Finally, he stood and lifted Catherine effortlessly into his arms. He headed for the litter. Her family waited—except her father. “Goodbye, Dearling,” her mother told Catherine with tears in her eyes.
Duncan placed Catherine on her feet, but kept his arms wrapped around her.
Trevor spoke to Catherine, but kept his eyes on Duncan. “Fare well, Cat. If you need me, get in touch with me. Just like I told you when we talked at your wedding.”
Elizabeth could barely speak. She was crying too hard. She walked to Catherine and placed her arms around her waist. “Oh, Cat. I do love you. Please get well and come back and visit us.”
Duncan helped Catherine into the litter and tucked a blanket around her legs to keep her warm. London always seemed damp to him.
It was time to go home.
He insisted they spend days en-route at various inns and halls along the way, not wanting to discomfort Catherine as he had when they’d taken this journey after their forced wedding. The farther they got from town, the harder it was to find places to stay.
Catherine spoke not a word. She stared vacantly into space and slumped against the side of the litter. He kept her well bundled up at all times.
~ * ~
Weighed down with feelings of guilt, Duncan worried over how pale and shaken Catherine appeared. He watched her carefully for signs of pain. Her red-rimmed eyes clearly revealed she succumbed to tears whenever he left their sparsely furnished, rented rooms. Neither had she regained the fire nor spirit he so liked.
How could he have been so insensitive to leave this beautiful young woman alone? Duncan berated himself for neglecting her. While in London he’d taken a long, hard look at himself and seen things he didn’t like. Too many things.
Catherine’s brother had been right. There’d been no excuse for his actions. Duncan vowed to spend the rest of his life making it up to her—if she allowed him to.
Upon leaving London, he’d taken to using the name her family called her. Shortly before they left on the final stretch to Cray Hall, he watched her sitting on the side of the bed. “‘Tis time to break our fast, Cat,” he cajoled, placing his hand beneath her chin and tilting her face up to meet his. “Will you not join me?”
Duncan thought it a miracle when her eyes rose to his and didn’t waver. She seemed agitated and distraught, but took his hand when he extended it. She stood and followed him unsteadily to the door, her body weak from hunger.
Duncan wrapped his arm around her waist and escorted her downstairs to an empty table in the large open room.
They were soon joined by Angus, who smiled at the sight of Catherine. Duncan and Angus glanced at each other, but said nothing.
Angus informed them, “Alasdair and Ian went outside to prepare the horses and litter.”
Catherine reached across the table to pick up a wooden bowl and spoon the goodwife delivered. Her hands shook as she raised the spoon to her lips. Having had nothing but fluids the past days, she was weak. Duncan took the spoon from her. After tasting the warm, creamy porridge himself, he smiled and offered some to Catherine. “’Tis good. Please eat more.”
She took the spoon from him. She raised it to her mouth, but was so frail she dropped it. Frowning at Duncan when he picked it up and held it for her, she grudgingly ate a few spoonfuls.
Hope soared within him. He would care for her the rest of his life if that’s what it took to fetch back his beautiful, spirited wife. He glanced at Angus and saw relief on the old man’s weathered face, and knew the look mirrored his own.
Surely Catherine just needed time.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Catherine had been home several days, the MacThomas clan hoped she’d break her silence, so refused to leave her alone.
Solitude, however, was Catherine’s greatest wish. She realized soon enough it wouldn’t be granted.
Why didn’t Duncan leave? She thought he’d depart as soon as they arrived in Scotland. He’d made it painfully clear in the past he wanted naught to do with her.
Now he expected to sleep in the same bed. When they arrived home, he got into bed and wrapped his arms around her, just as he’d done on the journey home. As days passed, Catherine tried to ignore him, but his arms felt so good, so safe.
Then the man’s attentions increased. He leaned over the bedside table and blew out the single candle. Catherine felt the bed dip as he slid his big body beside hers. He moved close and wrapped his arms around her, planting her firmly against his side.
She tensed, but Duncan refused to release his hold. Instead, his lips gently brushed the back of her neck. They felt as light as a butterfly’s wings. She remembered he’d once called her kiss that.
Catherine turned to him, emotions she’d held in check for sennights exploding. She pummeled his chest with her hands. Tears choked her and filled her eyes, a low guttural moan escaping her lips. “As soon as you have your way with me you shall leave. Get out of this bed,” she sobbed. “I want you nowhere near me.”
His body tensed, and he looked shock. Anger soared within her to where she didn’t care. The bloody man married her and left her. “Save us both the trouble and leave.”
It was the first time she’d spoken since she lost the babe. The babe she wanted with all her heart. More than anything in her life.
His face remained impassive, but he held her with an iron grip. “I am going nowhere, Catherine.”
“You lie.”
“I mean it, Mo Chridhe,” he soothed.
Stray wisps of hair layered on her cheek. He brushed them aside, his touch gentle and undemanding. “I should not have left. ‘Tis difficult for a man to admit his error, but I do so now. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Never.” Her voice was ragged. Her lower lip quivered and tears pooled in her eyes. “And do not call me, Sweetheart. You’ll not stay. You made it painfully clear you want naught to do with me.”
Struggling in his embrace, Catherine turned her face away, hoping to hide her tears. She’d never let him know how deeply he’d hurt her. A part of her still needing his closeness, she buried her head in his chest and mumbled, “I do not want you either.”
~ * ~
Duncan rose early, having slept little. She didn’t want him. He wouldn’t accept that. Couldn’t accept that.
He called for Siobhán. “Help my lady wife dress. She shall join us below.”
He nearly held his breath waiting for Catherine to come below stairs. All eyes upon her, she forced a smile to her lips. In that instant Duncan knew she’d be fine. His beloved lady was tougher than she looked.
She spent the day inspecting the Hall, then time with Cook planning upcoming meals. After the nooning dinner she headed to the garden. Duncan stood in the doorway and watched her lower herself to the ground. Smoothing her light green overtunic over her legs, she leaned back against the fir tree. Its branches formed a wispy canopy and shaded her from the sun. Pain of regret sluiced through him as he stood there watching her without her knowledge. She’d lost weight, looked tired, drawn.
He watched until her breathing evened out. She’d fallen asleep, appeared at peace. Would that he could bring that serenity to her while awake.
Merciful God, only You can give my beautiful lady the peace she needs. We’ve all tried and failed. Please heal her, God. I know You only hear from me when it pertains to my Catherine. For that I truly am sorry. I vow I shall try to do better. Amen.
After supper, the family bard regaled them. He’d come from Castle Glenshee after hearing of Catherine’s return and condition. He wove tales of a handsome Scottish laird and his exquisite English bride. Duncan was pleased she smiled, usually when the bard made some outlandish claim about her. The eve drew late and Duncan rose from his chair, taking Catherine by the hand. He led her to their bedchamber, closed the door and drew her into his arms.
She turned away. “I want naught to do with you. Go find another.”
Duncan persisted. “I want no other. We are home now, C
atherine.”
“This is your home,” she replied stiffly. “Not mine.”
Duncan smiled. Och, she was obstinate. He turned her around and reached to loosen the front of her gown, but she jerked away. Not wanting to upset her, Duncan sighed and released her. He walked to his wardrobe, placing his plaide on the shelf. She needed more time—and he had the rest of his life to give her as much as she needed.
He turned and caught sight of her body in the chemise, rendered near transparent by the candle’s light. The perfection of her curves made his body react. He sighed deeply. As much time as she needed...even if it saw him a madman in the process.
Days passed and still Catherine’s grieving didn’t ebb. Duncan felt helpless, no idea how to help. He stayed close in case she needed him, leaving only to make the short trip to Castle Glenshee. He merely told her he had someone he must see.
A sennight later Duncan received a summons from his father. He reread the missive and wondered why MacThomaidh requested Catherine’s presence.
Catherine demurred, but Duncan insisted.
As they journeyed toward the castle, Duncan knew it was past time to broach the probable reason for her requested presence. He cleared his throat. “Catherine, there are some things I have not told you.”
Showing little expression, she just stared at him.
“When The MacThomaidh ordered me to wed you, ‘twas not the first time he ordered me to marry. To ward off his wishes then, I married another.”
Catherine’s eyes widened in surprise. Finally a reaction!
“You were wed?”
Duncan nodded. This would be an uncomfortable discussion. “Aye. Once she realized I had no intention of living at the castle, she grew distant. She wanted the castle’s luxury, not my home.” Duncan shifted in his seat like an uncomfortable school boy being chastised.
“Did you leave her, too?” Catherine shot at him. Had he loved his first wife? At least he’d wanted to marry the other woman. That knowledge hurt more than it should. After all, she cared nothing for him.
“Nay, she left me.” Duncan cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “After she bore me a bairn.”
A child? A shard of pain slashed through her. Her hand flew to her stomach. He had a child, while hers lay buried in a cold, distant hill in London. Why hadn’t he told her this before? Her eyes burned with hatred.
She turned away, anger anew racing through her. He not only had a wife before her, he had a child. Did it live nearby? At the castle? Did he expect to fetch the child back with them? She clenched her teeth and looked out the litter. She wanted naught to do with another woman’s child.
Her anger evaporated, Catherine slumped against the curtains, drained. How could she think something so cruel? It wasn’t the child’s fault. Shame washed over her, pulling her deeper into a darker depression.
She shook herself from her reverie, unable to stop a single tear, when he continued, “As soon as she delivered my beautiful daughter, she left. Wanted naught to do with either of us.”
“Where is she now?”
“She died mayhap a year after she left, birthing another man’s bairn.”
“And your daughter?” Catherine asked accusingly.
The wind whipped about, bending limbs. Catherine’s emotions swirled like pieces of bracken in a gusty breeze.
~ * ~
“I fought in many wars, most recently for Scotland’s freedom. MacThomaidh took her to the castle. He thought his granddaughter should be raised there rather than by servants of an absent father.” His jaw tightened at the memory.
“I visit her as often as possible, just refuse to do so when my father is home.”
Emotions warred on Catherine’s expressive face. “What are you thinking?” he pressed.
She turned. Curse it, her eyes held the same vacant look she had after they lost their bairn.
Catherine sat silent for a long time before she blurted, “The same thing should have happened to me.”
“Same thing...?” Duncan frowned. “I know not what you mean.”
“Like your wife, I should have died instead of our babe.” She stared at him, but he doubted she saw him. Her eyes were sad and empty, she seemed lost in thought. Duncan thought he’d heard her wrong and was about to ask her to repeat her words when she whispered, “I wanted to, you know. For weeks after I lost the baby I wanted to die. It was my fault it—”
“Nay!” Duncan protested, aghast at her words. He reached across the vehicle to shake her. “Merciful saints, woman, your thoughts twist inwardly, fester your mind.”
“I wanted to be with my babe, but you took me away. Took me from the only thing I had left.”
Stunned, Duncan moved to the seat beside her and placed his arm around her.
“Our bairn is dead, lass.”
She raised her eyes to look at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “But I wanted her. I needed her. She was the only thing I had from our marriage. I wanted...”
“I wanted her, too, Sweetling. From the moment Angus told me, I wanted her.”
“You did not. You didn’t want her, didn’t want me. She was all I had and I lost her.”
Duncan caressed her cheek with his hand. “We lost her. We share the loss.”
She stared, unspeaking.
“Do not ever think such a thing again. Life is the most precious thing we have.”
She stammered, “But you would not be saddled with me if—”
Precious Father, help me. Let me say the correct words to her. Words that will comfort.
Upset, Duncan interrupted her. “By all the saints, woman, I am not saddled with you, Catherine MacThomas. You are here because I wish you to be.”
Tenderly he tipped her face to meet his, then cupped her cheeks between his hands, staring into her eyes. “How can I make you believe?” Och, he’d been a fool to leave. Could he ever undo the pain he’d caused?
Though he tried to gentle his voice, he ordered, “I mean it Catherine. Do not ever think such a thing again. Do you hear me? It goes against everything God stands for.”
Her eyes rising to his, she whispered, “It was my fault. I should not have stayed with just my maid. I should have gone to the house with you. I lost our babe—”
“We both should have done things differently.” Sadness filled his voice. “You think the demons of Hell do not torment me with what ifs?”
Catherine turned away.
Duncan refused to let the issue drop. His hands gripped her upper arms, turned her back around to face him. His eyes pleaded. “It was not your fault.” His right hand caressed her cheek, his eyes holding hers until she nodded. He brushed away a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Her lips trembling, she looked like a bairn lost in the woods. He wrapped his arms around her, wanting never to let go.
~ * ~
At the castle, The MacThomaidh met them in its massive bailey. A tall, elderly man, he moved slowly, almost painfully.
Extending his gnarled hand toward the entry door he curtly invited Duncan and Catherine inside. “Enter.”
As Duncan guided her into the Great Hall, his arm encircling Catherine’s waist, he noted MacThomaidh’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing his wife.
Duncan seated Cat in the most comfortable chair in the Great Hall, misgivings rising at his father’s watchful gaze. He stood behind Catherine’s chair, his hand caressing her shoulder.
“Why did you fetch this woman with you?” MacThomaidh growled.
Catherine blinked shock. Nervously she glanced up at Duncan.
“My lady wife goes where I do.” Furious at his father, this was hardly what he’d expected when he received the summons.
The auld man snorted in disgust. “I bid her here afore I learned o’ her flaws. She cannae even carry a wee bairn, they say.”
Catherine inhaled sharply, a soft moan escaping her throat. She rose from the chair and swayed. Fearing she might swoon, Duncan placed a protective arm around her. “Shut your gub, auld man.�
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MacThomaidh glowered. “Ye should know I would hear she lost the bairn she carried, my grandchild. If she had stayed where a wife is supposed to be, then the child would have been safely born at Cray Hall.”
Catherine’s body shook convulsively over his father’s bitter words. “I am leaving,” she told him.
Duncan’s eyes narrowed, the battle-honed warrior surfacing. Holding his bride close, he informed his father, “My wife and I are leaving.” He guided her toward the door. “Until you apologize, I shall never—”
His father’s next words stopped him cold. “Dunnae ye wish to see Meghan? Does the wee lassie mean so little to ye?”
Duncan’s head snapped up as if he’d received a physical blow. How dare his father insinuate such a thing?
He stalked to his father. Using his sheer bulk to intimidate the frailer man, he stared at him with the hardness of a battle-honed warrior. “If you were not an auld man, I would toss a gauntlet into your face, amadan. No man bears insult to my lady wife and lives to breathe another day.”
“Ye call me fool?” MacThomaidh glowered, trying to meet the force of Duncan’s stare, but blinked, both men knowing the line had been crossed and one step more would see Duncan’s words made truth. “Ye dinnae answer me about Meghan.”
“Of course I wish to see her,” Duncan bit out.
“Then sit,” the old Chief ordered. “I shall have a servant fetch her. If ye leave, I shall tell her ye dinnae wish to see her.” Although the old man took a step back, his father’s narrowed eyes warned it wasn’t an idle threat.
Swearing under his breath, Duncan straightened to his full height. He looked Catherine in the eyes and beseeched, “Please understand. I must see my daughter.”
He knew it cost her, but she pressed her lips together and stared at him long and hard before nodding. She sat in the cushioned chair, her back ramrod straight.
Her Highland Destiny Page 10
