“Yes, but—”
“’Tis proud of you I am, Tayg. Stepping into Robbie’s place, taking up his responsibilities when ’twas clear you had no desire to. In the time ye fought for the Bruce I watched ye grow from a wee whelp along for a grand adventure with yer brother to a man who could lead men into battle and out again. I only hope ye have chosen a lass who is worthy of ye and all that ye will be in the future.”
Tayg swallowed an odd lump in his throat, overwhelmed at the unexpected praise. He wanted to tell him ’twas not all true, but the man’s pleasure was too strong. And if he were honest with himself, he wished it to be the truth too much. But the truth was dangerous.
Truth would force Catriona to marry him, though she would not be happy about it. If they could find some way to make her feel her clan was in safe hands, then maybe she would accept her fate. But she might never come to trust him again.
And he didn’t want to lose that trust, though it was inevitable. Eventually she must find out who he really was and what his errand to the king was for. If Broc was implicated, would she be satisfied with another brother in his place, leading the clan? Would another brother be any better?
A sudden understanding and resolve formed within him. Gair was right, he was no longer Robbie’s shadow, following him about and doing his bidding. He was his own man, capable and proven in battle. He desired Cat and she desired him, though she fought herself over it. She had said she wished to marry him, though she did not know it was he she spoke of. He would make it the truth. He would wed the lass, thus solving his problem and hers. Her clan would be allied to his, and through that connection they would be allied to the king. Even if they did not declare themselves for the king, they would not be bound to the MacDonells; Broc would surely be ousted as the next chief, and perhaps he could arrange some sort of advisor for her other brothers so such things would not happen in the future.
But first he must ensure that she learned all this from him, not from Gair, nor from the friar, for he now knew why the friar seemed to know him. Gair was one for tales around a fire at night. The seanachean were not the only ones to spread tales.
“Gair, I need your help,” he said at last.
“I will see you have privacy this night.”
“Nay. Aye. But that is not what I wish to ask you.”
Gair shot Tayg a curious glance over the horses’ backs.
“The lass does not know who I am. She thinks me a simple bard, and I would not have her find out the truth from anyone but me.”
Gair stood perfectly still, his eyebrows drawn down. “She does not know who you are?”
“Nay. I did not wish to wed a lass who thought only to marry a man of heroic tales.” Gair nodded. “I have traveled as a bard on the king’s business, and for that reason, too, I would keep my true identity hidden a while longer.”
“The king’s business?”
“Aye, and here again your help is needed.”
Tayg quickly filled Gair in on the plot against the king, though he said nothing about Cat’s part in it. Some things did not need to be revealed.
GAIR FINISHED WITH the friar’s horse just as Cat entered the stable. “I see ye could not stay away from Tayg here any longer.” He grinned at Cat and she, much to Tayg’s surprise, grinned back at him.
“’Tis true,” she said, moving to Tayg’s side and placing a hand lightly on his arm. “I did not wish to be parted from my new husband even for such a brief time.”
Tayg started to laugh but stopped abruptly when she stood on his foot just hard enough to remind him of the pain she could cause. She was up to something. The thought made the hairs stand up on his neck.
Gair moved toward the doorway. “I’ll leave you two alone for a moment.” He winked at them. “I’m sure Lina needs something.”
“She does,” Cat said. “Peats. She bade me have you bring more peats.”
“You see, Tayg, it does not take long before you and she will know the other so well as Lina and I do. Do not tarry long in the cold, lad.” With another cheeky grin he left the byre.
“What are you planning?” Cat asked from right beside him.
“The only plan I have is to have a warm meal and share a warm bed with my new wife,” he said.
“There will be no sharing of a bed.”
“Nay? And yet these fine folk believe we are newly wed, thanks to you.”
“I told you, ’twas not done a-purpose.”
“And yet it is done, and we must act the part else someone may suspect that we do not tell the truth. Would you have them learn who you really are and that you travel with a bard unattended?”
Panic flitted across her face, then the familiar determination took over. Her chin notched up slightly.
“We will leave now,” she said, moving to where he had only minutes before placed the saddle.
“Nay.” He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. “We will not leave.”
She was mere inches from him, her hands on her hips. “If we stay, we chance being found out. ’Tis clear Gair knows you, and the friar too. ’Tis equally clear you are not the type they ever expected to take a wife. They will become suspicious if we do not act the part convincingly enough. We will not fool them.”
“You cannot act the part?” he asked, knowing he could all too convincingly.
“I can, but I do not think ’tis a good idea.”
She was right. He was having a hard enough time not touching her, not kissing her, not…right now. But something in him pushed. He needed to know if she wanted him as intensely as he wanted her.
“We must act the part, lass. The horse is tired, as are you. We have no food, no hope for as comfortable or as warm a shelter for the night, and I confess I am quite sore still from your brothers’ attentions to my ribs. We must stay, and we must play the part you have laid out for us.”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “What must I do?”
A lazy smile stole across his face. “You bade me not to touch you, not to kiss you again. I fear I shall have to ask your leave to do so, for ’twill be expected.”
He watched as the meaning behind his words sank in. She squared her shoulders, pushed her chin up another notch, and nodded. “Very well, you may do those things, but—” she pointed a finger at him “—only as is necessary to convince our hosts.”
“And can you act the newlywed lass in love with her husband?” he asked, pitching his voice low but lacing it with just enough sarcasm to anger her.
“I can. I can be the perfect wife.”
Tayg snorted. She had no idea what she was suggesting, what it would mean to act like lovers. The image of the two of them tangled together in his bed crashed through his mind. Frustration boiled up in him. He took a step closer to her, wanting her to feel all the pent-up desire and need he felt, wanting her to struggle as hard with it as he did.
She stood her ground as he knew she would. Slowly he moved closer still until his mouth was next to her ear and her breath, shallow and quick now, warmed his cheek.
“Can you act the perfect wife?” he whispered, his lips almost brushing the shell of her ear.
“Can you let me touch you?” He ran a hand up her arm then trailed his fingertips across her chest and down the valley between her breasts.
“Can you touch me, pretend to be anxious to be alone with me?”
She leaned her head away from him as he feathered kisses down her gently arched neck.
“Can you share a bed with me and not wish me to bring you pleasure?” he said, staring now into her hooded eyes as he brushed the backs of his fingers over the slope of her breasts.
Her eyes went dark and hot and her breath came faster as he lifted the weight of her breasts in his hands, flicking his thumbs over the erect nipples that pushed against the fabric of her gown.
She kissed him then, fast and hard, her fingers threaded through his hair, her lips hungry on his. He groaned and reached to pull her against him just as she stepp
ed backward into the dark.
“I can,” she said, her voice quiet and sure, but her body, the need in her kiss, gave her away, and Tayg knew she wanted him.
God help him.
He had no doubt they could act the part of lovers now. The question was could they bear the heat between them? Would they be able to deny the inferno when they were alone again? Would they survive its ashes when they parted?
Tayg shook his head and turned to finish caring for the horse, ignoring the singing in his blood and the pounding of his heart.
CATRIONA HEARD MORE than saw Tayg tending to the horse. The stable was completely dark now, the last glow of the sun gone from the snow outside the door. She stood perfectly still, unwilling to move until she got her jumbled emotions and traitorous body under control. Her heart felt ready to burst, and she could not catch her breath. Need so strong it hurt pulsed through her until she could barely think, could only feel. Never had she experienced such desire. The man made her skin so sensitive that every touch, every breath, every look burned over her, through her. With a word he fanned the smoldering ember in the pit of her belly into a roaring fire that threatened to burn away all that she knew, all that she thought she wanted, all that she was.
“Mistress? Master Bard?” a lad, a young man really, called from just outside the stable as if he hesitated to enter. “Mum says yer supper is ready and ye should come and warm yerselves by the fire.”
Tayg turned toward the voice. “I am nearly done with the horse. We shall be there in a moment.”
Catriona was amazed at how calm his voice sounded, how sure, how Tayg, as if nothing unusual had happened. And perhaps it hadn’t, at least for him.
He had been testing her, she realized. He had been trying to see if she could manage her emotions enough to play the part of loving wife and not get swept up in it.
Anger fanned the flames to a bright new color. How dare he play with her feelings that way, with her body? But now she knew what he was up to. She could play his game as deftly as he did. She would prove to him that she could act the perfect wife and keep herself, her emotions, her desires, under control. ’Twould be up to him to meet the challenge.
She took a deep breath and left the stable. She needed a moment to compose herself, set her own plan, then she would show him who was in control.
CATRIONA SAT AT one end of a bench at the family’s table. Tayg sat to her left, too close, and Friar John filled the seat at the head of the table on her right, his back to the warming fire. The family, Gair, Lina, and their five children who ranged in age from six or seven to nearly grown, sat around the rest of the well-worn table. A large wooden bowl at the near end held a thick, savory stew filled with chunks of succulent beef and vegetables. A long tray sat at the far end of the table, laden with perfectly roasted pigeons. Each person at the table had a wooden trencher, a horn spoon, and an ale-filled cup. Two tallow candles fixed in simple holders sat amid the food and illuminated the feast. Catriona was impressed with the quantity of food and the tableware. But part of her tensed. Family meals had never been an easy part of life in Assynt.
A stack of bowls sat beside Lina, who ladled the stew into them and passed them down the table. The four lads all seemed to reach at once for the pigeons. Lina cuffed the oldest one on the back of his head between passing bowls.
“Mind yer manners, Niall,” she said. “We have guests this night and they shall choose first.” Lina smiled at Catriona. “Would ye be liking a pigeon?”
“Thank you, I would, but I would not take it from your weans,” Catriona said. She was aware of Tayg’s startled look, but she ignored it. She would surprise him in more ways than one this night.
“My weans get plenty to eat,” Lina said as she motioned for the tray to be passed to her.
“’Tis plain they do,” the friar said, spearing a pigeon with his knife as Lina held the tray in front of him. “Niall there has grown near a foot since last I saw him, and ’twas only a year past. Even wee Cecilia has grown…though she seems to have misplaced her teeth,” he added, grinning at the little girl with the long brown braid who sat between two of her brothers. Cecilia smiled, and Catriona saw that she was indeed missing two teeth. She felt a bit concerned for the lass, but no one else, even the girl, seemed to notice her dangerous position.
Lina filled Catriona and Tayg’s trenchers with a perfectly roasted bird each.
“Ceci misplaces many things,” another brother said, “like my hornpipe.”
“I did not!” the lass said, then stuck her tongue out at the lad. “You gave it to Annag at the gathering. I saw you. Sim wants to marry Annag. I saw him kissing her.”
Sim went scarlet, nearly matching his brilliant red hair, but instead of reaching across the table and yanking Ceci’s braid or some other painful action as Catriona’s brothers would have done, the family broke into loud laughter and Sim took his sister’s jibe good-naturedly. Or so it seemed. Catriona would make a point of sticking close to the lass after dinner to make sure Sim didn’t come back to exact his revenge later.
“He can have Annag,” another brother said. Catriona turned to look at the new speaker and realized he was Sim’s exact copy—twins—and by the look of them just coming into manhood. Those two must surely cause trouble for Lina and Gair. “Annag is sweet enough, but I’ll take her cousin Maggie.”
Loud laughter followed this, and Niall said, “As if she would have you, Kennon.”
“Neither of you will be taking anyone yet,” Lina said. “Not till I say ’tis time for you to take a wife. I’ve not tamed ye enough to turn ye over to another woman’s keeping. I would not do that to either of those lasses.” She winked at Catriona. “It takes a lot of training of you lads before ye are fit to live with.”
“I shall never want to marry,” the last brother piped up. He could not be more than ten or eleven and shared the twins’ bright hair and copper freckles. “Why would anyone want to kiss a lass?” He screwed up his face in disgust, then dug into his dinner with all the abandon of a hungry young boy.
Gair laughed. “Perhaps our guest would like to explain that to you, Pol.”
All eyes, including Catriona’s, turned to Tayg. He looked flustered for a moment, then she watched as his familiar cocky grin broke out. He turned to her and raised his eyebrows as if to challenge her.
She was up to the challenge. She grinned back at him and was gratified to see concern fill his eyes, though his grin remained in place.
“Ah, Pol,” she said, snuggling close to Tayg and resting her head on his shoulder, “’tis very nice to kiss, especially when ’tis someone you love you are kissing.” She stretched up and kissed Tayg’s mouth chastely.
’Twas Pol’s turn to blush. “Oy, I hate that kissy stuff!”
“That hardly counts as kissy stuff,” Niall said, grinning at Tayg and Catriona. “Show him how a proper kiss is done, Tayg.”
“Aye, ’twas not a proper kiss for a new bride,” Gair added.
The table erupted in a chant of “kiss her, kiss her,” and Catriona felt her heart kick as she realized he was indeed going to kiss her, here, in front of everyone. ’Twas only right to convince their hosts that they were who, and what, they said they were. ’Twas part of pretending, and she would show him that she could do this and keep her wits about her. She would show him that he had no effect upon her, body, mind, or heart.
The family added the stomping of their feet to their chant. Tayg leaned close, taking her face in his hands. “You brought this on yourself,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.
He kissed her then, soft and gently as if she were the most delicate of China porcelain. Catriona grasped his forearms, but she wasn’t sure if she did it to hold him away or to pull him closer. The family whooped, and Tayg deepened the kiss. Catriona closed her eyes and was swept away by the passion pouring into her, the need and desire that sang through him and into her—the burning want.
“A-hem! There are weans present, lad.”
Catriona wasn’t sure who spoke. She opened her eyes and became vaguely aware of the raucous whoops and the odd jerky movement of Tayg’s body where the older brother was slapping him on the back.
“I think we’d best get supper out of the way and done and let these two have some privacy,” Lina said, her eyes twinkling. “’Tis clear we should not keep them longer from their bridal bed.”
More laughter, but Catriona could not take her eyes from Tayg’s, where desire was plain, but something else, some deeper emotion, also reigned. Whatever that emotion was it reached out and wrapped itself about her heart, making her wish that this evening were true and not an accidental fabrication.
Pain wrenched her at the thought, for this moment was just what she yearned for: a happy family, a loving husband, a simple life where she felt cherished and desired. She broke Tayg’s hold on her gaze and looked about the table. She sat here in the circle of a loving husband’s arms, surrounded by people who accepted her, celebrated her supposed good fortune, and wished her happiness. Perhaps, just for tonight, she could imagine it was true.
She could.
Just for tonight.
She snuggled closer to Tayg, his arms around her still, and happily played her part.
TAYG HELD AS tightly to his raging emotions as he held Cat in his arms. She was killing him, torturing him, daring him, and he could do nothing but help her along. She had set up this farce, and now she made it all too real. And damn her, he wanted it to be real. Never had he felt the way he did when she was in his arms. Never had he experienced desire so strong it twisted in his gut until he could barely think. Never had he wanted anyone so much—and not just physically—though that was his most pressing desire.
He looked down at her contentedly leaning against him, a smile playing over her full lips, a twinkle of happiness in her eyes. She laughed at something Niall said to one of the twins and the sound was like the grandest music he had ever heard. She turned to say something to the friar, and he felt a pull of jealousy at the hand she laid upon the man’s arm. He pulled her tightly to his side before he could stop himself, earning a surprised glare from her that quickly changed to a heated look as she lightly placed that same hand upon his cheek and kissed him.
Charming the Shrew Page 22
