.”
Rolfe had paused in the doorway. She looked past him and realized her two tormenters had followed them.
“Well, now,” the one who had tried to touch her declared. “I’ve misjudged ye, McTavish. Seems ye are putting the bitch to the only use she truly has. How much for a turn on her?”
“She belongs to me,” Rolfe said firmly.
Boyd and Adwin suddenly appeared to haul the two away, and Rolfe started to close the door but hesitated. He finally cursed in Gaelic before shutting the door and turning to level a hard look toward Katherine.
“If I leave, there is going to be a fight, and no mistake about it.”
Katherine was still standing in the middle of the room. Her belly had decided to twist with excitement, a very inappropriately timed sort, too.
“Unless ye prefer to sleep in the rain, lass, I’ll have to stay here, no matter the damage it will do to yer reputation.” He spoke softly but maintained his position right in front of the door, as though he was loath to venture any farther into the room without her permission.
Which was ludicrous, since she was his hostage.
She suddenly laughed at their circumstances. He raised an eyebrow at her.
“I’ve never seen you uncertain, Rolfe McTavish,” she explained.
He rocked back on his heels for a moment. “Enjoying it, are ye?”
She shrugged and moved a little farther into the room. Her memory offered up a fine, perfect recollection of what had happened the last two times they were alone together. And exactly how much she’d enjoyed it.
Her cheeks heated.
She turned and looked into the small hearth the room was furnished with.
“I suppose ye’re due a bit of enjoyment,” he said quietly. “’Tis the truth that I’ve missed seeing ye smile.”
Katherine turned back to face him so quickly that her skirts swished in a wave of wool. “I have little to be pleased about, thanks to you.”
“Me father is the one responsible for ye being taken back to Morton.”
“If you had not insisted on taking me to McTavish land in the first place,” she argued, “I would never have met the man.”
Rolfe was watching her and suddenly came to some sort of conclusion. He stepped into the room, and she fell back instantly. The heat in her cheeks doubled, her breath catching in her chest.
Why did it have to be Rolfe McTavish who had suddenly awakened the woman inside her?
He placed his sword on the table and walked over to the hearth. It was strange the way he drew her attention. She was fascinated by his motions. The way he knelt so easily and sat there, poised on a knee as he placed some wood into the hearth and struck a flint next to it. She’d done the same many times, but had never enjoyed watching someone do it. The man mesmerized her.
The only saving grace was that he detested her English blood. At least he would prevent her from succumbing to his touch.
Yet was that a blessing?
With the fate she was bound for, was she wise to squander her opportunity to enjoy the touch of a man she craved?
Wicked…
Perhaps she was everything she’d been accused of being recently, and more.
There was a knock on the door, and it swung open a moment later as the woman returned with her arms full. She bustled over to the table and set several dishes on it. Rolfe had turned to watch her, but he was looking through the open door at his captain. Adwin didn’t smile often, and tonight his expression was dark.
“We’ll be at the base of the stairs.”
Rolfe nodded as the woman lowered herself and hurried out.
“I’ll sleep by the fire, lass.”
“Of course you will.” She should have sounded more grateful, but the sting of that moment when he’d jerked away from her was still too sharp.
Rolfe slowly chuckled. The sound wasn’t one of amusement, though. There was a dark promise in it, one clearly expressed on his face when she looked toward him.
“Ye think I pulled away from ye because ye’re English?”
Part of her recognized that she might be far better off ignoring his question, but the wound that had yet to heal from that moment refused to allow her to suffer in silence any longer.
“Yes.”
He rose and closed the distance between them. “I am a man of me word, Katherine.”
His comment caught her off guard, but she was having trouble thinking again. He was too near, too large, too imposing, and her flesh was far more interested
in responding to him again without any interference from her thoughts or sense.
“I did bring ye to me land to ensure ye did nae meet a foul end due to yer foolishness.”
She bristled. “And I have told you that you were justified. Is it so terrible to say I felt at ease in the Highlands and never suspected that there would be men who harbored hatred for me simply because of my blood? Is it so very wrong to see the world as a good place? Inhabited by men of honor? I never had a reason to hate the Scottish and didn’t see any reason to distrust the MacPhersons when Marcus brought me north. They gave me every reason to embrace their kindness.”
“Ye were old enough to have heard about the strife between our two peoples.”
She lifted her hands into the air. “Aye, and yet young enough to decide to embrace a life that seemed free of such hatred.” She finished with a sigh, realizing how desolate her life was now that she’d been forced to face the hard reality of hatred. It left her so lonely. “There must have been a time when you were forced to face such harsh facts. Wasn’t there a time when you viewed the years ahead with hope instead of duties to be fulfilled?”
He paused, brought up short by her words. She glimpsed a moment of surprise flashing through his green eyes.
“Aye,” he offered with an honesty that felt very personal. He locked gazes with her, and she knew she was looking at the boy he’d once been. The one who had believed in hope. The one so similar to herself that she felt a kinship with him that was nearly soul-deep.
It made her realize how alone she’d felt since Robert had decided to see her as a woman instead of his companion.
“When me father lost his leg, he took to his chamber abovestairs.” Rolfe moved back toward the hearth, leaning on the mantel as he relived the moment.
“I thought the worst of it was when the surgeon took off his leg. I’ve heard men scream before, but this was my father. I wished it were me own limb, and that’s the truth. I cursed the bloody Hays to hellfire because it was a skirmish with them that had festered.”
Rolf took a deep breath. “But that was no’ the worst of it all. Me father lived, and yet he was no’ alive in those months after the fever passed. He kept to his rooms, refusing to be seen.” Rolfe shot her a hard look. “Thought his men would no’ respect him with a leg missing.”
