TENDER FEUD

by Nicole Jordan

  Giving him a dismissing glance that managed to convey her disappointment in him, she followed the path Hector had taken home. When she reached the shieling where a dozen sheep grazed peacefully, though, she paused to drink in the scene. In the distance she could hear the mournful notes of outlawed bagpipes being played, and the somehow jubilant, wailing sound sent a tingle running along her skin. This was Scotland at its most magnificent. A lavender sea of heather, the savage peaks of mountains rising to touch the blue Highland sky, the skirl of the pipes, the smell of peat fires…

  A fire was evident in the hut that belonged to Hector, but there was no sign of the shepherd. She passed his house and the whisky still she had once wanted to explore, then made her way across the meadow, through a copse of trees, before she spied the thatch-roofed, stone-constructed but and ben that she thought must be Morag’s. It was small—no more than two rooms—and tidy, with an herb garden that spread over at least half an acre, and with an adjacent byre for livestock. The blue smoke of a peat fire curled from an opening in the low roof, suggesting that the owner was home.

  Yet Katrine’s footsteps slowed as she walked up the trim path that was flanked with neat beds of lavender and thyme. What in heaven’s name would she say to Morag? I’ve fallen in love with the laird, so tell me what you can about his late wife. How much did he love Ellen? Could he ever find affection in his heart for another woman? Do you think he could love me?

  Of course she couldn’t ask the woman such questions. But at least she could meet Morag and try to get her side of the story about Ellen’s death.

  Feeling her palms sweating, Katrine knocked hesitantly at the wooden door. There was no answer. She waited a long moment before knocking again, but no one came to the door. Wondering if she had missed seeing Morag working in the garden, Katrine walked around the side of the cottage. But there was no sign of the old woman.

  Disappointment and frustration added to Katrine’s store of restless energy as she realized the midwife was away from home. Evidently she would have to return some other time if she intended to speak to her.

  She turned back, then came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the horseman at the edge of the copse. Raith was sitting quite still, watching her. How long he had been there, she didn’t know, but his expression was as grim as she had ever seen it.

  “What were you about this time?” he asked. “Looking for herbs to draw?”

  His sarcasm grated across her nerves, yet Katrine felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she wondered what answer to give him. “What if I was?” she asked warily.

  A muscle in his jaw clenched, she could see it. A long moment passed before Raith ordered, “Come here.”

  Katrine’s expression became even more guarded. The last time he had followed her like this, he had ranted at her, then kissed her. She didn’t think she could withstand another of his savage-tender assaults on her lips, not without doing or saying something very foolish, such as surrendering herself totally in his arms or confessing the powerful feelings for him that were waging a war in her heart. “Why?” she queried, taking a step backward rather than toward him.

  “I’m taking you back to the house. Now come here.”

  “I suppose Lachlan told you where to find me. What a low thing to do, bearing tales.”

  “You forget, all my clan are under orders to watch you.”

  “Your spies, you mean,” Katrine retorted, her annoyance flaring. “How efficient they are!”

  “I won’t tell you again, come here.”

  It was said with such soft savagery that Katrine thought better of refusing. She had visions of Raith coming after her on his horse and throwing her across his saddle the way Lachlan had during her abduction. It was far more dignified to accede gracefully, albeit under protest.

  Clamping her lips shut over her retort, Katrine marched up to him and accepted the hand he reached down to her. Her fingers burned at the contact, for she couldn’t help remembering the gentleness of that strong hand the last time he had touched her. Yet none of that gentleness was in evidence now as Raith grasped her hand tightly and dragged her up onto his horse. Settled in front of him, Katrine could feel the angry tension in his body. She didn’t think she needed to worry about his kissing her at the moment, not in the mood he was in. And she certainly didn’t need to be concerned about responding to him. She herself was seething now.

  The hostilities that had resumed between them showed no signs of slackening as Raith wheeled his horse around and headed for the meadow. “I warned you, Miss Campbell,” he said through gritted teeth, “not to come here. You deliberately disobeyed me.”

  “I didn’t!” Katrine replied through her own gritted teeth. “You said you didn’t want me bringing Meggie here.”

  “I don’t want you here, either.”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Why not?” she demanded in a tight voice, her fury rising, making her reckless. “Do you think Morag will murder me the way she did your wife? I should think you’d be pleased to be rid of me that way. Then you wouldn’t have my blood on your hands.”

  She sensed his fresh rage even before she’d finished speaking. Every muscle in Raith’s body had grown taut, as if he were forcibly restraining himself from throttling her.

  Katrine cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The white lines about his mouth showed the amount of effort it was taking him; his eyes were closed, in the attitude of a man praying for patience or control.

  Averting her gaze, she bit her lower lip, regretting her jeer even more than she feared for her life. It had been cruel to say what she had about Ellen.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I had no right to taunt you so.”

  Raith didn’t reply, not trusting himself to speak. Not that he would have had an answer to her accusation in any case. Her remark about murder had been closer to the truth than he cared to admit. The thought of Katrine with the old crone had sent him pelting after her the moment Lachlan had told him of her intent. He had felt an absurd fear for her. A fear he couldn’t explain or justify even to himself. And now he was feeling a helpless fury—due as much to his usual male reaction to her provocative female form, as to her rash observations.

  The heavy silence lengthened between them. Only the muffled beat of the horse’s hooves could be heard as they crossed the meadow. Encouraged that Raith wasn’t going to murder her himself, Katrine wondered if this might not be an opportunity to reason with him.

  “I don’t think I was in any danger from this Morag,” she said quietly. When he maintained his rigid silence, Katrine tried again, keeping her tone calm and persuasive. “Haven’t you ever considered that your judgment of the woman might be the tiniest bit unjust?”

  “You know nothing about it,” Raith snapped, the words forced.

  “I know what Flora told me…that you cannot abide the sight of Morag because she couldn’t save your wife and son. Because she wasn’t able to play God.”

  The oath he vented under his breath singed her ears.

  Katrine bit her lip, wishing she could make him see how totally unfair he was being to an old woman who had done nothing more than use her skills to the best of her ability. She made another attempt, her tone becoming pleading. “Surely you can see that your attitude is bordering on unreasonable. You shun a woman because of an unavoidable tragedy, you force your clan to shun her, too—”

  “I don’t impose,” Raith snarled, “my unreasonable views on my clan. They’re free to call upon Morag’s skills whenever they choose.”

  “What is the difference?” Katrine exclaimed in frustration. “Your prejudice has the same effect as a direct order. Your clan is afraid of displeasing you so they—”

  “That’s quite enough, Miss Campbell!”

  “But don’t you see—”

  “God’s blood, I said enough!”

  She stiffened at his bellowed command, but mercifully ceased her harping.

  God’s truth, Raith swo
re again to himself, if he could have changed history at that moment he would have. Never would he have abducted this infuriating wench who was able to arouse his temper and body with such maddening ease. The instant Lachlan had appeared with this bonny Campbell in tow, he would have galloped off in the opposite direction.

  When she took a deep breath, as if preparing to argue, he cut her off. “Hold your tongue,” Raith threatened savagely, “or you’ll find yourself locked away for good, if I have to dig a dungeon myself!”

  His tone was edged with a violence that in years past would have been enough to send Ellen cowering from him in fright. But when Katrine turned to glare at him now, there wasn’t a trace of fear in her expression. Instead there was a defiant snap in her eyes that promised this battle wasn’t over yet.

  When they reached the yard, she slid off the horse without waiting for Raith’s assistance. She nearly fell to her knees, yet she was too angry to care. Snatching up her skirts, she stormed into the house and ran up the servants’ stairs, not caring who heard the reverberations as she slammed the door to her small chamber.

  She spent the next ten minutes fuming. What madness had ever possessed her to wish for a man who could match her spirit and fire her blood? Raith was a match for her spirit, certainly, but the fire he had just lit in her blood had nothing to do with passion—unless it was a passion for vengeance. She wouldn’t submit meekly to his unreasonable demands or quail at his uncivilized threats any longer, Katrine vowed. She wouldn’t!

  At length she recalled the drawing lesson she had planned to give Meggie, but she knew better than to go near her new charge while she was in this state. She would frighten the poor child to death.

  It was while she was pacing the five short steps across her floor and back again that Katrine came to a decision; she had to force the issue of her release. Only then would this intolerable situation with Raith end. His capricious moods were driving her to distraction. One minute he was kissing her senseless, the next shunning her or threatening to lock her up. She couldn’t bear it any longer. She had to end this indecision, this turmoil of uncertainty that was tearing her apart.

  It was time she made some demands of her own.

  Trying to calm herself enough so she could put her wits to good use, she eyed the bar on the chamber door. It wasn’t sturdy enough for her purpose. If she were to force Raith’s hand, she would have to take refuge in some safe place, where he couldn’t threaten her, where he couldn’t even reach her.

  Nor would any of the other rooms in the house do, Katrine discovered after a quick perusal. The laundry had possibilities, but it had more windows than she liked. When she inspected the buttery, however, she knew her search had ended. It was easily defended, and it had the added advantage of preventing access to both the dairy staples that the household depended on and the armory of weapons Raith’s violent clan had stashed in the hidden caches.

  The next half hour she spent gathering up items she would need for a long siege—or rather, a siege in reverse. A branch of candles, several blankets and a pillow, a plate of freshly made bannocks that she purloined from the kitchens when no one was looking, a chamber pot, a basin of water and soap to wash with—all these she carried out to the buttery. She had to make one final trip to the library, where she gathered enough reading material to last a week, since she wasn’t sure how long she would be away.

  Finally satisfied, she returned to the buttery, lit a candle, barred the door with the heavy iron bar and fastened the shutter to the one small window. Then she sat down to wait.

  Her defiant action was first discovered by one of the servants who came to fetch a brick of cheese and was sent away. When Flora herself came out to investigate, Katrine calmly explained through the door that she had converted the buttery to a dungeon and that she didn’t intend to come out until she was allowed to talk to her uncle in person—a demand she knew was unlikely to be met, but one that should at least get Raith’s attention. Only by making her requirements extreme, Katrine was persuaded, could she eventually negotiate Raith’s taking some action to hasten the end of her captivity. She would settle for the delivery of her ransom note, but she meant to make him break this untenable deadlock, or die trying!

  Raith first learned of her demand from the housekeeper, who told him that “the lass has gone daft, locking herself in like that.”

  Still steaming himself, his answer was a sharp, “She always has been daft,” tempered by a confident, “Ignore her and she’ll come out when she gets hungry.”

  But Katrine had a plentiful supply of food, and a larger supply of determination. She was still there the next morning.

  By noon the entire household was aware of the situation. But to Raith’s surprise and disgust, his clan didn’t side with him entirely.

  Callum, who’d returned that day, started in first, his usual roguish mockery absent. “Don’t you think, cousin, that you’re being too hard on the lass, incarcerating her like that? The buttery makes as uncomfortable and cold a cell as any tolbooth.”

  “I?” Raith retorted. “Why the devil are you making me out to be the villain in this piece? That stubborn she-cat has only herself to blame for having to spend the night in a cold cell instead of her own bed.”

  “Some bed—a pallet that only a servant would be accustomed to, not a lady of her class. I think you should at least listen to what she has to say.”

  Raith returned a scowl and stalked out of his study, declaring that he would be damned first.

  But later that afternoon Lachlan waylaid him in the stables. “She doesna deserve to be treated in such a clarty fashion,” the red-haired MacLean declared. “Not even if she is a Campbell. I would nae have taken her for ransom if I thought she wouldna get fair dealing.”

  “For God’s sake,” Raith said through clenched teeth. “A month ago you were as ready to hang her as look at her.”

  “Aye, but that was before I kenned the kind o’ lass she is. She’s no’ so bad for a Campbell.”

  That was when Raith saddled up his horse and rode out, for no other purpose than to get away from all his kinsmen, who suddenly seemed to have gone as daft as the red-haired hellion in his buttery.

  It was Flora who first made Katrine aware that her confinement had positive repercussions she’d never counted on. By nightfall of the second day, she had begun to grow disheartened; Raith hadn’t even acknowledged her existence, let alone her request for negotiations. But the following day the housekeeper made two trips to the buttery, once, astonishingly, to ask if Katrine needed anything—a blanket? food? water?—and once actually to plead with her to end this foolery, for Meggie had no one to supervise her lessons now. The guilt Katrine felt for abandoning her charge gave her perversely the incentive to hold out until she heard from the laird himself. She had to leave Meggie some day in any case, and the sooner it happened, the easier it would be for them both.

  Raith didn’t intend to budge from his position, however.

  Yet the following day, he found Hector standing in front of the buttery, holding the lamb in his arms, which Meggie hadn’t come out to see. Staring at the barred door, Hector shook his grizzled head.

  “Not you, too!” Raith said, lifting his gaze to the heavens.

  But it was Meggie with her dark, soulful, accusing eyes that finally got to him. Early that evening the child came to stand silently before him in the library while he worked at his writing desk, fixing her solemn gaze on him, not uttering a word.

  Raith swore silently and capitulated with a sigh. “Very well, Meggie. Go find Flora and have her put you to bed. I promise you’ll have your Miss Campbell tomorrow in time for your lessons.”

  If I have to beat her to make her come out, he vowed silently as he watched Meggie’s face brighten in a way that tore at his heart.

  Raith forced himself to smile reassuringly at the child, then waited for several minutes after she left the room, giving her time to get out of earshot. Then, in a dozen strides, he was out in the stable yar
d in the fading twilight, heading for the buttery. When he reached it, he set up a fierce pounding with his fist.

  “Katrine! Open this bloody door!”

  Inside, she froze. She had no trouble recognizing Raith’s voice or his anger. “What do you want?” she asked unsteadily.

  “What the devil do you think? I want you out of there!” “Certainly. When I can speak with my uncle.” The savage oath he muttered encouraged her. She laid down the book she’d been trying to read in an unsuccessful attempt to stave off boredom, and climbed the steps to the door. “I shall be happy to discuss my departure with my uncle.”

  “Katrine,” Raith warned, “I won’t put up with your antics any longer. You’re corrupting my entire clan.”

  She didn’t know what he meant, but she thought it must be good if it had finally driven him to recognize her existence.

  “I’m willing to negotiate.”

  He was silent for so long that she was sure he had left. She had just started to turn away, reluctantly resolved to spend another long cold night in solitary confinement—why had she so stupidly chosen a place as cold as the buttery to make her stand?—when she heard Raith’s voice, much softer now, filter through the wooden paneling. “Katrine, there’s someone out here who wants to talk to you.”

  “Who?”

  “You have to open the door.”

  “I can listen without doing that.”

  “Katrine, it’s Meggie. You know she can’t speak.”

  Katrine struggled fiercely with her conscience. “Meggie, my love, I’m sorry we had to miss your lessons, but your guardian is acting like a stubborn mule. I shall be happy to resume my position as soon as he agrees to contact my uncle.”

  She was so certain she could hear Raith gnashing his teeth, she almost smiled.

  When he murmured something softly, though, she decided he must be speaking to his ward. At length he raised his voice again. “Katrine, this won’t do. Meggie needs to see you. I think she wants to make sure you’re unhurt.”

  Katrine hesitated a moment longer. “Very well, she may come in. But only if you leave first.”