Dangerous Pride (4 page)

As she watched him ride back to the castle, Catriona finally discovered her voice.  “It is no’ over, Lachlan, no’ yet,” she called to him, noticing the subtle slump of his shoulders as he absorbed her words.  Still he did not hesitate, nor did he look back.

And it wasn’t over, whether he liked it or not.  For she wouldn’t let it be.

Lachlan fought the instinct to turn back and see if the lass was all right.  After several long moments, he finally decided it was better to spare her further embarrassment and simply return to the celebration.  He needed to forget it had ever happened.

They both did.

If he was honest with himself, he would admit that her kiss had affected him more than he would have ever thought possible.  It was a tentative kiss, full of innocence and uncertainty, but there had been a sincerity to it that had touched him.  Still, the idea of kissing Catriona – it didn’t bear thinking about.

For as long as he could remember, she had been like a sister to him.  Yet when he’d first seen her outside the kirk today, he’d been stunned by the changes in her.  No longer a child – no matter what he might have told her – she was blossoming into a desirable woman.  Her dress had hugged her young body, clinging to the burgeoning curves that had not been there before.  Though she was yet too slim, her blossoming figure held promise he knew would be realized when she reached womanhood.

In truth, he’d felt his own body stir in reaction when he’d first laid eyes on her that morning.  Though she still had a quiet innocence, she had begun to grow into her features.  Gone were the braids of her youth, along with her simple clothes and skinned knees.  Her luxurious auburn locks had been artfully arranged to frame her delicate, heart-shaped face.  Her pale, smooth skin was flawless, though her lips had been drawn, bearing testament to her troubled state of mind.  Catriona’s huge eyes were probably her most attractive feature.  A piercing, emerald green, they were keen with intelligence – and something more.  Passion, perhaps.

It was difficult to think of Catriona in those terms, but there was little doubt that his body had recognized her burgeoning maturity, even if his conscious mind had struggled to ignore it.

Lachlan rubbed his cheek, still sore from the sting of her slap.  He doubted he would ever understand what motivated women to behave as they did.  Lacking any female siblings, and with only a cold, distant mother as an example, Lachlan suspected the mysteries of the female mind would elude him for much of his life.  Still, he could not deny that the depth of Catriona’s feelings had shocked him.

The wind and sun bolstered his flagging spirits as Lachlan guided Laeg back to the keep.  He’d needed some fresh air and peace and quiet before he could continue the task of facing the throng of well-wishers who had descended upon Boyne Castle.  He had been disappointed to have his solitude interrupted, but there was little he could do about that after the fact.

Why couldn’t Catriona be more like her sister? he wondered, his thoughts turning to his betrothed. Indeed, in all the years Lachlan had known Elizabeth, he realized he had never seen her react with any passion.  She had been nothing but polite and reserved, maintaining the cool demeanor and distance he had long associated with his own mother.  Lachlan realized the future now unfolding before him looked strikingly similar to the life his parents led.

Laird and Lady Forbes had led separate lives for as long as he could remember.  His father saw to the management of the keep, overseeing the day-to-day operations and ensuring that all who dwelled upon his lands were safe.  He was also responsible for managing what little remained of the clan’s fortune, though more often than not his investment choices had proven disastrous.  Alexander Forbes was an uninspired laird, and his lack of leadership had only served to fan the flames of the conflicts that raged between neighboring clans.  Still, Lachlan owed his father respect and loyalty, if for nothing more than the fact the man had sired him.

As he had grown, it had not proven difficult for Lachlan to keep the time spent with his father to a minimum.  Laird Forbes rarely left his study, except to take his meals in the great hall, and for the occasional tryst with a serving girl.  A wry smile crossed his lips at the memory of his father’s many indiscretions.  He had been very young indeed when he had discovered that his father had an eye for the lasses who worked inside Tolquhon Castle.  He’d been alarmed the first time he’d stumbled upon his father and a young maid in the stairwell, his father intent on groping the girl, the lass equally intent on laughing off his advances without offending her laird. Lachlan had been but a child then, and ill-prepared for the sight of his father in such an undignified circumstance.  He soon learned that his father’s behavior was considered respectable in most circles.  Indeed, his mother seemed to have long since accepted her husband’s proclivities, and the relative freedom they afforded her.

Lachlan was slowly realizing that his life would most likely mirror the routine and form of his parents’, as much as he was loathe to admit it.  Even though his betrothal to Elizabeth had been considered for years, he still felt he had not had much time to accept the reality of what it would mean to him.  As an only child, and his father’s heir, he’d long since conceded that duty and honor would be the key influences of his life.  He knew he would never enjoy the relative freedom afforded to those unencumbered by titles and responsibilities.  Indeed, he had grown up knowing that every person who dwelled in the keep would some day look to him for their safety and well-being.  It was a heavy responsibility, and at times such as this, Lachlan admitted to himself that it was a duty he would never willingly choose.

Much of the burden, he knew, would not fall on his shoulders until after his father’s death.  Still, the betrothal to Elizabeth meant many changes to his life and immediate future.  After spending his youth fostering with his uncle in England, he had been looking forward to exploring his homeland.  He’d longed to devote a handful of years to traveling the land; had harbored dreams of studying on the continent, anxious to learn more about the world and his place in it.

The outbreak of tension between the clans, and his father’s shifting fortunes, had changed all that.  Boyne Castle and Tolquhon Castle were profitable keeps, and the subject of much envy from outsiders.  Looting and reiving were common practices, and any man who held onto his property in Scotland did so through a combination of canniness, strategic alliances and brute strength.

Without a formal alliance, Boyne and Tolquhon would each stand alone if attacked by neighboring clans, relying on the mercy and goodwill of their kin and friends from far-flung keeps.  Little stock could be put in the timely support of other clansmen, given that most lairds needed all their resources to guard their own property and holdings.  The best alternative for both, clearly, was to unite the clans to discourage any ambitious neighbors from staging an attack.  Together, they would be strong enough to fend off any army.  Alone, they presented an attractive target.

A marriage between the Forbes and Ogilvy clans would make them virtually invulnerable.  It was Lachlan’s duty to his family and to his future heirs to ensure that his kinsmen were safe.

His own honor prevented him from doing anything less.

Besides, he admitted to himself with a wry smile, it was not as if he had much to offer a prospective bride, particularly given his family’s current financial situation.  And what woman would want a man with but one proper hand? he wondered, flexing his left hand while he studied it, thoughtfully.  It had been several years since the muscles in his hand had been severed, leaving it of limited use, but in many ways the pain was as fresh as if the injury had only just been inflicted.

Lachlan had been but ten and four when he had been hurt, an innocent bystander caught in the slaughter at Glencoe.  He had been on his way home to Tolquhon Castle after visiting cousins in Glasgow when he and his traveling companions had stopped to beg hospitality for a night from the MacDonalds of Glencoe.  They had been unaware that The MacDonald had fallen out of favor with the King by stubbornly refusing to swear his allegiance to William III in a timely manner.  With his own eyes Lachlan had witnessed the indiscriminate slaughter of the innocent members of Clan MacDonald, from tiny infants murdered in their mother’s arms to elderly clansman unable to defend themselves.  The horror and senselessness of the attack had marked Lachlan for life, and he considered himself lucky to have escaped with only the injury to his hand.  The real scars of Glencoe – the scars that plagued his dreams and burdened his soul – were injuries no one could see.

Lachlan guided Laeg to the stables at Boyne Castle,  sliding from the horse’s back as he handed the reins to the stable boy.  With a nod of thanks, he straightened his back and willed himself to focus on the festivities.  Much of his family’s future was dependent on this alliance, and he knew he had to quell his disappointment and act the part he’d been born to play.

As he entered the cold, dank castle, Lachlan’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness.  The tension that had been building in his shoulders lessened somewhat as he spotted Elizabeth seated on a bench at the back of the hall, holding court.  Surrounded by several young women close to her age, she was engaged in an animated conversation.

Forcing his way through the crowd, Lachlan stood slightly to the side, waiting for a break in the conversation.  Soon, Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn to him, and she motioned for him to come closer.  Her smile did not quite reach her eyes, and Lachlan quickly realized she had been only too aware of his absence.  “My lord, I am happy to see you have rejoined us,” she said, the harsh lines along her mouth confirming the icy tone of her voice.  “My father and brother have been looking for you, but you seemed to have disappeared without a trace.”

Bowing slightly from the waist, Lachlan reached to grasp Elizabeth’s delicate hand, pressing her palm to his lips.  His steady gaze met hers.  Clearly, Elizabeth was displeased, but unwilling to show the full extent of her frustration in front of her friends.  Though her petulance irked him, it wouldn’t do to have his betrothed pouting and spoiling the festive mood.  “I hope I did no’ keep you waiting overlong,” he offered quietly.  Keenly aware of the expectant gazes of the other young woman, he quickly included them in the conversation.  “Besides, I had thought you would like to visit with yer friends.”

The critical expression on Elizabeth’s face was soon replaced by a demure smile as she was reminded of their audience.  “That was most thoughtful of you.  Now that you’re back amongst us, do you think you might seek out Iain and my father?  I believe they wish to have a word with you.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Lachlan replied, relieved to see that Elizabeth’s mood appeared to have improved.  Flashing what he hoped was his most charming smile, Lachlan quickly took his leave of the ladies and scanned the room for any sign of his best friend.  Instead, he watched as Catriona made her way uncertainly into the great hall.  Her cheeks were flushed, and even from a distance Lachlan could see that her eyes were red from crying. 
She has brought this all upon herself
, Lachlan thought, fighting down the urge to comfort the girl.  Surely her words had been nothing more than a childish whim, he reminded himself.  The brief storm would surely pass as quickly as it had appeared.

A strong, affectionate slap on his back brought Lachlan’s attention back to the celebration. Iain stood at his side, placing a full mug of ale in his outstretched hand as he pulled his friend over to one of the trestle tables, making space for the pair of them on the bench.  A broad grin crossed Iain’s handsome face, highlighting his prominent dimples.  Though Iain had pale blond hair like Elizabeth, his eyes were deep amber.  Almost as tall as his friend, he was well-built, and as a result well-favored by the lasses of the area.  He was also his oldest and closest friend, and Lachlan felt the pieces of his world fall into place as he gratefully accepted the ale.  If his marriage accomplished naught else, at least it would make a brother of the man he had considered kin all these years.

“Where did you take yerself off to?” Iain asked, the playful smile still tugging at his lips.  Despite being Seafield’s heir, Iain possessed a carefree and vibrant disposition that was in contrast to Lachlan’s own serious nature.  “My Da is worried you’ve changed yer mind.”

Lachlan took a long draw of the ale before replying.  “You would begrudge a man a few moments to himself?” Lachlan replied, uncomfortable under his friend’s penetrating gaze.  He teased at the rushes with the toe of his boot as he gathered his thoughts.  “To be truthful, Iain, it’s no’ as if I have much say in the matter.  Is this a warning that I have not been privy to the full range of Elizabeth’s charms?”

Iain snorted indignantly.  “To you, Elizabeth is all sweetness and light, but to the rest of us, she is a pure menace.  Have you no’ seen how she treats Catriona?  Or the way she handles the servants?  The Earl is terrified you’ll have a change of heart.”

Lachlan smiled at his friend’s concern, his burgeoning frustration tempered by the ale that was warming his blood and loosening his tongue.  “I do no’ think that is possible, Iain, even if I wanted it to be.  You ken as well as I how much choice a man has in matters such as this.”  Lachlan took another hearty swig of the ale, casually wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve after he drained the glass.  “Nay, I’ll be a married man before the next year is out, and complaining about it will accomplish naught.”

Though his words seemed to appease his friend, they did nothing to quell Lachlan’s growing sense of dread.  As he sought solace in the mug of ale, he realized he would need a month’s worth of peace to make up for the discomfort of that day.

Spring was Catriona’s favorite time of year.  The keep thrummed with activity as the clan shrugged off the burdens of winter.  Cattle were moved to new pastures to graze, and the sheep, having been bred, were loosed to begin grazing unfettered in the hillsides.