Some Like it Scot

by Suzanne Enoch

  “None of it is yer fault, Cat,” he returned. “I asked ye a question.”

  “Ye know I want ye, wherever we are.”

  Slowly he leaned closer and kissed her. “I know. I wanted to hear ye say it again.”

  “What’s next, then?”

  He glanced toward the closed door. “I reckon ye need to be honest and tell the tale of how ye grew up. I think my family needs to hear it, and mayhap it’ll either help Torriden see reason, or at least he’ll know what’s coming when I beat him to a pulp.”

  “Munro, ye say the sweetest things.”

  That made him laugh. However nervous she was, she remained his wildcat, thank God. “Here we go, then.”

  “‘Once more unto the breach,’” she quoted, rising beside him.

  It occurred to him again that he needed to ask her to marry him. Unconventional as she was, there was no sense making things even more difficult than they were likely to be. He nearly said it right then, in the Glengask morning room, but part of him, the part that was still a bit too prideful, perhaps, didn’t want the question to be a crutch for her. If they were to marry, he would be obligated to protect her. This way, he could make it clear that he made his stand against his own because he chose to do so. Then, when they’d decided their own fate, he would ask her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He was willing both to fight and to walk away from his own family. Catriona might have tried to talk him out of both, but clearly she wasn’t going to change his mind. The hardest part of the equation to grasp, for her, at least, was that he was willing to do that for her. But even if she didn’t quite see why, she had to accept that he was. And she, therefore, could do no less.

  She reached the door first, and pulled it open. Then, of course, she had no idea where the MacLawrys were taking luncheon, so she had to wait for him to offer an arm. “I’m nae scared, ye know,” she commented, as they turned down the hallway. “Nae for myself.”

  “I dunnae want ye to be scared fer me, either. I’ve argued with my family before. They’ve argued with each other. Arran and Ranulf—fer a time after Arran decided he wanted Mary, they didn’t even speak. Ranulf banished him from London, where they were staying. Today, though, they look thick as thieves again, ye may have noticed.” He shrugged. “So aye, we may fight. We may throw a few punches. But they remain my family. Wherever I go. Ye’re the one I cannae live apart from. This is fer my life, as much as it is yers.”

  She squared her shoulders. If he was willing to risk so much, then by Saint Andrew she would do her damnedest to see this luncheon end to their advantage. Because whether he was willing to leave behind his family or not, she didn’t want him to have to do so.

  When he pushed open the dining room door—the small dining room, as he called it—they both stopped in the doorway. Two seats remained open, the first between Lady Gray and Lady Mary, and the second between Torriden and Glengask. As the rest of the party had sat man-woman, clearly she was meant to sit between the two men. “Bear,” she whispered, feeling the color leave her face. This was where she felt most out of water; in the face of proper Society. Or as close as anyone came to that in the Highlands.

  Abruptly Munro left her side to stride deeper into the room. Before anyone could move he’d pulled out the empty chair between the lords and then lifted his sister, chair and all, to set her in the empty space. Then he returned to hand Catriona into the seat beside Lady Mary, scooted the remaining chair into the empty spot beside her, and sat down there himself. “There,” he said with a slight grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “Much better.”

  If the rest of the party needed a reminder of his strength and formidability, that provided it. Stifling an abrupt smile of her own, she gave Lady Mary a polite nod. From what Bear had said, Mary was just twenty-three, a year younger than herself. And they had more than their age in common. “Ye’re the Campbell’s granddaughter, I hear. Did ye worry about upending yer clan when ye fell for Lord Arran?”

  “Yes, I did,” she returned. “I worried a great deal about what I was doing to my own life and to his.”

  “What convinced ye to take the chance?”

  Light green eyes glanced across the table at light blue ones. “I’ve found the MacLawry men to be very nearly irresistible,” she said after a moment, smiling. “I suppose I would have to call it a leap of faith.”

  “I like that,” Catriona returned. “A leap of faith. I’ve been told that my father married my mother because she was the one sister in a family with eight brothers. He figured the odds were good that she would give him a boy. He grew up with two brothers, but from what I’ve been able to decipher they never got along. I dunnae ken if he wanted another chance at making a happy family, or if he wanted to make certain that neither of them or their heirs ever inherited his title, but he was determined that his child—all his children—would be sons.”

  “Your sister mentioned something about that,” Mary said.

  “Did ye, Elizabeth?”

  Her sister looked dismayed. “I had to, Cat. When they found you, they didn’t … I had to explain things.”

  Of course she had. Elizabeth would have been embarrassed for her. And for herself, for having such an odd sister, most likely. “Dunnae worry yerself, Elizabeth.” She deliberately faced Glengask, who, unlike the others, wasn’t even pretending to eat his luncheon. “I liked growing up the way I did. I learned to ride, to hunt, to trap, to fish. The first time I realized I was different was when my father wouldnae let me go swimming with the boys from the village.

  “When my father remarried, his new wife, Elizabeth’s mother, took one look at me and announced that he must hire a governess and civilize me. He refused, and so she sent to London for a gown she thought would fit me. I thought it was grand fun to dress up like that, but when my father caught me, he ripped off the gown and burned it, and made me swear nae to dress so outlandishly ever again. I dunnae know exactly what he said to Anne, but she barely spoke a word to me after that. Nae a kind word, at the least.”

  “I didn’t know that, Cat,” Elizabeth said, reaching across the table.

  Catriona squeezed her fingers, then released her again. “I got used to hearing whispers, to having the daughters of other lords laugh behind their hands at me, to being made fun of by everyone from stable boys to my uncles. I expected it, really.”

  Beneath the table, Bear’s fingers brushed her knee. He knew all this, of course. While she doubted it would make any difference in the world, in a way it felt good to explain herself. It felt freeing, almost.

  “By the time my father died, I was twenty-two. I’d stopped cutting my hair, but I didn’t know how to fashion it in anything other than a ponytail. I wore trousers and shirts and coats, because I’d been forbidden to wear anything else, and because I didnae ken how to find a gown that would fit me properly, or the bits that go beneath it. And by then I’d realized that … I wouldn’t be marrying. That suited me, because, well, I knew how I appeared, and I had no idea how to change it.

  “Then my uncle announced that I was to be offered to the Sutherland MacDonalds, because the MacDonald had ordered the feud to end. That … troubled me. But then I overheard him talking to his brother about what they hoped sending me away would accomplish. He knew I would be an insult, and he knew the likely result. And he was happy to be rid of me.”

  “I must protest,” Lord Torriden said, his color high. “This is MacDonald business.”

  She scowled at him. “I know ye’re here to collect me so you can publicly turn yer back on me in front of the MacDonald. My uncle wants to start a war, and yer uncle won’t allow the insult to pass. And the fact that ye came to find me, knowing ye’d be expected to scoff at me as much as the rest of ’em, doesnae make me look on ye any more kindly. What are ye, the MacDonald’s dog?”

  Bear snorted. “A prissy poodle dog.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Ranulf cut in. “The fact remains, ye are a vital part of MacDonald politics. Yer absence will c
ause as much trouble as yer presence. The only thing worse would be ye showing up where ye shouldnae be. As ye appeared here, ye bring trouble to our doorstep.”

  That hurt. The man Bear most respected essentially dismissing her. Reducing her to a pawn in a game she didn’t even want to play. She held his gaze. “Yer brother told me that ye enjoy trouble, Lord Glengask. That ye’ve managed to turn trouble to yer advantage so often that most dunnae dare bring ye trouble any longer.”

  “Does the MacDonald want a war?” Elizabeth broke in, a little sharply. “Because Cat doesn’t look so terrible any longer. Why would he be insulted?”

  Torriden stirred again. “Of course he doesn’t want a war. War costs money and resources. But neither can he allow himself, his immediate family, to be insulted and not answer it. That weakens him.” He leaned forward, banging his knife handle against the table. “You running off rather than agreeing to marry his nephew weakens him. I’m trying to prevent a war.”

  That surprised her. “So ye would marry me?” she answered, lifting both eyebrows. “Ye wouldnae find me insulting and mannish and send me back to Islay along with a threat to my uncle?”

  “I don’t know how I would find you,” he retorted, “as this is the first time we’ve met. You seem … tolerable enough, except for your manners. I daresay there are ways to manage a marriage made for an alliance, however the spouses feel about each other.”

  “Nae!” Bear broke in, shoving to his feet. “Ye dunnae get to say that ye’d take her because ye have to. Ye dunnae get to insult a lass who’s managed to make a life fer herself despite what those who are supposed to care aboot her throw in her way. And ye dunnae get to assume ye’ll be marrying her, because that willnae happen.”

  “Munro, sit down,” the marquis ordered.

  “I willnae,” he retorted. “Ye’re a damned bunch of hypocrites. Ye marry a lass ye want, and try to make Arran wed to make the alliance ye missed. Then Arran marries who he wants, and ye try to get Winnie to make the alliance he missed. And now ye want me to marry someone ye choose fer me, even knowing what a damned poor excuse fer a husband I would be, and how little I wanted the responsibility. Well, I’ve found my own way. I’ve found my lass, and I willnae let her go. Make yer alliance around that.”

  Lord Glengask stood, as well. “Do ye think I’m trying to be cruel?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “Ye’re my brother, and I love ye dearly. But ye arenae my only responsibility.”

  “I’m nae yer responsibility at all. Ye told me to send her away or give her up. I came here because Cat said ye had yer reasons, and she didnae want to run. Well, now I know yer reasons, and I dunnae agree with them. So drink a damned toast. I’m sending her away. But I’m going with her. We’ll nae bring ye trouble, Ranulf.”

  Catriona shut her eyes for a moment, wishing they could begin the day again, and that she might have convinced Munro simply to stay beneath the blankets with her. “I dunnae want ye to be separated from yer family, Munro,” she said quietly.

  He looked down at her. “And I willnae be separated from ye, wildcat,” he said, his voice more controlled. “I told ye that. And after what I’m hearing today, do ye think I’m so eager to spend my days here? He wants what’s easiest. That’s nae my brother. I dunnae know who that is.”

  “That’s enough!” Ranulf roared. “I have tried to be reasonable, but ye clearly want a fight. Go, then! I’ll nae have ye putting my son in danger because ye cannae do what’s best fer yer own clan!”

  Lord Torriden had the bad sense to stand up at that moment. “Lady Catriona bears just as much blame for the harm she’s doing to clan MacDonald. And for less reason, given that she is clearly poised to gain far more than she can possibly offer.”

  Bear went over the table at him. Before the viscount could do more than emit a high-pitched squeak he went backward over his chair with Munro’s fist imbedded in his chin. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but a heartbeat later the room exploded into action.

  Catriona grabbed the very pregnant Lady Mary’s arm and pulled her away from the table while Lady Glengask caught hold of both Elizabeth and Bear’s sister and dragged them around to the far corner of the room, as well. The men, though, all moved forward. And every one of them went after Munro.

  He’d done it wrong, Munro knew. He’d decided to be calm and patient and logical, and then the MacDonald bastard had insulted Cat—again. If he’d had any hope that anyone here meant to listen to him he might have reacted differently, but they’d clearly already made up their minds that he was both wrong and an idiot.

  Grabbing Torriden by his high shirt points, Munro hefted him into the air and slammed him down onto the table. Wine glasses and bread went flying. To his left Arran was trying to haul backward on his arm, with Lachlan on the right, and the hand in the back of his jacket more than likely Ranulf. As far as he was concerned they all deserved a pummeling. Not one of them had even tried to see Cat through his eyes. Ignoring the men hauling on him, he lifted the squealing Torriden and shoved him back down again. “Apologize!” he growled, dragging the viscount across the length of the table while dishes clattered to the floor around them.

  Arran jumped on his back and wrapped an arm around his neck. Before his older brother could firm up his grip, Munro ducked forward, reaching back, and flung his brother over his shoulder, using Torriden to cushion his fall. Twisting, he turned just in time to see Lachlan’s fist aimed at his head.

  The blow, though, didn’t land. Instead Viscount Gray stumbled as Catriona leaped onto his back and grabbed hold of his arm. “Ye willnae hurt him!” she yelled, covering his eyes with her hands.

  Out of the corner of his eye Munro noted the servants pouring into the small dining room. A moment later the sheer weight of men hanging on to his arms and his back and his legs drove him to his knees. Losing here, though, meant losing … everything. With a roar he shoved back to his feet, then stumbled again.

  A shot rang out. “Enough!” Charlotte yelled, as wood and plaster from above the far window splintered.

  With a last grunt Munro shoved to his feet again. Warm wet trickled from his nose, but he barely noted it as he took Cat around the waist and bodily lifted her off Lachlan. “It’s me,” he grunted, when she sent an elbow into his rib cage.

  “Put me down, giant,” she ordered, clearly out of breath. “I’ll nae have ye throwing me about.”

  He set her on her feet. Her pretty scarlet hair had come out of its pins, one of her braids hanging crazily sideways, and the left shoulder of her gown was torn. Scowling, he tugged the material back up over her shoulder. “Ye shouldnae have jumped in like that.”

  “Ye were outnumbered,” she returned, still panting. Then she slapped him on the arm. “Ye didnae help anything. And ye fought yer own brothers.” Taking a napkin off the floor, she dabbed it against his nose. “Ye shouldnae have done that.”

  “I’d do it again,” he returned, finally lifting his head to send a glare at Ranulf. “Ye’ve a Sassannach bride who shoots pistols in yer dining room.”

  “I—”

  “And ye,” he interrupted, turning his gaze on Arran, “married a damned Campbell and got shot fer it.”

  “I ken what—”

  “Shut up,” he countered. “I’m nae finished with ye. And I’ll say my piece before I go. Winnie got herself promised to the Buchanans and dragged off by a Campbell, and still won the man she wanted. What the devil makes ye think I’ll nae have this MacDonald lass just because it’s nae convenient fer ye?”

  The black bruise around his eye beginning to fade, Ranulf gazed at him levelly. “If it was a matter of convenience, we’d figure someaught oot, Bear, and ye know that.”

  That was that, then. He and Cat weren’t welcome. They weren’t safe, with all the bairns about. He did understand that, whether his family realized it or not. With a slow nod, he turned around to reach for Catriona’s hand—then stopped.

  On the far side of the table Elizabeth MacColl sat on a
chair beside Torriden, who wasn’t as pretty now with his bloody nose and torn coat. The lass pressed a napkin to his face, tears in her eyes. Saint Andrew forgive him for his lack of compassion, but it might well have been the loveliest sight he’d ever seen.

  “Elizabeth,” he said, keeping his distance from the pair on the chance he’d spook one or the other of them into flight. “Are ye ready to see yer sister vanish into the wilderness after finding her again? Ye spent eleven years apart, ye said.”

  “This has naught to do with Elizabeth,” Cat broke in with a scowl of her own. “Dunnae try to blame any of this on her.”

  “I amnae,” he returned. “I’m only saying that ye willnae be marrying Torriden, and because his clan chief demands an alliance between Lord Islay and himself, ye and I have to flee the Highlands.”

  A tear ran down Cat’s soft cheek. “Dunnae be so cruel, ye big oaf.”

  At that he did take her hand, drawing her against his side and brushing the tear away with his fingers. “Do ye nae see what I see?” he whispered, gesturing with his chin toward her sister.

  “What?”

  His family considered him the dim-witted one, but at this moment he was fairly certain he was the only one in the room seeing clearly. “Elizabeth. Are ye nae a daughter of the former Lord Islay, and the niece of the present earl?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Aye. And that’s exactly the same relationship Catriona has—had—to them.”

  Elizabeth stared at him, the color leaving her face, then flooding it again. “Say that again, Bear?” she prompted.

  “I’ll only point oot that ye came here to avoid marriage to a man forty-two years yer senior and with a reputation for killing off his own wives. Ye fled a duke. Do ye think ye’ll ever be welcome back in London? Or find yerself a different husband there?”

  “Oh,” Cat breathed, her hand tightening convulsively in his.

  “I’ll also point oot,” Munro continued, “that this Torriden lad is pretty, and he’s but seven years yer elder, and with those clothes he wears I’d wager he has a bit more culture than most any other man ye’d find in the Highlands.”