Tempting the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “No!” she shouted, banging her fist on the door. “Dammit, don’t you dare lock me in here!”

  He leaned his forehead on the wood and smiled. “Aye, Cat,” he said loudly enough that she could hear him. “I can handle your anger. I’ll be back soon enough, and you can spend the rest of your dream giving me hell.” He lifted his hand and laid it on the door, right where she pounded on the opposite side. “Sleep well, little Cat,” he whispered when she suddenly went silent, only to wince when he heard Mary squawk and flap a hasty retreat out the window.

  He turned and quietly walked away, his smile broadening when something hit the door with enough force to rattle its hinges. Aye. He much preferred Cat’s anger to her tears.

  Robbie would have been really pleased with her the next morning, because Catherine was so angry she was seeing red—although that might have something to do with the fact that she hadn’t slept all night, and her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from crying.

  As clear as Caitlin was talking to her—in Gaelic—while they walked to Ian and Gwyneth’s home, Catherine had heard Mary speaking last night.

  Cùram was up to something, the owl had told Robbie. She’d seen the drùidh on Snow Mountain, standing inside a ring of eerily glowing boulders as he spoke to the moon, his staff sizzling with sparks of energy as he raised it to the sky.

  Caitlin suddenly pulled Catherine out of the way when at least twenty mounted warriors rode by, looking angry and tired and dirty. Catherine recognized Niall bringing up the end of the fierce-looking parade. He stopped when he spotted them and spoke to Caitlin. Again, Catherine didn’t have a clue what they were saying, only that it wasn’t pleasant by the looks on their faces. Caitlin took hold of Catherine’s arm again when Niall rode toward the keep and pulled her back into the lane, her steps rushed.

  As soon as they reached Ian and Gwyneth’s home, Caitlin spoke to her parents at length, and Ian started shaking his head and wringing his hands.

  Catherine pulled him outside the moment the conversation stopped. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Is it news of Robbie?”

  “Nay,” Ian said. “Niall has just come back from a farm over near Crag Mountain. The MacBains burned it down and stole all the animals last night.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “The family is unharmed. But Niall is upset because it was a bold move for the MacBains. The farm is only three miles from our village. And the farmer said he was given a message for his laird, that if we don’t tear down the dam that stops the Snow River from flowing onto MacBain land, they’ll bring every warrior they have and do it themselves.”

  “Niall built a dam that cut off their water?”

  “Nay. Nature built it about a month ago. There was a landslide off Snow Mountain that blocked up the river.” He shrugged. “Niall is willing to remove the debris to let the water flow again.” He screwed his face into a fierce scowl. “He just doesn’t care to have the MacBains telling him to do it.”

  “But why are you all so worried? You only have to take down the dam, and everyone will be happy.”

  “The reason my son hadn’t touched the landslide before now is because no one dares go near it,” Ian explained. “It was an unnatural occurrence. The sky lit with a terrible storm that night, Gwyneth told me, and the thunder was so loud that even the huts in the village shook, and several stones fell from the keep.”

  Catherine clutched Ian’s arm. “Robbie went to Snow Mountain last night.”

  “He did? Why?”

  “Because he thinks Cùram’s tree of wisdom is there.”

  Ian stared off into the distance, toward the tall range of mountains looming above them. “Aye,” he said, looking back at her. “That would make sense.”

  “We have to go after him. We have to warn him that he’s going to be in the middle of a war.”

  “Nay. The boy must accomplish his task without our interference.” Ian set his hand on her shoulder. “His papa trained Robbie well, Catherine, so that he can fulfill his calling. A woman and an old man would only get in his way, no matter how good our intentions. Come,” he said, urging her inside. “If he’s not back by tomorrow noon, then we’ll start worrying.”

  That was easier said than done for Catherine, as she spent the rest of the day helping Gwyneth put her house in order. Not that she was much help, compared with all the women who came over with rags and soap and crude brooms and the men who came with hammers and material to stop the old roof from leaking.

  Catherine kept getting in their way, until she finally decided she could best help by watching all the children they brought with them. Language wasn’t much of a barrier when it came to kids. Catherine drew pictures in the dirt with a stick, and the children would tell her the Gaelic names.

  The sun took forever to move across the sky, and playing with the children made Catherine homesick for Nathan and Nora and the boys. She ate more indescribable food for lunch, and after an even scarier supper, she went for a walk with Ian to settle her stomach. He led her up to a cemetery surrounded by a white, weathered fence and stopped in front of a headstone.

  “This is my son’s grave,” he said softly. “James. He was my fourth child, after Maura and Niall and Megan. He died six years ago, Gwyneth told me, in a hunting accident. His horse fell while he was chasing a stag, and James broke his neck.”

  Catherine squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You have another daughter named Maura? Will I meet her?”

  “Nay,” he said, pointing beyond the fence. “She died when she was only seventeen.” He looked at Catherine and suddenly broke into a smile. “This Sunday after church, we’re going to extend the fence around her grave and bless the ground she rests in.”

  “But why wasn’t she buried in here?”

  “Because it was thought she killed herself,” he whispered fiercely, shaking his head. “And we were forbidden to lay her in hallowed ground. But I’ve since learned it was an accident,” he added, squaring his shoulders. “She was running away to marry Robbie’s father when she fell through the rotten ice of the loch. It was a tragedy, not a sin.”

  “She was going to marry Michael MacBain?”

  “Aye.” He continued their walk, heading out of the cemetery and back onto the path. “It’s a long story, Catherine. Let’s just say it’s the reason the MacBains and the MacKeages are at war. But I can right our wrong now and restore the peace.”

  “You can do that without exposing where you’ve been for the last thirty-five years?”

  “Aye. I’ve come up with a good story. I’ll tell them that when we were captured—ten years ago—I had a chance to talk to Michael and learn the truth.”

  She squeezed his arm as they walked down the path toward his hut. “I’m glad Robbie brought you home.”

  He patted her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Aye,” he said with a sigh. “But not nearly as glad as I am, lass.”

  She was just about to say something else when three young men barely out of their teens stepped into their path and all started talking at once. Ian immediately pushed Catherine behind his back and spoke to them in rapid, spitting, and angry-sounding Gaelic.

  “Run to Gwyneth,” Ian suddenly said, pushing her away.

  Catherine didn’t bother to ask what the boys wanted but turned and ran down the lane when two of them sprang toward her. She darted between huts, scattering chickens and avoiding laundry lines and playing children.

  She finally started to pull away from them when one of her pursuers suddenly shouted in surprise. Two minutes later, the other one grunted, tripped, and smacked into the wall of a hut.

  Catherine kept running, unsure where the third boy was. She would have made it to Gwyneth’s house if a dog hadn’t started chasing her. She tripped and almost fell flat on her face, but for the strong arms that caught her and swept her off her feet with a laugh.

  “You’re safe,” Robbie said, crushing her against his chest and continuing down the lane at a more sedate pace.
His mouth was turned in a frown, but his eyes were smiling. “You were about to get your second, third, and fourth marriage proposals.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a prize, Cat. You saved Ian from the English, and there isn’t an unmarried warrior around who doesn’t want you to be the mother of his children.”

  “Oh, for the love of—Phew! What’s that smell?” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Good heavens, it’s you! Have you been rolling in manure?” Then she remembered she was mad at him. “Put me down,” she snapped, wiggling to get free.

  He set her on her feet with a laugh and tucked her hand through his arm, holding it firmly. “I may have to marry you just to keep the warriors away.” He stopped so that she would look up at him. “Unless you’re expecting to wake up anytime soon, Cat, it’s the only way to keep you safe here.”

  “Did you find the tree?”

  “Nay. But I did find where Cùram’s been staying. And I felt the energy of the tree, but I couldn’t seem to pin down its exact location.”

  “You could feel it?”

  He started walking again, keeping her hand tucked in his. “Aye. There was enough energy humming through the air to power an entire city.”

  “Was it near Snow Mountain? Did you see the landslide that dammed up the river?”

  “Aye, and I’ve already spoken with Niall about last night’s raid.” He stopped them again. “It was about a month ago that the landslide happened. And Daar thinks that’s when Cùram hid his tree, once he realized Daar was looking for it.”

  “How did Cùram know he wanted it?”

  Robbie started them walking again, waving his free hand at nothing. “Who knows? He’s supposed to be a young, cunning, powerful drùidh.”

  “And Mary wasn’t any help?”

  “She showed me where he’s been living. Anyone else would have missed it. He’s disguised it well.”

  “But you didn’t see Cùram?”

  “Nay,” he said, stopping them outside of Gwyneth and Ian’s hut. “I’m not joking about the wedding, Cat. It will still take me several days to find that tree, and the attempts to steal you for a wife won’t stop until you’re caught.”

  “But don’t I have to say ‘I do’ or something?” she asked, wrinkling her nose and stepping away from his smell. “Doesn’t the marriage have to be consensual?”

  “Not really. If your reputation is compromised, Niall can simply force you to marry.”

  She took another step back, not from his smell this time but from the gleam in his eye, and shook her finger at him. “I’m not getting married,” she said with a curt nod, just to show she meant it. “Not even in my dreams.”

  “Not even to someone you think you love?” he asked, matching her retreat with a step of his own.

  “I told you that was a mistake,” she said, eyeing the lane and judging her chances of escaping.

  But to where? That was the problem; she had no place to go. Her only hope was to wake up now. But when that didn’t happen and when Robbie read her intent and lunged toward her, Catherine turned with a squeak and took off down the lane.

  Darn it, this was her dream, not his. She was not marrying Robbie MacBain just to fulfill his silly fantasy.

  “Come here, you little cat!” he shouted as he ran after her, his voice sounding more amused than mad.

  Within minutes, she left the village behind and was powering up the mountain path they’d traveled down just yesterday. Was it only yesterday? It felt like a month ago!

  The sun had finally set, and the trail was deeply shadowed by the stingy light of dusk. She could hear Robbie behind her, growing less amused and more angry every time he called her name. She kept looking for another path that turned toward the village, so that she could backtrack to Ian’s hut and be waiting for Robbie when he finally gave up the chase. It would serve him right for her to best him again, after locking her in her room last night.

  Catherine nearly missed the narrow trail to her left. She grabbed a tree and spun around it, then darted up the even steeper path, only to slam straight into a huge horse that was more startled than she was. She fell backward with a yelp of surprise when the horse reared up, but large, bruising hands grabbed her before she could hit the ground and lifted her up, away from the flying hooves.

  Her back was slammed against a hard, smelly chest, and she got dizzy when the horse she was sitting astride spun and started galloping up the path. Catherine slapped at her captor, but he simply tightened his beefy arm and squeezed the air out of her scream.

  She heard shouts behind her and the sound of metal striking metal, and Catherine gasped at the realization that there was a swordfight going on back down the trail and that Robbie was right in the middle of it.

  She dug her fingers into the arm holding her, then twisted and reached up to claw the guy’s face. But she went utterly still when she saw that the man wasn’t another MacKeage idiot trying to steal a wife—he was wearing a MacBain plaid. And Robbie was back there, fighting MacBains.

  Oh, how foolish she’d been to run away. Ian had warned her that the MacBains were getting bold, and now Robbie was paying the price.

  The sound of pounding hooves came galloping toward them. Catherine twisted to look around her captor and cried out in relief. There was just enough light for her to see Robbie break from the woods into the clearing behind them.

  The MacBain warrior stopped and turned his horse to face the charge, and Robbie pulled his stolen horse to a stop. He held his sword in his left hand, its tip pointed at them, and looked angry enough to chew nails.

  “Catherine,” he growled. “I want ya to fall forward and bury your face in the horse’s neck when I say so, and don’t move an inch, no matter what happens. Nod if ya understand, lass.”

  She was trembling too hard to nod. Holy mother of God, she was caught in the middle of a swordfight.

  Robbie advanced his horse when the MacBain warrior backed them away. “Do it now!”

  She threw herself against the horse’s neck, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around it, squeezing so tightly she could actually feel the horse choke as the brute tightened his arm around her waist and charged. She was nearly dragged to the ground when her captor suddenly lost his seat with a shout, tumbled backward off the rump of his horse, and hit the ground with a heavy thud.

  Another arm snaked around her waist, and Catherine tightened her hold on her horse’s neck. “It’s me,” Robbie said with barely controlled anger. “Let go.”

  Catherine opened her arms but kept her eyes closed as she sailed through the air and landed against Robbie’s familiar chest. She turned in his arms and clung to him as they galloped into the woods.

  She waited for him to give her hell for running away, but he said nothing as they raced down the dark forest path that only he—and, she hoped, the horse—could see. Catherine could feel each bellowing breath Robbie took, his heart pounding against her cheek and his taut muscles flexing as he balanced them both with the skill of a man born in a saddle. Even a thirteenth-century saddle, apparently.

  He stopped at Ian’s hut but didn’t dismount or loosen his grip on her. He said something in Gaelic when Ian came outside and then turned the horse and continued on to the keep.

  Since he didn’t appear to have anything to say to her, Catherine decided she wasn’t going to apologize for running away or for getting stolen or even for nearly getting them killed.

  He stopped outside the keep, dismounted, pulled her down to the ground, then took hold of her wrist in an unbreakable grip and towed her through the huge door. He led her to the blazing hearth and set her down on a stool beside it, giving her a pointed glare that said she had better stay put. He turned to the group of staring warriors, women, older children, and a dozen dogs and spoke in Gaelic.

  Several of the women suddenly cheered, and quite a few of the men groaned loudly. Niall got up from the table he’d been sitting at with several warriors and came over and pounded Robbie’s back with a smil
e.

  Not ten minutes later, Catherine found herself standing beside Robbie MacBain, both of them facing a priest, with Ian beside Robbie and Gwyneth beside her and at least fifty people she didn’t know in attendance.

  The ceremony was succinct, more spit than spoken, and Catherine never did get a chance to say “I do,” or even “I don’t,” for that matter.

  The priest suddenly shut up and looked at Robbie. Mary silently flew down from the tall rafters of the great hall, as if appearing out of nowhere, and landed on Robbie’s shoulder. He held out his hand, and the snowy opened her beak and dropped two rings into his palm.

  With the owl still on his shoulder, he turned to Catherine, took hold of her left hand, and slid one of the heavy gold bands onto her finger. She waited for him to pass her the other ring so she could throw it at his chest, but he simply slid it onto his own finger, took her left hand back between his, and smiled.

  “It’s done, little Cat,” he whispered, pressing her hand between his palms, touching their rings together. “You’re mine.”

  The wide band on her finger warmed until it felt as if it would burn her, and Catherine dropped her gaze with a gasp. Robbie’s ring appeared to glow with an energy of its own, and her hand sandwiched between his gently tingled as light shone through his fingers.

  She tried to pull away, but he leaned down until his mouth was only inches from hers, causing Mary to flap away with a high-pitched whistle, back into the darkness of the rafters.

  “Welcome to your new calling, wife,” he whispered, claiming her gaping mouth with a kiss that was far more possessive than gentle. “And to the rest of our lives, Catherine MacBain,” he added, sweeping her into his embrace, kissing her until her toes curled with excitement and her heart pounded with dread.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Robbie only half listened to the grudgingly given well-wishes of the warriors he was standing with, his attention tuned in to Catherine sitting on the stool by the large hearth. His poor wife was looking small and fragile and rather bewildered as she inconspicuously tried to work her wedding band off her finger.