Dangerous Pride (18 page)

Twisting her hands in her lap while she waited, Catriona’s eyes  flitted nervously from face to face.  Sitting atop the grey, she felt like some exotic animal on display in the English’s King’s zoo.  The curious looks cast her way did little to dispel her discomfort, and the fact she was filthy and exhausted after their long journey only fanned the flames of her uneasiness.

Regardless of Iain’s instructions, Catriona could bear the wait no longer.  Waving off the assistance of one of the stable lads, she dismounted, handing him the reins with a word of thanks.  Drawing her cloak and hood tighter about her to ward off the cool evening air, Catriona turned her back to the castle and began to stroll around the garden.  In spite of her fears, she was interested in seeing the keep she would call home, if only for a short time.

Few of the Forbes’ kinsmen paid her any notice, and she was able to walk through the gardens freely enough.  She paused now and then to take a closer look at her surroundings.  There were several small buildings that lay in close proximity to the castle, including the stables and the workshop for the blacksmith.  She thought she spied a brewhouse near the gatehouse, but dusk was at hand, and it was too dark to be sure.  Since it was late in the day, near gloaming, many of the clan were making their way to the great hall for the evening meal.  As she nodded politely to those she encountered, Catriona was impressed by the cleanliness and the organization of the keep, both of which were vastly improved from her previous visits.

Catriona was slowly making her way toward the entrance to see if she had been correct about the brewhouses when she heard a loud, angry male voice calling her name.  As she turned around, a strong hand grab her elbow roughly.  “What were you doing, running off like that?” Iain demanded, a deep scowl etched on his face.  “You really think you could flee us with so many people here to witness yer escape?”

Pulling back her hood to explain, Catriona caught Lachlan’s angry approach out of the corner of her eye.  His body tense with temper, he crossed the distance between them with hurried, furious strides.  She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or disappointed by the realization he was even more handsome than she’d remembered.

Lachlan’s thick, blue-black hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck and tied with a leather thong.  Dressed simply in a kilt and shirt of homespun material, his skin was tanned a deep, golden brown, attesting to an active life lived largely outside the castle’s walls.  Catriona noticed immediately that his features had matured in the past four years.  His face was fuller, and there were tiny lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes.  Lachlan’s chest and shoulders were broader, proof that he had not grown soft or lazy when he’d been made laird of the keep.  Surely there were few who dared challenge his authority.

Lachlan fixed Catriona with a harsh, threatening glare before he directed his fury at Iain.  “This is hardly the placid, obedient lass you promised me, Iain,” he complained, his handsome face flushed with temper.  “She is no’ at Tolquhon for but a quarter hour and she is already attempting to escape.  She will no’ enjoy these kind of liberties when we’re married, I promise you,” he scowled, refusing to meet Catriona’s gaze or even acknowledge her presence by speaking to her directly.

“You have no cause to speak to my brother that way!” Catriona cried abruptly, taken aback by Lachlan’s rudeness.  His outburst itself was bad enough, but his refusal to speak to her was unforgivable.  “If you have something to say, you can tell me directly.  You needn’t make Iain the brunt of yer childish tantrum,
my lord
,” she added, her tone dripping sarcasm.

Lachlan turned his gaze to her, letting his eyes rake over her from head to toe, and then back up the length of her body.  Unconsciously, Catriona drew her cloak closer, embarrassed to appear so travel weary and grimy at their first meeting.  His careful perusal was obviously meant to intimidate her, and it worked.

“What I mean to say is that I was no’ making any attempt to flee the keep.  I merely wanted to give you and my brother time to speak, and I wished to look at Tolquhon.  It has been many years since I have visited yer home.”

And now it’s your home too,
Lachlan recognized with a growing sense of dread. 
May God have mercy on my soul.
  Impatiently, he nodded dismissively in her direction, again fixing his gaze on Iain.  “Do no’ expect that I’ll be as patient with her as you have been.  The lass will learn to follow my orders, and accept my word as law, or I will do whatever it takes to make her see reason. I will no’ abide a disobedient wife, regardless of the purpose she may serve.”

Catriona’s nerves, already stretched to tautness, snapped at his openly disrespectful tone.  Before she realized what she was doing, she stood on the tips of her toes, slapping Lachlan across the cheek with as much force as she could muster.  “It will be a cold day in hell before I marry you, Lachlan Forbes,” she cried out angrily, her emerald eyes flashing as he stared back blankly, shocked at her actions.

Slowly, he reached up to rub his injured cheek with his hand.  Catriona didn’t see the smile that played at the corners of his lips.  Instead, she offered her brother a scowl, then turned on her heel and walked briskly toward the castle.

Catriona had gone but a few paces when Lachlan’s deep, throaty laughter reached her ears.  “You’ve gotten more than you bargained for this time, lass,” he called after her.  She hesitated for but a moment, considering her response, but chose to remain silent as she picked up her skirts and dashed toward the safety of the castle.  Feelings of mortification warred with her raging temper as she struggled to put as much distance as possible between herself and the two men.

Lachlan’s expression was amused as he turned to face his friend.  “She might just suit after all,” he  said quietly to Iain as they watched her hurried retreat.  “She just might do.”

###

It hadn’t taken long for Lachlan to realize Catriona meant to keep to her word.  After their confrontation, she’d stalked from the yard into the castle without another word.  In truth, he was more ashamed of his insensitive behavior than he was embarrassed by the dressing down she had given him in front of his men.

He had not bargained for the person Catriona had become.  Truth be told, he vastly preferred the feisty, determined woman who’d arrived in his keep to the quiet, insecure girl he remembered from years past.

He certainly hadn’t been prepared for the attractive, self-possessed woman she’d grown into.  Her huge green eyes had flashed furiously as she had given him a verbal lashing, and he had been captivated by the spirit and fire shining through every venomous word.

The awkwardness of her youth was a distant memory.  Even bedraggled from several days of travel, she was an attractive woman. Her features were delicate, giving her an innocent look that he found most appealing. After years of living with jaded women who rarely looked beyond a man’s wealth, her naiveté was a refreshing change.  Though smudged with dirt, her skin was clear and appeared unblemished beneath the grim.  Her eyes had the same intelligence he remembered from her youth, but their rich color was a far deeper green than he held in his memory.  When she’d pulled back the hood on her cloak, her glorious mahogany curls had spiraled down her back and shoulders, their fiery color reminding him of the temper she had so openly displayed.

He had yet to see her smile, but he had no doubt it would be honest and welcoming, and would light up a room with its warmth.

Despite her innocence, Catriona was no insipid lass, to be sure.  She saw through him in a way few others could – or cared to.  His initial attempts to intimidate her, to establish he was in charge, had failed miserably.  That, despite the fact he’d used a tone that had sent warriors cowering on many occasions.

Lachlan dragged his hand through his thick dark locks, which now hung loosely about his shoulders.  It was important to focus on the matters at hand, not on the actions of an innocent lass who was little more than a pawn between two powerful clans.

After his confrontation with Catriona, he had spoken to the housekeeper while the lass had cooled her heels in the great hall.  Mrs. Bannerman had ensured Catriona was shown to the rooms prepared for her use, and a young serving girl was pulled from her responsibilities in the kitchens to act as her maid.  Lachlan had ordered hot water be carried to the room so his guest could bathe, and had then instructed the kitchen to delay the evening meal to give her time to rest and get ready.  None of the clan would complain, of course, so long as there was a steady supply of ale.

Lachlan knew Iain had made haste getting to Catriona’s room, and that he surely would have taken the lass in hand.  He would put Catriona on notice to be on her best behavior, or risk the consequences.

Despite the sympathy he felt for Catriona’s plight, Lachlan could ill afford to indulge her whims to the point where they compromised his authority at Tolquhon.  Since his father’s death, Lachlan had worked hard to win the clan’s loyalty.  If it appeared to his kinsmen that he couldn’t control his own betrothed wife, he could hardly hope to command their respect.

“The sooner she learns who is laird here, the better it will be for all of us,” Lachlan muttered under his breath, absently toying with his silver goblet of ale.

“I would hope the lass has no’ driven ye tae drink already, Lachlan,” a voice interrupted at his arm.  Startled, Lachlan pulled himself out of his stupor and turned to face his chief.  Years of training had made him alert to even the slightest noise, and he was ashamed Rory had caught him unawares.  “I did no’ see yer meeting myself, but they have talked of naught else for the last hour,” his friend continued, gesturing toward the great hall, where Lachlan knew his men waited for their dinner.  “I do no’ doubt yer lass will add some life tae the keep.”

Lachlan fought back the inexplicable urge to wipe the smirk off his friend’s face.  “She is no’ my lass,” he muttered petulantly, before he could stop himself.  Far better, he decided, to turn the conversation to safer waters. “I have no’ seen my mother tonight.  Do you ken where she is?” he asked.

Rory’s dark brows were raised questioningly, but he wisely held his tongue.  “The dowager sent word she will take her meal in her chamber.  She said it was too late in the day for her tae face a confrontation with yer betrothed, and that she would rather slay that particular dragon after a good night’s sleep.”

Lachlan winced at his friend’s choice of words.  There were few secrets that could be kept for long in a keep the size of Tolquhon, and Lachlan doubted there was anyone left who did not know the dowager’s feelings about Catriona.  She had been completely besotted with Elizabeth, having much in common with the younger lass.  Both were concerned with their appearances and needlework, and little else.  He had no doubt his mother still blamed Catriona for her sister’s accident.

“I’m sure it’s for the best.  We’ve all had quite enough excitement for the night as it is,” Lachlan replied dryly.

“I suspect it is only goin’ tae get more interestin’,” Rory teased, motioning for Lachlan to follow him to the door.  When they reached the hallway, Rory pointed to the entrance of the great hall, where Catriona and her brother stood waiting inside the arched entrance.  Lachlan watched as her eyes nervously scanned the room – searching for him, he realized, a thought which raised a small smile.  When her eyes finally caught his, he saw her tense features relax slightly, and he gave her a small nod of greeting.

While the great hall had been typically boisterous prior to Catriona’s arrival, Lachlan could hear silence overtaking the room as word spread that the woman who was to be the new Lady of Tolquhon had arrived.  This attention was surely due in no small part to Catriona’s notoriety, but he also knew the lass’ shy, gentle beauty had generated an equal – or greater – interest.

Though she had not had long to prepare for the meal, Lachlan was pleased to see she had taken extra care with her appearance.  Her beautiful mahogany hair had been neatly braided, and now hung in a thick rope down her back, reaching almost to her waist.  Idly, Lachlan wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through those curls, then silently berated himself for such foolishness.  Her gown was simple and well-worn, but its deep, mossy tones made her eyes appear almost luminescent.  Her arisaid was draped modestly around her shoulders, and fastened at her waist.  The dress fit her snugly, giving a glimpse of her slim figure before it flared into a full skirt which hung to the floor.

Though she wore no jewelry, Catriona carried herself with a detached air that Lachlan recognized resulted more from fear than any arrogance or vanity on her part.  She was the picture of a refined, reserved Scottish lady, yet the pulse that throbbed frantically at her throat betrayed her nervousness.  Lachlan admired her courage – and her resolve – as she faced his kinsmen for the first time.  Smiling his welcome, he was silently delighted when she grinned shyly in return.

Reaching her at the entrance to the great hall, Lachlan silently offered her his arm.  Her eyes met his, and she took a step from Iain, accepting Lachlan’s gesture after only a brief pause.  “I see you managed to get her here in good time, Iain, and I thank you for that,” Lachlan said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.  Patting her hand comfortingly, he lead her into the dining hall, keeping the pace slow enough that the clan could look their fill at the woman who would soon be mistress of the keep.

Though she outwardly maintained her reserved appearance, Lachlan could feel her hand trembling where it rested on his arm.  “Do no’ get het up, lass.  They will no’ bite,” he whispered to her, giving her hand a squeeze.  “Whatever has gone on in the past matters naught now.  My people ken life will be safer and happier when the clans are united by marriage.”

Catriona nodded her understanding, but was still too nervous to trust her voice to reply.  Two short weeks before, she had been ensconced in the abbey, dedicating herself to helping the city’s neediest children.  Now she found herself assuming the role of lady to a prominent Scottish clan, marrying the man who was to have been her sister’s husband.  The fact that this was the very man she had been infatuated with since her childhood was sorely complicating manners.