TENDER FEUD

by Nicole Jordan

  Raith’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the silence. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I do, Raith. I know exactly what I am saying.”

  He turned toward her again, giving her a hard look. “You’ve confused passion with love.”

  Katrine met his gaze steadily. “It’s love. Sometimes it happens.”

  Raith shook his head fiercely. “You’re concerned about last night. But you must realize…if there is issue from our union, I’ll provide for you.”

  Issue? Katrine thought. Could he not bring himself to utter the word child? And if not, was it because of his past? Because he had lost his wife? Or because any child Katrine conceived with him would be part Campbell, part English?

  “I would like to have your child,” she admitted in that same soft tone.

  She saw his jaw clench. He stared at her, his expression taut, his eyes bleak. For a moment he even looked as if he might reply. But he must have thought better of it, for when he spoke, it was on an entirely different subject. “What do you intend to do about Meggie?”

  He meant to ignore her comment, Katrine realized. He meant to forget the intimacies that had occurred between them, to act as if last night had never happened.

  She might have argued with him then. She might have pressed the subject. But for once Katrine held her tongue. There would be time enough to make Raith see her love for him was real.

  “I shall continue to teach her, of course,” she said quietly. “Meggie shouldn’t have to suffer because you and I disagree.”

  Raith nodded as he rose to his feet. “She’ll be pleased.”

  Without another word, he went to the door. There he hesitated a moment, but then he lifted the latch and left the bedchamber. The door shut softly behind him.

  Gazing after him, Katrine hugged the blanket to her tender breasts. Their very tenderness was a reminder of all that had happened, of his hot mouth and passionate caresses. Could he dismiss their lovemaking so easily? Could he truly forget? She couldn’t, not at all. And she wouldn’t allow him to, either. If she had her way, Raith would come to realize what she already knew: that they belonged together.

  Sooner or later the enmity between their clans would cease to matter to him. Sooner or later the devotion he had felt for his first wife would be only a fond memory. Someday, Katrine vowed, Raith would love her freely, without reservation or bitterness.

  The thought filled her with anticipation and longing. And determination. And beneath that, she felt a hopefulness that would not be extinguished.

  * * *

  Her spirits flagged when she was required to face the household that morning. Not a soul except perhaps Meggie had failed to note that the laird had disappeared last evening after dragging the roy-haired Campbell upstairs to her bedchamber.

  The speculation garnered Katrine a number of looks from the servants—some curious, some sly—that gave her a good notion of the rumors that were flying. She managed to ignore them primarily by throwing herself into her lessons with Meggie, but Flora wore a disapproving scowl the entire day, and at dinnertime the upstairs chambermaid muttered a word that turned Katrine’s face white with shock and then rage.

  No one else spoke to her about it. No one, that is, but Callum.

  Later in the afternoon, while Meggie was napping, Katrine wandered into the second-floor sitting room, feeling disconsolate and very much like a leper again. She had been given a lovely bedchamber that overlooked the mountains of Ardgour, yet even that had failed to raise her spirits. She hadn’t laid eyes on Raith since dawn, and she knew without being told that he had doubled his meticulous efforts to avoid her.

  “So, did you manage to claim victory, bonny Katie?” Callum said from behind her as she ran an idle finger over a small rosewood table.

  Katrine turned at the sound of his voice, and found Raith’s cousin lounging in the doorway. Her eyes widened at the splendid sight of him. He wore the dress of the duinhe wassel, the Highland gentleman, with kilt and tartan plaid, checkered hose and blue bonnet. There was lace at his wrists and throat, and his lavishly embroidered, short velvet coat would have been appropriate at court. She had never seen Callum dressed so fashionably. Yet he was defying the law, wearing the MacLean tartan.

  “We’ve a Highland wedding to attend,” Callum said in explanation of his attire. “A Stewart lass and the son of a Cameron laird. It wouldn’t be fitting to appear in Southron dress, no matter what the English might decree.”

  Distracted from her own concerns, Katrine shook her head. These proud Scots held fiercely to their customs, even if they might face the gallows for treason. She felt a surge of irritation at their stubbornness.

  “What did you mean about my claiming a victory?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

  “Your new accommodations. You succeeded in getting Raith to accede to your demands, I take it.”

  Color rose to her cheeks at the calm assumption in his tone. Callum knew exactly what had occurred between herself and Raith, Katrine was sure.

  “He didn’t tell you what happened?” she protested, struggling with embarrassment. It was one thing to bestow her innocence on the man she loved. It was quite another for her wanton behavior to be the subject of public discussion.

  But Callum hastened to reassure her. “Raith would never be so indiscreet about a lady, Katrine. He’s a gentleman, after all. But it wasn’t hard to guess.”

  Involuntarily, Katrine’s hands rose to her flaming cheeks. She scarcely had the courage to meet Callum’s gaze. Yet he didn’t seem to be condemning her. The dancing gleam in his dark eyes held both amusement and sympathy.

  When she remained silent, he gave an amiable shrug of his broad shoulders. “It was bound to happen. Indeed, I’m surprised it took this long. Raith has been acting like a cornered mountain cat since the moment he laid eyes on you. I might even go so far as to say my estimable cousin deserved to have his fur singed, for his callous treatment of you.”

  “I suppose I should be grateful for your grudging support,” Katrine retorted ungraciously.

  Callum sent her a charming smile that even Katrine wasn’t immune to. “Don’t flay me with your lethal tongue, my sweet. You never needed my support. I could tell from our first acquaintance you could take care of yourself.”

  Without asking her leave, he sauntered into the room and settled himself on the gold damask settee, crossing one elegantly shod foot over the other and lacing his fingers over his stomach, giving Katrine the impression that he meant to remain for a while and that he planned to discuss her relationship with Raith.

  “I confess to being gratified,” Callum remarked, confirming her suspicion, “that you and Raith have reached some meeting of the minds. The two of you stayed at loggerheads far longer than I expected.”

  “What meeting of the minds? We are still at loggerheads, if you care to know. Raith refused to discuss my ransom.”

  One black eyebrow rose. “Do you mean to tell me that my dear cousin seduced you under his own roof and refused to face the consequences?”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm at his frankness. “No,” Katrine admitted in a small voice. “Raith…agreed to provide for any ‘issue’ I might have. And,” she added in a lower voice still, “in all fairness, he didn’t seduce me precisely. I—it just happened.”

  There was a moment’s pause while Callum studied her. She could feel his dark gaze resting on her. “If you were anyone but who you are, Raith would marry you.”

  She gave him a quick glance, her expression hopeful. “Do you truly think so?” Under normal circumstances, Callum wasn’t the person she would have chosen for a confidant, but he might be able to help her understand Raith. At least he seemed willing to lend a sympathetic ear. “Just how well do you know Raith?”

  “Well enough. We were raised almost like brothers. I shared his tutors and attended university with him. The old laird took the notion I was a clever lad and saw to it that I had a gentleman’s education.”


  It was Katrine’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Callum had said he was a natural child. His present admission that he had been raised nearly as one of the family, coupled with his resemblance to Raith, made her wonder if the two men actually had a closer relationship than cousins. Yet good manners wouldn’t allow her to come right out and ask Callum if the old laird was his father.

  Her unspoken question must have shown on her face, though, for Callum smiled, a smile that held by far the deepest cynicism she had seen in him. “No, the laird of Ardgour was not my sire, although many was the time I wished he had been. My mother was a poor Scotch lass who had the vast misfortune to fall in love with an Englishman. A nobleman, to be exact. A fine Sassenach lord who already had a wife.”

  He put only the slightest of inflections on the word wife, but despite the lightness with which he had spoken, despite the provocative good humor he showed to the world, Katrine suspected Callum MacLean was nursing his own brand of bitterness. A bitterness much like Raith’s, and perhaps quite as fierce.

  Reminded that she had fallen in love with a Highlander who despised her, Katrine gave a sigh. Did all the MacLean men bear such hatred for the English? Her spirits sinking again, she wandered around the room, running an idle finger over the mantel, then sank down into the wing chair beside the fireplace, fixing Callum with a troubled gaze.

  “You said if I were anyone else… Which do you suppose Raith dislikes most about me, my English blood or my Campbell ancestry?”

  “The Campbell part, I daresay. Raith was weaned on tales of Campbell treachery—but the tales aren’t greatly exaggerated. If you know anything at all about the history of your clan, you know every Campbell chief who ever lived has been given to plotting. They’ve never balked at fawning and pandering to kings and noblemen in positions of power, or using unscrupulous means to gain their ends. That was how one of your Argyll earls obtained letters of commission to pursue Clan MacLean with fire and sword.”

  Rather calmly Katrine listened to Callum disparage the chiefs of her clan, not uttering a word of protest. Surprisingly he didn’t raise her hackles the way Raith always did when he talked about the past. But then Raith made any discussion of the Campbells sound like an accusation, a personal indictment of her, whereas Callum seemed merely to be stating facts. And, if she were honest, she had to admit there was a great deal of truth in what he said. The past Earls and Dukes of Argyll had ever been known for their ability to foment strife and discord, and they usually managed to side with the men in power.

  “I daresay,” Callum continued, “we’ve good reason to accuse your chiefs of guile and cunning. When MacLean of Duart was dispossessed of estates sixty years ago, Duart Castle was forfeited to the crown, but somehow it wound up in Argyll’s hands—and so did countless other MacLean lands and possessions.”

  Duart Castle was on the Isle of Mull, Katrine remembered, across from the seaport of Oban, where she had disembarked.

  “And then there was Culloden,” Callum said softly. “Every true Scotsman felt betrayed by the Campbells during the risings when they sided with the English. Can you blame Raith for feeling any different?”

  Katrine didn’t answer; there was nothing she could say, for she understood very well Raith’s feelings on that score.

  When she remained silent, Callum cocked his head at her, his gaze curiously gentle. “After the Forty-five Raith had the very devil of a time recovering the estate of Ardgour from the brink of ruin. Perhaps that’s why he feels personally responsible for aiding the Duart MacLeans—because he managed to save his inheritance when the men of Duart have so little…not even the land they were born to.”

  Katrine looked down at her hands, feeling somewhat ashamed. She’d railed at Raith frequently for being so adamantly narrow-minded in his opposition to the duke, but she’d never truly considered his side of the matter. Nor had she ever tried to help him achieve his ends. What he wanted seemed reasonable enough, now that she thought objectively about it—affordable rents that wouldn’t leave the Duart MacLeans facing starvation. Perhaps if she spoke to her uncle herself, or pleaded the MacLeans’ case before the duke…

  But even if she could convince them of the justice of the MacLeans’ cause, even if Raith could manage to overlook her Campbell blood, that was no guarantee he would wed her.

  She regarded Callum somberly. “Raith told me once that he…that there would be no more children here as long as he was laird. I don’t think that bodes well for my chances of marrying him, do you?”

  Callum returned her gaze steadily. “As to that, I can’t fault him for not wanting to suffer such an ordeal ever again. Morag was required to…dismember his son in order to try and save Ellen. Suffice it to say that wasn’t a pretty sight.”

  Katrine shuddered. “But now he won’t even acknowledge Morag’s existence.”

  “Don’t judge him too harshly, Katrine. It isn’t easy for a man to forget the kind of helplessness Raith was faced with then. He fair went mad, seeing his son and Ellen like that. I vow war is far less traumatic. Raith blames himself for not fetching a surgeon from Edinburgh before the birth, but I doubt even that could have saved Ellen. The surgeon who came afterward said there was nothing more that Morag could have done for either mother or child.”

  Katrine fell silent, thinking of the tragedy and wishing there were something she could do to ease Raith’s pain. At the very least she could cease taunting him about his shunning of Morag.

  Callum suddenly shook his head and summoned a roguish grin. “How morbid we’ve become! Cheer up, bonny Katie. This is no mood to be in before a wedding. Have you ever attended a Scottish ceremony?”

  “No,” she admitted, managing a smile.

  “Pity you can’t come with us. You would enjoy it. The celebration should last some time. We won’t be back before morning.”

  “Morning? But I thought marriage was a simple thing in Scotland.”

  “It can be. This is to be a proper church service in the kirk, with a score of festivities afterward. And then it will take us several hours to travel home.” Callum gave a mock grimace. “I prefer the simple method myself, where you declare yourself married before witnesses and you’re legally wed. No fuss or bother.” His mouth remained twisted as he stared down at his hands. “At least we managed to hold on to our laws during the union with England.”

  His tone was dry—another indication, Katrine reflected, that Callum wasn’t as sanguine about the fate of his country as he appeared. She knew what he was referring to: recognition of Scots law had been an integral part of the Act of Union, the treaty by which England and Scotland had combined to form Great Britain.

  After the union, marriage laws in Scotland had remained unchanged; no prescribed form of words was required in order to marry, nor any rite performed by a minister. Marriage was a simple contract, completed by nothing more formal than mutual consent, yet it was thoroughly valid and completely binding, and was even recognized in England. Katrine remembered only a few months ago teasing her youngest sister about eloping across the Scottish border in order to avoid the vast preparations for her wedding.

  She left off her musings about nuptials, though, when Callum suddenly shrugged his elegantly clad shoulders and gave her a wicked grin. “We’ve kept a number of our customs, too. Did you know that in the Highlands we still practice bridestealing? You’d best beware, bonny Katie. Some young swain may catch you unawares, and you’ll find yourself the overworked wife of a crofter with a dozen bairns tagging at your skirts.”

  Smiling at his banter, Katrine shook her head. No one was likely to steal her for his bride. At least not the only man she wanted.

  “If I might venture to interrupt, cousin,” a harsh voice came from across the room, “the horses are waiting.”

  At the sharp comment, Katrine looked up abruptly, her pulse suddenly racing. Raith stood in the doorway, fixing his cousin with a grim look.

  Dressed in tartan finery even more splendid than Callum’s, he appeared every inch t
he Highland laird. The bright red and green plaid looked for all the world as if it had been invented to complement his dark good looks, while the velvet and lace of his costume proclaimed him the equal of any English nobleman. Seeing him, Katrine could easily understand why the Highlanders admired their lairds so much. She felt a glow of pride in Raith herself—which was absurd, considering how he felt about her.

  He gave her only the most cursory of glances, but that, Katrine decided, was perhaps fortunate, considering the color that was now flooding her cheeks. For she had just noticed that Raith wore no wig. Beneath his bonnet, which sported two eagle’s feathers, his raven hair was unpowdered and tied back with a bow. Remembering how her fingers had wound in his hair only a few short hours ago while she was experiencing the height of passion, Katrine found herself unable to stop flushing.

  He didn’t acknowledge her existence with even a bow, however, before he turned on his heel and left. Katrine stared after him, knowing her face showed the longing she felt, but unable to prevent it.

  She could feel Callum watching her, though. With an effort, she gathered her pride, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I suppose you had better go.”

  Nodding, Callum rose slowly and reached for her hand to take his leave. But instead of carrying it to his lips, as a courtier might, he curled his fingers around hers in a gesture of friendship and support. “Take heart, Katie. He’ll come around.”

  She wasn’t so certain, but she managed a grateful, if wan, smile.

  She sat there a long while after Callum had gone, thinking about Raith and wondering if they would ever have a future together. She wanted desperately to stay here in the Highlands with him. Here was everything she had been seeking. All the adventure and excitement she could wish for. All the romance. All the duty and responsibility. Raith had a life of obligation and purpose, a life she might share if only she could be clever and quick enough.

  Eventually her thoughts returned to weddings and marriage. Remembering her discussion with Callum, she found herself reflecting on Scottish law. And it was then that she began to get the glimmer of an idea.