He would use Patrick Hepburn’s hide for a saddlebag if the wee bishop was keeping her.
“‘Tis dangerous out there in those hills, Patrick! My men and I took the direct route to Elgin and did not catch up with them. So if you tell me that my wife and her companion have not yet arrived, then I need to go out in search of them now! Adam of the Glen is out there, and the blackguard would love to have my wife in his clutches...of that I have no doubt. The wolf has been at my door for months now, raiding my lands and terrorizing my people.”
The bishop nodded with concern. “Aye, so I have heard. You really should catch the villain. I think the gates of Balvenie Castle would look quite lovely adorned with Adam’s head on a pike.”
Athol clenched his jaw tightly. “So would I. But is my...”
“If Adam’s thievery were to spill over into the lands of my bishopric, we would really need to talk about--”
“Not now!” John Stewart interrupted, taking a half step toward the man. “My wife, Patrick! Is she here?”
The bishop looked up, evidently startled by the apprehension in the earl’s tone. Patrick Hepburn looked carefully at Athol’s troubled and exasperated expression.
“‘Tis pleasing for me to know that your extended wait before choosing a wife was not in vain. It sounds to me as if you are really concerned about the woman, though I must say that I am surprised, after hearing how Catherine Percy was literally dragged before you to take her vows.”
The reason for the bishop’s reluctance to answer now became clear. The priest who married them at the hunting lodge must have reported the incident to the bishop. Well, there was no point in denying the truth.
“A great deal has changed since then, Patrick.”
“So I see.” The bishop turned and crossed to one of the large windows overlooking the courtyard. “Now, concerning the whereabouts of your wife. ‘Tis nearly dark.”
“I know that! Has she arrived?”
“I should say that she has.”
As a sudden relief washed over him, John watched the bishop raise his pudgy hand and point out through the glass. Moving rapidly to the window and looking out, John saw the two ragged-looking travelers making their way past the old porter at the gate of the walled enclosure. Pushing the hood of her cloak back, Catherine was explaining their presence to the porter and looking purposefully toward the bishop’s palace. The heavyset monk accompanying her was chirping continuously in her ear. Even in the growing gloom, Athol could tell that she was annoyed with whatever it was Brother Bartholomew was saying.
In an instant, the sense of relief caused by the knowledge of her safety was replaced with a growing fury at her recklessness, and John Stewart started for the door.
With unexpected quickness, the bishop grabbed the sleeve of Athol’s shirt, detaining him. “You will not be too harsh with her, my friend, for what she has done?”
The earl stared at the man. “The hell I won’t. She is my wife now, and she must understand that there are dangers that surround us in these hills. As the countess of Athol, she is more valuable to renegades like Adam of the Glen--and more vulnerable--than she was while escaping England. Nay, Patrick, she will learn that she cannot foolishly endanger her own life and someone else’s so impulsively.”
The bishop nodded. “Aye, she has to understand all of those things. But I believe ‘tis more important that she learn to trust your judgment and take you into her confidence in matters such as this.”
Athol cocked an eyebrow at him. “A curious position for a churchman to take, but I intend to see to that as well. Now, if you’ll pardon me, Patrick...”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her, John. Bring her in and...”
“We’ll not be availing ourselves of your hospitality tonight.”
The bishop raised a soft hand in the air. “But...”
“Nay, she’s going home immediately, if I have to tie her to the back of my horse.” With a curt nod, he started for the door.
“Well,” the bishop called after, “then please pass on my encouragement regarding the school. At least, leave her jovial looking friend, and I’ll tell him what we can do to help. Oh, and John!”
Exasperated, the earl of Athol whirled at the door.
“Be gentle!”
******
He came out the door into the courtyard with all the delicacy of a charging bull.
Slowing her steps as she moved across the yard, Catherine’s initial excitement at seeing her husband here quickly turned to caution. His long strides and the scowl darkening his looks made it clear that he did not share her enthusiasm about this meeting. Realizing that this was probably not the best place for Brother Bartholomew, she stopped, turned, and quietly advised the monk to continue on to the chapter house, where she could meet him later. But her traveling companion gave her only the most perfunctory of bows before practically running the few remaining steps to the oncoming earl of Athol.
“I cannot tell you, m’lord, how happy I am to find you here. Considering the fact that we quite nearly lost our lives during our journey here, the idea of having to return to Balvenie Castle on our own, unprotected, has been most dreadful! Most dreadful, indeed!”
Catherine watched her husband ignore the cleric, passing him without so much as a glance and closing the distance between them. His eyes bore into hers and he stopped an arm’s length from her. The monk, continuing to chatter away, was instantly at the earl’s elbow, gesturing and whining.
“The dangers we faced in these hills were terrifying, m’lord--far more frightening than anything I’ve encountered in my entire life.”
Catherine rolled her eyes. Certainly, her husband would recognize the ridiculousness of the monk’s overstatement.
“One moment, we’re faced with cutthroats and thieves in the hills, and the next we’re forced to leave our mules and walk over the most mountainous ground God ever created. Why, Hannibal and his elephants couldn’t have crossed the terrain we covered today. You do not know, m’lord--”
“That is enough, Brother Bartholomew,” Catherine interrupted, turning her gaze from husband to the monk. The cleric continued to puff and throw his hands in the air. “I am certain the earl has a very good idea of how our trip went.”
“Nay, Lady Catherine. I haven’t even begun to tell of the assassins who nearly caught us not two leagues from here.”
Her gaze darted back to Athol’s face. His eyes shone with fury.
“Oh, aye,” she scoffed, though not very convincingly, she thought. She tried to make her words drip with sarcasm. “If it were not for our superior speed afoot, they’d have certainly caught us at the very gates of Elgin itself.”
“True!” the monk agreed. “And I think they were the same band of murderers that chased us most of the day. They followed us from the hills, m’lord, ready to cut our throat, if they were to catch us.”
The darkness of Athol’s scowl was starting to make her nervous. She turned sternly to the monk. “We arrived safely. There is no reason now to exaggerate the details of our journey, Brother Bartholomew.”
“Exaggerate?” the monk huffed. “You were the one who pointed out the flash of their blades in the sunlight, mistress.”
“I was just looking for an excuse to travel into the hills,” she lied. “You, of all people, should know my fondness for this high country.”
“Nay, you are being too modest, mistress. Certainly, your husband should know the courage you showed.” The monk turned toward the earl, and Catherine had to control her urge to stuff the man’s hood in his mouth.
“I would say...there were fifty...maybe a hundred of them closing in on us...”
Catherine looked pleadingly at her husband. But he simply stood there directing his murderous gaze at her, taking in all the decoratively embellished gibberish the monk was so eloquently delivering into his ear. Well, darkness had all but descended upon them, and she turned as a torch flared up by the pen between the stables and the gatekeeper’s cell. Sud
denly, she became very aware of her aching feet, and her interest in listening to much more of this dissipated. She turned toward her husband.
“If you’ll forgive me, I have not yet accomplished the task that brought me to Elgin and the cathedral. So while you catch up on Brother Bartholomew’s tales of the murderers haunting these hills, I think I’ll just continue on to the chapter house to inquire about the possibility of seeing the bishop tonight regarding the matter of the school.”
With an authoritative sweep of his arm, the earl of Athol brushed the monk back and stepped in, cutting off Catherine’s line of retreat. “You’ll not be moving from this spot until such time as I move you.”
Realizing that weariness was probably contributing to her urge to snap at him in response, Catherine bit her tongue and tried to retain her composure. His words sounded threatening, but she knew that it would be pointless to bait him. Staring into her husband’s face, she did not flinch as she met his dark scowl.
“Husband, you appear to be overly agitated by some of these overstated accounts of the day’s happenings. I can assure you, once I’ve had a chance to speak with the bishop, I will put your mind to rest on all that we encountered on the journey from Balvenie Castle.”
She tried to take a step around him, but his powerful hand took hold of her arm, and she felt the viselike strength of his grip. Knowing that Brother Bartholomew would be a witness to everything they said and did, she decided against chastising him for this rough handling of her. Instead, in her mind’s eye she tried to recall the gentle and passionate man she’d spent last night with, and gave him her sweetest smile.
His scowl wavered for a moment, and Catherine decided to take advantage of the change.
“If you will allow me, husband, I do not know if His Excellency’s evening meal is...”
“Leave us, monk!”
Athol’s curt order sent the man scurrying toward the chapter house in an instant. Catherine watched as anger once again clouded her husband’s face. Feeling a bit vulnerable at being left alone with him like this, she raised herself on tiptoe and glanced around the courtyard as the vespers bell began to ring. The workers in the stables and the smithy beside it were crossing the courtyard toward the cathedral, casting curious looks in their direction, but steering a wide path around them. They were alone, except for the old gatekeeper, who sat dozing on a block of wood by the courtyard entrance.
“No one can save you from my wrath, my sweet.” He tugged on her arm, pulling her across the courtyard toward the stables.
“Saving?! I can’t see why I should need saving. Considering the fact that I have done nothing wrong, I find your attitude completely uncalled for. Do you hear me? Uncalled for!”
In the deep shadow by the stable wall, he swung her around none too gently until she faced him fully.
“For a woman who considers herself blessed with a fair amount of intelligence, you act with less sense than those old mules you stole from me.”
“Stole?”
“Aye, stole. But the mules, at least, knew enough to make their way down into the glen where they could be found.”
“I’m delighted you were able to find your valuable property undamaged, m’lord.” Catherine could see the muscles in his jaw flicker dangerously. His face flushed crimson, and his eyes blazed with anger. Well, she thought, she might as well let him vent his anger. Crossing her arms, she nodded encouragingly. “Very well, husband. Let me hear your complaint!”
“Catherine Percy, do not try to pacify me. I can read your mind.”
She nodded again, this time giving him a weak smile. “Come, I am waiting! You want to rant and rave and tear me in two? Well! I am ready!”
“I--I...cannot understand how a woman like you, a stranger in country as rough as...” He sputtered on, assailing her with reasons why her journey from Balvenie Castle had been so ill-judged, but she was not listening. At height of his anger, his eyes had turned as dark as the night, and Catherine gazed up, admiring their intensity as well as their tendency to change color along with his mood. And for the thousandth time, she again noticed his long dark eyelashes. She couldn’t help but wonder what beautiful children he would father. Children! She smiled inwardly. Not so many days ago, she had been appalled by the very thought of marriage to this man, and here she was daydreaming about bairns.
“Stop that!” He snapped the words out. “You are not even listening to me!”
His hands were on her shoulders. She shook herself out of her reverie and nodded. But she couldn’t stop her gaze from fixing on his full lips.
“Catherine! You haven’t heard a word of what I’ve been saying! How could you be so...”
She wished he would kiss her. Until this moment, she hadn’t fully realized how much she’d missed him today. In fact, seeing him charging toward her out of the bishop’s residence tonight, she had nearly cast aside her dignity and run into his arms. She wondered vaguely if he would still be so angry if she’d done that.
“Catherine! Stop distracting me!”
She looked up and let her eyes roam his face. His long red hair looked almost black in the darkness. She could just make out the tight braids, pulled back with the rest of his long, thick hair and tied with a thong at the nape of his neck. She wondered what he would do if she were to raise herself on tiptoe and kiss his chin, his jaw, his neck.
“That does it!”
As Athol took her roughly by the hand, Catherine found herself being hauled through the stable door. The smell of fresh straw and horses warmed her. Such a comforting smell, she thought.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding a place that’s a wee bit more private! Where every window facing on the courtyard won’t have a view of the earl of Athol and his obstinate wife. We need to have a...a private talk.” His voice dropped to a growl. “And do not think for a moment that I do not know what was just going through your mind.”
He was dragging her toward the low hanging hayloft. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be so obvious!”
Turning, he placed his hands on her waist and literally threw her into the loft, scaling the short ladder after her.
Catherine was still trying to catch her breath when she heard the low rumble escape his lips. Stunned, she stared at him as he stretched out beside her. It was a laugh--she was certain of it. He had actually laughed!
“Obvious? To no one but me, Cat. But I’m telling you this, my sweet, we are far from finished discussing your rashness in coming here alone.”
She started to reply, but then stopped.
Well, first things first, she decided. After all, there was no reason she could think of for continuing the argument. Why, he might just forget all about it by the time they were done with this private...er, talk.
Catherine turned to him and smiled.
CHAPTER 13
The frightened stable hand took two steps back at the approach of his leader.
“I tried, master! I told them both that the only route to Elgin was through the Glen of Rothes! I even gave them the oldest mules in the stables. The ones I knew would be easy to...”
“Tried!” Adam of the Glen spat out with disdain as he brushed past the trembling man. He stalked to the fire.
Roy Sykes raised a nervous hand to the side of his head as if checking to make certain it was still connected to his shoulders.
“Master, they’d barely left the gates of Balvenie before I came running with the news.”
Adam stared into the fire. “By now he must have learned of your treachery.”
Roy stared at the broad back of the giant Highlander. The leader’s broadsword was still strapped to his back. “Aye, I’m sure some of the stable hands saw me talk to Lady Catherine before she left. They’re certain to tell the laird who ‘twas that gave her the mules. He’ll hang me for not telling him about her leaving. Please, master, do not send me back to face him.”
The Highlander turned and stared darkly into the terrified man’s face. “But you’d
face my wrath before his? I should have Ren tie you to that tree and let the kites peck out your eyes!”
Roy Sykes dropped to his knees and clasped his hands. “Do not send me back, master. But please spare my life! I did what I thought you’d be wanting. I never thought that the Englishwoman and the monk would take it on themselves to travel across the hills!”
Adam of the Glen turned to the scarfaced man who crouched before the fire, listening. “He says you must be blind, Ren. For you tell me they never passed by you, either.”
“Aye, if the lad says so, then I must be blind.” Ren turned a murderous look at the stable hand. “For we had the shepherd’s trail across the Mannoch Hills blocked. There was no way some lowland bitch, traveling with a fat monk, could have gone past us. We’d have smelled them coming a league off.”
“You were watching the shepherd’s trail?”
“Aye, and there was not a soul...”
“And you didn’t spread your men back to the river?”
“Aye...well, we did as the day wore on.” Ren looked away uneasily. “But there was no sign of them, master.”
“By the devil!” Adam snapped. “Then they could have gone around you!”
“Nay!” Ren squirmed visibly. “Well, aye. But master...you said so yourself. These are just two English lapdogs...a monk and a lass. How would they...?”
The huge Highlander exploded, kicking dirt at his warrior. “By ‘is Bones, I am tired of having to do every bit of thinking around here! For the first time in months, I have a real chance to avenge myself on that blackguard, Athol, and all of you suddenly decide to play the fools...at the same time!”
The gathering of warriors shifted uneasily and began to murmur among themselves. Adam turned his wrath on them fully. “She was out there! A flower to be picked. But none of you had enough courage, enough wit...”
Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) Page 14
