TENDER FEUD

by Nicole Jordan

  Very slowly Katrine closed the cupboard door. She would have to give careful consideration to the matter before she decided what she should do with her newly discovered information.

  Deep in thought, she was startled when she came out into the sunlight with the buttermilk, for she found herself face-to-face with the grizzled old man who had tried to blow her head off.

  Hector appeared surprised and unhappy to see her, too. Gnarled and bent, he stood there glaring at her fiercely, looking as if he would like to attempt her murder again, this time with his shepherd’s crook.

  “I…” Katrine stopped and swallowed hard, realizing there was no need to offer an explanation for her presence in the buttery. He couldn’t have seen her spying, for if he had, no doubt he would have dispatched her to her Maker by now.

  He was holding something wrapped in a bloody cloth, and when Katrine’s gaze dropped to it, Hector shoved the gory parcel into her hand. “Ye’ll gie this to Flora MacDonald,” he ordered.

  Her heart leaped when the cloth fell open to reveal the entrails of an animal. At least she hoped it was an animal. Only when she recalled Flora’s intention of making haggis for tomorrow’s dinner did Katrine recognize the stomach bag of a sheep. But it was still warm from its late owner. Poor sheep, Katrine thought weakly, suddenly feeling sick to her own stomach.

  Holding the bloody mess as far away as possible, she hurriedly carried it into the kitchen, deposited it and the pail of buttermilk on the counter beside the housekeeper and fled back out into the fresh air. Gulping deeply, she sank down on the back step, resting her forehead on her knees, willing her nausea to leave.

  She still hadn’t recovered by the time Raith rode into the courtyard. Vaguely she heard the sound of hoofbeats, then shortly, his footsteps as he crossed to her side.

  “Miss Campbell…Katrine, what is it?”

  At the sharp note in his voice, she lifted her pale face to Raith. He was dressed in breeches and a cambric shirt, with the sleeves carelessly pushed up to reveal hard forearms. His slashing black brows were drawn together in a frown. “What is amiss?” he repeated with more urgency.

  Katrine stared at him, wondering at his expression. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought Raith MacLean was actually concerned for her. “Hector…gave me a sheep’s stomach.”

  “He did what?”

  Instead of replying, she tried to lower her face again to her lap. Raith put a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  “Tell me what happened,” he pressed, not giving up or releasing her chin until he managed to drag the story in faltering detail from Katrine. Then his scowl relaxed and he propped one booted foot on the step beside her, resting a forearm on his knee. “Is that all? I thought perhaps you’d tried to engage Hector in mortal combat again.”

  Katrine stiffened at Raith’s casual reply. His mouth was quivering at one corner, as if he were repressing a smile, and there was a suspicious light in his eyes that looked very much like amusement.

  Silently wishing him at Jericho, she squared her shoulders and glared at him with a mulish expression. “Perhaps you’re accustomed to such blood and gore, but I am not. I prefer to have my sheep already cooked.”

  “So do I,” Raith agreed, his blue eyes gleaming irrepressibly. Before she could respond with anger, he pulled a handkerchief from his belt and strode across the yard toward the brimming rain barrel that stood against one wall of the stable. Katrine stared after him, taken aback by the surprising change in his manner. The provocative laughter she’d seen in his eyes had made her aware of his strong resemblance to his cousin Callum.

  Watching Raith dip the cloth into the water, she was struck by another odd thought. If he weren’t so serious all the time, if he weren’t burdened with the responsibilities of his clan, he might very well have turned out to be a rogue just like his cousin.

  Raith wrung out the handkerchief, then returned to her side, offering it to her. “Here, wipe your face. You’ll feel better.”

  With a wary glance at him, Katrine accepted the damp cloth and pressed it against her forehead. It did feel cool and welcoming to her clammy skin, and it drove away the last vestiges of her nausea. She was grateful enough that she didn’t protest when Raith settled himself beside her on the step.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, realizing she ought to at least acknowledge his kindness.

  Raith inclined his head in a polite bow. “Certainly, Miss Campbell. I am at your disposal, as usual.” It could have been another of his sarcastic gibes, but the easy humor in his tone robbed his words of any sting. “You gave me a turn,” he admitted, that same undertone of laughter in his voice. “I’ve never seen a lass look so green and white at the same time.”

  At his teasing note, a reluctant smile curved her own mouth. Sadly Katrine shook her head. “I’m adept at running a household, and I can even cook upon occasion, but I would never make a butcher. I couldn’t stomach it.”

  His slow chuckle rippled through her. “Now I would call that a very bad pun.”

  Katrine felt color rise to her cheeks, a color that didn’t diminish when Raith took the cloth from her and gently gave her face a final few strokes.

  “Feel better?” he murmured, brushing the damp, flaming tendrils of hair back from her face and tucking them behind her ear.

  “Y-yes.” The stammered word was dredged from her throat as she forced herself not to flinch from his touch. She hated this sensitive side of him. It made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, as if she could actually like Raith…or love him.

  Abruptly Katrine’s thoughts skittered away from such dangerous ground. Acutely self-conscious now, she averted her gaze. She wished Raith would act like the uncivilized brute she had first thought him. She wished she had never become involved with this dangerous Highlander in the first place. She wished he would kiss her again and turn her blood to fire....

  Fiercely bringing her shameful reflections under control, Katrine forced herself to ask the question that had been preying on her mind. “Is there any new word of my uncle? Callum said you had gone to meet with your kinsman.”

  It was a moment before Raith answered. During this past trip he’d made good use of the ducal seal he’d taken from her uncle’s study, issuing counterfeit receipts to the Duart MacLeans in Argyll’s name for rents paid. That should get the duke’s attention, even if the abduction of his factor’s niece had not. But it wasn’t something he meant to disclose to Katrine. “No, there’s been no new word.”

  She slanted a glance at Raith, studying his expression, wondering why he seemed reluctant to discuss the subject with her. “So what do you intend to do now?”

  “The same as before. Wait.”

  “To what purpose? I don’t even understand what you want from my uncle.”

  She watched as Raith flexed his fingers around the damp handkerchief. “It’s simple. All I want is to return a portion of the money Colin Campbell and the Duke of Argyll have been bleeding from the Duart MacLeans.”

  “Bleeding? But my uncle isn’t dishonest, I tell you. Perhaps he has been overzealous in carrying out the duke’s orders, but he—”

  “Your uncle is no different from the rest of your clan.”

  Katrine felt her hackles rising, but Raith forestalled her heated reply by holding up a hand. “I don’t want to argue with you. It would serve no purpose.”

  Katrine swallowed the hot words that were on her tongue. She didn’t want to argue with him, either. Turning her head slightly, she surveyed Raith quizzically. She was certain he had a genuine concern for his people, but he was going about solving this problem in precisely the wrong way. “Will you answer just one question? Why don’t you simply talk to the duke? If you presented your case to him, he might listen. You might be able to reason with him, to bargain.”

  Raith sighed. “Are you acquainted with the present Duke of Argyll, Miss Campbell?”

  “No, not personally, but I know—”

  “He p
ossesses in full measure the qualities for which you Campbells are famous—duplicity, cunning, cowardice, avarice. General John Campbell…he fought with the bloody Butcher Cumberland against his own countrymen.”

  Katrine didn’t need to have Raith’s reasoning explained further. To a Highlander like him, anyone who hadn’t supported the Jacobite cause was considered a traitor to Scotland, even fifteen years after the last rebellion had been tragically suppressed. And the Dukes of Argyll in particular were mortal enemies of the MacLeans, their two clans having been at bitter odds for centuries.

  “Even so,” she pressed, “it makes more sense to discuss this like civilized people than to continue a feud that could lead to bloodshed.”

  Slowly Raith shook his head. “Some things,” he declared softly, “are worth the shedding of blood. I intend to protect my clan by any means at my disposal. Which doesn’t—” he turned his intent gaze on Katrine “—include talking peaceably with Argyll.”

  Her expression became pleading. “But don’t you see, if you remain so vengeful and unyielding, you’ll only make the situation worse. I think you should at least consider a less violent alternative to this reckless, dangerous enterprise you’ve embarked on.”

  “You’ve made your opinion quite clear, Miss Campbell. Frequently. But you’re dreaming if you think an issue like this can be settled over a bargaining table.”

  “Perhaps so, but how will you know unless you at least try?”

  Raith didn’t answer. In frustration Katrine turned away, lifting her gaze to the mountains of Ardgour. The slopes had suddenly turned lavender during the past few days of rain; the bell heather had bloomed without her even knowing it.

  Beside her, Raith clenched his fist around the handkerchief. It irritated him that she’d spoiled the momentary accord they had shared just now—by bringing up the issue of her captivity, and by making another passionate attack on his logic. There was no way what she was proposing would work. The Duke of Argyll could never be depended on to act with anything but treachery toward Clan MacLean, Raith was certain. And he didn’t enjoy continually having to defend himself against a flame-haired, hot-tempered termagant who set his blood to boiling—in more ways than one.

  Raith’s gaze found Katrine, settling on the tresses that had escaped their pins to curl in sinuous disorder at her nape. She wanted taming, needed someone to dull the cutting edge of her rapier tongue, but he wasn’t the man to do it. Still, he couldn’t help fantasizing what it would be like to turn her passionate anger into passionate pleasure....

  His fingers tightened as he swore silently. Katrine Campbell was fast becoming his own private affliction. Yet he couldn’t dismiss her. He couldn’t even force himself to look away now. His attention was caught by the smooth expanse of bare shoulders above the neckline of her bodice, by the radiant glow of her skin in the sunlight. Her skin was creamy white and free of the freckles so many redheads possessed; absently Raith wondered if her body was similarly free.

  His probing gaze dropped to her trim waist, and lower to her hip, traveling along the length of her thigh, to the hands she had clasped in her lap. They were red and raw....

  Something dangerous and threatening tugged at his heart. Hers were a lady’s hands, slender and white…genteel. For the first time he allowed himself to admit how harshly he’d treated her since her abduction. She was unaccustomed to the menial work of a servant. Unaccustomed and undeserving. After a moment he broke the uncomfortable silence between them.

  “I’ve been thinking about Meggie.”

  Katrine turned a questioning gaze on him.

  “You were right. She needs someone to care for her and teach her the things normal children learn, to give her personal attention. I’ve decided to hire a governess for her.”

  A frown gathered between her brows. “Not just anyone will do,” she replied cautiously. “Meggie is special. It would be cruel to subject her to someone who didn’t understand her situation.”

  Raith nodded. “I realize that. I was hoping you might fill the post until I can find someone suitable. You would be relieved of your kitchen duties, of course, so that you could spend whatever time was needed with her.”

  Katrine stared at him, taken aback by his totally unexpected offer. Act as Meggie’s governess?

  A wry smile curved Raith’s lips. “What is this, Miss Campbell? Have you mislaid your agile tongue?”

  “No…of course not, but…I didn’t think you trusted me enough to be near her.”

  “Meggie trusts you. That’s good enough.”

  Katrine felt a confusing rush of feelings at his answer. It would be a joy to work with Meggie, certainly, but the fact that Raith MacLean was willing to trust her with his ward was somehow a greater joy. Not that she would tell him that.

  “So, will you do it?” he prodded when she remained silent.

  “Yes…yes, of course I will.”

  “Very well, then.” Raith tendered her a brief smile as he rose to his feet. “You can begin tomorrow, if that’s agreeable to you. I’ll instruct Flora to give you anything you need.”

  Katrine nodded dumbly, not even replying when he gave her a slight bow and wished her good-day. She watched him stride away across the yard and disappear into the stables, and still she sat there unmoving.

  She greatly regretted this change in the laird of Ardgour. For when he behaved toward her like a civilized gentleman instead of a callous brute, when he wasn’t treating her to his fierce antagonism, she found it far more difficult to resist her increasingly powerful attraction to him.

  Chapter Ten

  It was a mistake to have come here, Raith thought as he gazed up at the branches of a rowan tree, watching the pale light of dawn chase away the last of the night’s shadows. He was sitting beside the rushing burn in the glen, several yards upstream from where the burn plunged into the shimmering blue waters of the loch.

  Most definitely it was a mistake…and he was daft to have come. But he hadn’t been able to stay away. For the past three mornings he had watched from his window as Katrine Campbell disappeared into the silver-gray mist, headed for this glen. Three times he had managed to suppress the urge to follow her, just as he’d scrupulously managed to suppress the urge to follow her on countless other occasions since their conversation in the stable yard. Yet today he’d awakened before dawn with a restlessness that was like a physical ache. After several moments of struggling with himself, Raith had belted on his hunting plaid and made his way here, half hoping she wouldn’t come to watch the sunrise, half afraid she would.

  His back was partially toward her so he didn’t see her approach, but he could hear her above the musical splash-gurgle of the water. She was humming to herself as she climbed the rocks behind him.

  The humming abruptly ceased when she spied him. Slowly, Raith glanced over his shoulder. She was barefoot again, her fiery hair loose and flowing. The old skirt she had donned without hoops was looped up at her hips, and a sprig of heather was clutched in her fingers. She stared at him, her green eyes wide and questioning, looking as if she might bolt.

  “Don’t let me frighten you away,” Raith murmured dryly.

  Nothing he could have said would have been more effective, for Katrine took his calculated remark as a challenge to her courage. “I didn’t know anyone ever came here,” she replied pleasantly, but her tone indicated very clearly that if she had known, she would have stayed away.

  “My brother and I used to fish here when we were young.”

  Katrine hesitated, having difficulty focusing her thoughts on the conversation. The lean, muscle-strapped perfection of Raith’s shoulders was having a strange effect on her pulse rate, and so was the glimpse of naked, sinewed calves beneath his green plaid. Biting her lip, Katrine scolded herself for her reaction. Defiantly, just to show she wasn’t afraid of the Laird of Ardgour, she moved closer. “You have a brother?”

  “Had a brother. And a sister. Neither of them survived childhood illnesses.”

&n
bsp; “Oh. I’m sorry.” She gazed at him thoughtfully, wondering if he ever grew lonely now, without parents or siblings or even his beautiful late wife to provide him companionship. She couldn’t imagine not having her sisters to confide in and fuss over. But at least Raith had his clan and his ward and his cousin. And he was the kind of man who wouldn’t need the company of other people, the kind who would make his way alone through life if necessary—aloof and proud and quite self-sufficient.

  So why was he here? She might have expected his roguish cousin to seek her out, but Callum had left the previous day on some unspecified, no doubt nefarious mission and hadn’t returned, as far as she knew.

  Belatedly then, Katrine recalled Raith’s saying he used to fish here, like any normal boy. She found it hard to picture Raith MacLean as having had a normal childhood. “I never thought of you as having a family.”

  Her comment made Raith lift an eyebrow. “Even black-hearted villains have families, Miss Campbell.”

  A faint, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You don’t have a totally black heart, I suppose,” she acknowledged magnanimously.

  “No? To what do I owe this generous judgment? Your promotion to governess, perhaps?”

  “Well, it is a vast improvement over scullery maid, I admit.”

  His answering grin was brief and gone all too soon. Yet he was almost pleasant this morning, Katrine thought with a vague sense of pleasure. If she could overlook his near nakedness, if she could manage to slow the rapid beating of her heart, she might actually hold a civilized conversation with him for a change. She needed to speak to him about his ward, in any case.

  Heartened, she closed the distance between them and settled herself next to Raith, on the carpet of moss that grew beside the burn. She thought he would ask her about Meggie, but he remained silent, his gaze trained on the water.