Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (20 page)

“You? Waiting?” She shook her head.
“Nay, you’re not one to wait and ambush! In fact, to be truthful I expected to
see you and your men racing through the glen. That’s why we took to the
hills.”  

“I see,” he muttered. She knew him
better than he’d have imagined. “And how were you able to find your way to Elgin without a guide?”

“‘Twas not difficult.” She
shrugged. “I have a fairly good sense of direction. But more importantly, how
did you learn of Roy Sykes’s betrayal? When I put the pieces together, I
wondered if that was the reason why it took you so long to come after us. To
tell the truth, it wasn’t so much the fear of any brigands ahead as ‘twas the
thought of my husband’s fury behind that had me scurrying.”

“Wait a moment,” he growled.
Realizing that they had left her cloak in the loft, Athol turned and moved back
through the darkness of the stable. A fine hunter tossed his head as the earl
passed. The bishop’s, no doubt, he thought. When he reached Catherine, she was
standing by the open door, gazing out past the flickering torch toward the
cathedral. A number of canons and cowled clerics were moving across the
courtyard from the chapter house. He shook out the cloak before wrapping it
around her shoulders.

“‘Twas past midday when I learned
that you were missing. And from what I could gather, immediately after you and
the monk left, Roy Sykes disappeared, as well. Hearing that the stable hand had
gone rather than coming after me, I had a fairly clear indication that the lad
was up to no good.”

“Has he been at Balvenie for all of his life?”

“Nay.” He shook his head. “And I suppose I should have been more suspicious of him from the beginning. He came begging for
a meal and some work just about the same time as Adam of the Glen began raiding
the outlying farms. We’d just lost a stable hand to a fever, and the lad knew
horses. But I should have suspected a connection.” 

“Who is this Adam of the Glen,
John?”

He tried to step back into darkness
of the stable, but her gentle touch on his arm held him.

“Please tell me about him. How am I
supposed to protect myself when I know nothing about this shadowy phantom who
is lurking and lying in wait for me?”

“Well, I know only a wee bit more
about him, myself.”

“You’re not being honest with me,
husband! You must know more, and your mother...well, the dowager certainly
didn’t react to the mention of his name as if ‘twere nothing. She...”

“What did she tell you about him?”
His words came out harsher than he’d intended.

“Very little! But her withdrawal was sharp and swift, and said much more than any words might have. She was
deeply affected by the mention of Adam of the Glen. He’s more than just some
local thief, isn’t he?”

Athol turned and walked back to the
hunter’s stall. If he himself could only get his own mother to say more, he
thought, stroking the horse’s fetlock. His search for the old earl’s likely
mistresses had all come to naught. No one had been able to point him in the direction
of Adam’s mother. And then, to learn that the cagey devil himself was
conducting the same search made no sense to Athol.

“John! Tell me what you know!”

She had moved right behind him. He
felt the soft touch of her hands on his back--trying to ease the tension that
had crept into his body. He turned around and faced her.

“He is my half-brother. The bastard
son of my father. Until a few weeks ago, I had no knowledge that such a person
even existed. I certainly had no idea that the rogue raiding my lands was my
own blood kin.”

Even in the darkness, Athol
couldn’t miss the shadow of sorrow that momentarily enveloped her. “And you assume that he knows this, as well?”

A sudden anger swept through him.
Turning on her, he started pacing between the stall. “Aye, I believe he does,
or he wouldn’t be so damned intent on ruining my holdings. But other than that, I do not know a thing about him. I sure as hell do not know why he waited
so many years before wreaking havoc on my people’s lives.”

“How long has it been? Since he
started, I mean.”

“Six months...more or less.” He
turned his angry glare on her. “But where was he before that? From the
descriptions of my own folk, he’s no lad...and a giant, at that. Why, all of
the sudden, has he come?” Frustrated, he smashed the palm of his hand against a
post. The entire stable shuddered, sending a couple of birds that had been
roosting in the eaves fluttering off and causing the horses in the stalls to
neigh and stamp their feet nervously.

“Perhaps he, too, found out the truth
just recently.” Her troubled eyes met his. “Who revealed the truth about him to
you?”

“My mother...and do not bother
asking her, for she appears to have taken an oath of silence on the subject. No
matter how I’ve approached her, she remains steadfast in her refusal to speak. And her fading health serves as an excuse to end any discussion she finds unpleasant.”

She took a hesitant step toward
him. “And I am certain you have been a most understanding son. It cannot be too
pleasant knowing her husband fathered a bastard son.”

“Nay, that isn’t it,” he retorted
gruffly. “I do not know where you’ve been kept, but a man taking a maid is no
more uncommon in the Highlands than ‘tis anywhere else--England included. The strange part of it all is that Adam’s existence should have been kept
a secret from me!”

Noticing her dash a tear from her
cheek brought him up short. Extending a hand, he lifted her chin when she tried
to turn her face away. “What is wrong now, lass? What is all this?”

She pushed his hand away. “And you think that is acceptable behavior, too? Are you planning to populate your land with
bastard sons and daughters, as well?”

Her concern--her obvious struggle
to stop the quivering in her lower lip--touched something within him. Athol
knew that Catherine had fallen in love with him, and her behavior now only
reinforced that knowledge. But clearly no romantic notions on her part were
capable of deterring her from disobeying his wishes and leaving the safety of Balvenie Castle. Neither would he allow any romantic inclinations to cloud his thinking.
His face tightened.

“You are asking more of me than I
ever promised you that first night.”

Her voice was quiet but clear.
“I’ve already given you more of myself than I ever thought imaginable that
first night.”

“I warned you, did I not?”

“Aye, you did.”

“And you regret it already?”

She shook her head. “Nay, I do not
as yet! And I will not so long as you continue to prove yourself a worthy
husband!”

Her attempt at arrogance brought a
smile to his lips. “Then to answer your question. I will not attempt to
populate Balvenie Castle with bastards so long as you continue to prove
yourself a worthy wife.”

“I have been the perfect wife, and
I certainly plan to remain so!”

He took a step forward and, after
checking her appearance, pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and started
her toward the door.

“We clearly have to make some
changes in your perception of what makes a perfect wife.”

“I do not know what you mean!”

“The perfect wife does not leave
her husband’s bed and ride out into the dangers of an unknown countryside.” As
they stepped out into the light of the torch, he paused and looked at
Catherine’s face. Already, she was paying no attention to him whatsoever.

So be it, he decided. Hell. What
good would it be to scold her, anyway? And he was actually beginning to enjoy
her daydreaming, especially when he was at the center of it. After the
lovemaking they’d just enjoyed, how could he be disappointed with this trait in
his wife?

In his perfect wife, he corrected himself
silently.

The raids continued.

Outside of Balvenie Castle, Adam of the Glen continued with his destruction of Athol’s lands with a frustrated John
Stewart dogging his heels. Meanwhile, any time he reappeared inside the walls,
an increasingly frustrated Catherine relentlessly--and unsuccessfully--pursued her husband to secure an escort back to Elgin Cathedral.

More than a fortnight had passed
since John Stewart had dragged her back to Balvenie Castle. As a
"punishment' he had not allowed her to speak to the bishop before their
departure, and though Brother Bartholomew had been left behind, Catherine still
had no clue as to her requests regarding the school. Understanding the power of
the church hierarchy, Catherine knew that having permission of the earl, her
husband, was only half the battle for her project. Little would be done without
the support of the bishop. And to think, she had been within a few steps of the
bishop’s palace!

As the days passed, Catherine was
becoming more and more anxious to go back to Elgin. During one stretch of good
weather, she had found herself sorely tempted to take one of the other monks
and make the journey once again. But Athol’s men had received clear
instructions on that score. They were very, very sorry, but the countess was
not allowed outside the gates with a horse, mule, or nanny goat. And if she wanted to walk into the village in the glen below the castle walls, then they would
be more than happy to escort her. Had she thought of taking a turn about the
gardens for air? 

One night, as she paced her chamber
restlessly, the sound of  horses and the shouts of men could be heard from the
courtyard. Jean’s knock sounded at the door before Catherine could even reach
it. Together, they crossed the chilly corridor to the long, thin windows
overlooking the courtyard. Athol had been gone for several days--a lifetime, it
seemed--but there he was, dismounting in front of the Great Hall. Catherine’s
spirits lifted immediately. Finally, he had returned.

Within moments, there were calls
for hot water and food to be sent to the earl’s chamber, and Jean went
scurrying with the rest of the serving folk.

Well, no matter how tired the man
must be, she decided, she would go to him and make him help her as he’d promised.
But there was no telling who might be with him, so Catherine quickly dressed,
practicing her argument a number of times as she did.

Opening the door, Catherine
shivered as a brisk cross breeze whistled in from the corridor, blowing out the
taper in her hand. Turning back into the room, she crossed to her bed and
picked up the Stewart tartan, wrapping it around her shoulders for warmth.

Deciding that a lit taper was
unnecessary, she closed her door behind her and started down the corridor. Before she had gone two steps, though, the scuff of a shoe on the floor in front of her froze
her in her tracks. Someone was coming, and she knew it couldn’t be Jean.
Without a second thought, she stepped silently into an alcove by a window, and
an instant later a shadow sailed past her. During the daylight, she would have
assumed it was one of the servants, but now...

Her curiosity piqued, Catherine
moved out from her hiding place and peered into the darkness where the shadow
had disappeared. Silently, she followed.

It was a woman--she was certain of
it. Even in the dim light of the moon filtering in through the narrow windows
of the passage, Catherine could tell that it was a woman.

When the shadowy figure disappeared
into the pitch blackness of the circular stairwell, Catherine paused. If it
were Susan, why was she again haunting this part of the keep? If it were
someone else, did she dare follow her into the darkness?

Taking a deep breath, she edged
into the stairwell. The sound of a light step drifted up from below. Catherine
followed, hugging the wall as she descended. Step by step she followed,
listening for any sign ahead.

Suddenly she stopped.  The low,
heavy scrape of wood sounded and then the breath of a woman, released as if
struggling with a great weight. It
was
Susan--Catherine no longer had
any doubt.

She waited, suddenly panicking at
the thought that the young woman might return the way she’d come. Beneath this corner of the keep were storage rooms and guard’s quarters, but so far as she knew,
no one ever used this stairwell to reach the upper floors. There was no sound
at all from below now, and finally Catherine mustered her courage and continued
down. At the bottom landing, her fingers found a great wooden door, banded and
studded with iron. Cobwebs around the door clung to her fingers and hair. Susan
had not gone out through there. Another door, equally filthy with disuse, met
her a few steps farther.

Continuing around, her head
suddenly brushed the lowering stairwell. Feeling with her hand in the darkness,
she realized she had reached a dead end. The walls were stone, and she frowned,
puzzled by Susan’s disappearance.

If she had only a lit taper, she
swore. Staying a moment longer and trying to listen for any sounds, Catherine
finally gave up on the chase and started back up the stairs the same way she’d
descended.

Approaching her own doorway along
the same corridor, Catherine paused, remembering Susan standing in the same
spot the night when John had made love to her for the first time. Too embarrassed
at having been caught, and also concerned about the state of the other woman’s
feelings, Catherine had not given much thought to why, at that late hour of the
night, Susan had been roaming through this older section of the keep. But now, as she turned around and glanced again at the entrance to the stairwell,  Catherine
began to understand things a bit better.

But wherever it was that Susan was
going, and whatever it was that she was doing, remained a mystery to Catherine.
And this was a side to Susan that was completely unexpected.

Passing by her door, though, and
heading toward the newer section of the keep, Catherine knew that she had more
pressing matters to consider. Matters like settling once and for all her
request to return to Elgin to speak to the bishop.