Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (12 page)

She nodded. “I thought your
interest...in this...in me...I...”

“You thought wrong, Cat.”

As his arms began to slide around
her, panic quickly exploded in Catherine’s brain. She pressed her hands against
his chest, and separated herself from him. “I...I’m down here...to talk of the
school.”

“Fine! We’ll talk of the school,”
he answered calmly. “But only after you kiss your husband.” He reached for her
again.

She pulled back and looked
incredulously into his face. “A kiss? You’ll let me present my case about the
school after a
kiss
?”

He nodded innocently. She knew she
would be a complete fool to believe him, so she didn’t. Still, seeing no harm
in the act, she quickly raised herself to her toes and placed a quick peck on
his lips.

“Now about the school...”

“That was no kiss, lass,” he
growled.

“Now, why am I not surprised that
you said that?”

“Just stating a fact. That was no
kiss!”

He was making fun of her; she could
see the amusement lurking in his eyes. “This has to be the oldest and most
childish method anyone could use to lure a woman into his arms.”

He placed his hands on her
shoulders, bent his head, and looked directly into her eyes. “Aye! But do you have a better suggestion? Perhaps you’ll be teaching improved methods in that school
of yours. But before we can get to that, I still want you to kiss me.”

Again, having him so close,
Catherine felt herself melting inside. “But...why...why would you want a...a
kiss?”

He smiled into her face, and she
felt her heart beating louder than the thunder of any summer storm.

“Do you realize, you forget your
words whenever I am near?”

“‘Tis...not true.” Liar, she
thought, taking a step back and coming to a halt against the door.

“Liar!” he whispered, closing the
distance between them.

By the Virgin, what was she to do?
Placing his palms against the door on either side of her head, he trapped her.
Turning her eyes upward, she met his smoldering gaze.

“One kiss?”

He nodded. “One kiss to set the
skies on fire...and then we talk about the school.”

Suddenly, the humor of the situation
struck her, lightening her mood. In all of her life, she had only twice kissed
a man, and on both occasions, John Stewart had been the recipient. The thought
that he was talking to her now as if she were some type of expert was truly
amusing.

“Very well. If you are not willing
to do what I ask--” his hands dropped onto her shoulders, “then I can find
other uses of my time--”

She held her breath as his fingers
slid over the soft wool of her dress and brushed lightly over her breasts.
Without another thought, Catherine stood on tiptoes and closed her mouth
tightly over his. As his tongue rubbed against hers, she knew that a simple
kiss would never satiate their unquenchable desires.

His hands, moving as if drawn to
each sensitive part of her, roamed her body--touching her, feeling her,
caressing her through the dress that felt now like the finest gossamer.  She
moaned softly, running her fingers through his hair, drawing him closer.

“This time, Cat, I take you to my
bed.” He lowered his lips to her throat.

“Nay!” She shook her head, but she
didn’t fight him as he raised her hands above her head, holding her wrists with
one hand and mouthing her breasts through the dress. “We...we can’t. Not until
you honor your word and first hear...about the school.”

With his other hand, he brought her
body hard against his hips. “If not the bed, then my desk...or the chair...will
have to do. Some things cannot be put off, Cat.”

Indeed, they can’t, she thought,
feeling the pulsing heat course through her. Catherine already felt herself
shivering with the thought of having him inside her again.

“Aye,” she whispered. “But...”

The sharp knocking on the door left
her scurrying out of his arms. Slipping around him, she tried to pull out of
his grasp, but Athol held her wrist firmly, keeping her within arm’s reach.

“M’lord!”

The knocks became pounding of a
fist on oak, and Catherine used her free hand to tuck the loose tendrils of her
hair behind an ear. Athol’s eyes, still riveted on her, scorched her with his
desire.

“M’lord!” Catherine recognized the
voice. It was the scar-faced warrior Jean called Tosh.

“What is it?” Athol released her
and angrily yanked open the door.

“That wolf, Adam o’ the Glen, is
a-hunting again, m’lord. Some of the farmers have spotted some of his pack to
the south, where the trail leads up out of Glen Rinnes o’er Corryhabbie Hill.”

Without so much as a glance
backward, John Stewart strode from the chamber. Catherine listened with great
concern and confusion as her husband’s shouts rang out to the men who had
gathered in the Great Hall. Running to the window overlooking the bustling
courtyard, she peered out as Athol and his men stormed out of the keep and onto
the waiting horses.

Even from this distance, Catherine
had a clear gauge of his anger. And it was frightening to know that what she
saw was a perfect match of the earl’s temperament that first night--when he’d
discovered his future wife in the arms of another.

This Adam of the Glen must offer a
real danger to her husband’s people. Well, whoever this Adam was, Catherine
thought, she wouldn’t want to be the man when Athol got a hold of him.

Starting for the door, Catherine
decided that there were too many unanswered questions about the affairs of her
husband. Nay, the idea of reentering the seclusion of her small chamber was
quickly losing its appeal.

Hurriedly climbing up the circular
stairs, Catherine knew exactly what she wanted.

The truth about John Stewart. A
glimpse of the man’s soul. Some explanation why--for the life of her--she could
not resist him. That was what she needed. 

And what better source for all of
this than the dowager herself.

The open fire cast its glow against
the line of rocks, stretching Adam of the Glen’s shadow to monstrous
proportions. Scowling into the darkness, the brigand chief was beginning to
wear a path before the men cowering on the far side of the fire.

“And you tell me, two mounts this
fine were simply turned loose and left to wander down the path into Glen Rinnes--with no one watching?” Adam’s cold gray eyes focused on Robyn. “You do not suppose the beasts were carrying an invitation to a hanging at Balvenie Castle.”

The burly outlaw shrugged. “It all
fell out just as we told ye, master. The animals were just trotting about, as
free as can be. Granted, the two were very thirsty and ye can see, they’re both
worn out with wherever they’ve come from. But there was no one tending them.”
The man turned to the rest of the group, and they all nodded in agreement. “We
searched high and low, master, thinking there must be a good pocketful of coins
to go with the animals, but there wasn’t a soul that we could see.”

Adam restlessly kicked a branch
into the fire. “Is that when you were chased by Athol’s men?”

A man, slouched against a boulder
on the outskirts of the group, now spoke up. His pockmarked cheek carried the
brand of a thief, and his eyes never looked straight at Adam.

“Nay, master. ‘Twas Ren and me that
drew ‘em off. Some of the farmers were a wee bit shy about letting us take the
sheep. But we had ‘em off and away up into the hills before the laird’s men
appeared. They were mightily loath to leave their horses behind.”

“Good thing for them, too, master,”
Robyn growled with a deep, mirthless chuckle. “For we’d have ta’en the whole
lot of ‘em if they’d followed Jock and Ren up into the hills.”

Adam came to a stop before the
fire. “Did he come after you himself--or is the vile creature still too smitten
with the new bride to leave her side?”

“Nay, master. He was there quick
enough. But we hid in our usual place and watched him and his men rush by,
ne’er the wiser. No woman was holding
him
back, though, so far as we
could see!”

Adam turned abruptly to Sykes, a
red-haired, freckled lad crouching before the fire. “And about this new bride,
lad! I want you to trick her out of that keep, d’ye understand? Whatever it
takes to pull it off, Roy, bring her to us.”

The boy’s hands started to rub
nervously across his knees. “‘Twill nae be a simple task, master. She doesn’t
even leave her own room long enough for a body to cast an eye on her. ‘Twill
take a bit of magic, I’m thinking, to trick her into the open.” 

Adam’s movement was quick. The
sound of the sword ripped from the sheath had not even penetrated the men’s
brains before the sight of the blade arcing through the night air flashed
before them. Dropping to one knee as he turned, the brigand chief cleaved the
fire in two, the explosion of sparks showering even the men sitting farthest
from the center.  Leaving his blade in the very center of the embers for a moment,
Adam did not move until the outlaws quieted.

Then, raising the smoking steel
high in the air, he turned and faced them.

“On this blade I swear to you all
that I will deal with the devil if need be. My sole purpose in this miserable
life is to make life hell for the villain who is laird of these lands.” His
fiery eyes swept over the faces of his men. “We’ve been attacking his
farms--burning his barns--scaring his people half to death. But none of this will hurt him as much as the day we take his new wife.”      

Moving around the fire, Adam held
his sword out over the heads of his followers. He stopped before the red-haired
boy.

“Whatever ruse is needed, Roy
Sykes, you use it. But bring the woman into the open. We’ll be waiting, and
then I’ll truly teach John Stewart the meaning of vengeance.”

****

Catherine accepted the blanket from
Jean as she stepped out of the small wooden tub. Sitting on the small stool by
the fire, she wrapped her shivering body inside the cocoonlike warmth and let
Jean fuss over her dripping black ringlets.

“You have the most beautiful hair,
mistress. If you’d allow me...”

Catherine just nodded vaguely, her
mind intent on the activities of the afternoon and the time she’d spent in Lady
Anne’s sick chamber. The older woman had been nothing if not direct in her
greeting.

When she’d entered the airless
bedchamber, Catherine had exchanged a quick glance with Susan, who averted her
eyes immediately, giving Catherine no hint of what the poor woman was going
through. Since it was clear that Susan and the two waiting women were not going
to leave the chamber until the dowager dismissed them, Catherine had approached
the heavily curtained bed. Auld Mab was standing over the dowager and watching
Catherine intently.

Without even a moment’s pause, Lady
Anne had simply opened her gray eyes and asked if Catherine and the earl had
consummated their vows yet.

Mortified, Catherine had stared for
a moment. Though Susan and the two waiting women were absolutely silent, she
could feel their eyes riveted to her back. Auld Mab’s wrinkled face had
threatened to crease into a smile, but the old woman fought it back.

What answer could she give?
Catherine wondered. That the earl of Athol had indeed charmed her out of her
virginity? That she’d been so eager for him that they’d never even made it to a
marriage bed? That they’d made love in a corridor with Susan looking on?  

Instead, Catherine had bowed her
head in embarrassment, and the dowager had immediately sent Auld Mab, Susan,
and the others out of the room.

Apparently, her open discomfort
before had been answer enough for the older woman, though it occurred to
Catherine that perhaps Susan had already told her, and Lady Anne was just seeking confirmation. Whatever the reason, the dowager had not repeated her
question once they’d been left to themselves.

“I’ll be back in a wink, mistress,”
Jean said, and Catherine absentmindedly watched the serving woman go out the
door, only to return a moment later with something draped over her arm.

Drifting back to her thoughts of
the afternoon’s encounter, Catherine considered again what she’d learned about
her husband from his mother.

First of all, she’d been surprised
to learn that John Stewart was a university educated man. His accomplishments
were many, and his mother had been more than happy to share what she knew of
his exploits serving the Scottish kings at Flodden Field and later quelling
unrest here in the Highlands. But for the most part, Lady Anne had dwelt on Athol’s interest in his own people, and on his interest in education. He’d
spent a number of years in his youth studying the classical writers in France.

The devil take the man, Catherine
thought for the hundredth time, for giving her such a difficult time of it
before the three monks, when he himself was apparently an advocate of the same
things that they all believed in. Why, according to his mother, the man even
read Greek! But then, Catherine decided as she thought of it, there had to be a
reason for her own mother to pick Balvenie Castle as the destination for her
travels.

Still lost in thought, Catherine
was only vaguely aware of Jean unwrapping the blanket from around her and
pulling the chemise over her head.

The information and the stories of
John’s childhood had been quite entertaining, and Catherine had been delighted
to see the dowager become quite animated, brightening visibly as she spoke.
Even now, though, as she recalled the talk, Catherine could feel the odd tug of
jealousy in her breast at Lady Anne’s references to a Joanna MacInnes of Ironcross Castle. The dowager had hinted that there had been some trouble regarding the
two, but the older woman had been quick to add that the young woman was now Joanna Kerr, so all of that was now just ‘water down the brae.’