by Blair, Willa
Rose turned to him and snarled. “Keep yer men in control, or ye willna stay till morning. Ye will leave Rose now.”
In answer, the man stood and drew his sword. “Ye owe me and mine. The men who killed two of my men had a lass with them and talked of coming to Rose.” At Cat’s gasp, he nodded. “That very lass, perhaps? Now that we are here, I think you’ll find tossin’ us out a might harder than ye wish it to be.”
Kenneth rose and made sure Cat stayed behind him as her father also brandished his blade.
The gallowglass men in the hall joined the fight and in moments, they’d overturned tables and arranged themselves back to back, blades drawn. The serving lasses fled while the men fought. Kenneth stayed out of it, protecting Cat and letting her father fight his own battle until he and his opponent’s struggle carried them to the great hall floor. When Kenneth saw another gallowglass swing a blade at the Rose and miss, Kenneth jumped down. The man moved toward the Rose again, forcing Kenneth to intervene. He stabbed the man in the chest, protecting the Rose from being stabbed in the back.
A shriek filled his belly with icy dread and he turned on suddenly shaky legs, consumed with regret he hadn’t let the Rose take his chances.
The last Irishman standing had grabbed Cat. His blade lay against her throat.
Chapter 17
Catherine held herself still, furious at allowing herself to be grabbed. The man hadn’t hurt her, and likely wouldn’t, given that his other hand was busy fondling her arse. As long as that’s all he did, she’d tolerate his assault to keep Kenneth and her father from rushing forward and making the man cut her throat. He probably imagined he could force her from the hall and have his way with her somewhere private. If he tried to take her in front of them, all hell would break loose again. She had no doubt one of them would kill her attacker, but whether she’d survive was somewhat in doubt.
On the other hand, she still had her eating knife in her pocket. If she could stab her assailant before he cut her throat, she’d be fine. She had taken a man down armed with nothing more than a tree branch. She could handle this.
“Let the lass go,” her father demanded.
The man at her back laughed and thrust a hand between her legs.
“I’ll kill ye if ye harm her.”
Catherine hated the note of desperation in her father’s voice.
Kenneth started forward, but she gave her head a slight shake, careful of the blade at her throat, trying to tell him she was unharmed, for now. Thank the saints for all the layers a woman wore.
“If ye harm her, he willna have to kill ye,” Kenneth spat, venom in every syllable. “I’ll do it for him.”
She’d never seen him look so fierce. But then, he’d never seen her in the hands of a man bent on molesting her or killing her right in front of him.
“If ye want the lass to live,” the man snarled and moved his hand from between her legs to her hip, then slid it up to grab one breast, “ye’ll let me take her from here.”
“Let her go—now,” her father shouted.
Catherine knew she would be embarrassed later that her father saw her being assaulted this way, once she’d had time to think about it and recall his expression. But at the moment, she was more concerned about Kenneth’s reaction. His eyes were narrowed to mere slits and the muscles in his jaw bunched tightly enough to crack teeth.
“Ye can leave,” Kenneth ground out, without a glance at her father. “Only if ye let the lass go.”
The man behind her laughed again, close enough to her ear to cause pain. “We’ll go. ’Tis up to ye whether the lass lives when I’m done wit’ her or whether I use her up, then do to her what ye did to my lads, and let the fairies take her.”
The man pulled her back to the wall and made for the door to the bailey, sliding sideways so no one could get behind them.
Kenneth, her father, and several other Rose warriors followed, but backed off a pace every time the man twisted the blade he held against her neck.
His laugher made fury climb like a firestorm from her belly and she stopped, forcing him to stumble against her. Then she felt a warm, wet trickle down her neck, and realized she’d only made things worse. Once Kenneth or her da saw blood, they’d attack.
“Let’s go,” Catherine hissed and they moved on, out the door and into the bailey.
The man turned her to face the men following them from the hall. He kept her stumbling backwards, toward the stable. The few people in the bailey moved quickly out of the way. “Get us a horse,” the man called as they reached the stable wall. He put his back against it, Catherine shielding his body in the front. “Or I’ll ride this piece right here.”
“Ye’ll die trying,” Kenneth taunted.
Catherine turned her head away from the blade at her throat, trying to see what was around her that might help her get away. For once, she cursed Mary’s insistence that the lads keep the area around the stable clear of pitch forks and other implements. From the corner of her eye, she saw a stable boy stick his head out of the door and look wide-eyed at her and her captor. His gaze shifted to Kenneth, who nodded. He disappeared back inside for long minutes while Catherine fought for calm and endured her captor’s grip on her breast. Then the lad led out a saddled horse.
Too quickly for anyone to reach them, the gallowglass swung up and dragged Cat up behind him.
Cat knew once out of the keep, she’d be in worse trouble.
* * *
Kenneth had never known anguish like this. All the other mounts, his included, were in the stable. He couldn’t outrun a horse, even one carrying two people. Archers on the walls couldn’t shoot as they rode out of the keep—they’d hit Cat. He ran forward anyway, hoping to grab Cat and pull her off the horse, but the man kicked the horse into motion, outrunning Kenneth’s attempt.
Suddenly, before they reached the gate, Cat hit the man in the neck and the horse reared as he jerked the reins. Cat tumbled off the back, landing hard, a bloody eating knife still clutched in one hand.
Kenneth scooped her up, heedless of the bucking, rearing horse only a few feet away and dragged her clear. A shout warned him as the man turned the horse and swung his blade, aiming for Cat.
Kenneth pushed her aside, then blocked the man’s arm. He got enough of a grip to pull him from the horse. Kenneth gutted him as he fell. He landed heavily, air whooshing out of lungs that no longer needed it, his blade lying useless a few feet away from his outstretched hand.
Someone stepped forward to control the horse, but Kenneth barely noticed as Cat ran to him and clung to his body, burying her head against his chest. “Are ye harmed, Cat? Did ye fall on yer blade?” Kenneth held her away from him and looked her over. “There’s blood on yer arm.”
“His,” she replied and leaned into him again. “I’m unhurt.”
Kenneth pulled her to him and hugged her, hard. “Thank all the saints,” he whispered into her hair. Then he looked up. The Rose stood a few paces away, watching them, but saying nothing. He pursed his lips and turned away. Gesturing at the body on the ground, he ordered two of his men, “Get that offal out of my keep. All the rest of ’em, too.”
“Da, the wounded…”
“Can stay where they are as long as they cause no more trouble,” Rose answered her. Then his gaze lifted to Kenneth’s. “Let’s get her inside. We all could use a wee dram.”
“Or two,” Cat answered from within the circle of Kenneth’s arms.
* * *
In the laird’s solar, over whisky, Rose admitted he should have listened. Kenneth couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Rose laird, admitting to a mistake? From Cat’s expression, raised eyebrows and parted lips, she was equally surprised.
“Just because the Irish fought for Domnhall doesna mean they are on the Highlanders’ side,” Rose concluded. “Sassenachs would have been better partners, had Domnhall been able to convince the English king to send troops. Too bad he had to rely on those gallowglass men.”
Kenneth co
uld only nod, though he couldn’t give his wholehearted agreement. The English had done more than their share of damage on Scottish soil. Inviting them in would be like inviting the wolf inside your gates. He couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t sound disagreeable, so he kept his mouth shut.
Mary arrived in time to save him from continuing the conversation. “Ach, I heard what happened.” She went straight to Cat, took the whisky glass from her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come with ye. Ye look half asleep and should be resting after such an ordeal.”
“Kenneth…” Cat started, then yawned and covered her mouth with a hand.
“Will be here in the morning,” Mary interrupted, giving her father a narrow-eyed glare. “Let’s get ye to yer chamber.”
Cat nodded and went with Mary, but she trailed a hand across Kenneth’s shoulder as she passed. Kenneth reached up and squeezed her hand, but let her go. Her father’s steely glare prevented anything more affectionate than the brief touch.
The two men sipped their whisky in silence for a few tense moments. Then Kenneth set aside his glass and broached the subject that had been on his mind all the way from St. Andrews. “I asked ye before, more than two years ago. I’m asking ye again. I want to marry Cat—Catherine in the kirk. Two years ago ye thought her too young. She’s grown up now.”
“Aye, demonstrated by running to St. Andrews without telling a soul, with nary a thought for what might have happened to her on the way, or the worry she caused. If ye think her behavior was mature, ye’re no’ better than she is. Perhaps ye deserve each other.” He gulped the rest of his whisky, set the glass down and refilled it. “Then she runs away from kin in St. Andrews with ye to go halfway across Scotland, meet up with an army, and finally get home.” He sighed and set his glass aside. “Only to nearly be stolen away and have to stab a man to save herself. Inside her own keep. My bairn.”
The Rose was working himself into a fine temper. Kenneth had a bad feeling about anything he might say next.
“Ye claim ye saved her from trouble in St. Andrews, and from ruffians on the road. I saw ye save her from that gallowglass bastard. I suppose ye think that entitles ye to my daughter, aye? That I’ll respect this marriage in the ‘old way’ ye claim to have undertaken.”
“We could have handfasted already, if ye feel that is more binding, but yer approval is important to us both,” Kenneth said, softly, and lying through his teeth. Cat was ready to go ahead, with or without her father’s approval. Kenneth was the one who wanted it. For Iain’s sake and the sake of the alliance between Rose and Brodie.
“I ken what ye’re thinking,” Rose told him. “Rose doesn’t need another alliance with Brodie. Ye are right. I’d be better off marrying her to one of Domnhall’s allies—even to an Irish noble.”
Kenneth surged to his feet, furious, and stalked out of the solar while Rose laughed. He stormed through the hall and outside, where servants were cleaning up the blood he’d spilled there in defense of Rose’s youngest daughter.
Rose had been playing with him this whole time. He’d never approve their marriage.
Chapter 18
Catherine revived a bit as she and Mary crossed the great hall. The walk with her sister did her some good. “How is Cam?”
“Better, I think.”
“Can we stop by to see him? I haven’t spoken to him in days.”
“Of course.”
Cam turned his charm on Mary as soon as the sisters entered his chamber. “Ach, my angel of mercy, and lovely Catherine, come to see if I yet live?” He waved a hand. “I’m harder to kill than that.”
Catherine smiled. “I’m glad ye are better. I wanted to see for myself. Mary has been monopolizing yer time.”
“Now wait a minute…”
“Mary, my love, ye ken I live for every moment ye are with me.”
Catherine grinned as Mary blushed.
“Ye are full of nonsense, Cameron Sutherland,” she objected.
“I have heard the same said a time or two,” Cam replied and winked at Catherine, then turned serious. “But ye, lass, had quite a scare today. Are ye well?”
Catherine nodded. “Of course, I am. Kenneth took care of the gallowglass.”
“After ye had to stab him in the neck,” Mary added, incensed.
“Oh ho!” Cam cried, then began coughing. Mary rushed to his side and placed a hand on his chest. In moments, the fit subsided. “I’d have a care around yer sister if she has a blade in her hand,” he gasped, then grinned. “She can take care of herself, she can.”
Mary snorted. “I hope she’ll no’ need to be using one too often.”
Cam took Mary’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “She’s got the healing touch, like ye do. She’ll get more use from that.”
Catherine backed up to the door. “I’ll leave ye to rest. Be well, Cam.” After a few steps down the corridor toward her chamber, Mary joined her. “I thought ye would stay with Cam a while longer.”
“Nay. He needs to rest. And ye need me more than he does tonight.”
“Are ye certain? He seems quite taken with ye.”
“He has charm, that one. More than any man needs.”
Catherine laughed softly. “He does.”
“But I think he’s merely grateful for his care.”
“I dinna ken,” Catherine answered. “But I can tell ye this: I met Cam in St. Andrews and spoke with him several times there before he joined us on the journey here. He flirts, aye, but he has a big heart in him, too. I’ve seen evidence of it many times. He warned me of danger before we left town, and he helped Kenneth keep me safe, though he had no obligation to either of us. We didna always trust him. He has secrets, but he proved himself, over and over again. He lies here, wounded and ill because even after we sent him away, he returned and did what he could to keep all of us safe. He may be a youngest son, but he is a worthy man, if ye decide to give him a chance.”
Mary nodded. “I’ll keep what ye have said in mind.”
She and Mary settled in her room. Mary helped her undress and sat her in front of the small hearth, picked up a comb and ran it through her hair. Tension she didn’t realize she’d been carrying since being stolen by the gallowglass man slipped little by little off her shoulders with each stroke of the comb. “That feels good.”
“Tell me about the trip here.”
Some of the tension came back. “Ye have heard most of it already.”
“Trouble seems to follow you both,” Mary chided. “Are you sure marrying Kenneth is a good idea?”
“Aye.” Catherine had never been more sure of anything. “It’s taking us longer than it should—thanks to Da—but Kenneth is the man I want to spend my life with. If only Da doesna get in the way.”
“We convinced him once,” Mary reminded her as she continued to comb Catherine’s hair. “Annie is very happy with Iain at Brodie.”
“She is. But that’s the problem. Da kens what we might do.”
“I still hope to marry away from Rose, so if ye marry Kenneth, and Da doesna wed Mhairi Grant, since her clan supports Albany, Kenneth could be the next laird. Is he capable of taking on so much responsibility?”
“Of course. He’s brave and smart, and he fought in France. Besides, none of that matters. It won’t happen for years. Da is hale and could still find a lass young enough to give him sons.”
“He could.”
* * *
Frustrated at being kept from Cat, Kenneth tossed and turned without getting any rest. Up early, he paced in his chamber until daylight showed through the narrow slit of a window, then he went down to the great hall to break his fast. Afterward, he checked on his mount in the stable and watched Rose lads practice at arms until the midday meal. Cat never appeared, so after he’d eaten, knowing he dared not approach her chamber, he sought her in the garden, where she often went no matter the time of day. As he’d hoped, she was there, sitting on a stone bench among the roses. He paused at the gate and just looked, drinking in the sig
ht of her, then pushed open the gate and went to her.
“I feared ye had already gone,” she said, beaming at him. Then her mouth flattened. “Ye are no’ here to tell me ye leaving, are ye?” Cat asked, dismay in her tone.
“No’ yet. But I think ye should ken what yer da said last night after Mary took ye away.” He related her father’s objections to their marriage. “In his mind, nothing has changed. He still doesna want to waste ye on Brodie.”
“He doesna have any choice. We are wed in the old way. We’ll formalize it in the kirk if we can. I care no’.”
“But ye ken I do. Iain needs the alliance with Rose.”
“And if, some day, ye are laird Rose, the alliance will be in safe hands.” She told him about the conversation she and Mary had. “If Da doesna marry again and have a son, and if Mary leaves, my husband will become laird.”
Kenneth’s gut suddenly filled with ice. “I canna be Iain’s designated heir and Rose’s, too.”
“Iain’s?”
Kenneth nodded. “I already am.”
Cat’s hands flew to cover her face. “Ach, nay.”
“I’m sorry I didna tell ye, lass. It didna seem important at the time. Iain and Annie have a daughter and will have another bairn soon. A lad, I’m sure.”
“But ye will still be his heir until they do, even warden and guardian until any heir they have grows up.”
“Or someone else could take on that responsibility.” Not that he’d want to relinquish it—except to wed Cat. “At any rate, I didna tell ye because we were intent on returning ye home…”
Cat shook her head. “Before I convince my father to let us wed in the kirk, ye must decide which is more important. Brodie? Or me?”
* * *
Another hail from outside the walls drew them from the garden. After a split second wondering if more trouble had arrived, Kenneth knew it had—he knew that voice. As if conjured by Cat’s last comment, Iain had arrived, and with a small party of Brodie warriors.
