‘I am curious,’ she admitted. ‘Nothing more than that.’
‘Ah, then you are alive! I had my doubts about you, Catriona.’
Muireall was a very special sort of woman—one who relished life and did not let a minute go by when she did not appreciate something or someone around her. Whether the sun shining after a storm, the smile of her child, the sound of her husband’s voice, she savoured it all. And that drew people to her like flies to honey...including Cat herself. Muireall had everything in her life that Catriona had ever wanted for herself and everything Cat had convinced herself that she could live without.
Mayhap she had isolated herself from everyone in trying so hard to be what Gowan needed and wanted? He’d never said exactly what he’d expected of her, not when he asked her to marry him and not any other time. She did what she thought a good wife, what a second wife who had no children to care for, should do. She cleaned, she mended, she cooked, she cleaned. She was attentive to him when he was at home. Was that not what she should be doing?
‘To answer your question, he should be married by now, but he has been resisting it. A young man doing what a young man does.’
‘Young women?’ she asked, slapping her hand over her mouth after saying something so...so bold.
From the way he flirted with her, his skills at doing what young men did were very, very good. And there were many women who would not object to sharing the bed of the earl’s son. But she was not one of them.
‘Aye, young women. Older women as well,’ Muireall explained. ‘They all seem to like him and he them. He seems to treat all of them with respect no matter how they begin or end.’ Her friend looked at her then. ‘Is that what you wanted to know?’
‘My thanks for easing my curiosity,’ she said, nodding to her friend. She had been curious. She’d heard the stories of his prowess with women and had never heard a bad word spoken about him. ‘Now, what else can I help you do? If you have any errands outside, this is a perfect day for them.’ Though Muireall glanced at her with a knowing eye, she retrieved a length of plaid from the pallet, clearly fighting the urge to tease Cat even more than she had.
‘I need water from the well,’ she said, holding wee Donald out to Cat. ‘But I need to walk a bit, so I’ll join ye.’
Taking him in her arms and holding him close, she watched Muireall wrap and tie the plaid to form a sling where the bairn could be carried close to her chest. Once Donald was secured snugly in the folds of fabric, Cat gathered up the buckets near the door and tugged it open. Stepping into the sun-warmed air, she waited for her friend and then they were off down the path to the centre of the village—and the well.
They greeted people as they passed, stopping several times for Muireall to show off the wee one to all who asked. Cat could not help herself—she kept peeking ahead and behind and alongside to see if the earl’s son waited there. With no sign of him, she let out a sigh of relief. She did not like questioning her response to him or suspecting she would enjoy more of his flirting attentions, so it was fine that he had gone.
The well in the centre of the village served not just the purpose of providing water, but also it was the main gathering place for any and all. News was shared. Gossip spread. Help was asked, offered or accepted by the well. On a fair and sunny day like this, a crowd gathered there.
Catriona carried the buckets and set them on the well. Muireall was welcomed by all the women, more one of them now that she’d given birth as most all of them had. The sharp sting of disappointment struck again as she watched the scene unfold. The concern about both mother and bairn, the soft caresses of his head, and shared stories and remedies for any affliction he might suffer—all just pointed out how much she was not part of this village family.
Though at first she’d welcomed Gowan’s travels in his duties for the earl, now she realised that it had isolated her from a more involved place within the village and clan community. Without her husband’s presence and with no other family there, she’d become even more the outsider than she was. Cat tossed the well’s bucket down and turned the handle to retrieve it, trying to ignore the way this need now filled her when it had not mattered only days or weeks before.
She called out to Muireall when she had the water she needed and began to walk back to the cottage, allowing her friend to enjoy some time with the others. Just as she reached the footpath, a group of men rode through the village. Warriors like her husband, they rode as though one with their horses, calling out to those they knew as they headed towards the keep up the hill.
Cat took one last look at them as they passed and then turned back to her own path. Without really knowing why, she glanced up one more time and found the last rider staring back at her.
Aidan MacLerie.
He did nothing to acknowledge her, but his dark, scowling expression frightened her. Had she insulted him then with her words? Would she or Gowan somehow bear the brunt of his displeasure? She did not know about him to even guess, but she offered up a prayer that she had not caused problems for herself or her husband in the few, playful exchanges with the earl’s son.
Time would tell.
Chapter Four
Aidan rode through the gates and past the keep, following the path to the practice yard where his friends waited for him. He’d not ridden out with the other men, but he returned with them after his encounter with Catriona. And returned unsettled by her comment. Before he could think on it and discover the reason, a friend called out to him.
‘Aidan!’
He turned to seek the source of the booming voice and saw Rurik’s son Dougal waving at him. Though younger by a few years, Dougal towered over Aidan and most everyone who lived in Lairig Dubh—except his father.
‘We were waiting for you,’ Dougal explained, waving for him to hurry his pace. ‘They want to challenge us.’
Aidan glanced at the others and knew he and Dougal could and would defeat them. Other than Young Dougal Ruriksson, as he was called here, he nodded at Caelan, Munro and Dougal MacLerie along with Angus MacCallum—a cousin through his mother—who all stood grinning like fools who itched for a fight. Knowing the skills and abilities of himself and Young Dougal and, even more importantly, knowing the weaknesses of the others, Aidan was convinced it was an even match, regardless of four against two.
He shrugged and nodded his acceptance and headed for the yard.
Dougal MacLerie, brother to Elizabeth and the friend closest to Aidan’s own age, walked alongside him as they entered the yard and picked their weapons from among the supply there. Younger boys ran around, trying to help them all, and news of the challenge spread through all the men training there. Soon a crowd encircled the large enclosure, coin and wagers changing hands as many watching offered their opinions about the match.
‘You have been spending more time in the village than is your custom, Aidan,’ Dougal said, lifting a sword and swinging it to get the best grip on it.
‘You know what that means,’ Caelan, Duncan’s son, added.
‘A woman,’ Angus offered. ‘Another bloody woman.’
They laughed for Angus’s unsuccessful attempts at seducing one of the women who worked in the keep’s kitchens were known to them all.
‘So who is it this time?’ Munro asked. ‘The widow who moved in with her brother, the smith? Surely not Old Ronald’s daughter?’
They all laughed at him as they took positions on the field, expecting him to reveal his newest interest. He always did. Just as Aidan opened his mouth to speak her name, the realisation sank in—Munro was Gowan’s son. Shite!
‘Who says there’s a woman involved at all?’ he asked, raising his sword and standing back to back with Young Dougal.
‘When is there not a woman?’ Munro called out to him.
The others nodded in agreement with him and then all gazes were on Aidan. Better not to stir this particular cauldron right now. Instead, he stopped talking about it at all and ran at the closest one—Caelan. And then mayhem,
though somewhat controlled mayhem at that, descended and they were all too busy to talk at all.
Moving in a circle, with Young Dougal at his back, they kept the others a few paces back, tiring them and then, at his word, beating them into submission. He’d fought with Young Dougal at his back, much as their fathers had fought many times, and each time they were successful. Laughing as he knocked the last one standing to the ground, he held out his hand to Young Dougal and shook it when he grasped it.
‘Good fight! You will have to show me how you made that last move,’ he said to his fighting partner as his friends climbed to their feet and dusted the dirt of the yard from themselves.
‘Something my father showed me the other day,’ Young Dougal said.
Rurik was a legendary warrior and had led the MacLerie warriors into battle for decades. That he shared his knowledge of fighting with his son, as his own father had, did not surprise Aidan.
His friends did not remain disgruntled for long after their defeat. Not insulted that others had made coins off their loss, the men accepted his offer of ale in the keep. They stopped by one of the barrels that collected rain and washed. His mother would expect no less in her keep and everyone respected the lady’s wishes.
* * *
When they sat at table and had been served, done reviewing the fight and planning another test of skills, Aidan thought on Catriona’s words and the fear in her gaze as she spoke to him—nay, as she pleaded with him to leave her be.
Seduction should be a pleasant process—each one taking a teasing step forward and then retreating to allow the other’s invite to further the relationship. Seduction, he had always thought, should be fun and filled with even parts of laughter and breathless, hot pleasures of the flesh. Seduction might involve persuasion, but should never involve force.
Her words made him feel as though he had forced himself upon her and Aidan had never done that with any woman.
Oh, for a certain, some women he’d slept with needed more persuading and convincing than others, but each was as different as were the circumstances of his interest.
Had he misread the signs in her flirting? Had he ignored them in his desire to have her? Aidan took a couple of mouthfuls of his ale, only half-paying heed to the discussion going on around him. Thinking on their first meeting at the well, he pondered how best to approach her now. If for nothing other than his own need to know, he would speak to her, bluntly, and find out why she feared him so.
‘I told you it was a woman!’ Angus called from the other end of the table. Holding up his cup, he nodded at Aidan. ‘To your success in another bed in Lairig Dubh! May you soon begin to share some of it with me!’
Aidan caught sight of a serving girl scurrying off towards the solar and knew word of his exploits would be shared, among the servants who worked here, his family and anyone who would listen. Everyone knew he’d stopped visiting the lovely Sima some weeks ago. That was old gossip by now and everyone who was curious, but waited for the news of his newest conquest.
He almost hoped that his parents would begin talking about their search for an appropriate wife so that attentions would be turned in that direction. And he would be free to pursue Catriona without the prying eyes and loose tongues spoiling his efforts at discretion. Mayhap he would guide the gossip down that new path himself?
‘Have I told you yet that my parents seek a bride for me?’ he asked no one in particular. ‘They are considering potential wives at this moment.’
Silence reigned for a very long moment as that bit of news echoed through the hall. If he was correct, it would take until no later than supper this night for everyone in Lairig Dubh to learn of his impending marriage to...whomever his parents chose. That would give him the distraction he needed to find some time to speak to Catriona.
Glancing across the table as his friends mumbled their words of congratulations for his future marriage, he realised that the perfect way to see her again sat there before him, raising a cup to his happiness.
* * *
Catriona stirred the ingredients in the cast-iron pot over the fire once more, adding a bit more water so the thick stew boiling and bubbling within it would not burn on to the metal. The aroma of the vegetables and herbs spread throughout the cottage as it cooked. The freshly baked bread lay wrapped in cloth and the crock of butter waited next to it on the table. A plain meal, but Munro said nothing more was needed for him and the friend he brought to sup with them this evening.
The recently swept floor was clean and the pallet’s blankets were smoothed into place. She glanced around one more time as she heard Munro’s voice and approach on the path to her, their, door. Guests of her husband and his son did not happen often and they must be made welcome or her lack of manners would reflect on her husband. So, Cat tucked the loosened strands of hair back inside the kerchief she wore, smoothed down the skirt of her gown and stood up as the door opened.
Any words of greeting she’d planned to speak to Munro’s guest disappeared as she met the piercing amber gaze of Aidan MacLerie. Only when Munro frowned did she realise she must look like a gaping idiot. Dropping into a curtsy and bowing her head, she whispered a greeting as she should.
‘Good evening, my lord. Welcome to Gowan and Munro’s home.’
Munro nodded slightly from his place at his friend’s side, apparently pleased now with her welcome. He stepped inside and closed the door behind them. Still slowed by the shock of seeing the earl’s son inside her cottage, she did not move.
‘My thanks to you for your hospitality and allowing me to accompany Munro to supper,’ he said, his deep voice causing the most alarming reaction—gooseflesh rose on the skin of her arms at the sound. ‘And especially for being so gracious without much warning.’
Good Lord, she’d forgotten to offer him a cup! So much for hospitality and good manners, she thought as she tried to regain control over herself.
‘Would you like some ale, my lord? Or water?’ she asked, walking to the table and lifting a cup and waiting for his choice to fill it from one of the pitchers there.
‘I brought a skin of my mother’s favourite wine. I thought we could share it?’ he answered smoothly, holding it out to her. The dimple in his chin became more pronounced as did the amusement in his gaze when she finally gained the courage to meet his eyes.
‘That was kind of you,’ she said, reaching to take it from him. His fingers grazed hers, not by accident, she suspected, as he let it go. ‘And kind of Lady Jocelyn to share such a luxury with us.’
‘She may not know,’ he whispered to her before turning back to her stepson. ‘As an apology of sorts, Munro, for beating your sorry arse into the ground today.’
Uncertain of how Gowan’s son would take such a comment, she waited to see his reaction. After a short hesitation, he surprised her by laughing right in Aidan’s face. And, although she usually saw his sullen, disagreeable side, his amusement seemed genuine. Cat felt some of the tension in the cottage ease. Pouring some of the deep-red wine into two cups, she handed one to their guest and then one to Munro.
‘And you, Mistress MacKenzie? Where is your cup?’
Cat froze at his words. Would Munro pick up that he knew her already? Most around here were MacLeries, whether close or distant relation did not matter. Very few went by other names. Instead of waiting for Munro to point it out, she shook her head and held up the empty cup and filled it from the pitcher of ale.
‘Wine is too strong a drink for me, my lord. It goes right to my head. So I will leave it to you two to enjoy and drink the ale.’ At the darkening of Munro’s gaze, she turned to Aidan. ‘If you do not mind, my lord?’ She motioned to them to sit at the table, never waiting for his reply.
‘I do not mind at all, Munro,’ he said to his friend and not to her. He understood that Munro would take more offence to her declining such a gift. Wine such as that was too costly for their table. ‘I would not want to see your stepmother light-headed or otherwise affected this night.’
Shaking her head, trying to clear such thoughts, Cat took the bowls from the shelf and ladled the lamb stew into each. Though she’d planned that this would last for several more meals, she knew that these two, strong young men would empty the pot with their appetites. Since there really was no choice in this—to offer less than everything would be an insult to the lord’s son—she filled their bowls and placed them on the table.
Then with her own bowl half-filled, she sat across from the very man she’d been trying to avoid—avoid thinking about, avoid talking about and avoid talking to. If she thought this an innocent invitation from one friend to another, the merriment in his eyes as he met hers confirmed just the opposite. He’d planned this all, using Munro as the way to get here. Having no choice but to offer hospitality and company, Cat took the chunk of bread offered by Gowan’s son and dipped it in her stew.
This would the longest meal of her life.
* * *
Aidan tried not to laugh—first at the surprise on her face when she saw him and then at the way she tried not to allow him to see how affected she was by him. When he’d decided that the only way to know why she feared him so was to know her more closely, Munro seemed the obvious way to do that. It was not difficult to wheedle an invitation to his father’s cottage for dinner.
Now, as he and Munro talked about the day’s events, upcoming duties and plans to travel to several of the other MacLerie holdings, Aidan never took his attention from her. He noticed the way the edges of her mouth curved when she smiled, the way she savoured and chewed the succulent chunks of lamb and turnips and the way she tried not to stare at him.
At first, she seemed intent on staying apart by sitting on the other side of the table from him and Munro and even staying out of any of the talk. But her nervousness seemed to ease and she offered a few softly spoken comments to the conversation. He noticed that any attempts to ask about her own life before coming to Lairig Dubh were neatly directed to another topic or turned into questions about him or Munro even.
Terri Brisbin Highlander Bundle Page 67
