Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (11 page)

“I was speaking to Brother Egbert,” the earl snapped. “Can you not speak for yourself, monk?”

 “Aye.” The man nodded slowly. “I
do teach map drawing also, m’lord. Though you’ll have no need of me teaching
that subject.”

“Nay?”

“Nay, m’lord. Mistress Catherine is
very proficient in the topic herself, and her hand’s as steady as Vespucci’s
ever was.”

“So you’re telling me I won’t be
needing you?”

Brother Egbert nodded somberly.

“Probably none of you are worth
my...”

Brother Bartholomew was quick to
jump in again. “I, myself, teach geography, m’lord!”

“And I suppose you are one of those
to mix fact and fiction, delving into astronomy and philosophy, while you’re at
it!”

The clergyman nodded cheerfully.
“Aye! And Mistress Catherine complements my expertise, covering astrology and
even navigation. She has always been an excellent student. At the abbey, she
would often tutor those lads who would listen to a...”

“And is there any reason why Lady
Catherine cannot teach anything you can teach?”

“Well, I...ah...” Brother Bartholomew’s face turned a deep shade of red. “Nay, m’lord.”

“I thought not.” Athol turned to
the tall, lanky man who had separated himself from the others, and now stood by
one of the windows. “And what is it that you do? ‘Twas Brother Paul, if my
memory serves?”

The man nodded. “I teach
Greek...and modern languages, as well.”

Athol leaned on his elbows and
stared blankly at the man. “Hardly important, wouldn’t you say?”

“To a humanist’s way of thinking,
the languages are crucial, m’lord.”

Brother Paul’s gaze swung to the
doorway, toward the woman who had just spoken the words.

John Stewart’s eyes followed. He’d
wanted to see her since long before sunrise, and now he let his eyes drink her
in. She was so beautiful standing there, her furrowed brow clearly conveying
the gravity with which she held this subject. But her deep blue dress, so prim
and unassuming, could not hide from his mind’s eye the perfection of her
breasts or the silky skin of her long, firm thighs. As he gazed at her, his
mind was flooded with other memories of last night.

Damn! She’d bewitched him! After
returning to his chamber last night, all he’d been able to think about was
Catherine Percy, and how her passion had--like the molten rock of the Vesuvian
Mount--burst through that “old crone” facade the moment he’d touched her.

Scowling at the thought of the
three interlopers in the chamber, Athol tore his eyes away from his wife and
redirected his attention to the clerics. He wondered briefly how long she’d
been there, listening to him question the monks. Again today, she’d refused to
join him for the morning meal in the Great Hall, but at least now he knew she
was aware of the events outside her chamber. And she had seen fit to leave her
sanctuary to rescue her friends.

Her friends! She wasn’t here to see
him, but to protect these cowering English dogs. Feeling his anger begin to
smolder at the thought, John Stewart turned his darkening gaze back on her.
“I’m certain that our crofters’ lads are all lying awake dreaming of a
profession in the king’s service abroad. But aside from them, would you explain
to me what use something as difficult as Greek would be here in the Highlands?”

The monk named Paul opened his
mouth to explain, but Athol’s raised hand quickly silenced him.

“You had your chance. I directed
this question to my wife.”

“To read the Scriptures in their
original form!” She took a step into the room. “To enable us to clarify the
corrupted Latin texts that have come down to us. To understand the ancient
philosophers who have been lost to us for ages, and are now just beginning to
be found in the Greek manuscripts. To help us study the ancient geography and
the natural history and the mathematics as the ancients wrote it.”

“But this is much more than one
needs to learn at such an elementary level!”

She took another step, and he
noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. He wondered if she’d been crying, or
had simply suffered through the same restless night he himself had.

“But my plans, if you are willing
to hear them at last, are not only to open an elementary, but a grammar school
for older ones, as well. Between the tutors from Elgin Cathedral and the four
of us, we can prepare many students--from your lands and from those nearby--for
higher education, perhaps even for the university, if you wish it.”

“And are you so naive that you
actually believe many of my people or even those of the neighboring lairds will
have such lofty goals? How many damned priests do you think the Highlands can hold?”

“Clearly, it could use a few more,
m’lord, but that’s beside the point. I might be lacking in knowledge of your
people, but I’m not a simpleton. What we can offer here does not limit a
student to a life as a cleric. Those days are passing, m’lord. A well-rounded
education here would deepen one’s understanding of life.”

Athol stifled his urge to laugh,
and forced himself to frown into her openly challenging expression. Her
intelligence might be a wee bit deficient, but the weariness in her face had
now evaporated, and he could not help but think how stunningly beautiful she
was in daylight. The midnight blue eyes that he’d considered engaging by
candlelight, now had become irresistible. But for a court-educated
Englishwoman, her ideas about fashion in both dress and coiffure were decidedly
old-fashioned.

Athol shook off the thought and
turned abruptly to the three clerics, who were staring hopefully at his wife.
“Out, you three!”

Catherine was quick to come to
their rescue. “Do they have your permission to remain here at Balvenie Castle?”

“That depends.” He looked
suggestively in her direction, which in turn brought immediate color to the
flawless ivory of her cheek. “Aye, that depends on how well you and I can
negotiate our differences over this potential school.”

John Stewart knew he was being a
villain, but he had every intention of using this school to conquer his new
wife’s resistance to him. Starving her out of her chamber had worked better
than he’d expected, but he was far from through. And looking at the rebellion
blazing now in the blue of her eyes, Athol could see that she was not yet ready
to give up the battle.

However Catherine wanted to play
this, he was willing to accommodate her and eager to begin. The quick tumble in
the corridor last night--as momentous as it might have been to  her--had only
served to whet his appetite.

He was now ready for full
engagement.

With a startling speed, the black
cat’s claw tore at the flesh of the outstretched hand. The Deputy Lieutenant
roared in anger as he brought the bleeding flesh to his mouth.

“The devil take them! Where did
this fiend came from?”

The cloaked figure moved
confidently to the hay pile and picked up the perched cat by the scuff of the
neck. Lifting it up until they were face to face, he boldly stared into the
animal’s eyes.  With a loud hiss, the cat twisted and tried to free itself of
the man’s grip.

“‘Tis a new mother!” He threw the
animal on the dirt floor of the stable.

“I don’t see it!” The Deputy
Lieutenant, nursing his injured hand, used his other to pull at the bundles of
straw against the wall. “I’m starting to think this was all a bloody lie...just
a tactic by them to buy themselves some time. That blasted map was nothing more
than a hoax. Here we’ve combed two counties and searched five abbeys, just to
finally find ourselves in a crumbling old barn with a she-devil of a cat.  We
look like dolts, I tell you. They’ve played us for fools.”

“‘Tis here!”

“Bloody hell, I say! Where is the
cursed thing?”

The cloaked man waded farther into
the straw, then knelt and reached into a hole in the floor. An instant later, he withdrew his hand with round balls of mewling black fur. “Kittens!”

“Damn you! Are you telling me that
this is another one of these women’s pranks? Kittens instead of the treasure
we’ve been tearing up the countryside looking f...”

“Here. I knew it would be here.”

Laying the kittens back in the
straw, the cloaked man pulled a leather package out of the hole.

“We have another map!” he said,
drawing out a rolled parchment.

****

Catherine hadn’t expected to be
totally left alone with him.

Glancing over her shoulder as the
door of the outer chamber was closed behind the last departing monk, she tried
to gather her courage before turning and facing her husband.

It had been a long and difficult
night, lying there numb and isolated in her small bed. Her mind had continually
drifted back to the image of Susan standing in the darkness of the corridor.
Surprisingly, the shame of being caught had not been so much the tormenting
factor as the knowledge that, by giving herself so freely to Athol, she had
completely broken another woman’s heart. It was obvious Susan MacIntyre was
still in love with John Stewart. What else would drive a woman to take shelter
in the darkness?

 Later, when she’d been able to
push past her guilt over Susan’s future, the thoughts of her own weakness had
driven her to tears. What she had felt in his embrace had been incredible, but
how could it be that she had been so willing? How could she have allowed
herself to be so easily seduced? Her life would never be the same now; she knew
that. 

A marriage was consummated. She was
now his wife and beyond all hope of annulment. And as much as she had wanted to
turn her back and flee Balvenie Castle, the possibility that she might already
be carrying Athol’s child made such an escape unthinkable.  

By the break of dawn, Catherine had finally cried herself to sleep, convinced that she was ruined forever. But by midday, Jean had brought up the news of the three monks’ arrival at the castle. Then
Catherine’s spirits had begun to rise. And as she had been getting herself
ready to come down here, she found that she’d even given herself the permission
to hope.

Catherine turned finally to the man
sitting behind the desk. He was sitting back, his arms resting on the sides of
his chair, his leather booted legs stretched out before him. And he was eyeing her with an expression she could not quite identify.

Perhaps, she thought, they could look
past what had occurred. Quite possibly, now that the deed was done and they’d
consummated their marriage, Athol would leave her to open the school and pursue her original plans. As for her own behavior, now that she’d, well, tasted the forbidden
fruits of passion, she’d be able to put behind her the fanciful thoughts she’d
entertained for so long. In fact, now that she was thinking of it, perhaps John
Stewart was not as incredibly handsome as she remembered him to be. After all,
the wine last night had certainly been the true cause of her weakness.

Catherine gazed at her husband and
knew that her last thought was, of course, total nonsense. Dressed in a
brilliant white shirt beneath his tartan, Athol still was the handsomest man
she’d ever encountered in her life. But so be it, she thought. She was down
here to discuss the school. Nothing would distract her.

“Shall I have some food brought up
for you?”

She watched him push back his
chair. “Nay, m’lord. I had enough last night to keep me for quite a while.”

“It pains me to hear that.”

“Nonetheless, m’lord, I’d just
assume we begin talking about the school. Now that my old tutors have arrived,
it might be an excellent time for me to continue on to Elgin Cathedral. Jean
tells me ‘tis only a day’s ride, and--”

“Did I hurt you last night?”

“Nay.” Her answer was quick,
escaping her lips almost as a surprised whisper. But she couldn’t stop the heat
from spreading into her face. “M’lord, about the school--it will also be
helpful if you would advise us on what building we could utilize for...”

“Why have you been crying?”

“I...I haven’t been!” Nervously
wrapping her arms around her waist, Catherine watched him slowly come to his
feet. “Do you think it would be best if we were to find a place by the
cathedral in Elgin, or do you think...”

“You do not lie well, Cat!”

Unconsciously, she backed up a step
as he came around his desk. Her heart was now drumming loudly in her chest.
“Perhaps, going back and forth to Elgin would make things too difficult. But still, if there is an abbey, perhaps, nearby, I...” Her words trailed off as he closed the
distance between them.

“Why did you leave me so abruptly,
last night?”

“I...” He stopped a half step away,
and drew one of her hands from her waist. Her eyes darted in every direction,
avoiding his face. “Perhaps...the neighboring lairds...”

“I was concerned about you, Cat.”

“Were you?” she whispered,
immediately angry with herself for even responding.

“Aye. I was.”

Her breath caught in her chest as
his hand lifted her chin and he looked into her eyes. Catherine found herself
struggling weakly against what she knew would come next. His head bent slowly,
and he sipped her lips.

She would die, Catherine thought,
if she couldn’t wrap her arms around his broad back and draw him closer.
Clenching her hands into tight fists, though, she held back. He had too much
control over her. Too much of John Stewart and, Catherine knew, she would be
forfeiting all her dreams.

He pulled back slightly and looked
into her face. “Where is my passionate Cat? What have you done with my fiery
wife?”

She burned with heat as he traced
her cheek softly with his thumb. “I...I thought that since we’ve already done
what...”

“You thought, since we’ve made love
once in a corridor...” He paused, waiting.