Tamara came, leaned to her father and kissed his cheek.
Smiling sheepishly, he glanced up to her green eyes. “Ye really believed I dinnae like the lass?”
She nodded.
“Good. Mayhap I convinced my stubborn son as well.” MacThomaidh chuckled, but quickly sobered, rubbing his gnarled hand over the back of his neck. “I deeply regret she lost her bairn and pray she shall have more. I would love more grandchildren afore I die.”
His eyes softened as a flash of pain crossed Tamara’s face. He knew how much she’d desired her own child. Unfortunately, her husband died before one had been conceived. He prayed the perfect man would save his daughter from a life of loneliness as well. There wasn’t much he could do to rectify that situation, but God certainly could if it be His will. So much to do to see his children’s lives set right...so little time.
~ * ~
A sennight later Meghan ran up to Duncan, her face awash with excitement. Tugging on his larger hand, she entreated, “Come wif me and Mam to the garden, Da.”
A strangled gasp escaped Catherine. Shadows of pain and regret crossed her face when Meghan called her mam. It wasn’t easy having Meggie always under foot. Sadness engulfed him, knowing time hadn’t lessened her pain. Was it too soon after the death of her own child for Catherine to accept his daughter’s loving endearment? Would she rebuff Meghan?
An overwhelming pain stabbed through him. How could he comfort one over the other?
Expectancy hung in the air like a raised sword poised to fall.
Conflicting thoughts clearly warred within her. Were emotions of losing her babe flooding back? If so, she revealed none of them to Meghan.
She cast him a wan smile before she whispered, “Aye, my lord husband, join us in the garden. ‘Tis lovely out this day.”
Duncan would forever berate himself for having hurt her. He approached and drew her close, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. She was so winsome.
His mouth met hers for a brief kiss, then brushed her ear with his lips. “Thank you.”
~ * ~
Duncan and Angus made plans to collect and deliver rents at Castle Glenshee on the next quarter day. Though he dreaded her reaction, Duncan told Cat, “Lammas heralds autumn and everyone looks forward to the beginning of the harvest. We needs must return to the castle.”
“Never shall I set foot there again.”
“I do not wish to, Mo Chridhe,” he soothed, “but our clan celebrates Lammas. ‘Twould not be fair to deny my men and their families the chance to celebrate. They’ll not go without me.”
At Catherine’s continued frown, he took her hand and toyed with her fingers. “’Tis a day of fun, with games and contests of skill.”
Meghan bobbed her head up and down and said happily, “And a feast.”
Duncan smiled at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “Aye, from the first fruits of our summer harvest, a leannan.”
He’d never called her that before.
“Sit a moment, my heart,” he clarified, riffling his daughter’s hair. “The sun-god Lugh decreed a feast be held to pay homage to his foster mother.” He knew Catherine would have heard of Lugh, London being named in his honor. “We honor her life—and her death—every year.”
Though still not happy, Catherine agreed to go.
Two days later everyone from Cray Hall headed to the castle. “Look,” she gasped in delight, seeing the castle grounds. “The booths look like a faire.” With all the bustling activity, it wouldn’t be difficult to avoid The MacThomaidh.
As the day progressed, Meghan ran to her side. She grabbed Catherine’s hand and led her into the crowd of laughing people. “March with us, Mam.” She held Catherine’s hand and giggled with delight.
Catherine saw Duncan amidst men paying their rents. As the Chief’s son it was his duty to assist. Catherine watched, unable to avert her eyes. Realizing she stared, she turned away and laughed. He’s so handsome.
Gloaming turned to evening and Duncan fetched her and Meghan. “Let us join our clansmen. They lit a bonfire over by yon hill.” He wrapped his arms around them and headed to the hill.
Duncan ran his fingertips up and down Catherine’s arm. She tried to ignore the shivers it sent up her spine. “From this night on, our homes will have fires in the hearths through the end of winter as protection against storms and lightning.” He reached for her hand, running his thumb lightly over it, then leaned close to her ear and whispered, “But I am all the protection you need. I shall keep you safe.”
~ * ~
Riding home, Catherine leaned against his side for warmth while Meghan curled in her lap and slept. At times like this Catherine felt at peace, forgot Duncan didn’t want her.
When he placed his arm around her, she looked up at him. “I heard of Lugh since London is named after him, but Father never held such a celebration. I am glad we went.”
“As am I.” He smoothed his daughter’s hair from her face. “Meggie had fun.”
Catherine nodded.
“You know, Lugh was ever practical. During one victory he spared a defeated enemy’s life in exchange for advice on plowing, sowing, and reaping.”
Catherine glanced down at Meggie, the tiny lass fast asleep. The growing love she felt for the small girl shone in her eyes. But Duncan saw something else, too. Desire. Shifting position, Duncan knew all too well about desire.
“She had a busy day.” He pressed a kiss to Catherine’s cheek. Turning her face with his finger, he brushed aside her stray curl and gently kissed her lips.
Obviously flustered, Catherine moved away, seeking words as a shield against the passion that rose within her. “Does this celebration mark the end of work in the fields?”
Duncan leaned his head and laughed softly, causing Meghan to stir. So she meant to keep him talking. He leaned over and lifted Meggie from Catherine’s lap, moving her to the opposite end of the litter. Resituating himself, he drew Catherine closer, trailed his finger lazily over her shoulder. “Bringing in our harvest actually begins our hardest work. We cut the grain, then begin the winnowing process.”
“What is that?”
“Separating chaff from the wheat,” Duncan told her. “‘Tis by far a back-breaking process, but we must bring grain in afore winter storms set in. ‘Tis usually a race against time, since we can rarely predict our weather.”
This time Catherine laughed. “Your Highland weather is completely unpredictable.”
Duncan trailed his finger from her ear to lightly rest on her shoulder.
“Duncan, please,” she protested.
“Please what, wife? Please touch you?” His strokes became firmer. Her chest rose and fell in choppy breaths.
He lifted her into his lap and trailed kisses down the side of her neck. Turning her head, he lowered his lips to hers, nipping her lower lip.
Arriving home, Duncan quickly exited and reached inside for Meghan. The small child slept soundly. Turning, he handed her to the nearest servant. “See my daughter is put abed.”
Before Catherine exited on her own, Duncan reached for her. Without a word, he lifted her into his arms and headed inside.
“Put me down,” she protested. “I can walk.”
“Nay wife, I shall not let you leave my arms this night.”
Entering his chamber, Duncan kicked the door closed with his booted foot. He placed Catherine down gently. “Nay, Sweetling. Do not turn me away again.” He’d been patient, not demanded his rights since they’d been home. It had been too soon after she miscarried. From her reactions in the litter, she was ready now, and he wanted her.
Unfastening her mantle, he worked on loosening the morrels he’d not already unfastened. He couldn’t breathe. Merciful saints, he’d waited so long.
Through the haze of his mind, he heard Catherine saying, “Duncan, we should not...”
“Aye we should...we most definitely should.”
He covered her mouth with his to silence her. He kissed her forehead, her neck,
her collarbone. He heard someone groan, realized the sound came from him.
He kissed her tenderly, his tongue claiming her mouth. She surrendered, and Duncan claimed.
~ * ~
With autumn coming, life was hectic. Catherine stayed busy doing everything except work in the fields.
“You go there every day,” she argued. “I can do anything you can—”
“I am certain you can, my pigheaded wife”—Duncan laughed—“but I am not willing to let you do so.” Och, this woman could still be as prickly as a Scottish thistle.
“I am not pigheaded,” she shouted to his retreating back.
Duncan chuckled.
Catherine grumbled, but stayed inside the hall, helping to pack apples in straw in the barrels. They would be carried to storage pits below the ground’s frostline. The rest of the harvest they cut into thin slices. They would be set aside to dry or be turned into cider. Special treats in deepest winter.
Delivering another cartload of picked apples, Duncan paused to watch her working, drinking in the sight of her beauty.
Angus told him, “She tries to ignore her growing feelings for you.”
Duncan wondered. Memories of their time together before made him smile. When he wrapped his arms around her at night, Catherine seemed happy. However, with the light of day she kept her distance. She was a riddle he had yet to unpuzzle.
Although not much actual help, Meggie stayed close to Catherine’s heels. Duncan was happy his daughter helped, pleased Catherine allowed her to do so.
Delivering a cartload of supplies, he stopped in the kitchen.
Catherine turned to Meggie. “Sweetheart, hand me that moistened cloth.”
Meghan got the cloth off the counter and took it to Catherine. She handed it to her and scrunched up her face. “Why do you say Sweetheart? Da calls me Sweetling.”
“Aye, he does,” Catherine agreed. “Both are terms of endearment.”
“Oh,” Meggie said, scrunching her face again. “What is ‘dearment’?”
Wiping her hands on the cloth, Catherine drew up a stool and sat. Duncan imagined her aching back and tired legs were grateful for the respite. She held out her arms to Meggie. “Come, Sweetling.”
Meggie skipped over to her and raised her arms to be picked up.
Cat lifted Meggie and placed her on her lap. “An endearment is a word to tell someone you love them.”
“Sweetheart means you love me?” Meggie’s eyes grew wide.
“Aye, it does.”
“Then you are my sweetheart,” she said proudly. She bobbed her head, her curls bouncing. “And Da loves you, too, ‘cause he calls you Sweetling.”
Catherine hugged Meggie tightly. She looked up and saw the man she was so uncertain about standing in the doorway. A fleeting streak of sorrow twisted her heart. That wasn’t true. One of the servants, Esme made certain Catherine heard whispers about Duncan visiting other women. Obviously she was no more important than any other clanswoman. Why would the woman say it if it wasn’t true? Handing Meggie an apple slice, she said, “Cook says the kitchen moggie has wee kittens. Go see if you can find them.”
As Meghan dashed from the room, Duncan walked to her. He made no comment about the young girl saying he loved her. Instead, he asked, “Where did you hear the word sweetheart?”
“From your Scottish abbey.” She rose from the chair and went back to packing apples.
Duncan stepped behind her, let her feel his warmth. Finally he slid his arms around her waist and brought her back against him. “There is a Sweetheart Abbey in Dumfries.” Nuzzling her hair, he breathed in the fresh lavender scent. “How did you hear of it?”
“King Edward bragged about being there.” Her stiffness told him she was aware he’d not like her answer.
Taking her hand, he led her to the table and sat on the high bench. “What did Longshanks say about our abbey?”
“Duncan, please, I do not wish to upset you.”
“Tell me,” he ordered, pulling her onto his lap.
Catherine exhaled loudly. Why had she thought he might back down? He was the most determined man she knew. “Edward said he stayed there after he sacked some castle and invaded a town called Galloway.”
“Caerlaverock Castle.”
“While there, the Archbishop of Canterbury sent him a papal missive.” Duncan stared at her, but said nothing. “Edward took his time meeting the Archbishop, but when he did, the Archbishop ordered him to cease oppression of the Scots. Edward returned to England, but bragged about being there.”
Duncan rubbed his hand up and down her back. She could tell he was trying not to lose his temper. “Would you like to hear the abbey’s true history?”
Catherine bit her lip and nodded.
“After John Balliol’s father died, John’s mam was grief stricken. She refused to let them bury his body and had his heart cut out and preserved.” At Catherine’s look of shock, he added, “Lady Devorgilla placed it inside a tiny silver and ivory casket and carried it with her everywhere. She told everyone it was ‘her sweet, silent companion’.”
Catherine wondered what it would feel like to have someone love her that much. She doubted she’d ever know.
“When she passed to Heaven, monks buried it with her. They thought it fitting she be buried there since she founded the abbey and dedicated it to his memory. Because of the love she showed her husband, the Cistercian monks called the abbey Dulce Cor, Latin for Sweetheart, beloved.”
Duncan bent his head and placed soft kisses on Catherine’s neck. “Now Sweetheart, ‘tis time I get back to work. Crops will not wait.”
He rose and patted his hand against her bottom before he strode out of the room. As he stepped out into the sunshine, a smile of satisfaction crossed his face.
Chapter Sixteen
Catherine tilted her head in thought as she looked over the festival taking place. “Back home this is the beginning of Advent. We used the forty days before Christmas as a time of reflection.”
Duncan cocked a brow and teased, “On the sins of the English? Och, lass, ‘twould take far more than forty days.”
Catherine swatted his arm and walked away. Duncan’s rich, hearty laughter followed.
She walked around Castle Glenshee’s grounds, the scent of meat pies wafting through the air. Unable to resist, she delighted in the beef and pigeon pastie a pudgy woman with a flour-coated apron and warm smile offered.
She ate while Duncan joined in games of skill. Refraining from outward display, she was unwilling to let him know she rooted for him. He might misunderstand and think she cared. She could never let that happen when everyone knew he didn’t want her.
She rejoiced when he won in the running match, but was chilled to the marrow when a red-haired bear of a man threw him to the ground during a wrestling match. She’d covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a scream. Thinking him injured, she jumped to her feet to run to him, but caught herself. Whatever was I thinking? He’d not want me out there. She sighed in relief when he stood and charged head first toward the man who’d just thrown him. A roar of laughter sounded when his opponent fell to the ground.
When he tossed the caber, Catherine couldn’t help herself. She delighted in watching his muscles bunch together while lifting the heavy log. “He is magnificent.” Clearly the handsomest man on the field. And the strongest. She blushed when she caught herself thinking of being wrapped in those taut arms. How can fingers so strong in everything they do be feather soft when they caress my skin?
Catherine glanced to see if anyone noticed her besotted longing for a husband that didn’t want her.
~ * ~
Evening fell and stars emerged as Duncan came in search of Catherine. “Come, lady wife. The Seanchaidh —storyteller—begins.”
He unwound his plaide from his shoulder for them to sit upon. He sat and patted the spot beside him. “Join me whilst we listen to tales he weaves. And here comes Alanna bringing our Meggie. She looks exhausted.”
He situated Catherine in front of him while Meggie lay beside them on part of the plaide, quickly falling asleep.
She leaned back and relaxed in his arms. He caressed her arms with his fingertips, sending ripples of pleasure through her. Ah yes, those fingertips. Hadn’t she thought of them earlier? She shivered in delight.
Duncan felt the shiver, because he asked, “Are you cold?”
Catherine shook her head. She didn’t dare tell him what she’d been thinking. He’d think her a wanton.
He laughed and in the next breath, he moved her aside and stood. He bent to pick up Meggie and grabbed Catherine by the hand, pulling her toward their litter.
When she finally caught his eye to see what was wrong, the bold man actually winked at her.
A blush heating her cheeks, Catherine gasped.
He roared with laughter as he placed his arms around her waist and lifted her into the conveyance. Meggie was asleep on the other side of the litter. It lurched forward as horses moved. He hadn’t settled himself beside her yet, but the movement didn’t faze him.
When the carriage slowed, he stepped down to the ground. Looking around, he saw Angus had already arrived. Praise the saints. “Angus.” He took deep breaths as his friend walked toward him. “Please make sure Meggie gets tucked into bed.”
Curse the auld man for smiling. It spoke volumes. The crusty old man knew exactly where Duncan was going—and why.
~ * ~
Duncan wasn’t surprised when Catherine elaborately acknowledged Christmastide. As his friend Tory had, Catherine brought many beliefs with her from England. Chuckling, he thought his people in for a shock. Although they had their Yule celebrations, for his family Christ’s natal day had been a solemn day of prayer, then back to work. Their major festivities started a few days later and spilled over into the new year and Twelfth Night. Their biggest celebration was Hogmanay, the departure of the auld year and arrival of the new one.
Her Highland Destiny Page 12
