If you can'na get along, how will you ever aid your husband in turning the keep and clan around?
This brought her ‘round to thinking of Hugh again and how close she had been to being a queen someday. She supposed her half-cousins would be furious over the king passing them over, though what could they expect with their father being branded a traitor now.
The morning sun caught the crests of the lapping waters and rode in on the current rolling in to kiss the edges of the bank. On the shore, spindly barren rowans mixed with small willows and tall Scots pine to shade the smaller trees. Little woodland sparrows rested on the evergreen limbs of the pine briefly before taking flight.
Reed grasses grew on the marshy bank, and she grimaced, looking down the hill she stood atop of. She looked out to the surrounding shore, wondering if there was a lovely spot to be found anywhere around this loch. This nameless water was no comparison to Loch Kincaid. The glistening waters the only likeness, and even they were darker, deeper, almost frightening.
She shivered as a gust off the loch caught her, catching and dragging her skirts behind in its might.
She looked up to the heavens where clouds gathered in the distance, a reminder that she should be inside, and it looked as if nature would soon force her in.
Being outside was foolish anyway, deep down she knew it, and more so to be outside the walls without guard no matter the threat leveled against her.
What she needed, her sound mind suggested, was to speak with Hugh openly. To tell him how his actions made her feel.
Heat rushed into her blood once again, but she squelched those rising feelings of hot jealousy.
She sighed.
A set of fingertips pressed into her back hard, in a split second digging into her back and pushing, and then the hands were gone and Catriona screamed.
It happened so sudden, so unexpectedly, she lost her footing and hit the ground headfirst, rolling down the hill. She screamed. Her legs tangled in her skirts and the borrowed cloak.
She screamed again as her body tossed against the rough earth, the cold sting of the wet ground piercing through her gown as she continued to tumble down, down, down toward the deep icy waters.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bounding steps closed in moments before a hard body hit hers. Tumbling together for a moment, they turned as they rolled, and then booted feet dug into the ground, heels grinding into the earth, tearing the dirt and Catriona came upright with a jerk. Strong arms embraced her, keeping her from flying from the safety of her rescuer's arms.
She cried out and latched on to the body holding hers tightly, but then abruptly sat up to stare into the eyes of the man who had saved her from the breakneck fall and the icy waters of the loch.
"Alaric," she said on a pant. She didn’t move for a long moment as the pair gasped for breath, staring at one another in amazement before Catriona at last realized she was sitting in the man's lap and jumped to right herself.
"Slow, lass. Be careful. You do'na ken if you're hurt yet or no."
"I'm no hurt," Catriona said easily as she fought to free herself from her tangle of skirts so she could stand, at the same time trying to assure him, and herself, that she wasn’t harmed.
At least she did not think she was.
She began a self-inspection as Alaric lifted and scanned the hill above, but so low were they neither could see past the crest of the hill. The attacker would have long since fled by the time they climbed to the top.
"Did you see the person before they pushed you?" he asked.
Catriona tsk'd. "Nay. Did you? In what direction did you come from?"
"I was riding from yonder—" he stopped to point over his shoulder, "when I spotted you withoot your guard." He paused and lifted a brow. "'Twas then I saw the cloaked figure, but I could'na reach you in time nor tell who the culprit was. They were covered solidly in a dark woolen mantle." He took her hand and began to help her climb the hill. "'Twas a smallish person."
Catriona sighed. "I'm thankful you saw or I might—" She glanced behind at the waters slapping the shore. "I might be dead." She trudged a few steps onward. "Hugh will no like this." Panic began to twist in her belly.
Alaric chuckled deeply. "Nay, lass. He will no like you having been oot and much less with no guard at all."
Catriona stopped and gave him a pleading look. "If you tell him where I was, alone, he'll never allow me—"
Alaric took her by the shoulders with laughter in his eyes. "There's no getting ‘round this one. What am I to tell him then? That you were pushed down some other hill? Mayhap one within the walls? One within your bedchamber? 'Tis no such hill in any of those places, lass," he gestured around them, a devilish twinkle in his eye.
Catriona turned pleading eyes on him. "Tell him you came with me."
He laughed. "I thought you might be a bit addled, but now I am sure of it. Come, let's get you to the keep and dried off." Alaric rubbed at her arms over the wet-spotted cloak. "'Tis a cold, wet day to chill a body to the bones withoot any rolling aboot on the wet ground." He brushed at her back and sent a scatter of dried grasses fluttering away with the breeze.
"I thought the day quite warm, at first," Catriona said.
Together they looked above to the thick, deep blue clouds with bruised underbellies. A change in the wind started them moving onward, upward. The smell of rain preceded the light drizzle that came to light on their shoulders and the tip of Catriona's nose before she pulled her hood back up to cover her head.
When they reached the top, Alaric's horse obediently awaited him, prancing back and forth like an alarmed puppy worried for its master.
"There, there now," Alaric reached out, and the horse came to him. He smoothed his hands over the horse's large head and then lifted himself into the saddle. He bent down and offered Catriona his hand.
Her fingers slipped into his, and she swung up behind him.
Alaric made a clicking sound at the animal, and they took off at a gentle trot.
The closer to the keep they came, the sorer Catriona's body grew. Her joints ached with the cold, and she felt as though she had received a sound beating she'd never known the likes of before. A sheen of mist had formed on her borrowed cloak, furthering her discomfort, but any storm to come held off for the time being.
As soon as they entered the courtyard, she noticed Gillie and her brother's men. Gillie was pacing before them with an agitated scowl, but as soon as his eyes lighted on her, he looked thoroughly stunned.
Alaric handed Catriona down, but before her slippers met with the earth, her cousin had stomped to her and pulled her from Alaric's grip by the arm.
"Where have you been?" Gillie demanded. He took her by both arms and gave her a shake that didn’t quite move her.
This change in Gillie only mildly surprised Catriona. He usually wasn’t this upset over anything. "I went for a wee walk."
"Withoot us." He gestured to the men. "Do you no ken how dangerous a wee walk was? Or what the laird is bound to do to us as punishment? You are my charge, Catriona. I take the task seriously."
"I surely do realize now," she said tightly, not wishing to go into further detail. She reached out and gave Gillie's shoulder a light squeeze, then thought on how to quickly soothe the lad's worry. She didn't wish for another encounter like the one she had had with him the second day in the keep, certainly not publicly. An unwise incident like that could bring harm to them both.
Before she could think of what to say, Alaric's hand came to her shoulder to steer her toward the keep and to her husband.
She flushed at Gillie's outrage. "I shall speak with you later," she told him.
Once inside, Malcolm informed them that Hugh was not there and went to fetch the laird from the village, which only caused Catriona much upset and pacing before the hearth. Her stomach twisted in knots every way her insides could be knotted.
Finally, just when her nerves stopped jumping, she saw him.
At least by the time Hugh reach
ed them her clothing had dried and she looked a little less damaged before her husband bounded toward the hearth where she and Alaric waited.
Alaric relayed the tale as Catriona's cheeks blossomed under her husband's rising ire.
"You did what!" Hugh roared when Alaric finished.
He stomped across the dais before Catriona where she sat warming her hands while Alaric explained the rest.
Hugh stopped and turned to her. Storm clouds gathered in his expression, a mix of intense anger and alarm flashing like lightning in his eyes. He came to her, bent on one knee before her, and lifted her chin. He ran his thumb over her cheek gently.
Fury flashed in those intense blue eyes, but there was something else, too.
Longing, fright, disbelief.
"Search the wood," Hugh said more to Alaric than her. "I want this culprit found, and then he or she shall meet my justice. 'Tis surely the archer we've been searching for." The rumble in his voice started a quiver throughout her body anew.
Catriona watched as Alaric gave a curt nod behind Hugh's back and started from them, signaling men to follow.
For a brief moment, she was alarmed that she was being left alone with Hugh. She wanted to call Alaric back, but for what? He wouldn’t protect her. She sighed inwardly. She had done this, created this mess, and now she had to fix it.
Hugh held her still, not looking away.
It was then she remembered why she had left the keep in the first place, and Catriona stood from her seat, Hugh's hands brushing away from her. She took several steps to distance herself from her husband.
"You kenned better. I warned you no to leave these walls." Anger trembled in his voice though his tone was gentle with sincerity, too.
Catriona whipped around, seeing he had also stood. He was turned to the side, but facing her. He rested a penetrating look of warning on her.
"Perhaps I wouldn’t have needed to leave these walls if you had just stayed within them, too. In our marriage bed, which you swore you had no intent to leave, instead of whoring in the village."
Hugh mottled with rage.
There, it was out.
She had said it.
She stared at him in pensive silence, waiting for him to refute her accusation now that she had brought the rumors to his attention, but he didn’t. He only turned fully to her and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in the slightest.
She wanted him to tell her Rowena's blathering was a lie, even if it wasn’t. She wanted to hear his denial, but he said nothing. He continued to stare at her hard, and his glare stung her heart.
She could bear it no longer.
It must be true.
Catriona scoffed and flounced around, leaving her husband at her back. Her paces quickened as she neared the stairs, and Catriona grabbed Bess on her way, dragging her maidservant along with her.
****
Hugh followed his wife's departure with his eyes for as long as he could see her and not a full second after she was out of sight he stormed from the dais and out of the hall.
Sparring. Aye, more sparring would help ease his nerves.
Alaric fell into step at his side.
"I told her once that I'd no take any more of her accusations. I thought things were warming between us, thought she was becoming more agreeable. How wrong I was."
"We've other problems."
Hugh stopped, a frown creasing his brow.
Alaric ticked his head toward the north. "McAlison scouts were spotted near the wood."
Alarm flashed through him, his eyes following Alaric's stare, and then a devouring need to see McAlison's head on a pike welled up, swelling every vein with murderous rage.
His fists clenched. "Do you think one of them pushed Catriona?"
Alaric shook his head. "Nay, they were keeping their heads down, trying to stay oot of notice."
"What better way then? They caused a mighty distraction by pushing her into the loch."
"Why kill her? And make no mistake, the lass would have broken her fool neck had I no risked mine by diving down that hill after her. She's worth more to them alive."
Hugh reached to squeeze Alaric's shoulder. "I thank you for saving her, my friend. Even if the lass is being most troublesome at present." He scanned their walls again. His men were in place to protect the keep. "Diversion at last. Have my horse readied."
"'Tis done."
Hugh clapped his long-time friend on the back. "Then to a wee skirmish we go."
****
A clap of thunder broke overhead, tremors rolling in the wake as Hugh and twelve of his men walked through the remains of a camp.
Smoke danced in a thin column above the small cooking fire used by the scouts. To the side of the scout camp lay three bodies dispatched by Hugh's men. Alaric took charge of inspecting the corpses while Hugh walked the camp in search of any sign, anything that might point him in the direction of their purpose.
"No a single token to clue us in as to who these devils are," Alaric called.
Hugh grunted and went to his second, bending at the waist to examine the clothing of one man.
He frowned.
"'Tis fine clothing he wears," Hugh noted. "Perhaps a noble's mon then?" He glanced up sharply, hand going to his hilt at the sound of horses approaching, then relaxed as he noticed his own men returning.
The lead man shook his head. "They fled into a deep ravine we could no follow into without dismounting. By the time we were on foot, all three of them had disappeared." The man dismounted by the prone body and shook his head. "Apologies, laird."
Hugh waved him off. "Nothing to apologize for." He frowned in puzzlement.
"Is it McAlison's men?" another of the warriors asked, shouldering into the growing circle around the dead man. He looked between them, one hand resting on his hilt and with the other, he crossed himself.
Alaric shook his head. "That is what we would like to ken." He stepped to the side and unlaced his trews for a piss.
"They could be Saxons," the first rider suggested. "Mayhap the threat is'na over as we've thought."
"Or from what us down the lower ranks hear, could be the king's brother." At three sets of lifted brows, the man shrugged. "That mon there is no a McAlison. Look a' him. Fine boots," he said, kicking the stiff boot of the man. "Fine clothes. Nay, McAlison's coffers are no exactly overflowing, no enough for his men to dress so fine. And this chap is no Saxon either. My coin is on the king's brother, Barnaby."
Hugh straightened, his thumbs hooked in his belt. He glanced at Alaric warily. "Where did you learn of the threat from Barnaby?" He had purposefully not let the word spread, to not instill fear in his men when there may yet be no reason to. He had desired to consider each attack individually as to discern their true enemies.
The man looked between them all. "I thought everyone kenned. I heard it from one of Laird McBruiey's men. That wee chap was going on all night aboot his Uncle Barnaby, the king's brother, when he was into his cups and fearing for your wife. Weel, she is his cousin, so we thought nothing of his rambling."
Hugh silenced the man with a wave of his hand.
So, Catriona had told Gilbert the king's news. He dearly wished she had not. The less anyone knew the better.
"Station guards in the wood. Whoever these bastards are, they’ll be missed. Or more like, the information they were seeking shall be and someone shall come to claim their dead. Whoever was responsible will send more men. Never fear, soon we shall ken who sent them."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hugh dropped into a seat across from Alaric with a hard sigh and lifted the pitcher of ale to pour himself a drink. A low roll of thunder, followed by a jolting clap, paused everyone in the hall momentarily.
Alaric sat back, watching his laird. He tapped a finger on the table in apparent frustration. "We found no one else in the wood after the men completed a thorough sweep. The other three are likely weel on their way, bearing whatever report they managed to get." Alaric slumped in his chair, his fi
ngers leaving the table to finger the rim of his alehorn, and made a sound of exhausted dissatisfaction. "I do'na believe they could have been so close for long. They would have been spotted before now."
Hugh grunted and drained the alehorn. "Why do women have to be so unpleasant oot of bed?"
Alaric's gaze flitted from his absent stare to his laird. He snorted with renewed humor, and then laughed, his shoulders shaking. "Methinks you spent too much time with them in bed to only now ken their true nature. Women have always been fickle creatures and always shall be."
Hugh wanted nothing more than to get drunk and forget his problems with his woman, with her enemies, and with women altogether. He poured a second drink and drained it as fast as the first before proceeding with a third and fourth.
The hearth crackled with a warm blaze to ward off the chill in the massive room. Only a light chatter somewhere far from him and Alaric hinted that they were not alone. More thunder rolled and broke overhead.
Alaric sighed. "We should have followed them further. Should have separated into groups and gone straightaway to our enemies’ keeps, to see if the scouts went straightaway to report back. I'm a betting mon, and I'd place my last coin on McAlison being behind this." He gave the tabletop a whack of his fist. "Damned weather."
Hugh sighed heavily and dragged the back of his sleeve over his mouth. "If she would but listen."
Alaric's stare shot to him and his brow furrowed. "'Tis apparent where your mind is." He paused, staring at Hugh a moment. "They never listen to anything except what they want to—"
"I told her I have been with no one else. Why can she no believe me?"
Catriona fired his senses like none before her, and likely as no other ever would. Her being angry with him and refusing to allow him to enter her chambers had sent him over an indefinable edge he had not known was there.
His skin was far too tight with her under it so, and he needed her. He needed to hold her and soothe her worries, to tend to her after her fall. But damn Rowena to hell for this speculation she had placed on him.
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