Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (13 page)

Back in her own chamber, Jean had
informed her that the reason why John Stewart had not wed years earlier was
because of presumed arrangements which he’d had for the hand of Joanna MacInnes. Hard as it was for
her
to understand, Jean told her, Joanna had picked a Lowlander for a husband, and the earl had been left with no wife or bairns
at all. Until now, of course!

She rose to her feet as Jean pushed
a dress over her head.

Catherine could only guess at her
husband’s pain. For a man with his looks and position in life to wait this long
to choose a wife, he must have clung for years to his love of this Joanna MacInnes.

Standing still as Jean continued to
tighten the laces of the dress on her back, Catherine frowned into the fire as
she recalled the end of her talk with the dowager.

Lady Anne’s agreeable expression
had quickly turned to a sneer when Catherine mentioned the name of Adam of the
Glen. No matter what she’d asked, or how insistent she’d been to learn the
reasons for her husband’s actions at the news of the man, the dowager had
simply refused to answer, demanding that Catherine not be meddling in business
that was none of her concern.

That had been end of their
discussion. As abrupt as the dowager had been in receiving her earlier, she’d
been just as abrupt in dismissing her.    

At Jean’s soft command, Catherine
sat down again on the stool and watched absentmindedly as the other woman
slipped a pair of soft leather shoes onto her feet.

Tonight--she’d decided upon
returning to her chamber--she was going down to the Great Hall to join in
taking a meal with the rest of the household. Having learned that her husband
had returned, Catherine knew that dinner might offer just the right opportunity
to get answers to at least some of her questions.

If there was one thing that she was
certain of now, Catherine knew that she had  reached a point of no return in
this marriage. Though she’d long ago given up her dreams of marriage, she had
never thought that life would take her to this castle in the Highlands of
Scotland. Her only salvation now lay in her ability to reform this roguish
husband of hers. Some dreams she would not give up, and Athol would understand
and agree to what she wanted to accomplish if it killed her.

But this meant she would have to
first conquer her own weakness for the man. And to do this, she’d sought the
help of Jean.

“Up you go, m’lady.”

Catherine gazed with curiosity at
the serving lass’s pleased expression. “What’s the matter?”

“I’d say the matter is, one look at
you and the laird will be the one forgetting his words...and his head, too, for
that matter.”

Looking down at herself, Catherine
immediately covered the exposed skin of her neck and chest with her hands.
“Jean!”

“Nay, do not be doing that now,
d’ye hear me?”

Catherine reluctantly let Jean pry
her hands off the low, square neckline of the dress.  “But...you can see so
much...and the dress...is so white but for the golden threads...”

She stared down at the beautifully
gold-embroidered dress that flared out below the waist, showing the even more
elaborately embroidered underskirt.

“Aye. It looks wonderful with that
bonny, raven hair of yours. And all that creamy skin spilling over like
that...I’m telling ye, mistress, ye will have your school and everything else
ye wish from the earl...all ye’ll need do is be asking him.”

“Still--” Catherine shook her head,
“I know I said I wanted to look less severe, perhaps even...pleasing to the
eye...but now I feel like a...a...”

“A wench?” The serving woman
frowned deeply and straightened the bell-shaped sleeves of Catherine’s dress.
“Nay, mistress. I know of no wenches wearing white and gold such as this! Ye
look like an angel, like an innocent dressed in her wedding dress. And from what I heard from some of the men, ye were a wee bit less than ladylike, wearing that
Hume rascal’s tartan and lashing priest and laird alike with that tongue of
yours--not that anyone would be blaming ye!”

As Catherine opened her mouth to
argue, Jean lifted a folded tartan from the bed and shook it open. Carefully,
she draped Stewart of Athol’s plaid over one shoulder.

“Well, I didn’t really think ye’ll
be needing this on such a lovely evening. But then, we can’t be standing around
and arguing all night, as I know the master’s already gone into the Great Hall
to meet the guests.”

“Oh?”

“Aye, and it would be best for all
concerned if ye were to join him while the rest of the company’s still sober.”

Catherine nodded, happily running
her fingers over the soft wool of the tartan. As she turned toward the door,
she paused and pushed her thick, loose hair back over her shoulder.

“Now, are you certain I do not need
to braid this?”

Jean shook her head firmly and lit
a taper at the fire. “Be on your way, mistress. And hurry, before I change my
mind and take that tartan away.”

With a smile of appreciation,
Catherine let herself be gently prodded into the corridor.

“Now, as ye requested,” Jean said,
closing the door behind them, “we’ve not told the laird ye are coming. Though
some of the crofters and the master’s council have been coming each day since
word spread, ye must remember most of those down there will not make a move to
accept ye until he has introduced ye as his own...as the new Countess Balvenie. So when ye get to the Hall, do not be shy. Ye must simply go and take your place beside
him.”

Nervously, Catherine pulled the
tartan higher on her chest.

“Nay, mistress, do not be doing
that.” Jean stopped her and rearranged the tartan. There was far too much skin
showing there, from Catherine’s perspective, but she didn’t fight the serving
woman. “All will work out, mistress. Trust me! All will come about just as ye
wish!” 

Catherine nodded as they turned
down the corridor again. But after taking a couple of steps, she came to a halt
and stopped Jean with a hand on her arm.

“This dress! Where did this dress
come from?”

The woman’s mouth turned up
mischievously. “We plundered Ellen Crawford’s trunks. The master had paid for
trunks of clothing to be made and sent up from Stirling.”

“But...”

“Lady Anne directed that they be
left in the stables.” The woman shrugged her shoulders. “We thought, ye get the
husband, ‘tis only fitting ye get the clothes, as well.”

“But, I can’t...”

“Ye’d better hurry, mistress. At
this pace, dinner will be over before ye get there, and I cannot swear that
those blackguards down there will be fit company for ye for too much longer. And ye’ll soon see, mistress, the laird is his most agreeable during his dinner.” 

Not the most, Catherine thought
with a shy smile as they continued on. There were a few moments right in this
corridor last night when John Stewart had been quite agreeable.

*****

Athol laughed heartily as he picked
up the pitcher and filled Susan’s cup with more wine. Since returning to Balvenie, this was the first chance he’d had to hear about her trip to nearby Ironcross Castle a fortnight earlier.

“This is priceless news, Susan, to
be sure. But tell me, what did Joanna do when her husband dropped like a stone
to the floor?”

“M’lord, she started crying out to
the midwife to forget about the birthing and see to him, instead. I had to see
to him myself while she gave birth to the second bairn.”

“Twin girls!” Athol shook his head
in disbelief, enjoying the warm feeling the news had given him. Looking back at
Susan, he placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder. “I am glad you were
there, lass. With the two elder boys being the scamps that they are, Joanna must have been relieved to have you beside her...especially considering her own husband
was of no use.”

“Oh, he did come around soon
enough, m’lord. And as soon as he had his hands on those bairns, there was no
moving him from the mother’s side.” Susan glanced back at the trencher of food
before her. “The good health of the twin newborns even had Joanna’s grandmother, Lady MacInnes, showing better spirits than she’s been in, of late. I only
stayed until Mistress Joanna was up and about, for I wished to come back here
to be by Lady Anne’s side. Before I left, though, both the laird and his wife
insisted on you coming to Ironcross to visit them as soon as you’re able.”

Smiling at the thought, Athol took
a sip of his wine. Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea, he thought. As
agreeable as Catherine was turning out to be, it might actually be a pleasure
to take her to Ironcross Castle and introduce her to Gavin and Joanna.

He smiled again at the thought of
the meeting. After all, they would be expecting Ellen Crawford. It might be
very interesting to see what those two would say, being introduced to his prim
and proper looking wife.

Och! Knowing them, they’d probably
see it as a hopeful sign, that perhaps he was not beyond saving, after all! By the devil, that would take a bit of the fun out of it!

*****

Nobody so much as turned a head in
welcome!

Standing in the shadows beside the
large doorway into the Great Hall, Catherine glanced somewhat wistfully at the
merry groups of people crowding the long tables. The huge fire behind the dais
was crackling, throwing a golden light over the room. Clumps of laughing men
and women, all dependents of the laird apparently, gathered in the center of
the room, as well, enjoying the evening. Dogs and children alike were roving
about, stealing food where they could and running beneath the trestle tables.
Unlike her first glimpse of the Hall on the day she’d arrived, the place was
now alive with conversation and good humored activity. Letting her eyes travel
from one table to the next, Catherine was amazed by all the faces, still new to
her.

In the far corner of the Hall,
though, Catherine spotted the three monks from Jervaulx Abbey sitting among the
castle folks of Balvenie. It warmed her heart to know that, though Athol had
not given his final consent regarding the school, he’d still allowed them to
stay. Perhaps, at least, she could interpret this as meaning that he was
considering the request with favor.

A throng of warriors milled about
in front of the dais, and Catherine stood on tiptoe to see her husband. Deep in
her heart, she could feel that something was changing in her attitude toward
the man. A feeling she had no desire to name was joining the physical
attraction she had no inclination to admit.

The group of warriors moved off
toward a table, and as Catherine’s eyes caught sight of him seated in the great
carved chair, she felt as though her throat were being squeezed shut.

John Stewart’s hand lay on Susan’s
shoulder. A hearty laugh she’d never have thought him capable of rolled across
the floor to her. Standing alone by the door, Catherine suddenly felt more
alone and unwelcome than she’d ever felt in her life.

Unable to move, she stared at the
two. Susan, dressed in an embroidered gown of deep green, appeared to be in
total bliss. As she continued to speak to the earl, the young woman paused only
to reach for her wine, turning and smiling coyly at the Highlander over the rim
of her cup.

For the first time in her life,
Catherine found herself entertaining the idea of tearing another woman’s eyes
out.

Forcibly quelling such a reaction,
Catherine took a step farther into the shadows. It wasn’t his actions that had
her dashing away the odd tear, so much as her own response to what she’d
witnessed. There was certainly nothing surprising in what he was doing. She was
a fool to forget his warnings so soon. John Stewart had cautioned her not to be
lulled into any dreamy notions of love. He’d said so quite clearly--in word
and
action. How openly he’d reminded her that a woman such as herself would never
be his first choice for a wife. He was only looking for an heir and nothing
more!

And after what had happened last
night, perhaps that desire had been fulfilled already.

Catherine brought a hand to her
mouth. Her lips were trembling. A few short moments of passion in a deserted
corridor, and she’d thought his heart might have warmed to her? Whispering
under her breath, she cursed herself for being so weak.

Though she threw one last look in
his direction, she couldn’t see him clearly because of the tears burning her
eyes. Turning abruptly toward the door, Catherine quietly made her way out of
the Hall. She’d been so much better off when she’d contained her fantasies to
her dreams. For all those encounters she’d had with her knight, he’d never once
hurt her the way she was hurting now. She’d never once felt the pain of white
hot metal piercing her chest as it was burning her insides now.  She’d never
before felt the agonizing venom that was now spreading through her veins.

Blinded by her tears, she started
into the darkened stairwell. By now, Jean was no doubt finding something to eat
in the kitchens, and Catherine would be glad for the solitude. She needed to
get away from the crowd to sort out her feelings. Most important, she needed
the time to rebuild the wall of dreams behind which she’d been able to hide for
her entire life. 

Her foot had not yet left the
lowest step when the strong hands grabbed her from behind. Catherine never even
had a chance to cry out before she felt herself being lifted by the waist and
turned in the air before being lowered gently to earth--face to face with her
husband.

Perhaps it was from fear, or perhaps
from the shock of having found herself in his arms in the dark landing.
Whatever it was, Catherine found herself staring into his piercing gray eyes,
unable to breathe.

“So you’ve decided, Catherine
Percy, to join me, at last.  And are you prepared to let your people bend their
knees to their countess?”