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TENDER FEUD

Page 30

by Nicole Jordan


  Hoping her consternation didn’t show, Katrine shook her head. “It really doesn’t prove anything, does it?”

  At her calm answer, her uncle exploded. “Now, see here missie! Ye will tell me the names of the villains who apprehended ye, or I’ll—I’ll…” He faltered, nearing spluttering in his fury.

  Katrine shook her head sorrowfully, but refused to look away. “No, I won’t, uncle. If I name them, you will only try to hang those responsible. And I won’t have that on my conscience. I wasn’t injured, after all, and now I’ve returned, safe and sound. So no harm is done.”

  “No harm? No harm! How can ye say that when they’ve made fools of us all? Fouling my ledgers till there’s no making the least bit of sense from them. Forging receipts for rents with the duke’s own seal. Stealing Campbell cattle—”

  “Forging receipts? So that is what—” Katrine broke off, realizing she wasn’t supposed to know about the seal Raith had taken from her uncle’s study. When that elderly gentleman favored her with a glower, she hastened to cover up her slip. “If the Duke of Argyll had not unfairly raised the rents on the Duart MacLeans, none of this would ever have happened. It seems to me there is a perfectly reasonable solution to this situation.”

  “And just what is that?” her uncle demanded, though she could see by his discomfited look that he might very well agree with her about where the blame lay.

  “Reduce the feu-duties to their previous level.”

  “His grace would never agree.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Katrine replied sadly.

  “And ‘tis none of your concern in any case, missie.”

  “I’ve been told that as well.”

  He gave her a sharp glance. “Well, I shall tell you, you should never have come here. I’m persuaded that after this cobble, you should hie yourself back to England.”

  “No, Uncle Colin, that I won’t do. I intend to remain in the Highlands. I will move from your house, if you insist, but I think it would be unchristian of you to deny me shelter, your own kin.”

  Colin Campbell gave a weary sigh and began rubbing his temple. “I wouldn’t deny you, lass.” But then he caught himself and scowled again. “And just how do I explain to his grace that your disappearance was nothing more than a May game, after he has been put to such trouble?”

  “Why, tell him that I cannot remember the name of the culprits. Perhaps he will believe your niece is a scatterbrained creature with a vague memory who had no notion of the distress she was causing. That way you cannot be blamed.”

  Her uncle shook his bewigged head in frustration. “Katrine, the duke will not stand for this, I can tell you now.”

  “He may be the head of our clan, but he cannot make me bear witness if a crime never took place…though I suppose he could try to force me. Would you let him toss me in jail, Uncle Colin?”

  “Merciful heaven, no! What kind of heartless fiend do ye take me for, to desert my own flesh and blood?”

  Katrine gave him a soft smile. “I take you for a dear, sweet man who reminds me very much of my papa. I’m glad to have you for my uncle.” Going to him, she rose on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for being so concerned for me. I shall try to make it up to you. Now that I am back, I promise to cause you as little trouble as possible.”

  “Humph! I can see now how little store I should put in that promise.”

  “Well, I shall leave you to your business. I can see you are busy. Good day.” Katrine gave him a brief curtsy, including in her farewell nod the young officer, who had withdrawn a discreet distance and was pretending to gaze out the window.

  As she turned to go, however, her uncle called after her, “This is not the last you will hear of it!”

  “I didn’t expect it would be,” she murmured quietly.

  And it wasn’t. In the ensuing weeks, her uncle alternately demanded that she disclose the name of the villains, then argued, threatened and pleaded. It seemed that the MacLeans had resumed harrying Clan Campbell with a vengeance. On quarter day, counterfeit receipts stamped with the ducal seal appeared in the most unlikely places, while cattle raids occurred almost nightly. The soldiers garrisoned at Kilchurn Castle who went out time and time again in pursuit came back swearing they were chasing phantoms. No one came forward to identify the MacLean perpetrators, even though broadsides had been posted for the apprehension of the outlaw leader, and newspapers as far away as Glasgow and Edinburgh carried advertisements. The Duke of Argyll was known to be furious, and his factor, Colin Campbell, was near the point of tearing out the hair beneath his tie-wig.

  Katrine, on the other hand, withdrew deeper into that hollow plane of existence where feelings weren’t allowed. She wouldn’t permit herself to dwell on Raith or the love he had spurned, or on the new friends the had left behind. She missed Meggie dreadfully and regretted losing her gossips with Flora and the opportunity to know Morag better, but she forced her longings away, choosing only to remember the positive aspects of her captivity. She felt the absence of the MacLean men in her life acutely, but she did no more than acknowledge her growing fondness for them—handsome, roguish Callum, slow, good-natured Lachlan, even grizzled, belligerent Hector. And Raith. The boldness of his leadership, his gentleness with his ward, his pride, his protectiveness toward his clan, the fierce tenderness of his lovemaking…

  At least no one could ever take that away from her. Those memories of him would be with her the rest of her life.

  Those memories and his child.

  It was less than a month after her return that Katrine had recognized the symptoms; her sister Louisa’s previous experiences had prepared her for what to expect. Rather than being alarmed by the morning queasiness and the sleepiness that overtook her in the afternoons, she had been exultant, enraptured. Her grief-induced numbness fell away. Her feeling of desolation vanished. She had found something to live for.

  She would bear Raith’s child. That simple, beautiful fact was the only reality in her life. Little else mattered to her. She would raise her child here in the Highlands, where she had been born, where she had fallen in love, where her stolen heart still remained.

  She hadn’t told her uncle yet, though. Staunch Covenanter that he was, Katrine feared he wouldn’t understand her lack of shame at her condition. No doubt he would be distressed and horrified.

  No doubt she should be horrified as well, she knew. But despite her own strict upbringing, she couldn’t see her pregnancy as shameful. It was nothing less than a delight. Often she found herself conversing with the fragile life growing inside her as if it had already been born.

  As now.

  Softly Katrine stroked the slight swell of her abdomen beneath her plaid, heedless of the gathering clouds overhead. “I don’t doubt,” she said lovingly, “that as you grow up you’ll hear tales of the MacLeans and how your papa abducted me. But when you are old enough, I’ll tell you the truth of what happened, so you can judge for yourself—”

  “I thought I warned you to take care of yourself,” an amused masculine voice broke into her conversation. “Don’t you realize it is about to rain, bonny Katie?”

  Katrine sat bolt upright, her hand flying to her heart as she stared up at Callum MacLean. “Merciful heavens, you frightened me!” she gasped, trying to take a deep breath to still her racing heartbeat. Not even a shadow had warned her of his approach, for the stormy sky hid any trace of the sun. He must have come from behind the sloping ridge of the hillside, she realized. How long had he been watching her? Spying on her?

  At her fierce glower, Callum shook his head sadly. “You don’t look at all pleased to see me, Katie.”

  “Well, of course I am. You just startled me, that’s all.”

  “Have you been so lonesome that you must needs talk to yourself?”

  “I wasn’t talking to myself. I was—” Katrine broke off abruptly, realizing what she had almost divulged. She had no intention of telling Callum of her condition and having him pity her, or worse, havin
g him make light of her predicament.

  “No?” Callum glanced about him in mock bewilderment. “I don’t see anyone else around.”

  “I mean…of course I was talking to myself,” Katrine amended quickly to cover her slip. “It just sounds foolish to admit it.”

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow, regarding her with an intent look. “What was all that business about ‘papa’?”

  “What are you doing here?” she returned hastily. “Don’t you know you could be arrested?”

  He shrugged amiably, allowing her to change the subject. “Who’s to arrest me?”

  “Why, the militia, that’s who! Every soldier in the county of Argyll is hunting for you and your clan.”

  Grinning, Callum dropped to his knees beside her. “Let them hunt. They’ll not find any reason to clap me in the tolbooth. By the by, I have several messages for you.” He held up a hand and began ticking off communications on his fingers. “Meggie misses you and wants you to come back. Flora sends her regards. And last week Hector had a change of heart. It seems Meggie’s lamb has been off his feed, mourning your loss. Hector now claims he wouldn’t object overly much if you returned as mistress of the clan.”

  Her eyes misting, Katrine looked away, the reminder of all she had lost welling up as a hollow ache in her heart. It was small consolation that she was remembered by those dear souls she had grown so fond of during her captivity. For the most important of them was determined to deny her very existence. Raith. The man for whom she would willingly have sacrificed anything, the man for whom she had forsaken both her principles and her clan. Naturally he hadn’t sent her any messages. She wished Callum would satisfy her longing to hear about Raith, for she refused to ask about him. But Callum seemed more intent on discussing her; Katrine could feel his penetrating gaze searching her face.

  “I fancy,” he continued easily, “that you’ve been too occupied to concern yourself with the MacLeans’ doings. Could it have anything to do with the expectation of a wee come-of-will, perhaps?”

  A come-of-will. A Scottish sobriquet for a child born out of wedlock.

  Katrine caught her breath on another gasp, her eyes flying to Callum’s. “How did you know?”

  “It might have something to do with the protective way you’re clutching your belly,” he replied, his dark eyes dancing, “or the curious way you were talking to your lower regions, with nary a soul in sight. I didn’t imagine for a minute that you were addressing your knees. Not when you made such intriguing remarks as ‘how your papa abducted me.’”

  Katrine’s eyes narrowed in irritation, even as self-consciously she snatched her hand from her stomach and hid it beneath the folds of her plaid. But despite his amused grin, she didn’t think Callum was laughing at her, for his tone had become oddly gentle.

  “Raith doesn’t know about the bairn, I gather?”

  “No, and don’t you dare tell him! I’m perfectly capable of providing for any ‘issue’ myself. My grandmother left me a sizable portion.”

  “You don’t think he has a right to know?”

  “Why ever should he? He was the one who sent me away.”

  For a moment Callum didn’t answer. Surveying her idly, he plucked at a tuft of grass. “I suppose I should offer to marry you myself.”

  Katrine’s mouth dropped open. “You? You can’t be serious.”

  Callum winced at her frankness. “You wound me, Katie. My first proposal and you dismiss it out of hand.”

  “You know I didn’t mean it that way.... I’m sure any woman would be honored to accept your suit. But you know a marriage between us would be preposterous. You don’t love me, any more than Raith does.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m serious about announcing our intention to marry. If Raith thought he could lose you to someone else, he might come to his senses.”

  For no reason Katrine could name, a blush suffused her cheeks. Perhaps it was the idea of having to use coercion to nab Raith as a husband. She couldn’t do it. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

  Firmly Katrine shook her head. “I appreciate your kindness, Callum, but I don’t want Raith that way. I don’t want him to marry me simply to provide a name for my child.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Quite sure. And I want you to promise me that you won’t mention a word of this to Raith.”

  “Very well, I suppose I could do that.” He glanced beyond her, toward a crevice in the rocks. “Ah, here comes a friend of yours, Katie. Lachlan was so concerned for you, he came to check on you in person.”

  Surprised and pleased, Katrine glanced over her shoulder to see the burly Scotsman shaking his head as he trudged up to her. “Ye shouldna be out on this blutherie day, Mistress Campbell. ‘Tis a sian brewing up for certain.”

  Sian was Gaelic for storm, Katrine knew, but she had been out in worse weather. Torn between protesting his concern and the urge to give the Highlander a fierce hug, she merely gave him a welcome smile.

  Lachlan didn’t look as pleased to see her, though. He eyed her Campbell greens and blues with disapproval and disappointment. “Ye should no’ be wearing the Campbell plaid, either, not if ye’re to become a MacLean. I didna think ye would stoop so low.”

  Katrine decided right then not to favor him with the hug. “My choice of tartan is beside the point,” she replied stiffly, “since I don’t imagine I will ever become a MacLean.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Callum broke in. “Lachlan, lad, it seems congratulations are in order. Shortly Miss Campbell will present us with a new cousin and the laird of Ardgour with an heir.”

  “An heir?” Lachlan exclaimed. A gleeful expression lit his freckled face. “You dinna say!”

  Incensed at Callum’s lack of discretion, Katrine shot him a furious glare.

  His answering grin was totally unapologetic. “I didn’t promise not to tell Lachlan, now did I?”

  “Aweel,” the older Scotsman declared, “then ye should coom with us, right noo.”

  “No!” Katrine yelped. “I”m not going anywhere with you.”

  Alarmed, she watched him warily. Lachlan was staring at her in awe, looking as if he might abduct her again simply to ensure that the laird got his heir. Callum forestalled him by holding up a hand, but just to be safe, Katrine jumped to her feet and began backing away.

  “I’m not going with you,” she repeated adamantly.

  The look Lachlan gave her was one of hurt and confusion. “But why, if ye’re to have the laird’s bairn? Dinna ye want us?”

  Not want them? The question taunted Katrine, lashing at her suppressed emotions and shattering her hard-won control. To her complete dismay, she suddenly burst into tears. “Oh, why won’t you leave me alone? You MacLeans have caused me enough grief to last a lifetime!”

  She whirled then, and ran blindly down the slope, seeking the shelter of her uncle’s house just as the pelting drops began to fall.

  Behind her she left Lachlan scratching his red head in bewilderment and Callum staring after her in bemused speculation.

  * * *

  The shadows lengthening with the coming dusk, Raith sat alone in his library, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. The glass of malt whisky at his elbow remained untouched, for he knew from experience the potent liquor would have no effect on the bitter malaise of his soul. As darkness began to fall, he made no effort to light a lamp, for it made no difference. Waking or sleeping, he couldn’t escape the tormenting memories of Katrine, of their last few hours together…her sorrow, the desperation in her eyes, the final anguish of their lovemaking.

  Restlessly he stirred in the cushioned armchair, trying unsuccessfully to find a more comfortable position as unbidden thoughts returned to haunt him. Where was the resolve he had possessed in such great measure before he sent Katrine away? How had he managed to convince himself it would be better this way? He hadn’t felt such utter wretchedness since his young wife had died, only this was far worse. This was like living a nightmare, where the only feelings
were grief and pain and throbbing numbness.

  He had thought the pain would diminish with time. He had thought that once Katrine was out of his life, he would be able to forget her, to dismiss her claim to his heart. He had prided himself on his ability to make such a rational decision in the face of her obvious emotional confusion, her delusion that he was her destined mate. God knows, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. His primary thought in sending her home had been to keep her safe, to protect her from the cross fire of their clans’ feuding and the risk of getting her with child.

  Yet the nagging notion persisted: had he been protecting himself instead? Had he been so afraid to admit his captivation for a Sassenach Campbell that he had denied himself even the possibility of a future with her? Except for her blood, Katrine would have made him an exemplary wife....

  The plaguing thought faded as Raith sensed another presence in the room. Slowly he opened his eyes. Meggie. Standing a few paces from him. Garbed in her white nightdress, she looked as lost and alone as he felt. She had been crying, he could tell by the tears that streaked her cheeks.

  Raith’s heart twisted at the sight. The look of misery on her small face made the empty places inside him ache.

  Silently he held out his arms, offering comfort. They would comfort each other, providing solace for the loss of the young woman they both yearned for.

  But Meggie didn’t come to him as he expected. She simply stood there, watching him in silent despair. Then slowly her lips parted, moving in a soundless utterance. She wanted to tell him something, he could see.

  Raith went very still, his very breathing arrested. Meggie hadn’t spoken a word since the traumatic experience she had suffered several years ago, but now it seemed, incredibly, that she wanted to make the attempt. Wanted, yet couldn’t.

  Her face contorted in frustration at her failure, her distress palpable. Raith waited in rigid silence, afraid to move, afraid to make the least sound for fear of destroying her concentration. Yet he could hardly bear to watch the child’s tortured expression as she tried again, her mouth working in silent agony as she struggled to make the words come out.

 

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