His fascination with Gowan’s wife would be a thing of the past. His attempts to seduce her had gone unnoticed and would remain just some harmless fun between them.
Just some harmless fun.
His father would have tasks for him. His mother would wish to discuss his thoughts on the potential brides. As he climbed the steps to enter the great hall, leaving his mount with a boy in the yard, he realised that the one objection to any of the women named—he did not wish to consider a MacKenzie bride because he was pursuing one of her kin—was now moot.
* * *
The butcher’s son was delivering supplies to the keep and was not happy about it. Young Ronald, named for his father and his father before him, had the unhappy duty of following the cart to the kitchens and unloading it. Being only ten, it was a torturous assignment for it kept him from splashing his way through every puddle in the village during a storm such as this one.
Finally finished and dismissed by his uncle, Young Ronald ran from the keep, jumping over the rivers of water that traced patterns and grooves down the hill to the village. Knowing his friends would be waiting by the end of the lane, he raced through the mud, almost losing a shoe to the sticky, gooey mud that sucked at his every step.
He spied what looked to be a deep puddle off to the side and would have raced through it, but a woman and a man stood next to it. Veering around the small house in his path, he came out the other side just in time to see the man grab the woman up and kiss her.
Shuddering and grimacing against the horror of it, he waited for them to move on so he could plunge into the puddle, which now looked deep enough to call a pool. A moment later, the woman slapped the man holding and kissing her and pushed away.
Good that, it meant they would leave sooner and he could have the puddle all to himself. Better, he knew if he told his oldest sister Meg about who was kissing whom in the shadows during the storm, she would reward him with a warm tart. Or one of her special pies. Sighing over memories of how his sister’s baking tasted and smelled, he stepped closer to get a look at who these two were.
The man was the earl’s son. Kissing women—Young Ronald could not help that he grimaced again—seemed to be something Aidan MacLerie enjoyed for he was always in the village visiting this one or that one. He shrugged and was ready to leave, for the young lord kissing a woman was so commonplace it would get him no reward at all, when the woman turned and he saw her face.
Old Gowan’s wife.
Old Gowan was one of the earl’s best soldiers. He’d even showed Ronald how to wield a sword—well, a wooden one—and shown him how to duck a blow. He knew Old Gowan and he knew Old Gowan’s wife. And sure enough, that was her that Aidan MacLerie kissed.
Meg would probably give him an extra tart for this news!
The two left, each going in their own way, giving Young Ronald an open path to the puddle. As he jumped and landed in the centre with both feet, the water exploded around him and rushed in waves over the side of the big hole that formed it. Now, more empty than not, it would take time to refill.
So, he wiped his face and ran off to find his friends, the secret he carried forgotten for the time being.
Chapter Six
Once the weather broke and the storms finally ceased, the ground began to dry out. Villagers and those living in the keep all sought out the fresh air and began to emerge like ants from their nest. Though most duties could not cease simply for rain, those who could avoid going out in it had. And, as was the usual occurrence during forced time indoors, tempers flared.
His father insisted on fair challenges and fights to sort through disagreements among his warriors, so the fair weather brought forth many of those. Once the work was done for the day, those challenged and those defending gathered in the yard. Though he was neither, Aidan would not mind a chance to work out the tension in his body.
With the sun setting so early, there was not much light left. Aidan called out to Angus and Caelan when he noticed them by the fence and went to watch the first matches with them. Young Dougal, Rurik’s son, stood at the ready for the next match. He probably bore no one a grudge—the young man just loved to fight. With only Munro missing from their group, the fight began. It took no time at all for the crowds to gather and the betting along the outer fringes to begin, too.
But the murmurs that passed through the crowds just then had nothing to do with the men fighting within the fence there. Elbows nudged and heads leaned closer to whisper some bit of gossip about someone walking towards the keep. As he leaned away and looked to the person causing the comments, a sick feeling hit him like a punch in his gut, its sourness spreading into a very bad taste of bile in his mouth.
Catriona MacKenzie walked alongside the steward’s sister, heading for the keep. He noticed that she glanced behind her as people passed, clearly aware of the whispers and pointed staring in her direction. When those whispers and stares began to include him, he knew for certain that someone had witnessed that kiss.
One thing his father had taught him was that to give scandal attention was to give it life, so he returned his gaze to the men fighting. His attention remained elsewhere, wondering who had carried the tale. And if everyone knew what had happened. And if everyone thought that they had....
Bloody hell! They knew him and his ways—of course they thought he’d taken Gowan’s wife as his lover. A twinge of guilt assailed him as he knew that he would have if she’d said aye.
The discretion he’d planned, if that path had been followed, was impossible now. If he tried to correct the assumption that everyone now accepted, it would draw more attention than if he simply did not comment on it.
That plan lasted exactly four minutes—the length of time it took Munro to reach his side after entering through the gates. He hoped to explain things to his friend—after all, they’d shared a number of sexual conquests in their carousing nights and Munro would believe him.
It was the punch that connected with his jaw and landed him on his face and the taste of dirt in his mouth that convinced him otherwise.
‘Munro,’ he began as he pushed to his feet and wiped the back of his hand across his face. ‘Come. Let us discuss this....’
He got nothing else out before the punch in the stomach knocked the air from his lungs and made speaking impossible. When Young Dougal grabbed Munro and held him, wrapping his arms around their friend and not allowing him to deliver any blows, Aidan caught his breath.
‘In the hall,’ he ordered. ‘Gair’s chamber. Now.’
Young Dougal had some sense for he dragged Munro around to the front of the keep and entered that doorway, not crossing paths with the stricken woman whose reputation was now being bandied about by one and all, embellishing the details as it passed. Aidan thought about how to proceed, how to stop this reckless talk before true harm was done, but he could come up with nothing.
Munro walked on his own as they made their way through the main floor of the keep, heading towards the chamber that Gair, the steward, made use of. It was one of few truly private places within the keep, making it a perfect place for the discussion to come. Once they were gathered inside, with the door closed and a servant outside to drive away the curious, Aidan faced Munro.
‘I know not what gossip you heard, but it is not true if it involves your father’s wife.’ Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for the accusations, planning to reveal nothing more than was necessary.
‘So, you say you have not been following Catriona? And you did not meet with her in the village two days ago?’ Munro glared at him, his posture daring Aidan to lie.
‘Following her? I spend time in the village. If I saw her and greeted her, ’twas only as much as anyone else who lives there.’ He evaded the question, but from the expression in Angus’s eyes, he knew not well enough.
‘And during the storms? ’Tis said
you two were kissing in the village then. You were seen wrapped around her and her clutching you back.’
‘Aye, I did see her during the worst of the storms. She was making her way to some task and nearly fell into a rut in the lane. I righted her and she went on her way and I on mine.’
Munro looked stymied then. To question him further could be considered an insult, yet it was clear to Aidan that he wanted to.
‘Did you question her about these accusations? Oh, wait. No one actually accuses us. This is just gossip being spread with or without the truth mattering,’ Aidan said.
‘Aye, I did question her,’ he spat out. ‘First she refused to answer me and then she denied it. Do you deny it as well?’
‘She denied it because she has been only faithful to your father, Munro.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There is no proof.’
And that was his mistake, for Munro raised his head and met his gaze. He began to grind his jaws as he rose to his full height.
‘No proof? I think you had me invite you to supper that night just to press your suit. Now that I think on it, you have been in the village more than usual. And you have not mentioned another woman’s name in weeks and weeks. That means you are pursuing a new lover for your bed. Proof, Aidan? I have only to remember your ways to know that there is more to this than you or she is saying.’ Munro pushed him aside and strode from the chamber. When his friends looked to him to see if they should stop him, he shook his head.
‘Let him be.’
‘Aidan?’ Caelan asked the question without even saying the rest.
‘She is faithful to her vows,’ he repeated, telling them exactly what they suspected—it was not for a lack of trying on his part that Catriona MacKenzie did not share his bed.
‘What about Munro?’ Angus asked.
‘Leave him be. This gossip will die down soon enough. When all those who now watch us both see nothing, it will die down.’
Now, their expressions confirmed what he already knew—this gossip would not go away soon or well enough. Everyone who heard it would think Catriona guilty of cuckolding Gowan. She was an outsider, from lands and a clan who were, until only recently, their enemies.
So until Gowan returned and the matter could be dealt with as it needed to be—the misbehaving wife punished and the man issued a challenge—the gossip would do what gossip did.
It would spread.
* * *
Two weeks had passed since her life irrevocably changed and there was still nothing she could do about it. In spite of knowing she’d done the right thing, everyone in the village and the keep believed she had sinned and humiliated Gowan.
Munro dogged her steps and slept at the cottage every night. He also arrived at various times during the day—unexpected and unannounced—with the hardly hidden goal of catching her in some act. It was not just his presence, it was the way he spoke to her and glared at her. So many times she wanted to strike out at him, but she held her hand and hoped that Gowan would believe her even if his son did not.
The worst part was that Munro revealed that he’d sent word to his father to return and take care of this matter of honour. Her body trembled as the thoughts of what that would entail crept back into her mind. As her husband, Gowan had the right to punish her however he chose, though to kill her would require the chieftain’s permission. He could banish her or send her to a convent, but that would require money. As much as she wanted to believe Gowan would not seek such redress, Munro’s taunts and threats could convince her otherwise.
Muireall stood by her when none other would, but Cat had heard the harsh, whispered words between Muireall and her husband, Hugh, and knew her friend risked much by her support. The rest of those living in the village reacted the same—treating her like a traitor and shunning her.
The butcher could not give her the meat she asked to buy and offered her only the toughest cuts instead. The baker had no space in his ovens for her bread. The women stared or walked away instead of answering her greetings. When walking through the village, she lost her footing several times when bumped or jostled from behind as people rushed past her.
The strangest thing she’d noticed was how the men of the village treated her. Before, they treated her with the respect due the wife of kin. Now, more often than not, she met lustful stares of men who saw her as a loose woman, her rumoured association with the earl’s son being the only proof they needed. None ever approached her, but it did not stop them from following her with illicit desire in their eyes.
If she’d thought she was an outsider, a stranger in a place where everyone was familiar to everyone else, these last two weeks had proven how wrong she could be. Convinced that this would probably not change, no matter the course of action Gowan took with her, Catriona wondered if refusing Aidan’s advances had caused more problems than accepting them would have. She brushed that sinful thought aside and tried to make it through another terrible, miserable day.
When she arrived at the well with her buckets to fill and every bit of conversation stopped in one moment, Cat knew they’d been talking about her. She nodded her greetings to anyone who would meet her gaze—only one woman did—and walked to the edge to begin filling her bucket. Somehow, one of her buckets fell off the edge and into the water below.
Fell? As she glanced around and noticed the smirks alight on most faces, she did not doubt it was done a-purpose. She had no choice but to retrieve it, so she began the task of trying to capture it with the bucket on the rope and bring it back up to her. No one, not a one, offered any assistance. The heat of their glaring stares burned her and she fought back tears as she struggled with the bucket.
Tempted to give up, leave the bucket behind and retreat to the privacy of her cottage, Muireall surprised her by arriving and helping her. Cat shook her head and tried to make her friend go away because she understood the dangers that Muireall faced being connected to her. But, true friend that she was, Muireall remained at her side, pointing and joking at the bobbing bucket until Cat’s efforts met with success.
* * *
‘Come to supper tonight,’ Muireall said as they reached Cat’s door. ‘I made more than enough for one more mouth at the table and the children have missed your company.’ She waited until Cat had put the buckets down before taking her hand. ‘I have missed your company.’
‘’Tis best, I think,’ Cat explained. ‘I know Hugh objects...’
‘Bah on his objections!’ Muireall said with a laugh that was too strong and told Cat how strong the man’s protestations were. ‘You are my friend.’
‘Muireall, I know you are my friend. Still, I will not cause you more strife with your husband or his family.’ Glancing outside to see if others watched, she lowered her voice. ‘Gowan is on his way home, summoned by Munro. All will be settled then.’
‘Will he believe your words?’ Muireall asked. She’d never once asked if they were true, she simply believed Cat. ‘What do you think he will do?’
‘I know not,’ Cat admitted. ‘He is a patient and fair man, but he can be hard, too. Now when his honour is involved...’ She shrugged. ‘If Munro has convinced him to return now and to these accusations, I just do not know.’
If her friend sensed or heard too much of her despair, she would never leave. So, she forced a smile and hugged Muireall.
‘Go now! Who is with those bairns while you dawdle with me?’ Cat walked over and grasped the edge of the door, shushing her friend out.
‘You gave me no answer about supper.’ Muireall stopped in the middle of the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘And “no” had best not be what you say.’
‘Fine. I will come,’ she agreed. It would be the first enjoyable meal for her since...
‘You are worrying again.’ Muireall turned to leave, but glanced back again. ‘Worry not over Hugh. I am not.’
; * * *
It became clear to her just a short time later that Hugh was a problem. When Cat arrived at her friend’s cottage, Muireall’s husband stomped out with a silent stare and as the bairns watched in shocked silence. Muireall welcomed her with watery tears and a brave smile, but Cat knew this would be the last time they shared together until Gowan returned and settled this matter.
Until Gowan returned, nothing could be changed or fixed.
* * *
As she fell into a troubled sleep that night, images of Gowan’s return filled her dreams. Cat prayed that the man who had saved her life once would be able to save her honour now.
But everything waited for Gowan’s return to Lairig Dubh.
Chapter Seven
Aidan answered his father’s summons when it came. Though he had expected to be called to answer for the rumoured actions long before this, he knew it would happen sooner rather than later. Knocking and then opening the door, he found his father, grim-faced, sitting in the chair he called his. His mother stood apart from him—not a good sign. Strife between the Beast and his mate was never good. Closing the door, he walked forward, kissing his mother and nodding and standing before his father.
The silence grew, stronger and more uncomfortable by the moment. It was a strategy, used by his father many times, and a successful one at that. He waited, as practised at this as his parents were. Oh, his sister Lilidh would crumble in tears after a few moments of her father’s hard stare. And Sheena, the youngest, would have trembled by now and admitted all sorts of sins, both real and imagined or planned. But he was the eldest and could play this game.
‘A married woman, Aidan,’ his father finally said. Not a question as most would ask, but a statement, a judgement against him already.
Yield to the Highlander Page 5
