TENDER FEUD

by Nicole Jordan

  Raith shoved the unpleasant thought aside just as his presence was noted. Meggie spied him first, but it was Katrine who came to an abrupt halt, clutching the fan tightly in her hand. He couldn’t miss the eagerness that brightened her green eyes as her gaze locked with his across the width of the room.

  He forced himself to look away, fixing his attention on his ward, whose small mouth rounded in an O. It pleased him when Meggie broke into a brilliant smile and flew into his arms. And relieved him, as well, for greeting his ward allowed him to hide his struggle with himself. The need to pull Katrine into his embrace was nearly overpowering.

  Katrine, too, was grateful for the time to compose her features and mask her disappointment at Raith’s indifference. Striving for poise, she smoothed her skirts and reached up to make certain her fiery red curls were still pinned in as sedate a knot as possible.

  But there was only so much smoothing and arranging she could do. When Raith had finished questioning his ward about how she had fared during his absence, receiving only mute nods or negative shakes in reply, the silence drew out into awkwardness.

  “Did you have any luck engaging a governess?” Katrine asked finally as Raith lowered Meggie to the floor. She didn’t really want to know, but during the past few days, the suspense of wondering what Raith had decided had worn on her nerves.

  The blue eyes that met Katrine’s were enigmatic. “Yes. An older woman who has reared five children of her own. She’ll arrive next week.”

  Katrine’s heart sank. Raith didn’t want her here, even as a governess, let alone his wife.

  Both of them had momentarily forgotten his ward, but Meggie was a clever child, and she understood quite well the import of bringing a governess into the house. The resultant dismay on her face affected both adults when they finally noticed. Raith clenched his jaw, while Katrine moved quickly across the salon to lay a consoling hand on the young girl’s arm.

  “Meggie has been embroidering a gift for you,” Katrine disclosed, hoping to provide a distraction. “Her needlework is quite exquisite. Meggie, love, why don’t you go and fetch it now? You can give it to your guardian.”

  The child turned obediently, but all the happiness had drained from her piquant face. Raith could have cursed. Watching his young ward solemnly leave the room, he felt for all the world as if he had just betrayed Meggie, instead of having her best interests at heart.

  “I think,” Raith muttered in his own defense, “that Meggie will like the woman I found. I wouldn’t have hired her else.”

  “I’m sure she will.”

  Katrine had answered evenly, with no hint of accusation, but something in her reply—regret or sorrow—made Raith give her a sharp look. What was she fashed about? he thought irritably. She should be pleased that her services would no longer be needed, that soon she would no longer be held hostage.

  Just then he noticed what he had failed to see at a distance—a crescent-shaped piece of velvet placed high on her right cheekbone. A beauty patch, he thought curiously. One of the few traces of feminine vanity he had ever observed in her.

  A flush of color tinged Katrine’s complexion when she realized what he was staring at. “We were trying on patches,” she explained, guiltily reaching up to remove the one on her cheek.

  Raith forestalled her with a gentle touch. “No, don’t.”

  No, don’t…let me. She remembered his saying it the night they had made love, when she had started to undress for him. Raith must have remembered it as well, for his gaze wandered downward over her bodice, in intimate appraisal. Katrine caught her breath as she looked into his eyes. They were hot and dark, a gleaming midnight blue. Her knees went weak, while her blood suddenly began racing through her veins like liquid flame.

  “You’ve been showing Meggie how to ply a fan?” Raith’s voice had suddenly become husky. “You’ll have her breaking hearts…before she’s old enough to put up her hair.”

  Katrine couldn’t summon her scattered thoughts to form an answer. Involuntarily, she swayed toward Raith, while his head bent slowly, reluctantly.

  He was going to kiss her, she thought exultantly. He would take her mouth and then…

  She sensed Meggie’s presence even as Raith’s warm breath caressed her lips. Abruptly, she felt him draw away. With fierce reluctance, Katrine turned to Meggie. Never had she been so disinclined to enjoy a child’s company. Never had she been able to summon so little patience.

  Raith wasn’t at all regretful that Meggie had returned so quickly, though. He accepted her gift with effusive praise and genuine gratitude. And then made his escape, thankful that he had had the strength to leave Katrine at all after glimpsing the sensual longing in her eyes.

  God’s mercy, but he wasn’t looking forward to the following days, for he knew how it would be. Much like the past month. He would find himself listening for the light echo of her footsteps, the sound of her laughter, or watching out his window at dawn, hoping to catch a glimpse of her as she stole out of the house. He would avoid the rooms where he knew she would be, or the ones where she might be.

  Raith cursed again silently. He was a prisoner in his own house. He had made himself so. And there wasn’t a single bloody thing he could do about it. Not until he finally was quit of her.

  She was no longer a prisoner in his house, Katrine realized with mild triumph. Her claiming Raith as her husband had had unexpected consequences, garnering her new respect from his clan. Despite Raith’s adamant renunciation of her, the MacLeans were taking seriously the possibility of a marriage between them.

  The maidservants in particular offered Katrine curious looks and tentative smiles, as though wondering if she might indeed be their future mistress. Flora, too, overlooked her offended morals enough to resume her former kindly tolerance, and over tea one day, even unbent enough to utter one of her Scotch adages: “Let the tow gang with the bucket.” Let things take their course. That Flora would be willing to let a Sassenach Campbell assume the position the revered Ellen MacDonald had held surprised Katrine, until she realized that Flora, like her Highland kinsmen, was anxious for the laird to get an heir in the direct line, a line that had been unbroken since the first MacLean of Ardgour.

  In any event, Katrine was no longer treated like a leper. Nor was she watched so carefully whenever she left the house. The MacLeans, she came to the conclusion, no longer expected her to try to escape. And while she wouldn’t go so far as to think she had earned their trust, it was gratifying to think they might accept her into their ranks, should Raith ever relent and accede to their marriage.

  Not that he showed any inclination of doing so. During the next two days Raith shunned her totally. But knowing that she had the grudging support of at least some of his clan, Katrine was able to face the future with renewed optimism.

  She was humming to herself one afternoon when she set out at Flora’s request to gather herbs for dyeing the tartan wool thread that was spun and woven into cloth right there on the estate. She took Meggie with her, for the child seemed to enjoy grubbing in the dirt. In Katrine’s apron pocket were spades to dig up rue root, which would be made into red dye, and shears to clip the branches of Scotch broom, whose leaves yielded green. Meggie carried the two cloth sacks.

  The rue grew in the garden, a short distance from the house. They had dug up enough roots to fill one sack and were making their way to the glen in search of broom when they heard the clattering of hooves coming from the stable yard. Glancing behind her, through the branches of a birch tree, Katrine spied some dozen horsemen riding into the yard. They were wearing thigh-high leather gaiters and the scarlet coats of the English militia.

  Two thoughts struck her at once: that the soldiers might very well be looking for her, and that Meggie was terrified.

  Three weeks ago Katrine would have been ecstatic over the arrival of the dragoons, but now her only response was dismay. The hoarse whimper that Meggie uttered tore at her heart, as did the small hand clutching desperately at her own.
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  Murmuring quiet words of solace, Katrine immediately abandoned the gardening tools and sacks and allowed Meggie to pull her deeper into the woods. When they were well away from the yard and completely hidden from sight, Katrine dropped to her knees and pulled Meggie into her arms, holding her small, shaking body protectively.

  “Hush, love,” she murmured over and over again. “You’re my little lamb. I would never let anything happen to you.”

  Eventually Meggie’s trembling ceased, but still they remained hidden. A long while later Katrine heard the tread of firm footsteps. Looking up, she realized Callum had come to find them.

  “The troopers have gone,” he announced, taking in the sight of her holding the child.

  Meeting Callum’s dark eyes, Katrine read approval in his knowing gaze. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She had lost the opportunity to escape, to expose the MacLeans as her abductors. She’d had only to show herself to the soldiers to turn the tables on Raith and brand him a criminal.

  But she couldn’t have left Meggie, even if she’d wished to see Raith arrested. Which she didn’t. As strong as her earlier desire for revenge had been, her feelings had changed entirely. She no longer wanted to see the Highlanders overtaken by the law. She only wanted to protect Raith and his clan.

  Even so she regretted the lost opportunity. For in hiding from the English militia, she had also missed the chance to show the world she was there of her own free will.

  “What did the soldiers want?” Katrine murmured, knowing the answer but asking anyway.

  “You, of course. Your uncle is searching for you.”

  Callum’s reply didn’t surprise her, but his gravity did. His expression was far more serious than usual. When she eyed him questioningly, he hesitated and glanced at Meggie, as if judging whether or not to speak in front of the child.

  Then he exhaled a breath in what was almost a sigh. “The game has changed, Katie. Three of the Duart MacLeans have been imprisoned in the tolbooth in Oban. They’ve been charged with your abduction.”

  She looked for Raith in vain. He seemed to have disappeared—probably, Katrine decided, in order to avoid a confrontation with her. She desperately needed to talk to him about his plans, for when she had searched the mews for him, she was shocked to find his clansmen gathered in the great chamber, readying their fighting weapons for use…sharpening claymores and dirks, oiling the firing mechanisms of muskets and pistols.

  She combed the house to no avail. Deciding Raith must be away, she waited anxiously for him to return. She didn’t hear him come in that evening, didn’t even know if he ever made it back to the house. Katrine went to bed with plans to corner him first thing in the morning.

  She wasn’t required to wait till then, however. Meggie suffered another of her spells that night, and despite the fact that Katrine had been too restless to sleep and so responded the instant she heard the screams, Raith was there before her, soothing the terrified child.

  He didn’t want her there, she could tell by his granite-faced expression. But Katrine refused to leave. She sent Flora back to bed and prepared a mug of warm, laudanum-laced milk herself. She decided, while they waited for Meggie to fall asleep, that Raith must have been in his bedchamber all the while, the one place she hadn’t dared venture without permission—though she had knocked and received no reply.

  He might as well have remained there, for all he acknowledged her presence. He said not a word to her. Indeed, never once did he even glance in her direction. Katrine could see very well that he didn’t intend to discuss the situation with her. Not unless she forced him to.

  As soon as Meggie was breathing evenly, Katrine broke the silence. She spoke his name softly, and saw the immediate tensing of muscles beneath his shirt. But otherwise he didn’t acknowledge her existence.

  “Raith, what do you intend to do about the MacLeans?” she pressed when he remained silent.

  “It’s none of your concern.” Abruptly he rose with Meggie in his arms and carried the sleeping child to the bed, tucking her beneath the covers.

  “None of my concern?” Katrine whispered with growing impatience. “How can you say that?”

  In answer, Raith turned on his heel and strode from the room. Katrine hastily blew out the candle and followed him down the corridor. “Raith, wait!”

  “Go back to bed!”

  The order was nearly growled as he stormed into his bedchamber. When the door slammed in her face, Katrine shoved it open. Halfway across the room, Raith turned and gave her a savage look. “Get out!”

  Katrine scarcely heard him, for she was staring at the pile of weapons that lay near the hearth. In the light from an oil lamp, she could see the whetting stone that Raith had been using to sharpen a claymore.

  Slowly shutting the door behind her, Katrine gazed at him in dismay. “You’re planning a raid, aren’t you?”

  “What did you expect me to do? Sit on my hands while my kinsmen rot in jail?”

  “No, but I didn’t expect you to take vengeance this far.” Her hand swept out to indicate the lethal-looking pile of weapons. “This is barbaric.”

  Raith’s jaw clenched. “I mean to set the MacLeans free.”

  “And then? Even if you can manage it, just what will that solve?”

  He hesitated before exhaling his breath on a sigh. “Perhaps nothing.” She saw the moment of vulnerability written across his hard face before he shuttered his emotions.

  “Of course not,” she persisted, driving home her point. “You’ll only be back where you started, with the rents still outrageously high and me as your prisoner. And what good has that done?”

  He didn’t reply. Incredulously, Katrine watched as Raith stalked over to the hearth, threw himself into an armchair, picked up the heavy claymore and resumed the task that had been interrupted by his ward’s nightmares. It was obvious he didn’t intend to listen to her. Katrine raised her hands in exasperation. “I don’t understand why you insist on being so stubborn. Why won’t you simply talk to the duke?”

  As usual when this subject came up, they joined in battle.

  “To what purpose?” Raith retorted, flinging her a scornful look. “Argyll only understands force. He would never consent to lowering the rents.”

  “How do you know till you try?”

  “Let it go, Katrine!”

  “No, I won’t!”

  Raith shook his head in disbelief. “You’re a dreamer, Miss Campbell. You came to the Highlands chasing dreams, and you’re still dreaming.”

  “What is wrong with dreaming?”

  “It blinds you to reality. You can’t see the world as it really is.”

  “And you can? So you resort to violence? Is that reality, Raith? Killing, abduction… Raith, people will die if you go through with this. Your clansmen will die…”

  His hard handsome face showed he had no intention of relenting. “It isn’t your concern.”

  “Confound it, it is my concern! I’m the reason your kinsmen have been imprisoned. If I weren’t here, Argyll never would have taken such a step.”

  Fire smoldered in her eyes as she glared at him, but beneath her anger she felt pain and fear. Pain because Raith was shutting her out of his life. Fear because what he was planning was far more dangerous than altering the duke’s ledgers. Seeing that she was getting nowhere, however, she forced herself to adopt a calmer tone.

  “I don’t want to see you hurt,” Katrine pleaded quietly. “I love you.”

  She read an answering pain in his eyes, but his stance remained rigid, his manner distant, even hostile.

  “Raith,” she implored, “please, I want to help.”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “What if I were to petition the duke for a hearing? He might listen to me.”

  “No! I won’t have you fighting my battles for me.”

  “Why not? You fight everyone else’s battles. Why can I not help you with yours?”

  “My clan is my responsibility.
I won’t have you interfering.”

  “Raith, please…I beg you, don’t do this.”

  A pair of tortured blue eyes slid closed. Wanting to comfort him, Katrine moved silently across the room to stand before him. When she reached out to touch his arm, Raith jumped as if burned, almost cringing as he leaned as far away as his chair would permit. “Katrine…for the love of God…get out of here.”

  There was a wealth of emotion in his voice that startled her, until the truth suddenly dawned. Raith wasn’t as concerned about her persuading him to abandon his plans as he was troubled by her presence in his bedchamber.

  Diverted by the notion, Katrine glanced around the masculine room with its dark wainscoting and huge, velvet-draped tester bed. She stared at the bed for a long moment before her gaze returned to Raith. He was wearing only breeches and a cambric shirt; she was wearing only her nightshift. She took a small step closer.

  “You’re afraid to be alone with me, aren’t you?” she murmured, her tone both breathless and challenging. “You’re afraid of me.”

  Raith let the claymore slide to the floor with a clatter as he abruptly rose to his feet. His stance was threatening as he towered over her, his hands fisted at his sides. But Katrine stood her ground as she stared up at him, not giving an inch.

  For several heartbeats they remained that way, only inches apart, their body heat melding, gazes smoldering. Raith looked as if he might throttle her, yet behind the fierceness she saw desire and dawning recognition of inevitability in his eyes. There was anger there and something more, something raw and naked and hungry.

  She knew she had won when he growled a low curse and closed his fingers around her upper arms. When he hauled her against him, she gave a glad cry.

  His lips, hard and vengeful, slanted over hers, his arms wrapping around her, crushing her to him as if he could exorcise her from his system by sheer force. But she reveled in his fierceness, knowing she had finally broken through the barrier he had erected between them.