Katrine heard the key grating in the lock, but waited until the officer’s retreating footsteps echoed along the passage before she pushed back the concealing hood of her woolen cloak. “Raith?”
When he didn’t stir, she spoke more urgently. “Raith, please wake up! There is no time to waste. You have to leave here this instant.”
The dark head turned slowly upon the rough mattress, the dark crescents of lashes lifting unhurriedly. When his blue eyes focused on her, Raith’s mouth curved in a drowsy smile. “Katrine.” His voice, still husky with sleep, vibrated through her. “You came.”
“Of course I came. You didn’t think I would allow them to hang you, did you? I mean to help you escape.”
Sluggishly Raith sat up, brushing back a lock of raven hair that had fallen across his forehead. “Forgive me my obtuseness, my love, but you caught me napping. Why the devil would I want to escape?”
“Because they will execute you, that’s why!”
“I’m not a condemned man yet.”
Katrine stared at Raith, not understanding how he could be so nonchalant. Clasping her fingers together, she strove for patience. “Raith, surely you realize how dire your situation is.”
He looked around him in feigned surprise. “I admit the accommodations aren’t quite what I’m accustomed to, but my incarceration hasn’t been so dire. I wasn’t chained to the wall, and I was even allowed a shave and a change of linen. Believe me, I’ve been far more comfortable than my kinsmen were in the Oban tolbooth.”
“Will you please quit making light of this? The duke is expected any minute!”
“Good. I’m anxious to commence our discussion as soon as may be.”
“You are anxious?” Katrine couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Don’t you realize what the duke would like to do to you?”
“Draw and quarter me, I expect.” To her vexation and dismay, Raith raised his arms above his head, languorously stretching his long frame. The sight had an unnerving effect on her, for she found herself remembering the rapture of having that hard, leanly muscled body moving sensuously against her. And when his dark eyes met hers, she could tell from the glow of desire in the dark blue depths that he was recalling the same memories as she.
His voice dropped to a seductive murmur as he held out a hand in invitation. “Come here and kiss me.”
She wanted to respond. Upon her soul, she wanted to. She wanted to lose herself in the fierce tenderness of his kisses and the shattering ecstasy of his embrace. But after a moment of sheer insanity, Katrine came to her senses. “Merciful saints, Raith, there isn’t time for such foolishness! You have to leave here at once.”
Sadly Raith shook his head. “No, my love, I don’t. I don’t intend to go anywhere. I went to too much trouble to get myself here.”
“Trouble? What in heaven are you talking about? You can’t mean to say you actually wanted to be imprisoned here?”
“Well, I did consider locking myself in your uncle’s buttery, but I decided it wouldn’t suit my purpose as well, so I had myself locked in your chief’s castle instead.”
Katrine felt the same violent surge of exasperation she had experienced last night. Biting back a sharp comment on the obviously sudden deterioration of Raith’s mental capacity, she crossed her arms and glared at him. “Well, you can just unlock yourself. I have no intention of bearing the guilt for your death. You are going to escape and that is final!”
“And live the rest of my life a fugitive? No, my sweet shrew, I came to settle this and claim you as my bride, and I’m not leaving here without you.” As if to underscore his point, Raith stretched out again, lolling lazily on his stomach, elbows bent, chin supported on his hands.
Katrine, refusing to acknowledge his comment about brides, muttered an oath. Irately she snatched at the ties of her cloak and marched over to him. Shrugging out of the garment, she let it fall beside Raith on the pallet.
He caught his breath at the sight she presented. The stiffened bodice of her fashionable, black taffeta gown pushed up her breasts to a dangerous height, while the lustrous dark color contrasted exquisitely with her pale, radiant flesh. The result was smart and chic, and entirely too provocative for a man who had been without female companionship for the better part of two months. At the moment Raith could think of nothing more than freeing those pale swells from their confining whalebone and subjecting the rosy nipples to the sweet exploration of his mouth.
Oblivious to the effect her attire was having on his pulse rate, Katrine placed her hands on her waist and glared down at him.
“Raith MacLean,” she said, enunciating slowly, as if speaking to a young child or a halfwit, “it is not possible for us to leave together. Only one woman entered the castle, and it would look too suspicious if both of us were seen departing. And you have to have time before the soldiers are alerted, so I will remain here while you slip away.”
Modestly turning her back then, she lifted her black taffeta skirts and fumbled with the layers of petticoats beneath. Raith watched her curiously.
“Katie, my heart, I would very much like to make love to you, and I have no objections to doing so in almost any location you could name, but I draw the line at a Campbell prison cell.”
She clenched her teeth. “Good, because I don’t intend for us to make love.”
“Then why are you undressing?”
“I am not undressing! I’m intent on saving your worthless skin. I’ve brought you one of my gowns and a set of hoops, and you can wear my cloak. It has a hood, so no one should recognize you, at least not if you keep your face concealed.”
Raith, to her eternal frustration, threw back his head and laughed. “I’m not going anywhere dressed in your petticoats.”
Katrine scowled over her shoulder at him as she struggled to free herself of the multitude of skirts. “Why not? Your Bonnie Prince escaped to France disguised as a woman. Do you consider yourself superior to your own prince?”
Raith’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Some might consider it treason if I answered that question honestly.” With leisurely unconcern then, he rolled on his side and propped his head on one elbow. “But you don’t know me very well if you think I’m willing to hide behind a woman’s skirts. For argument’s sake, though, assuming I can get away with your disguise, just how do you plan to deal with locked doors and the Sassenach soldiers?”
“I mean to call the officer in here so you may train my uncle’s pistol on him.” With a brief movement of her head she indicated the weapon she had hidden in the pocket at her waist. “Then you can tie and gag him the way you did the turnkey in Oban.”
Raith’s chuckle was rich and delighted. “By God, Katie, I’ve turned you into a bloodthirsty Highlander.”
His mirth earned him another furious glare. Giving him her back again, she managed to peel off a skirt of fine black broadcloth. Raith shook his head. “I’m grateful for your concern, Katrine, but I meant it when I said I’m not leaving without you. Unless you’re prepared to marry me, I’m not budging an inch.”
The sudden determination of his tone gave Katrine pause. Still holding the skirt, she turned to stare at him. Raith was serious, she realized as he steadily met her questioning gaze. He was willing to risk his life in order to achieve his own ends, whatever they might be. But just what were they?
Uneasily Katrine searched his face, trying to find the answer. She wanted more than anything to be his wife. Raith was the one her heart yearned for, the one her soul needed. She loved him to distraction.... But despite his avowals last night, Katrine wasn’t so certain he loved her in return. She was sure, however, that he was somehow maneuvering her into an agreement that suited his own purpose.
Slowly she shook her head. “I have no idea what scheme you have up your sleeve, Raith. Why this sudden desire to marry me?”
“I told you last night, I only recently came to my senses and discovered I couldn’t live without you.”
Katrine’s look was skeptical. �
��My uncle thinks you want to wed me simply to mitigate the duke’s anger.”
“I assure you, one has absolutely nothing to do with the other.”
“Well, my marrying you wouldn’t make any difference to Argyll, you said so yourself.”
“And so it won’t. But it would make a great difference to me.”
“Would it? I think you just want to give our child a name.”
Raith sighed. “No, sweeting, that isn’t so. I decided to marry you before I ever learned about the child.”
Katrine’s brows drew together, her eyes narrowing. “You decided.... You decided?”
Raith realized his mistake, even before he heard the warning tone in her voice. He braced himself for the new storm he saw brewing in her eyes, quickly raising his hand in a gesture of surrender. “Ah, dear heart, I’m not so practiced as Callum at spouting the phrases that lasses love to hear. But I’m far more sincere. I don’t want you for Meggie or simply to give our child a name. I want you for myself…for always.... I love you, Katrine. I don’t know what else to say to convince you.”
Her rising anger suddenly dwindled. She could almost believe him.
As she stood gazing at Raith in indecision, he rose slowly, his dark gaze holding hers as he slowly moved toward her. “I want us to be married right away, Katrine,” he declared, his voice soft and persuasive. “Call your officer in here and have him fetch one of his men. They can act as witnesses.”
Witnesses, Katrine reflected, remembering Scottish law. She and Raith had only to speak their vows before witnesses and they would be legally married. But that would take time, far more time than they had. The thought made Katrine cringe inside. The fear that had kept her awake last night returned in full force, twisting in her stomach. With a choked cry, she stepped back, clutching the skirt to her breast in a defensive gesture. “Raith, no, we can’t be married. Then it will be too late for you to escape.”
“Katrine, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to escape. I want to marry you.”
An ache filled her throat as she took another backward step. “Why? So I can become a bride one day, a widow the next? Please…” she begged. “You sent me away once, and I thought I would die. I don’t want to go through that again. I couldn’t bear it.... I won’t…” The tears that shone in her eyes threatened to spill over.
“Oh, God,” Raith breathed, gathering her in his arms. “I hate it when females cry.”
“I’m not crying,” Katrine gulped, struggling for control. But she buried her face in his shoulder and allowed him to stroke her hair.
“I had to console Meggie just like this,” he murmured softly. “She was crying over you. Do you know she spoke for the first time two days ago?”
Her tears abruptly arrested, Katrine slowly lifted her head to stare up at him. “Meggie? She did?”
“Yes, Meggie. And do you know what she said? Katie. Your name. She wanted me to bring you home. She needs you, Katrine. I need you.”
Katrine closed her eyes, fighting against the overwhelming desire to give in to him. “Raith…please, don’t do this.” Mustering her strength, she pressed against his chest, trying to push him away. “You must leave before the duke comes.”
Raith’s arms tightened, refusing to release her. “No, you were right. This has to be settled, and it can only be done by approaching Argyll. I’m not leaving until I have a chance to talk with him.”
Katrine didn’t reply.
“You wanted me to speak to the duke, didn’t you?”
She sniffed. “Not at the cost of your life.”
“There are other lives at stake besides mine.”
The hint of hardness in Raith’s tone made her recall what kind of man she was dealing with. A leader. A fighter. A man who couldn’t be swayed when his clan’s survival was at stake. She gazed up at him, thinking how much he resembled the fierce Highlander she had first met. The dangerous stranger who had abducted her in order to save his clansmen. The proud, bitter lover who had claimed her heart and then sent her away.
Her eyes filled with tears again. “It isn’t fair,” she whispered. “Now I’m going to lose you all over again.”
A tender smile gentled his mouth. “You aren’t going to lose me, Katrine.”
“Yes, I am. The duke will hang you, and then I won’t have a husband, and Meggie won’t have a guardian.”
Reaching up, Raith cradled her face in his hands. “My sweet love, no one is going to hang me. Why won’t you trust me?”
“Why should I trust you? You’re a cattle thief. You’ve never done anything but abduct me and threaten me and beat me black and blue—”
“I didn’t do anything to you that you didn’t deserve. You threw my best claymore in the loch—”
“Yes, you did, you…you brute!”
Raith chuckled. “Ah, Katie, that’s what I love about you, your reluctance to speak your mind. No doubt you’ll still be arguing with me when we’re old and gray and on our deathbeds—”
He broke off as the faint scuffle of footsteps sounded from outside the door. Katrine tensed, clutching at Raith’s arms. “Someone is coming! Dear God, the duke…”
“They are not the same thing,” Raith said wryly, “although Argyll likes to consider himself as holding the same divine station as the Almighty.”
His irreverence distressed Katrine; his unconcern made her want to scream. It was possibly too late for escape, but Raith’s blithe attitude seemed almost profane for a man who might very well be condemned to death in the next few moments.
“Raith, please,” she pleaded frantically, hearing the footsteps grow louder. “At least take the pistol.”
“No, that would only complicate matters. Trust me, Katrine,” he murmured as he bent and pressed a light kiss on her lips. “I would like you to remain and hear what the duke has to say…unless you would rather prepare for our wedding?”
She wanted to protest. She wanted to weep on his shoulder and beat on his chest and hold him protectively in her arms. She wanted to save him from the dire fate that awaited him in the person of the duke. But there was no time. The key was grating in the lock. Raith set her away just as the heavy door swung open.
Katrine whirled, watching in fear as an older gentleman stepped into the room. Of the same approximate age as her uncle, he wore a heavy satin topcoat, an elaborately pomaded wig and expensive silver-buckled shoes. He could be none other than the duke, she reflected, for he radiated the overpowering Argyll personality, while his stiff bearing indicated his long years of military service. His full name was General John Campbell of Mamore, now the fourth Duke of Argyll, and he had fought under the merciless Cumberland during the Forty-five. Katrine clenched her hands together to prevent them from shaking.
In contrast, Raith swept Argyll a mocking bow. “My lord duke. I am gratified that you could come.”
As the door swung shut behind him, Argyll bent his head a fraction, in the merest of civil gestures. “Ardgour.”
The dislike between the two men was palpable, Katrine noted. She bit her lip as the sharp gray eyes turned to her. “You must be Miss Campbell.” He gave her no time even to curtsy, however, before he returned his gaze to Raith. “I am a busy man, Ardgour, and have no patience for this,” the duke stated brusquely. “Shall we get on with it? I believe you owe me an explanation for your conduct toward this young lady.”
Raith lifted a dark eyebrow. “Forgive me, your grace, but I fail to see how I owe you any such thing.”
Argyll’s mouth turned down in a scowl. “You abducted my factor’s niece, bedded her, got her with child, and now you have the audacity to deny any responsibility toward her?”
Katrine could feel the sudden sharp increase of tension in the air. Raith never moved, but somehow his stance changed, his muscles tightened. He looked rigid and alert, and as dangerous as she had ever seen him. When he next spoke, he did it grimly, slowly, enunciating every word. “What occurred between Katrine and myself is strictly for us to
settle. You have no say in the matter.”
“Her uncle most certainly does. Indeed, he has every right to demand restitution.”
“Her uncle has already given his permission—nay, his encouragement—for us to marry. That is all you need to know.”
Argyll’s scowl deepened. “You’re as aware as I that, as her chief, I have an obligation to protect her.”
“I am gratified to say that Katrine is one Campbell who has never needed your protection. Nor does she want it.”
Beneath the face paint, a slow flush of red suffused the duke’s cheeks, reflecting his rising anger. When he glanced briefly at Katrine, she didn’t dare reply. She couldn’t understand why Raith was deliberately antagonizing the duke, but she fervently wished he would stop.
Apparently Argyll was momentarily willing to overlook such disrespect, however, for he made a dismissing gesture with his hand. “As I said, shall we get on with it? I presume you wished to discuss the matter of your criminal activities.”
“Ah, yes.” Raith’s tone was soft yet caustic. “My criminal activities.” Casually turning, he sauntered across the room to lean a shoulder negligently against the stone wall, subtly taunting the duke with his lack of concern. “Shall we consider the weak case you have against me?”
“Weak? I should hardly call the evidence against you weak.”
“I beg to differ. My most serious crime is bride-stealing.”
The duke stared, as did Katrine. “Bride-stealing?” the gentleman demanded.
“Surely you’ve heard the term before, your grace.”
The duke waited impatiently. Raith smiled, not a nice smile.
“I’m only guilty of wanting Katrine for my wife, that is all. As any true Scotsman knows, bride-stealing still occurs here in the Highlands. No Scottish court would convict a man for following such a time-honored custom.”
TENDER FEUD Page 33
