by B. J. Scott
Katherine smiled up at him. “Long enough,” she answered playfully. “I am na a lass who likes to be kept waiting. You’re lucky I dinna leave before you arrived.” Not that she ever would. If truth be known, she’d wait an eternity if need be to see his face, to feel his arms around her, to be possessed by him, body and soul.
She’d admired him and adored him for as long as she could remember. From the time she was a wee lass of no more than seven or eight summers, she’d trailed behind him and her older brother Warren as if she were their shadows, hoping to be noticed, praying that someday, when she was old enough, he’d fall in love with her. But she was a bairn, a freckle-faced twig of a lass doing her utmost to impress a young man who was eight years her senior. But he never shunned her and treated her with kindness. He encouraged her to learn things usually reserved for lads and praised her accomplishment, and, while she was sure he considered her a nuisance and wished Warren would leave her at home, he never once complained. It was like she had another brother, but deep down she wanted more.
It all but broke her heart when he was sent away at age sixteen to foster with another clan on the northern shore of Scotland for the next five summers — a common practice for the son of a laird. But when he returned, things between them changed and so had she. At fifteen, she’d blossomed into a woman and had grown a woman’s heart. They’d shared their first kiss in this very meadow. And their relationship flourished from there.
She knew her brother would approve of a union between her and his best friend and it meant the world to her — even if her father had other plans. After her mother died in childbirth, leaving her father an angry, bitter man, her brother became her world. She idolized him. When things seemed bleak, Warren was like her north star on a stormy night, her hope for a future, and one person she could rely on to have her back, no matter what she did wrong. He often served as a much-needed buffer between her and her father, and for that she was grateful.
“If you’d left, you’d have missed out on this.” Her knight slid his arm around her waist, drew her against his chest, and nipped at her lower lip. “And this.” He buried his head in the curve of her neck, suckled lightly, then feathered kisses upward until he reached her mouth.
Enveloped in warmth and bombarded by desire that ravaged her body like a wildfire out of control, she leaned into his embrace, her stomach doing a quick flip and moist heat pooling between her thighs. Her knees suddenly weak, she fisted his tunic for support. “You know it is na easy to get away from home and na have my da or my brother follow me,” she mumbled against his lips, then kissed his cheek. “I’m a woman grown, but Warren still treats me like I’m a bairn in need of his protection and advice.”
“Warren cares about you. But I dinna think you need to fash about his disapproval. Your brother and I have been friends since we were bairns, and he has told me many time that he is in favor of our relationship,” he replied. “But it matters na. When we’re married, you’ll only answer to one man.” He lowered his head and nibbled at her bottom lip again. “Me.” A possessive growl rumbled in his chest as he tightened his hold and kissed her soundly. He slid the tip of his tongue across her mouth, willing her to open to his sweet invasion. When she gasped with pleasure, he deepened the kiss, plundering without mercy.
Breathless, she planted her hands on his chest and shoved until their kiss was broken. “If we marry.” She lifted her gaze until it met with his, then slowly took in the contours of his finely chiseled features. He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen and what he could do to her insides with just his presence had to be a sin. But he was not her father’s choice for a husband.
His brows dipped. “Dinna toy with me, lass. You know we’re meant to be together and it’s only a matter of time afore we wed,” he replied. “In fact, I plan to speak with your da this evening at the feast. I’m going to ask for your hand and his permission to marry you before the garrison heads out to challenge the English bastards who threaten to take Stirling Castle.”
“When do you leave?” She clung to his shirt.
“Two days hence.”
She clutched a hand to a knot of emotion choking her throat. “Why, even if my father did agree to our union, there isna enough time to have the banns read.”
“We can dispense with the reading if the priest so chooses. And if I have my way, by this time on the morrow, we’ll be husband and wife.” His brows shot up and a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “And after a night of wedded bliss, you’ll be glad to see me go, thankful for the rest.”
“It sounds wonderful. But what if the priest refuses or my da says nay?”
A stern expression darkened his features, his gaze intense. “Leave your da to me. I’ll have no talk about what if. Na when we have this time alone together now,” he said, his voice hard edged. Wasting no time, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to a patch of soft grass beneath an old oak tree and gently lay her upon it. “You’re mine, and let no man say otherwise.”
When he sprawled out beside her and pulled her into his embrace, Katherine offered no resistance. Instead, she lightly traced his lips with her fingertips and sighed. “I want to marry you more than my next breath, and will do whatever it takes for us to be together.”
And why wouldn’t she welcome their union? He was the oldest son of a laird and stood to be a chieftain someday. Not that she cared about title or wealth. It was the man inside that she adored, not what he had to offer in the way of land or riches. But he was fine to look at. He was tall, well-muscled, brave, and honorable, yet treated her with the utmost gentleness and reverence. He looked upon her as his equal, not his property — rare for a man in his day. The fact he was a braw feast for her eyes to behold and could turn her inside out with merely a glance, didn’t hurt either. Theirs was a marriage made in heaven and something told her she could trust him implicitly, perhaps even more than she could her brother, and that alone spoke volumes.
But instead of being thrilled about the prospects of soon becoming his wife, she frowned, a feeling of dread twisting her gut. A niggling from deep in the recesses of her soul told her their marriage would never take place, not without much hardship and heartache.
He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “What troubles you, sweeting?”
Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away. “I dinna wish for you to go with the warriors to Stirling. I fear something terrible will befall you there, and we might na see each other again.”
“What would you have me do? I’m a son of Scotland. It’s my duty to defend her soil. I promise to return to you.” He rolled her beneath him, lowered his head, and captured her lips.
~ * ~
“Mr. MacBain and Mr. Murray are ready to see you now?” The secretary touched her shoulder. “It appears you nodded off.”
Katherine yawned and stretched. She hated to wake up, part of her wanting to sleep forever. This wasn’t the first time she’d had this dream. She’d relived the same scenario almost every night since she was thirteen. And it always ended at the same place. She never knew how the story played out, or if they had found happiness in each other’s arms. But she did know that when she awakened, every nerve in her body was alive and tingling with warm sensations, heated blood coursing through her veins. And what’s more, she always felt contented, loved, and safe.
She belonged with her dashing knight, in another place and time. In her opinion, the vastness of her emotions and the adoration she felt for this figment of her imagination was how a relationship between a man and woman should be. Even if he was from the fourteenth century and she was from the twenty-first. Foolish as it may sound, she suddenly realized, he was the man by which she judged all others. He’d set the standard so high, any man but him would be hard-pressed to beat it. Ironically, if she ran into him on the street, she wasn’t sure she’d recognize him outside her dream. Hell, she didn’t even know his name.
The secretary pointed to the door. “They’re waiting for you,
my dear.”
“Now they’re in a hurry,” Katherine mumbled and stood. But as she approached the door, she heard the raised voices of the two men. They appeared to be engaged in a heated argument.
“Nay, Duncan, the requirements are verra clear. For the lass to inherit the estate, she must comply with the terms outlined in her aunt’s will,” one man said.
“I’m aware of what the document dictates, Malcolm. However, Katherine MacDonald isna from Scotland and might na be willing to abide by her aunt’s requests. In which case, all will be lost,” the other man countered.
“Aye, what you’re saying is true, Duncan, but we are bound by the terms stipulated and the lass must prove herself worthy. If she refused, we canna—”
Katherine hesitated outside the door. The argument she’d overheard clearly involved her and she couldn’t help wondering what she was about to get herself into. It was not too late to turn around and leave. But she’d come to this office for a reason, and the sooner she announced her presence, the sooner she could settle her aunt’s affairs and be on her way. She squared her shoulders, sucked in a deep breath, then raised a clenched fist and knocked.
Chapter Two
When she got no reply the second time she knocked, Katherine cast a questioning glance at the secretary. “Are you sure they are ready to see me?” “Go right on in, dear,” the secretary said, smiling. “Sometimes they get so engrossed in their discussions, I’d swear they’d na hear a bomb go off in the same room.” She moved to the door, opened it, and waved Katherine in.
“I told you, Duncan, the terms must be followed as stipulated.” The man she deduced by process-of-elimination was Malcolm MacBain said to his companion.
Katherine entered the office, then cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt, gentlemen, but the receptionist said you were ready to see me now. I’m Katherine MacDonald.”
“Aye. Come in, Miss MacDonald. We have been expecting you. I’m Malcolm MacBain. He stepped forward with his hand outstretched, then gestured with a quick flip of his hand at the man standing behind him. “This is my partner, Duncan Murray.”
“I’m glad we finally get to meet, Mr. MacBain.” She shook his hand. “I really appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice.”
“You must be weary from your long journey.” Duncan Murray quickly shuffled to an overstuffed chair by the window and tugged it forward. “We’ll take care of the business of Agnes’s estate as quickly as possible and will soon have you on your way.”
“Thanks. The last couple of days have been exhausting, to say the least.” She wrapped her arms around her waist as memories of her fight with Ethan once again swamped her thoughts.
“Miss MacDonald?” MacBain touched her arm.
“Oh sorry.” She shrugged. “My thoughts wandered off for a moment. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
“Dinna fash. We understand what you must be going through.” Mr. Murray patted the back of the chair and flashed her a sly grin that caused the hair on Katherine’s arms to bristle. It was almost as if he could see right through her and knew exactly what she was thinking. But there was no way he could know about Ethan, she reassured herself.
“Aye, we understand completely,” MacBain parroted his partner and raised a brow. “Do have a seat, Miss MacDonald.”
What odd men, Kathrine thought as she approached the chair, then sat. “You have a lovely office,” she said for lack of something else to say and surveyed her surroundings.
Even though it was nearly the middle of June, a blazing fire crackled on the hearth of a large fieldstone fireplace. Her gaze shifted to an ornately-carved antique clock sitting by itself atop the mantle, then travelled to a dark wooden shelf that reached from floor to ceiling, housing hundreds of books. She loved to read and wished she had time to peruse the titles and see what wonderful first editions or old classics she might find amongst their treasures. Perhaps once she’d settled at Glen Heather, she’d ask if they might be willing to lend her some.
The walls of the room were painted a soft taupe to match the shades of brown, gold, and orange in the heavy draperies covering the windows, and a woven area rug of complimentary hues covered a section of the glistening oak plank floor. All-in-all it was an interesting room, an eclectic mix of old and newer furnishings and accoutrements.
Malcolm MacBain cleared his throat. “Please accept our apologies for keeping you waiting.”
“Aye. We got to you as quickly as we could, and you know what they say about good fortune coming to those who wait,” Duncan added.
Despite being frustrated by the delay and now their attempt to apologize, Katherine chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. In her profession, she’d dealt with the legal teams for most of her clients. But, she had to admit the comical-looking duo were nothing she ever encountered.
Both balding with little tufts of grey hair sticking out of their scalps, each appeared to be in their late sixties or early seventies, maybe even older. Like a pair of bookends, they stood about five feet tall, in their matching navy flannel suits and starched white shirts, and were as round as they were high. When standing, she towered over them by at least six inches. The nursery rhyme about Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb came to mind the moment she saw them, making it difficult to remain angry, let alone to maintain her composure.
“I’m glad you dinna leave,” Mr. Murray said in a thick Highland brogue. “The sooner we read your Aunt’s will, the sooner you’ll inherit the estate.” He circled a large mahogany desk, pulled out a chair, and sat.
Malcolm MacBain took a seat beside his associate. He opened a tattered brown leather briefcase, took out a stack of yellowing papers, and arranged them on the desk in front of him. After whispering something in Gaelic to his partner that was obviously not intended for her ears, he glanced up at Katherine. “Do you speak the ancient tongue of your ancestors, lass?”
“My grand taught me Gaelic when I was a child, but I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty. I’ve had no call to use it for some time.”
Duncan Murray stroked his chin and cocked his head. “Did your grandmam tell you why she wanted you to learn Gaelic?”
“Grand taught at a local college in the Language Arts Department for thirty years and believed everyone should speak several dialects. I also speak French, Spanish and a bit of German in a pinch,” she said. “But I was no more than three when I learned my first words in Gaelic. I picked it up quickly and she told me it was because the Highlands were the true heart and soul of who I was and where I’d come from.
“At five years old what Grand said didn’t make much sense to me. I was born in Boston and wasn’t even sure what the Highlands were.” She chuckled. “But I have to confess that as I got a bit older, it was fun to know and speak a language none of my friends could understand.” She smiled, recalling the many hours she’d spent with her grandmother, learning first to speak the language fluently, then later to read and write in Gaelic. Often the lessons took place when a pan of shortbread was baking in the oven, the entire kitchen infused with the heavenly scent.
“Aside from your Scottish roots, did she na give you any other reason?” Mr. Murray asked.
Katherine shrugged. They seemed to be fixating on her knowledge of Gaelic for some reason and she couldn’t help wondering if it had anything to do with the conversation she’s overheard before entering the office. She offered a hesitant reply. “Not that I recall. We actually never talked much about my Scottish ancestry. It’s not that I wasn’t curious or interested. It was actually the contrary the way everyone in my family skirted around the topic whenever I asked, only served to pique my interest. I often wondered if the past was shrouded by a deep dark secret, and my parents and grandmother believed that as long as I didn’t know what it entailed, I’d be protected. But Grand did have a flair for dramatics. One of the many things I loved about her.” She wiped a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.
MacBain scratched his chin. “It a
ppears you were very close to your grandmother, but I do find it odd she dinna want to speak of her days in the Highlands, yet insisted you learn the language?”
Katherine’s brow dipped. “I do recall one time when I asked her why she was so adamant about my learning Gaelic, but she really didn’t give me a straight answer. It was right after she’d received a letter from Aunt Agnes.” She tapped her finger against her brow as the memory of that day returned. “I believe I was nine or ten at the time and wanted to be outside playing with my friends, rather than sitting in her office studying. But she simply told me it was important that I learn to converse in the tongue of my ancestors because the time would come when I would be called to use it. And then as always, she changed the subject. I was just a kid and had been taught never to question my elders, so I never pushed the issue. I forgot about it until now.”
“Your grandmam was wise,” Duncan said.
“She was wonderful. But I’m not sure where this line of questioning is leading or what significance my knowing Gaelic has to do with my Aunt’s estate. And as I said, I haven’t used it in a while and need a refresher course.”
“The will was drafted in the ancient tongue, but to speed things up, I will translate as we go along,” MacBain said. “I’ve no doubt in time the language will come flooding back to you, but we want to be certain you understand the terms, now. We can also have a copy transcribed into English if you wish, but I have a feeling that willna be necessary.”
“Aye, you may be surprised at how quickly it comes back to you when you need it,” Mr. Murray added.
“Your Aunt Agnes was verra specific in the terms of her will.” MacBain adjusted his glasses and began to flip through the pages. “You were named the only heir, however there are a few stipulations you must follow if you wish to inherit the cottage and all that goes with it.
