Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (14 page)

Seeing her now, the embodiment of
softness and emotion, of beauty and passion, John wondered how he had not
before seen this in the woman. She was more like some ethereal creature, and he
felt his loins stir with desire for her. He stared at her, waiting for an
answer, but also trying to drink his fill of the sight before him. As if he
ever could.

“Nay! I am prepared for no such
thing!”

He laughed, eliciting a look of
obvious shock from his bride. Taking her by the hand, he dragged her off the
step into the landing and backed her against the stone wall.

“You must be out of your mind!” She
tried to fight off his hold by using her fists and punching him in the chest.
“I told you I won’t do what you ask of me. I said...”

Ignoring her blows, he leaned down
and placed a firm kiss on her stubborn mouth. She struggled for only a moment
before melting in his arms. As he deepened the kiss, ravaging her willing
mouth, he realized that he must be out of his mind. Certainly, Catherine Percy
had a way of driving him mad. The way she fought him and then turned into a
purring cat in his embrace, drove all reason from his brain, all sense of
discipline from his will. In a way, his body’s response to this stranger that
he’d taken as a wife shook him a bit. But fear was not the sensation he was
feeling now.

He pulled back slightly and looked
down at her closed eyes, at her full, parted lips, at the dark, silken mass of
hair that had run through his fingers when he’d planted her against the wall. By the Virgin, she was beautiful!

She slowly opened her eyes and met
his gaze, her blue eyes misty with emotion. John Stewart was enslaved.

“I...I came...down here...”

“I know. To join me for supper!”

She nodded. Without stepping back,
John started combing his fingers through her thick waves of ebony, enjoying the
feel of them tumbling over his hand.

“You look beautiful like this.”

A deep blush crept up from her neck
into her cheeks, but then, before the color could fade, a flash of fire lit her
eyes. “I was in the Hall.”

“I know! How could I have missed
the daggers you hurled at my direction on your way out.”

“If only...if only a few of them
had found their mark!”

“Och, but they did, Countess! Can’t
you see what a bloody mess you’ve left me? I have more wounds than Suleyman has
wives!”

She stared at him for a moment, and
then smiled. When she did, John Stewart forgot how to breathe.

“Very well. I have changed my
mind.” She placed her open palm against his chest, and he took a half step
back. Behind them, strains of music wafted out from the Hall. The traveling
minstrel and his apprentice. “If you’ll have me, I believe I
will
join
you for supper...in the Hall.”

He only nodded, for he didn’t trust
his voice to say the words. As he held out his hand to her, his eyes swept over
the tartan she was wearing across the bodice of her dress. Seeing his own
colors on her only intensified the feelings that were coursing through him. The
plaid on her looked right to him. Very right.

“We had intended...well, to talk
about the school earlier.” She placed her hand in his as he led her toward the
doors of the Hall. “On matters as important as this, I’ve found...”

As the two stepped into the Great
Hall, they moved out of earshot of the red-haired stable lad, Roy Sykes, who
descended from the upper landing and emerged from the darkness of the
stairwell. He’d almost had her.

Cursing his luck, he stared after
them.

*****

The Great Hall became as silent as
a tomb, voices and music stopping with an abruptness that filled Catherine with
the sensation of being plunged underwater.

She almost wished she were deaf, so
that she wouldn’t know the awful absence of sound suddenly lost. She almost
wished she were blind, so she wouldn’t be so shaken by the sight of those in
the crowd rising singly, and then in groups in response to their presence. She
almost wished she were not a woman, so that she would not be so overwhelmed
with feeling by the sudden outburst of their shouts and cheers. 

She hadn’t given much thought to
the ramifications of walking inside that Hall on her husband’s arm while
wearing his tartan. But now, her folly would be sure to come back and haunt
her, for there was no possible way of hiding the surprising array of emotions
that were exploding within her. But that, in itself, appeared to please these
men and women...and to please her husband even more.

Having been led to a space in front
of the large dais, Catherine held tight to her husband’s hand as he introduced
her to the gathered clan as the new countess of Athol. But the raucous shouts
of endorsement did nothing to prepare her for the roar of approval that
followed when John Stewart, earl of Athol, swept her into his arms and kissed
her passionately before the entire assembly.  

Once back on her own feet,
Catherine gave him a scowling glare, and as the minstrels struck up their music
again, she leaned closer to him and whispered her complaint. “You are a rogue,
John Stewart. That was particularly inappropriate.”

“True, Cat. But I believe we
crossed all boundaries of decorum the moment I climbed into your bed that first
night at my hunting lodge.”

“That was an innocent...well,
understandable blunder on your part--and you know it.” Catherine eyed the line
of warriors forming down the middle of the Hall.

“But last night was not.”

She turned just in time to catch
sight of his wolfish grin.

“Now do not tell me you’ve already
forgotten making love in the window seat in the gallery outside your chamber
door?”

“Nay! Of course, I have not!” If
only she could strike the arrogant boor. It certainly sounded as if he were
gloating over what they’d done. “Last night was...well, a private thing. We
weren’t performing before a crowd...as you’ve just done!”

“You wouldn’t say that if you  knew
the rumors floating about this keep. The last one I heard had to do with
you...”

“Nay. Stop your wagging tongue!”

“With you, stripped down to bare
skin, demanding that I make love to you atop the southwest tower.”

She could feel the heat ready to
set her cheeks aflame. Determined to give him no satisfaction, she stared out
beyond the line of warriors at the friendly faces of the crofters and serving
folk.

“And then there was the other one,
about the stable hands hearing your moans of...”

Whirling, Catherine kicked Athol on
his booted shin, but gained nothing for her trouble beyond a devilish grin from
him...and the loudest hoots of approval yet from those in the Great Hall.

After nodding graciously to her
audience, Catherine turned her gaze on her husband and gave him her most
innocent smile. “If you have finished this senseless blabbering,” she
whispered, “I believe your men are ready to take a turn.”

“A turn?”

“Aye, are they not anxious to kiss
the bride?” She loved the way his handsome face darkened immediately into a
frown. “I see all of them have politely formed a line. I’m delighted to know
that such a dear, English custom is also--”

“You are now in the Highlands.” She tried to hide her pleased smile as Athol pulled her tightly to his side.

“Aye, as lovely and wild a place as
ever God created. But still, John, considering all the raillery you are sure to
take--”

“No man kisses you but me.” She
felt his fingers take hold of her chin. “No one but your husband. Understand?”

“Then you agree to stop your chattering
when I tell you so?”

“Nay, I was only teasing you.”

“Well, husband, so was I!”

For a moment his gray eyes locked
on her own before she saw a smile break across his lips. He shook his head, and
the firelight danced in his long, red hair.

“You turn into a fairy creature
before a crowd, I see. Sharp tongued and quick-witted as a pixie. I shall have
to remember to keep you locked up inside my chamber, lass. At least there, left
alone with me, you forget your words.”

Left alone with him! She repeated
the words in her head. Watching his eyes drop languidly to her lips and then
even lower, Catherine felt the heat again rush into her face. The thought of being
totally alone with him was absolutely enticing. Her eyes fixed involuntarily on
his mouth.

She thought she heard a sound come
from deep in his throat, but he quickly turned away from her and faced his
people. At the nod of Athol’s head, the music stopped and Catherine watched the
first man--the warrior called Tosh--approach and drop to one knee. Once again
faced with such an open display of acceptance and loyalty, she felt the tears
starting to well up in her eyes.

As if this were their wedding
day--as if they were all standing on the church steps--one by one, the Stewarts
of Athol and those who lived under the earl’s protection approached their laird
and his lady. One by one, the Stewart knights and fighters knelt before
Catherine and pledged their lives and their service to her.

The solemnity of their vows, added
to the emotionally charged silence of the Hall, wrought unexpected feelings in
Catherine. To think that for days, in the absence caused by her stubborn
indifference to her husband’s invitations, she had snubbed these good people! And yet here they were, welcoming her as their countess of their own free will, with no
encouragement!

Running a quick hand across her
damp cheeks, Catherine nodded to the last warrior delivering his oath and
allowed her husband to lead her around the dais to her seat beside him.

“They approve of my choice.”

Catherine glanced up hesitantly
and, to her relief, found the assembly returning to their tables. Once again
strains of music filled the air.

“And would they have behaved any
differently, if they had not?”

“Nay! I’d have drawn and quartered
them where they stood.”

She vainly waited for him to say
more, but he turned and gestured to the gloomy faced steward standing at the
end of the dais. Something stung in Catherine’s breast.

He could at least, she thought,
make some sort of comment on the way she’d been received as opposed to the
reception Ellen Crawford might have faced. But Athol appeared to have put the
thought behind him, busying himself with the steward. 

Silently chiding herself for being
so fragile in her response to him, Catherine turned away from her husband, her
eyes scanning the Hall for Susan. The young woman was nowhere to be found.
Catherine turned her attention to the platter of food that was placed before
her. She’d hoped she might find a friend in Susan. She realized now that she
even hoped that the younger woman would help soothe some of the ache of being
separated from her sisters.

But the way things were going,
Catherine thought, they would be lucky if they didn’t end up as enemies. After
all, as surprising as the whole situation was, John Stewart was now formally
her husband, and he belonged to her.

Taking a small bite of her food,
she glanced up and found Athol’s gray eyes focused on her. Seeing the small
furrow darkening his brow, she wondered if he had any idea that she was
foolishly entertaining the notion of going to battle to preserve their farce of
the marriage.

“I never had imagined it would be
this way.” His face was serious, but she could see the smile in the corners of
his eyes. “You’re changing, Cat, and much faster than I would ever have hoped.”

She almost choked on her food.
Taking the cup, she sipped the wine and then looked into his face, which now
clearly showed his amusement.

“I’m...?” Catherine set down her
cup. “What do you...? Are you saying...?”

“We’re still very much in company, eldritch
thing. There is no cause for you to forget your words.”

“I was...not.” She waved a hand at
him. It was just too easy for him to fluster her. “I was just asking you to
explain what you said, and then...”

“Catherine, I can read your mind.”

She laughed at such absurdity.
“Would you care to explain that, m’lord?”

“Laugh if you like. It matters
naught if you believe me or not. But since I believe in fair play in
single-handed combat, I thought you should be warned that I am armed with that
formidable weapon.”

The man spoke foolishness.

“To laugh off my words would be
folly when you had not yet tested them!”

Catherine wrapped a hand around her
goblet to gather her nerves. Had she spoken aloud her feelings?

“Nay, lass. You have not!” Athol
sat back as she glanced sharply at him and smiled back at her. “There. I’ve
warned you of the dangers you face. Now ‘tis up to you to do whatever you think
appropriate to arm yourself against me.”

On impulse, she decided to humor
him. “If what you say is the truth--if indeed you
can
read the jumbled
skimble-skamble that runs through my mind--then when was it first that you
first noticed this...this gift? Or is it that you can read the minds of all
around you? And is it just humans, or can you read the thoughts of animals, as
well?”

The devil take the man. And that heart melting smile, too, she thought, angry at the heat she felt racing into her face.
And those eyes!

“Ah, lass, not a charitable
thought, that! But to answer your questions...nay, I’ve never had a gift of
reading other people’s minds. Once or twice, though, I’ve been fairly certain
what one of my dogs was thinking. And horses? Why, one time I recall a hunter
letting me know he was feeling a wee bit fagged...just before he threw me,
jumping over a bog. But you’re the first of your kind that has opened up to me
in such a manner.”

She stared into his eyes with as
much doubt as she could muster. “And what do you think all of this might mean?
Am I still no more than that stray mare that has wandered onto Stewart lands?
Am I just another of your possessions? Perhaps, m’lord, if you really put your
mind to it, you might even receive messages from a bedpost...or a chamber pot!”