Duncan turned to his men. They had on nothing other than what they always wore when traveling—swords, targes, sgian dubhs, and dirks. What did the Englishman think they should wear when traveling in a hostile country?
“We know how to protect our women folk,” Duncan grumbled as they walked briskly across the manicured grounds. He cast a baleful glare at Trevor. “The woman is beautiful. Do you not know the trouble she can get into? She should have guards protecting her. Does your father care so little he would not provide proper escort?” Duncan groaned. Had he just admitted he thought his wife beautiful?
Trevor shot him a bitter smile. “I know my sister’s beauty well—inner and outer. Know how easily she is hurt. She walks on my father’s grounds. No Englishman would dare harm her.”
Duncan bit back a retort, instead complained, “Can we not walk faster? I did not come here to leisurely stroll. I wish to reach Catherine. I do not want her alone.” The bad feeling Duncan had grew, despite Trevor’s feeble attempts at assurance.
Trevor glared at Duncan. Once more Duncan wanted to punch the condescending look from his face.
“From what my sister told me, you should have no say in the matter. You left her with no intention of returning. You gave up all rights to say what she does, where she goes. If you wish naught to do with her, leave her in peace. Lest you forget, my sister was the innocent in our fathers’ deal.”
“She was the innocent?” A flush of embarrassment crept up Duncan’s neck. “I wanted naught to do with the wedding. I was forced to come to this damnable town.”
“So you chose to embarrass her?” Trevor mocked. “Only a callow man uses a woman in such regard. I saw no sword pressed to your spine forcing you to the altar.”
“No one calls me callow and lives. ‘Tis only because you are my wife’s brother I do not toss my gauntlet.”
Duncan gritted his teeth. He’d come to take Catherine back to Scotland, not trade insults with her arrogant brother. The question he didn’t have an answer to was why he felt so insistent she return. This would be the perfect excuse to end his marriage. The very one he repeatedly insisted he didn’t want.
But he did want her. Had wanted her from the moment he turned to gaze at her in the chapel.
Duncan saw Grant watching him. His best friend would know his nerves were stretched as tight as the strings on a clàrsach, a harp.
Duncan wondered why he thought of the calming instrument now. He could think of nothing peaceful about this town. He thought it rough, dirty, and dangerous. No place for my wife to be. Trevor was right. She’d been an innocent and he should have stayed to keep her safe and protected. She needed—a husband. The one thing he couldn’t seem to give her. Could he? Was there some way he could still make this marriage work—after everything he’d done wrong?
Chapter Eleven
Duncan stared into his wife’s astonished eyes. He almost forgot how much she affected his senses. What a lie. He’d forgotten nothing. Her beauty haunted him every night. Her soft gold kirtle billowed in the breeze. She looked lovely—and safe. His worry had been for naught.
“Be you lost, wife?” Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Surely you do not think this my home.”
“I certainly do not,” Catherine answered frostily. “’Tis my home.”
“Och, you err, my lady wife,” he informed her, trying to keep anger from his voice. “Once we were wed, Cray Hall became your home. My people treated you well?”
“Indeed they did. ‘Tis more than I can say about their master.”
Seeing a side of his wife he’d not seen before, Duncan felt the blow as if she’d slapped him. Her words stung with unexpected impact. He wanted to be... He didn’t know what he wanted. That was a lie, too. He wanted her to love him, to need him more than anything.
“Nevertheless,” he said stubbornly, “I come to fetch you home.”
Catherine balked. “I shall return nowhere with you. Since you hate all things English, there is no reason for you to remain.”
She stunned Duncan by turning and walking off.
Duncan glared at her back. “You belong to me,” he growled.
She spun around, her voice remaining surprisingly steady. “I belong to no one, Duncan MacThomas. Least of all an absent husband.”
Although he’d admired her gentle spirit during the time they spent together, he now found himself irritated with such fortitude. His stubborn wife dared to direct it against him.
Duncan’s jaw tightened, trying to contain his frustration. He never expected this strength from her and was unprepared to handle it.
Trevor moved between them. “Shall we retire home to discuss this? Give tempers a chance to cool?” He cast a prodding glare at Duncan.
“Aye, we shall return,” Duncan agreed, loath to agree with the man on anything.
“I have not yet finished my walk. I shall follow later.”
“You will not remain here alone.” Duncan took a determined step toward her only to have her brother place a restraining hand to his chest. Glancing down at it, Duncan growled, “If you value your hand, Gillingham, remove it.” The man didn’t flinch. Duncan gave him credit for that, but toe-to-toe he stared right back.
Gillingham waited three breaths to remove his hand, his way of indicating he removed it because he so chose, not because of Duncan’s threat. Reluctantly, Duncan found a wee dram of admiration for his wife’s irritating brother.
“My lord father said my wife was fully trained in the way of being a proper lady wife. How did she wind up with such a flaw to gainsay her lord husband?”
The corner of Trevor’s mouth jerked twice as he fought a smile. He glanced to his sister, but not before Duncan saw a flash of growing respect in the eyes so like his stubborn wife’s.
“My lady mother tried very hard to correct that, but I fear she found it a losing battle. My sister is quite stubborn.”
Catherine huffed. She glared at her brother before shifting her gaze to her husband. “Do not speak as if I’m not here. I am here and here is where I shall stay. Now leave so I can enjoy the garden’s beauty.”
Duncan moved forward and wagged a finger in her face. “Your mam may have failed, but I certainly plan to correct that failing in the future.”
Catherine’s cheeks burned bright, her chest rising and falling with her fury. “As you told my brother, if you value your finger, Lord MacThomas, remove it from my face, or I shall...shall... bite it off.”
Trevor tossed his head back and laughed. “Though it pains me, Cat, MacThomas is right in this. You should come home.”
Catherine smiled at Trevor. “I shall return shortly—when I am ready.” Then she turned to Duncan. “I will not, however, be returning to Scotland with you. I shall never go anywhere with you again. Should you wish a drink before your journey north, feel free to have one. However, I shall not be upset if you are gone before I return. I never wish to see you again.” Her voice held a note of finality. She spun on her heels and marched away.
Watching his young wife calmly defy him stunned Duncan to the core. Why, of all the women in the world had his father selected this willful woman to be his wife? More to the point, why did what she thought of him matter? Duncan felt the flush of irritation creep up his neck. Every muscle in his body hardened, ready for battle. Only he’d never warred with a woman before.
Ill-equipped for this sort of battle, he opened his mouth to shout at her, but snapped it shut, unsure how to proceed.
Gillingham laid a hand to Duncan’s shoulder. “‘Tis best to leave Cat alone given her present mood. She shall stew over this, but will come home directly. She cannot hold tight to anger long. Her heart is too kind.”
Trevor’s words didn’t make Duncan feel confident. Before he left, he shot one last glance over his shoulder at his obstinate wife. She stood proud and tall. She’d turned, her eyes shooting daggers in his direction.
He didn’t have a good feeling about this. He wanted to go back and throw her over his shoulder. He’d
left her before and shouldn’t have. Dare he leave now? That niggling sense of unease coursed through him anew. With grave misgivings, he followed his brother by marriage.
~ * ~
Catherine slumped onto a fallen tree. The woodman must have left it to dry, because it was cut for cord wood. She felt confused. Seeing her husband again brought back everything she felt after their wedding. Oh, why hadn’t he stayed away?
Then she could hate him.
A glow of indignation rose to her cheeks. She swung her foot back and forth, catching her toe on a rock. She yelped. Angry she’d let her husband upset her, she bent and picked up the rock, hurling it against a nearby tree.
Rowena jumped at the sound.
“Rowena, forgive me. I should not have taken my frustration out on that silly rock. We might as well return home. I am too upset to appreciate the gardens’ peacefulness.”
~ * ~
A burly man stepped from behind the tall boxwood hedge, the entrance to the maze. He appeared from nowhere. Trying to get over her upset at seeing Duncan, she hadn’t seen him round the thick bushes. While she didn’t know each of her father’s servants by name, she knew instinctively this man didn’t belong at Brentwood. It took her several breaths to understand why, but then it registered—he wore a plaide.
Uncertainty rippled up Catherine’s spine. She suddenly wished she’d not remained so stubborn and had gone with the men. She darted a glance to see if they lingered nearby. Catherine’s brows furrowed, but she remained polite. Mayhap she overreacted to this stranger.
“If you seek my brother, he is just down the path. Shall I call him for you?” She pointed down a pathway. “Come, I shall show you.”
The man’s muscular body blocked her. A sinister look appeared in his eyes and his lip curled in a snarl. “Another lying female. Your brother and husband returned to that fancy palace you live in.”
Shocked by his unexpected behavior, Catherine backed up a step, “If you will excuse me, I tarried too long. I must return.” She tried to remain aloof, but the man caged her between himself and the maze. Catherine hated the maze, wished Father would raze it. As a child she’d wandered into it and become lost in the labyrinth of corridors. Trev had come to fetch her, nearly at dark. He’d found her in a corner, huddled and crying. Since that day, she’d refused to set foot in the darkened boxwood lanes.
There was a feral quality to the man’s eyes, beady like an animal intent on its prey. She turned to call out, but remembered she’d sent everyone away. They were probably already at the house and wouldn’t hear her.
Turning to Rowena, she urged, “Fetch Duncan.” It didn’t dawn on her she’d instinctively wanted her husband’s help instead of her brother’s.
Without warning, the man grabbed her. “I cannot believe you are finally outside alone.” He half dragged, half carried her deep into the maze beside the tree-lined footpath.
“Who are you? Let me go!” Catherine screamed. She fought, dragging her feet and trying to gain purchase on the grass path, but his size and strength exceeded hers.
He laughed as he grabbed her around the waist, her back against his side. He picked her up and continued toward the middle of the high boxwood hedges—turn after endless turn.
Panic seized Catherine. All the fear she’d felt as a child entwined with the terror of this frightening man. She put up her best defense, hitting and scratching him, yet he continued to drag her deeper into the endless walls of shrubbery. He moved through the maze as if he knew where he was going. Fear spiked through her as she heard a horse snort on the other side of the maze.
Catherine fought with every ounce of strength she possessed, her arms and legs flailing. If his intent was to physically attack her, she wouldn’t make this easy for him. Twisting, she reached up and scratched his face, drawing blood, her reward being his yelp of pain. She bit down on his arm, hard. Repulsed, her stomach wanted to heave, but she willed her might to fight the instinct.
Her mind reeling, Catherine vividly remembered Trevor’s instruction on what to do if ever in a dangerous situation. But she couldn’t kick him from this position. She clamped down harder, tasting blood. He cried out and released her. With a rounding blow he backhanded her, sending her to the ground in a heap. Her mind reeled as lights flashed before her eyes. She fought hard to keep from passing out, knowing all would be lost if she didn’t hang on.
Surely Rowena would have raised the alarm by now. Duncan and Trevor would arrive soon. She had to struggle until they did.
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her knees. “Settle down. I do not want you dead.” His words broke through her haze of pain. “I but shall use you as a means to get to MacThomas. I find it pleasurable to hurt someone who means so much to him.”
Confusion flashed through her mind, her voice shaking with fear. “What mean you?”
“I plan to kill your husband, of course.” He said it as calmly as if stating he liked his cider hot.
She cried out and tried to loosen his hand from her long hair, feeling as if he were pulling it from its roots. Almost to her feet, she was slammed back to the ground, a pain shooting through her body. She continued to fight, her fists slamming hard into the man’s groin.
“You witch!” He doubled over in pain, clutching himself.
As she crawled into the boxwood hedge, trying to drag herself up, he lashed out with his booted foot and caught her in the stomach. Catherine’s body screamed in a thousand red-hot agonies. Blackness sucked at her, but she fought for her life, her babe’s life.
“I waited a long time for this day.” He delivered his words with spittle trickling down his mouth. “You made it easy for me, wandering around your property with only that silly twit you call a lady’s maid. Now your husband will pay.”
“Have mercy!” Catherine begged. “I am with child.”
From the wild look in his eyes, she knew it had been a mistake to say that. A new calm possessed him as he smiled. A smile that told Catherine to expect neither pity nor mercy. Once again he kicked out, slamming into her stomach.
She raised a hand to stop him, but her efforts were like a feather batting at a whipping post. She tried to curl into a ball, but her strength failed. My baby! Please God, protect my baby. She released a scream of fury, of pain, of terror, fearing she might never stop.
~ * ~
Duncan heard screams before they reached the house. He turned, saw the young woman who’d been with Catherine running toward them, her skirt bunched about her knees, yelling frantically. He couldn’t make out what she screamed. He looked for Catherine, saw her nowhere. Fear ran through him. He’d been right. Catherine was in trouble. She needed him.
Once she caught up with them, Rowena doubled over, breathless. Her light brown hair was disheveled from running and her green eyes were wild with fright, tears streamed down her face.
Impatient, he wanted to shake her, but watched as Trevor caught and held her while he calmed her enough for her to tell them what was wrong. Trevor asked patiently, “Rowena, where is Cat? Why is she not with you?”
Trevor’s eyes scanned the area, as Duncan’s already had.
The young woman breathed heavily. She shifted her eyes between Trevor and Duncan. “Catherine...hurt. I ra-ran to fetch you so...help. Hurry.”
Duncan’s blood froze. Frantic, he was halfway down the pathway before the other men turned to follow. His speed increased when he approached the spot where he’d left Catherine. His eyes searched the garden, the paths all leading to the maze. He saw her nowhere.
Duncan shouted at his friends, “Scour the grounds.”
He couldn’t breathe. Where is she?
They needed to spread out or they wouldn’t find her. Why would she have come this far?
The yawning mouth of the maze almost beckoned to him. He stood as if staring into the pit of Hell. He had only one experience before with a maze. At Castle Kerr. When he was a small, sickly child. The laird had beaten him, carried him into the maze and
left him. He’d whipped him, the lash slicing into his back over and over, shredding his soft shirt. When the blood started to dry, the material stuck to the wounds. He had little doubt they’d fester. He’d already been sick that day. The auld laird was angered because he’d knocked over a pitcher of wine. Through the pain and agony, he’d lost track of how many times the braided leather had cut into his back. The auld man dumped him in the very center of the overgrown maze and laughed, telling him, “If you find your way out, you can live. If not, I shall fetch my dogs to find you on the morrow.” Duncan knew he didn’t mean to find him, but to kill him. The night was cold, even snowing. He’d wandered down avenue after avenue, finding dead ends and having to turn back. He’d finally dropped in exhaustion, knowing he’d last no more than a few hours.
Grant’s father had found him. Near death. He’d carried him to Drummond Castle and taken him in as a brother for Grant. Laird Drummond had saved his life.
The scream broke him from the grip of that ancient nightmare.
He hadn’t been in a maze since. Sweat popped out on his forehead and Trevor grabbed his arm. “This way.”
Duncan almost dragged his feet until the second long scream ripped through the air. He was a battle-honed warrior, but entering the maze was a nightmare. But he had to do it.
For Catherine.
~ * ~
“By all the saints!” the attacker fumed when he heard the shouts of men combing the maze. Shouts told him most didn’t know the way to the center as he did. He’d taken plenty of time to study Brentwood, learned all its secrets that might come in handy. He stumbled onto the trick of the maze. Keep your right hand on the shrubbery and never let go until you get to the middle. When you wanted to return to the house, take the first left and keep your hand on the boxwood. But he knew there was a hidden door at the far side, the way he planned to take the chit out. He hadn’t counted on the evil witch fighting him. His arm throbbed where she’d near sank her sharp teeth to the bone.
Her Highland Destiny Page 8
