"You are hardly a Titan yourself," he said wryly.
"And you have red hair."
His bushy red eyebrows met in a frown. "You look just like your mother."
"Thank you."
"You sound like her, too."
"Oh." She clasped her hands behind her back, not coming any closer to him but not running away, as she wished to, either. She had to admit to being curious about this branch of the family, which had caused so much havoc in her bloodlines. There were questions she was dying to ask him, too, such as, "Am I going to have these horrible visions all my life?" "Why don't butterflies live longer?" "What did you and Mama quarrel over?" And "How do you make those birds of prey do your bidding?"
"What have you done with my mother's stone?" she asked simply.
He stepped closer, his triangular face level with hers. "I am returning it to its rightful place."
"Then give it back. It belongs to me."
"Long ago, one of your ancestresses and a powerful wizard named Michael Scot stole the stone from a holy well, and it was eventually passed down to your mother. Until the stone is returned to its home, you are destined to know unhappiness. We must go to the well together."
She studied his face, the keen hazel eyes and sharp features. "How do I know you won't take the stone for yourself?"
"If it was the stone I wanted, I would be gone."
She felt another strange prickle steal down her spine. "Then go."
"I came for you. Your old playmate Lamont wants to see you."
She recoiled a step, aware of wings fluttering in the trees above them. "I am not going anywhere. I'm engaged."
He glanced past her to the house, his face wistful. "Following right in your mother's foolish footsteps, believing in a man, a Sassenach, who will break your heart. Tis the curse, Catriona. End it now."
"He loves me," she said slowly, as if to convince herself.
"That is just what your mother said about the earl. And yet, if I have not misinterpreted the situation, this man you defend has persuaded you to conduct a clandestine affair with him. That is what you are doing out at this hour?"
A clandestine affair. She almost laughed, but how could she possibly explain the vigilance of Olivia and Aunt Marigold, their determination to marry her off? Oh, how could she explain that Knight's own sister was the reason for all the secrecy, and not any dark, twisted motive on his part?
"This is different. Uncle Murdo."
He sighed sadly. "She thought so, too."
"You don't understand. I am part of their family."
"You are my family, Catriona Grant, and I have come to claim you."
"Well, you certainly wailed long enough to admit that fact." She narrowed her eyes. "Where were you all those years Mama and I struggled to survive?"
He shook his head. "Your mother banished me from your home for speaking the truth about your father. She laughed in my face when I offered to find a more suitable mate for her. I merely stated the obvious: the earl used her and had no desire to claim you as his daughter."
The words hurt, so bluntly spoken, stung her in some vulnerable place inside, but perhaps not as much as they might have months ago. No, she was growing stronger. The world would not end because her father hadn't loved her. At one time, to admit that would have caused her more pain than she could bear.
"It's too late for us, Uncle Murdo," she said, backing away another step. "Aside from the people here, the only person alive who ever cared for me is James. So even if my father did not love Mama, there was some good in him, to have raised a son like James."
His mouth twisted in a scornful smile. "James, a useless specimen of manhood if I have ever seen one."
"Have you visited him?" she asked in surprise.
"Doubtless the useless fool does not even remember our meeting," he said. "I went to his castle in search of you, only to find him half dead, weeping like a bairn over a bottle for the money he had lost."
"He promised me he would stop," she said, flooded with guilt that she had not been there to help.
"Then his promises are as worthless as those his father made," Murdo said bitterly. "But look at you," he said, his face softening. "A beautiful young woman who need not worry about such things. Tis a marriage we should be planning."
"I have made my own choice, Uncle Murdo."
"A poor one, no doubt."
"I love him."
"Him?" He scowled. "A Sassenach noble, arrogant and handsome, I suppose?"
She grinned helplessly. "Oh, aye. He is both."
He drew himself erect. "I can take you into the presence of kings and queens in foreign lands."
Part of her was a little tempted, to explore the secret side of her self. "He's taught me the waltz and the minuet."
He looked scornful. "The dances I would teach you are of the divine, of mastering the elements."
"It's too late, Uncle Murdo." On impulse, she went up to him and kissed his bearded cheek; he smelled pleasantly of mint and rosemary. "They need me, you see," she whispered ruefully. "And I need them, too. I think I've finally found where I belong. Don't spoil it for me."
She had just reached the garden when an image began to take shape in her mind. She didn't think it was a typical vision. There was none of the usual physical manifestations, no tingling or disorientation. But suddenly the impression of a young girl in distress touched her thoughts, jolted her. Something about the girl's features stopped her in her tracks. She closed her eyes, concentrating, willing the connection not to fade.
James, she realized in astonishment. The girl was his mirror likeness—what she was seeing must be her own lost niece, Gaela, the daughter who had been stolen from James by her grandparents. The girl appeared to be in trouble. She was standing at—oh, dear God, it was a grave. She was crying, resisting the angry man who tried to take her away. And Cat could hear her young, heartrending voice.
"Why did they die? I don't want to go with you. I want my papa."
The image started to dissolve. Frantic, Cat willed herself to focus on the smallest detail. The girl was dragged from the graveyard, thrown into a dog cart, driven down a winding street. A tavern with the sign of a red stag. The sound of a waterfall. A crossroads with a stone cross marked—
Nothing. Blank. Gone.
Cat closed her eyes and shivered, feeling helpless and frightened for the girl.
******************
Several minutes later, she returned to the house.
She drew back against the balustrade as a tall figure materialized from the shadows to interrupt her escape upstairs. "Don't make a sound," Knight whispered, gathering her in his arms. "The Gorgons are definitely on to us."
She laid her head on his chest, her heart beating hard. For a moment, she had been afraid that Uncle Murdo had somehow gotten into the house before her. But this was Knight, her protector and, as of tonight, lover. Her anxiety fled, replaced by the sheer happiness she always felt with him. "I thought Olivia might have murdered you," she whispered. "I heard her shouting."
"I was worried when you didn't come back to the house," he said quietly. "Where were you, anyway. Not off dropping stones in the pond to cure Howard's headache?"
"Am I forbidden to do so?"
"Not at all." He broke into a grin. "Drop to your heart's delight. I was really afraid that Alistair might have been lurking in the woods, waiting to abduct the innocent young maiden."
"Except that he's too late."
"Hmm. It's a shame, isn't it?" He pulled her closer, locking his arms around her waist. "Poor fellow has dreadful timing. Perhaps I ought to send him a polite note, just to let him know you're mine."
She felt a flush of heat go through her where their bodies touched. "That isn't a very polite look on your face, though. It's—predatory."
He threaded his long fingers through her hair. "You'd better get used to it, Lady Rutleigh. I'm not sharing you with anyone." His heavy-lidded gaze moved over her, not missing the worry on her face. "But yo
u never did answer me. Where have you been while I was almost murdered by my own sister?"
"Where was I?" she repeated.
"That's what I said."
"Where could I have gone?"
"That is a good question." He arched his brow. "Now, answer it."
She glanced away. Knight's eyes narrowed at her faint hesitation, but he waited patiently for a reply. Where would she have gone? he wondered. What trouble could she possibly have gotten into in such a brief time? Lord, was this what love did to a man's state of mind?
"I had to hide in the woods," she said slowly. "Mrs. Evans was posted on the bridge. Is everyone asleep?"
He relaxed slightly. Going to drastic lengths to avoid his housekeeper made perfect sense. "Marigold is snoring fitfully outside your door," he said. "Wendell said he practically had to climb over her to remove the rope you left dangling from the window."
"What about Olivia?" she whispered.
"My sister exhausted herself trying to kill me with a shovel."
"Oh, dear." So that was the crash she and Murdo had heard in the woods. "I don't think I want to hear the details."
"No doubt you will, anyway, at the breakfast table." He started to laugh, thinking how absurd it was for Olivia to try to stop him. "She called me a monster of immorality."
She bit her lip, looking horrified. "You didn't tell her that we—"
"I didn't say a word to her." His hands moved down her back to her bottom, gripping her gently. It was going to take more than family or any earthly force to keep him away from Catriona. "I don't think I fooled her, though. I am so desperately in love with you that I can't hide it. Damnation, I don't want to hide it," he said huskily. "Come upstairs to my room. I want more of you tonight."
"Your room?" she whispered, already melting at the thought.
He brushed his jaw against her cheek. "She can throw another shovel at me in the morning if she likes. Sleeping with you is worth it. Come on."
He drew her back, catching her hands in his. She looked at his large figure and shivered, dangerously tempted. Arabella was right; Catriona knew she was completely in his power.
"No," she whispered. "Not again tonight."
He gave a low, devilish laugh. "Yes. Please."
"No. Oh." Her gasp evolved into a helpless giggle as he swung her over his powerful shoulder only to lower her slowly back to the floor.
"Um, perhaps you're right." he said in a strained undertone.
"Right about what?" she whispered in confusion.
He cleared his throat again. "Perhaps this isn't the best time to read those Shakespearean sonnets."
"Shakespearean sonnets? Knight, have you lost your wig? I—oh." She looked around his huge frame to see Mrs. Evans at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded disapprovingly across her chest. "Yes, I see exactly what you mean."
He carefully edged away from Catriona, whispering, "She must have been assigned the graveyard watch."
"Graveyard is right," she whispered, giggling helplessly. "She looks as if she wants to put you in one."
"May I bring you something, my lord?" the housekeeper asked in a crisp tone.
He cleared his throat. "We, ah, we were looking for something to read. In bed."
"Alone," Catriona added, frowning up at him. "I mean, later. After we read together. But not in bed."
Knight rolled his eyes. "Could you dig that grave any deeper, darling?"
"I only meant that we aren't going to read together. In bed, that is."
"I always read in bed," Knight said, leaning back against the railing to enjoy this.
Catriona wanted to pinch him, the unprincipled rogue. "Not with me."
His smile was diabolical. "Not yet."
"May I suggest the Bible as a source of moral inspiration?" Mrs. Evans asked dryly.
He stared down at the housekeeper, his look clearly drawing the line between servant and employer. "And may I suggest that everyone mind his own business where my morals are concerned?"
"Your morals are quite clearly beyond redemption," Olivia said from the darkened landing above. "Catriona's are not, or at least I assume so." She gave the sash of her dressing robe a firm yank. "Come upstairs, young lady. We shall discuss your behavior in the morning."
Knight winked at Catriona. "It seems as if our discussion on the sonnets will have to wait until tomorrow, too. Shame. I was so looking forward to it."
She sighed, lifting her skirt to obey Olivia's summons. But as she turned from Knight, the gust of violent wind that rattled the panels of the front door caused her to freeze in her tracks.
The dances I would teach you are of the divine, of mastering the elements.
Oh, of all things. Was that queer old uncle of hers trying to prove a point, or was the wind only a coincidence? After all, there had been a breeze earlier in the evening. She was on pins and needles now, half expecting her meddlesome relative to come bursting into the entrance hall at any moment, worrying about James's daughter, if that was who she had seen. What good did it do to know the girl was in trouble if no one could find her? Where could she be?
"That's quite a strong wind," Olivia exclaimed, rubbing her arms. "Hurry up, Catriona. You'll catch a chill, you in that thin dress and no shoes again."
She nodded, pausing as Knight stepped down beside her, to whisper boldly in her ear, "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry your first time had to be in the summerhouse. I didn't plan it—well, I hoped it would happen—and I also wanted to tell you, in case I didn't make il clear before, that I love you."
She glanced up, staring into his eyes as an enormous clap of thunder resounded above the roof.
Olivia jumped back a step. "What on earth was that?"
Catriona compressed her lips, gazing up past Knight's face to the ceiling. No, Uncle Murdo, she thought angrily. Go away. You will not impress me with your owls and loud noises. This is where I belong, not on some windswept hill casting spells with an awful old man.
"Storm by morning," Mrs. Evans predicted, domestic matters apparently taking precedence over internal affairs. "I'd best have the gardener cover my seedlings before they're blown away." She turned, then paused to glance up at Catriona. "Sutherland," she said, right out of the blue.
"Sutherland?" Catriona said slowly. For some reason, the distant look on the housekeeper's face sent a shiver down her shoulders. "What do you mean?"
Mrs. Evans sounded embarrassed. "Sutherland is in Scotland, isn't it?"
Cat nodded. "Yes, but not where I came—"
"Oh, never mind," the housekeeper said, her cheeks red. "The name just popped into my head, but never mind. 'Tis the Welsh in me again. I'm sure it means nothing."
"Sutherland is in a rather remote area of Scotland," Knight said, watching Catriona's face. "Do you know someone there?"
"I don't think so," she said, shivering again. Could Gaela possibly be in Sutherland? Could Mrs. Evans have received the message that Catriona was straining to hear?
"Enough of this nonsense," Olivia said. "Upstairs, Catriona. Now."
Chapter 19
For a few moments after she awakened the next morning, Catriona lay in bed savoring her precious memories of the night before. Aside from the tenderness between her thighs and a general glow of well-being, she really noted no difference in her body; she hadn't sprouted wings or anything, but oh, how lightheaded and hopeful she felt, what rapture to be in love and to be loved in return by her wicked English viscount.
Everything was perfect, romantic, exciting. She had packed a bag for their elopement and had hidden it at the back of the wardrobe. The journey to Devon from the Borders, so grim and arduous with Thomas, suddenly took on heart-stirring possibilities in the reverse. Sleeping in a remote hillside inn with Knight seemed more like an adventure than an ordeal. What did discomforts such as lumpy mattresses and wrinkled sheets matter when one woke up in those protective arms? How grand to show him off to James, who, if he were not too angry or drunk to recognize her, would be grateful
for Knight's financial help. She only wished she knew what that troubling glimpse of James's daughter meant, and if Mrs. Evans's comment about Sutherland was inspired. If the girl could be found, James might have a reason to live again. It gave her hope.
And then she remembered Murdo and that nonsense about the stone's curse and his mention of her childhood nemesis Lamont Montgomery. Well, the stone wasn't in her possession anymore so how could it hurt her? Let Murdo drop it back into the well if that was where it belonged.
She dressed in a demure primrose-yellow muslin day gown and practically floated downstairs. She really ought to wipe the grin off her face and look suitably repentant for Olivia's sake before she confronted her at breakfast. Where was everybody, anyway? The house seemed unnaturally quiet—
And then she knew. She sensed the troublemaker's presence in the house.
Uncle Murdo had come.
She walked woodenly to the blue formal drawing room, her heart lodged in her throat. The door was partially open, and she slipped inside to see Murdo seated in the corner, Aunt Marigold pouring him tea. Knight was standing by the window, his face drawn in deep lines of displeasure. Olivia, perched beside Wendell on the sofa, looked up at Cat in distress, as if to say, Well, this is the final straw. Even I cannot undo the sort of trouble you are facing now. He is your uncle. I am only a distant cousin-in-law.
"This—this person claims you are his niece, Catriona," she said in a bewildered tone. "He has just informed us that he's come to take you home."
Knight stared at his beloved, one dark eyebrow raised in amused speculation. Well, at least he wasn't angry, but the almost imperceptible, helpless shake of his head told her that he was perfectly willing to let her handle this little mess by herself. It wasn't fair, she thought. How was she to know a relative she had assumed dead would reappear to cause problems at the happiest time in her life?
She pretended to study Murdo in great astonishment, widening her eyes at his warm smile. "There must be a misunderstanding," she said. "I have never seen this man before in my life." And then, in an inaudible whisper, not wishing to be caught in another lie, she added, "Well, at least not since I was six years old."
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