She couldn’t do it. Her young chest heaved in a sob at the effort.
Raith felt her pain. Without meaning to, he found himself leaning forward, every muscle rigid, every nerve straining with tension. His own lips parted in an unconscious effort to supply the words she was trying so desperately to say.
“K-k,” she grunted.
The strident sound was something between a groan and a rasp, forced past vocal cords so long unused.
Raith silently voiced a prayer. “What is it, Meggie?” he urged hoarsely, his every thought focused in a wordless plea for her to succeed.
“K-k-k-k…”
The pitch was higher this time, more like a soft wail.
“Yes, sweetheart? What is it?”
“K-k-k…tie…”
Barely a whimper, but he heard it. The slight, tormented sound was a name.
Katie.
Moisture stung Raith’s eyes. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Come here, love.” He reached for Meggie again, the tightness in his throat a burning ache.
“W-want Ka…tie,” Meggie quavered as, with a broken sob, she stumbled into his arms. Raith caught her up, hugging her so fiercely that he threatened to crush her small ribs.
But Meggie seemed to need this fervent assurance of his love. She buried her face in his shoulder, clutching him just as desperately, sobbing as Raith wanted to do.
It was a long moment before he realized his grip was too tight. He loosened his hold fractionally, and with one hand reached up to stroke his ward’s hair. “Meggie, don’t cry, love, don’t.”
But even as he murmured the soothing words, he knew they weren’t enough. He knew what Meggie longed to hear. Her first word had been Katie.
Katie. Katrine. She wanted Katrine.
It was in that moment, as he held the grieving child, his own cheeks wet with tears, that Raith knew he had no choice. He had to go after Katrine. And not just for Meggie’s sake. For his own as well. For the sake of all the long, lonely days ahead; for the future that yawned wide and unbearable without the flamehaired termagant who had turned his life upside down.
Comfortingly, he pressed his cheek against his ward’s dark hair. “Don’t cry, lassie,” he whispered. “Cease your greeting. I’ll find your Katie. She’ll come back, I promise.”
The rightness of his words echoed in his heart. He would bring her back. So Meggie would have some peace of mind. So he would have peace of soul.
Apparently Meggie trusted him to keep his promise, for her weeping soon subsided and so did her trembles. She fell asleep in his arms as she had so many times in the past after suffering her terrible nightmares.
As he sat there holding the child, the wonder of the miracle that had just occurred slowly faded from Raith’s consciousness, to be replaced by thoughts of Katrine. He ached with the simple burning need to be close to her, a need as fierce and bright as the fire of her hair.
He needed and wanted her.
He wanted her defiance and her laughter…wanted her shapely legs parting at his touch…wanted to hear his name a broken cry on her lips…wanted to lose himself in her sweet passion until the world became nothing more than the shadow of her smile.... He wanted her as his wife.
The thought stole so naturally into his consciousness that he didn’t even try to fight it. His lips twisted in a wry semblance of a smile. Katrine had tried to marry him. She had tried to tell him they were meant for each other, but he hadn’t listened.
But he had been wrong. So wrong. He needed all that she was. She had filled his life with joy and sunlight, had made his world flame-bright. With her he had laughed and quarreled and been gloriously alive.
Alive.
The twisted smile spread into a grimace. Had he ever been truly alive before a bonny spitfire had challenged him to face his bitterness? After Ellen’s death he had shut off every emotion but bitterness and hatred, closing his heart to anything but duty and responsibility.
Katrine. He needed the vibrant flame of her spirit to burn away the poisonous hatred, to teach him to open his heart. His ability to love was only a slight flicker compared to hers, a flicker that had been sorely tested by ruthless Sassenachs and treacherous Campbells, and nearly quenched by the death of his wife and child.
Katrine. Bonny Katie. He needed the flame of her spirit, the hunger of her soul. Katrine made him feel the sharp poignant joy of being alive. Her deep hunger for living, her ability to find beauty in the smallest things, her sharp-tongued concern prodding him to feel again, to care.
Katrine. He would rather be sparring and exchanging sharp words with her than enduring the joyless peace of her absence.
Raith sighed, his face relaxing into a expression of calm at the soothing admission. He would go after her. He would bring her home, make her his wife, as he should have done when she first made that absurd, defiant announcement, claiming him as her husband.
Yet he didn’t delude himself that it would be easy; things never were where Katrine was concerned. No doubt she would put conditions on her return. An apology for his treatment of her, for one. And probably a reconciliation with Morag. And doubtless he would be required to make peace with Argyll and Clan Campbell. His sigh deepened. He would have to swallow his Highland pride and make the best bargain he could for his clansmen.
A moment later he heard a door opening and closing somewhere in the recesses of the house. He recognized the footsteps as Callum’s, then saw the wavering glow of the candle his cousin had paused to light.
The glow increased as Callum made his way along the corridor. At the door, he paused again, looking concerned to see Raith sitting in the dark, holding Meggie. Entering the room, Callum raised a worried eyebrow. “Nightmares again?”
“No,” Raith denied, his voice still husky with emotion. He nearly smiled at the way Callum’s brow snapped together in a startled frown. Raith returned his cousin’s gaze, unashamed of the wetness on his cheeks. “Meggie spoke.”
Callum stared at Raith, before transferring his gaze to the sleeping child. Slowly he let out his breath in a soft hiss. “So there is a God after all.”
Looking down at his young ward, Raith nodded wordlessly. It was a long moment later that he broke the silence. “No doubt you’ll be pleased to know I’ve decided to accept my fate. I mean to marry Katrine.”
A slow grin spread across Callum’s lips. “Such interesting developments all around. But I imagine Katrine might have other ideas.”
When Raith gave him a glance that was sharp and questioning, Callum held up his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence. “I vowed not to say anything, but—” his dark eyes gleamed with unholy amusement “—Lachlan never did. If you want to discover, dear cousin, just what fate has in store for you, I’m sure Lachlan would be delighted to tell you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Katrine sat at her bedchamber dressing table, absently doing battle with her unruly tresses as she prepared for bed. Yet her thoughts were far away—pleasantly focused on the wondrous event that would occur sometime next spring. Surrounded as she was by the soft glow of candlelight, she found it easy to withdraw into herself, to forget the worry that Callum’s appearance four days ago had stirred.
Although Callum had given his word, she didn’t trust him to keep his promise not to divulge her secret. But then it really didn’t matter. She wanted nothing more to do with the MacLeans. And most particularly with Raith. Katrine had little doubt that if Raith learned about the child he had sired, he would try to provide for his “issue.” But she didn’t require his support, monetary or otherwise. Her portion was substantial enough to raise a child in comfort, if not luxury, and if Uncle Colin refused to let her remain with him, she would find a small village in the Highlands where she could pass herself off as a widow.
No, she had far too much pride to foist herself and an unwanted child on Raith. But most of all she couldn’t bear the heartache of seeing him again, only to have him spurn her love. As she had told Callum and Lachlan, she’d had e
nough grief and heartache to last a lifetime.
But no longer, Katrine had vowed. Henceforth she would only concern herself with providing a good future for her child. A future filled with love and warmth and laughter, not bitterness and hatred.
Thinking dreamily of the prospect, Katrine paused in the task of combing her hair to softly stroke her abdomen. She was wearing a brocade dressing gown over her flannel nightshift, for though September had barely begun, the nights were chilly. She would have enjoyed a fire in the grate, but she was determined both to spare her frugal uncle the expense, and to endure the cold. If she meant to remain here, she would have to become accustomed to the harsh Highland winters.
Katrine was just beginning to braid her hair for the night when she heard a light rapping sound behind her. That in itself was startling, since the door was to her right. Whirling, Katrine peered at the flickering shadows thrown by the candlelight. She could just make out a dark shape at the window.
Alarmed and curious, Katrine picked up the candle, prepared to use the brass candlestick as a weapon if necessary. Moving hesitantly across the room, she cautiously unfastened the latch and drew open the window. The next instant she found her gaze locked with the midnight blue eyes that had haunted her dreams and waking hours for what seemed an eternity.
“Raith…” The word was a whisper on her lips, a protest, a denial. She stood there rooted to the floor, wishing he hadn’t come, yet aching to find refuge in his arms.
For the span of a hundred heartbeats, they stared at each other, her eyes devouring him, his drinking in every detail of her face, absorbing the sight of her.
Finally a slow smile curved Raith’s lips. “For once I seem to have struck you speechless,” he said mildly. “Don’t you mean to invite me in, my love? This is rather uncomfortable, clinging to a ledge. And while a drop of twelve feet or so wouldn’t be fatal, the noise would be highly inconvenient. I would prefer to avoid Argyll’s soldiers at the moment, if you don’t mind.”
Katrine came to life then, eyes snapping, cheeks flaming, revealing the spirit that had first vexed and later captivated him. “What in God’s name are you doing here? There must be two hundred dragoons looking for you MacLeans!”
“Four hundred, by last estimate.” Raith raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t expect you to shower me with kisses, I admit, but you might show the tiniest bit of warmth in your welcome. What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve come to fetch you home, what else?”
“Fetch me! Callum told you, didn’t he?” She glared at Raith, her gaze accusing.
“No, Callum never told me about your condition. I had to learn it from Lachlan.”
“Oh, that—that traitor! Well, let me tell you, Raith MacLean, this babe is my child and you have no claim to it.”
“That, my dear Miss Campbell, is debatable,” Raith replied as he began to haul himself over the windowsill. “It is my child as well—but that is really beside the point. I would marry you in any case.”
“Marry!” The word was a gasp. Katrine stared at him, feeling everything at once—bewilderment, delight, defiance, fury. Two months ago she had vowed her love for Raith and pleaded with him to let her stay with him. She’d even made a fool of herself by claiming him as her husband before his clan. But Raith had refused her in unmistakable terms, and then sent her away. How dare he barge back into her life now, declare his intention of marrying her and expect her to fall on her knees in gratitude! How dare he barge into her bedchamber without permission!
“Raith, don’t you even think about coming in here!” she cried, seeing him swing his long legs over the sill. Her warning had no effect. Raith negotiated the opening easily, as if climbing through second-floor bedroom windows at night were a common occurrence for him. Which it no doubt was, with his proclivity for lawlessness.
Katrine took a hasty step backward, hefting the candlestick. “I mean it! Go away this instant. I’ll…I’ll scream for my uncle.”
“Not just yet, I beg you,” Raith commented as he brushed off his breeches. He was wearing lawful English clothes, with a frock coat of blue wool and a plain jabot. Not formal, but not so scruffy as to appear a ruffian, either. Indeed, he had never looked more handsome.
Katrine took another step backward. “Of all the nerve, forcing yourself into a lady’s bedchamber!”
The slow smile Raith flashed her radiated masculine charm. “Not just any lady’s bedchamber. Yours. You’re my intended wife, so that makes it—”
“I am not your intended anything! You can just disabuse yourself of that notion at once.”
“Besides,” he continued smoothly, advancing on her as she retreated, “turnabout is fair play. I seem to recall you forcing yourself into my bedchamber not so long ago. You wouldn’t leave no matter how much I pleaded. I recall how your visit ended, too....”
Katrine saw him glance at the canopied tester bed swathed with yards of green damask. When Raith returned his gaze to her, his blue eyes held a dark gleam that she recognized as desire. Her pulse started pounding, and she suddenly felt hot, breathless. She remembered quite well the incident he referred to—when she had followed him into his bedchamber and refused to leave until he made love to her. Surely Raith wouldn’t stoop so low as to attempt the same tactic with her. Surely not…
Defensively Katrine’s hand stole to her throat. Heaven help her if he did. Despite all her protestations that she didn’t want him, her body was flushed and aching for his touch. She didn’t trust herself to withstand a direct assault of fierce-tender kisses and passionate caresses. She didn’t even trust herself to remain in the same room with him. Not with him so close and bent on some nefarious purpose of his own, like abducting her again. The thought sent a chilling splash of reality on her overheated senses. Hastily Katrine changed the direction of her retreat, edging her way toward the door.
Raith anticipated her move, though, getting there before her. “Not so fast, my love. We have our future to discuss.”
“No,” Katrine declared frantically, “no, we don’t! You had a dozen chances to discuss our future, but you turned them all down. I have nothing further to say to you. Indeed, I refuse to speak to you at all. It is quite beneath my dignity to converse with a sneaking Highland thief.”
“Very well,” he replied calmly, taking the candle from her. “We always did have more success making love than talking, anyway.”
Her mouth opened at that disquieting statement, but no sound came out. She merely stood there like a simpleton while Raith set the light on a candle stand, then turned back to her. Realizing the acute danger she was in, Katrine tried to scurry away, but Raith thwarted her effort to escape by edging her into a corner. Shortly she discovered she had no room left to retreat. Her back was against the wall.
“Raith, no!” she gasped as he reached for her.
He hesitated, his fingers resting lightly on her shoulders. Slowly his gaze dropped to survey her, sweeping over her sackstyle dressing gown, lingering on her breasts and then lower, on her abdomen. Katrine’s breath scrambled for evenness. Her current state of dishabille was much less revealing than some other occasions she could remember, but considering the way Raith was looking at her, she might have been naked. And to her dismay Katrine felt her nipples hardening beneath his hot gaze.
Then that same devastating gaze rose, to the fiery hair spilling around her face in flaming disarray. His tone, when he spoke, was soft, seductive. “So bonny you are.... Are you familiar with our Scotch saying, Katie, choose your wife with her nightcap on? A man should see his intended at her very plainest, unadorned by paint or finery that might cloud his judgment. I’ve seen you wearing a nightcap before—the first time we met, remember? I’ve seen you in every stage of dress there is, so I know what a treasure I’m getting.”
Katrine found herself quivering at his cajoling whisper. Raith had never before troubled himself to ply her with loving words or tender persuasion. Now he was subjecting her to the full force of his charm, and it was a hea
dy experience. She stared at him, her lips parting in anticipation as his warm breath caressed her face, as his skillful fingers found the ribbon that held her dressing gown closed.
“This is very fetching, sweetheart, but you don’t need it.”
He gave a gentle tug. His bold action sent her heart leaping in her breast. Katrine jumped, abruptly coming to her senses.
“Raith, no!” she yelped, pressing her hands against his chest.
He paused in his task to peer down at her. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly overcome with propriety because we aren’t wed yet.”
“This has absolutely nothing to do with propriety!”
Raith slowly bent his head. “Then I suppose you require me to court you first.”
“No, I don’t want you to court me! I don’t—”
“Good, because I don’t think our child would wait.”
Our child. The words sounded sweeter than any she had ever heard…almost as sweet as the taste of his lips when he seized her mouth in a kiss so gentle it was shattering.
Katrine shuddered with pleasure, wishing she could somehow force her fingers to stop clinging to him, wishing she could somehow deny the incredible sensations that were streaking through her body, wishing she could somehow find the willpower to spurn him the way he had done to her....
It was a long, long moment before Raith raised his head. “Ah, bonny Katie,” he breathed, his voice low and husky. “You’ve driven me to the brink of madness more times than I care to think about. What’s left for me to do but give in gracefully and accept my fate?”
Katrine was still struggling for the breath he had stolen from her, but she managed to summon her wounded pride. Defiantly she shook her head. Her senses might be devastated but her mind was quite ready for battle. “You’re only willing to marry me because I’m increasing.”
His eyes softened, glowing with such liquid warmth that her breath caught in her throat. “No, Katrine, that isn’t why. I’m willing to marry you because I find I can’t live without you.”
TENDER FEUD Page 31
