Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (23 page)

The dowager shook her head and gave
a slight smile. “Don’t be! We had a good life, Athol and I. And though I was hurt because of what he did, I still cannot imagine my life without him.”

“You forgave him for what he did
and stayed beside him. I am not sure I could ever have been silent!”

“Nay, my dear! I was anything but
silent. I made life miserable for the rutting goat until he took away his
bastard son where I no longer had to lay eyes on him. I...”

“He brought Adam to you?” Though
Catherine knew she should end this discussion, the old woman’s revelation
shocked her.

“Aye! He brought him to me as an
infant. To take care of the little creature. I would have just as soon left him
out on the hillside for the fairies to steal, and I told him so.”

“But how could he expect you
to...to...”

“‘Twas a different time, then.”

“Lady Anne, did you...were you
aware that he had taken a mistress?”

The dowager closed her eyes, but
not before Catherine saw the tears that had gathered in their gray depths.

“Why didn’t he leave the child with
its mother? What purpose there was in bringing him to you?”

 “The mother could not keep the
bairn, he told me.” The dowager shook her head and then looked into her
daughter-in-law’s eyes. “Catherine, Athol was a man--and men do such
things--but I believe he regretted his unfaithfulness. I believe he did not
want the bairn to suffer for his own lust.”

“But when you would not keep the
child, the earl took him away.”

“Aye.”

“And you believe this is why he has
returned? To avenge himself on his father’s family?”

“‘Tis difficult to say. Very
difficult.”

Catherine watched as the dowager
leaned back heavily in the chair. The old woman’s expression grew hard. She
asked nothing more about Adam of the Glen. Indeed, she had not set out to learn
about her husband’s bastard brother as much as to seek advice about her own
fears in dealing with John Stewart. But here she was, no more secure in her own
weakness, and yet perplexed about the events that could have shaped another
man. Her husband’s enemy. Her husband’s brother.

Glancing at Lady Anne, Catherine noticed the old woman shiver slightly, and with a wave at Tosh and the two
women, she quickly rose to her feet.

“You must do what you think is
right.” The dowager’s quiet voice drew Catherine’s attention back to her. The
woman was again looking at her with eyes shining with affection. “Though
perhaps ‘tis best to have him wait a bit on the good news. He might be more
willing to reveal some of what he carries in his heart if all good things are
not so easily bestowed on him.”

“Then you’ll keep my secret!”

“Aye. I will, for the time being.”
The dowager’s face grew stern. “But only with the condition that you’ll not
judge him based on his father’s weakness. ‘Tis bad enough that I carry the
regret of not raising Adam as my own. I could not stand to see my son also
suffer for his father’s mistakes.”

Catherine stared for a moment at
the aging woman. This was exactly what she had been doing. Expecting, fearing
that her husband would behave like his father, like other men.

A few days ago, when John had
mentioned that he’d like to take her to Ironcross Castle to meet his friends, Joanna and Gavin Kerr, Catherine had recalled the talk of Joanna MacInnes. The woman had been
John’s intended prior to marrying Gavin Kerr.  It had been then that Catherine
had started tormenting herself with fears that he was already tired of her and
wanted to visit his “true” love. Indeed, she had wondered how he would react if
he were to find out that she was already carrying his child. Perhaps then, she
thought, there would be no reason at all for taking her along.

The old woman waved away the
approaching warrior and the woman and took hold of Catherine’s hand.

“Listen to an old woman, child.
Don’t allow these things to distress you so. I can see the misery etched in
your face.” The dowager’s voice was strong and yet gentle. “You’ve already
allowed yourself to love him. Dwell on the good, and push aside the rest. I
told you before, and I tell you again--never has he been so enchanted by a
woman. Go ahead and work your wiles, lass...and have some faith in him, too.”

Catherine tried to smile.

“Do what your heart tells you to do
about the bairn. But trust me, Catherine, ‘twill not be long before you know
for certain that he has already entrusted his heart to you.”

Placing her other hand over the
dowager’s affectionately, Catherine smiled. Perhaps her path was not as fraught
with trouble as she had been imagining. Perhaps there was hope after all that
her marriage might be as she’d dreamed it could be.

The glow of fading embers in the
hearth was the only source of light in the large bedchamber. Catherine, quietly
sliding out of the bed, gazed wistfully at the handsome curve of her husband’s
muscular torso stretched so comfortably across the bed. The features of his
chiseled face were relaxed in sleep, and she had to fight the urge to crawl
back into the bed and forget about what she had planned to do with the rest of
this night.

Determined to go through with it,
though, she padded softly across the floor and hastily dressed herself. It had
been a magical night, making love in the golden glow of the fire, thrilling at
the sensations he wrought in her, losing herself as his tender touch and
powerful body brought her time and time again to a point of ecstasy--to a wild
and pulsing place surely not far from heaven itself. And unlike the other
nights when they would playfully argue, barter, and bargain over everything and
anything--before losing themselves in their frenzied passion--this night had
been the most peaceful they’d ever shared.

She’d needed assurance; he’d given
her tenderness.

She’d wanted commitment; he’d given
her passion.

She’d sighed out his name; he had
made her tremble.

Catherine was happy that this night
had been so different. The pure, simple joy of drowning in the moment, in the
night, in each other, had been a blessing.

Finished dressing, Catherine gave
him a final look and smiled. Perhaps she didn’t have to challenge him, rile
him, and please him at every turn. Perhaps he had already accepted her and her
many moods. Perhaps, it was time for her to trust her heart--and for that
matter, her husband--and reveal to him that bit of news that was certain to
make him a happy man.

She sent a kiss across the chamber
and promised herself that she’d do just that. As soon as she was done solving
the riddle that she was determined to unravel before this night was over.

*****

Blowing out the taper at the sound
of approaching steps, the monk hurriedly closed the top of the chest and pushed
the open travel bag beneath the bed. Moving quickly toward the doorway, he
silently peeked through the slightly open door.

The hurrying figure of the passing
woman was a familiar sight to the cleric, but he held his breath a moment later
at the sight of Catherine Percy’s shadow following close after the first one.
She did not turn into her chamber, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Letting a moment pass after the two
had disappeared down the corridor, the monk cast a thoughtful glance back at
the bedchamber before making up his mind and taking off after the two. Whatever
the younger woman, Mistress Susan, was up to, he cared very little about, but
having Catherine Percy’s life possibly in jeopardy was something that he could
not allow.

Slipping out of the bedchamber, the
monk followed quietly in the wake of the two women. Regardless of his orders,
regardless of the greater interest which lay behind his mission, the monk knew
that he could not let Catherine come to harm. How could he just shrug off
feelings of loyalty for a woman he had known for so many years? Nay, he could
not.

There was a great deal of mystery
surrounding this Susan MacIntyre. But it was up to him to make certain
Catherine Percy would not fall a victim to her own obstinacy. Catherine was
fearless when it came to pursuing her dreams. And she was far, far too trusting
in her own abilities.

And all of this made her a prime
target for foul play.

*****

After spending many nights hiding
in the dark alcoves of this passageway, Catherine was now well-accustomed to
Susan’s ritual. In fact, searching the bottom of the stairwell in the light of
the day, she had also discovered the trap door where Susan made her periodic
escapes. It was very curious that she only seemed to steal away on nights when
Athol and his men were in the castle.

Discovering where the younger woman
went those nights had become an obsession with Catherine. But for some reason, telling her husband or asking Jean or the other serving women about Susan’s
habits was something that she could not bring herself to do.

Of all the inhabitants of Balvenie Castle, Susan MacIntyre was the one person that Catherine had not been able to
befriend. And as far as Catherine was concerned, this failure had not been for
a lack of trying.

There was an aloofness in the
younger woman that Catherine had at first attributed to her displacement as
acting mistress of Balvenie Castle, to being told that she was not to be the
chosen wife of the earl, to seeing someone else move in and take her place. But Catherine’s opinion had since changed.

There was something else. A mystery
that she could not quite piece together.  Susan was distant, true. But she also lived in a dream world that Catherine knew she herself sometimes inhabited. Susan
was silent but not hostile toward Catherine--the woman who had robbed her of
her rightful place.

In return, Catherine did not carry
a grudge at having all her attempts of companionship rejected by the younger
woman. But at the same time, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it
was that drove Susan down through a trap door in the middle of the night.

Recognizing the sound of the same
door rising on its hinges, Catherine waited in the shadows for her turn. But this time, rather than giving up the chase and turning back to her own chamber, she moved on
in pursuit. Touching her husband’s dagger at her belt for comfort, she waited a
few moments before easing open the trap door. Taking Athol’s weapon had been a
parting thought, one that she had hoped would give her some feeling of security
against the unknown that lay ahead.

There was a rude ladder beneath the
trap door, and as she stepped down into the musty passage, Catherine slowly
lowered the door behind her. It was pitch black in the tunnel, and at the
bottom of the ladder, she found by feeling with her hands that the narrow
passage went in one direction only. A footfall ahead drew her attention, and
she moved carefully through the darkness.

A feeling of excitement sent a
chill down her back, and Catherine wrapped her cloak more tightly around her.
This was so much like the days of her past when she and her sisters would set
off to do mischief in the middle of the night. What a fearless bunch they had
been as a group! How much easier this all would be if they had not had to
separate.

That helped nothing, she thought.
Focusing her mind’s eye on her goal, Catherine pushed such melancholy thoughts
from her mind.

Using her hands to guide her, she
pushed on, not daring to slow down for fear of getting lost should the tunnel
branch off and she should lose contact with the woman before her. She could
still hear Susan’s occasional footstep, or her kicking of a stray pebble on the
passage floor. The passage, though, had done nothing but go straight ahead, and
she prayed for continued good luck.  

For what seemed like a millennium,
she followed. How long it had taken to carve this tunnel through the rocky
terrain on which Balvenie Castle sat, Catherine could not even guess. The
thought only flickered through her mind though, for she had other, more
pressing matters at hand. As she groped along, she couldn’t help but wonder if
this chase would lead to anything.

Suddenly, the passage dipped
sharply downward, and a few moments later, she heard sounds of Susan--directly
in front of her--obviously struggling through some opening. From the distance
they had traveled, she guessed that they must be far beyond the curtain wall of
the castle. But on the other hand, she thought, trying to recall which
direction the tunnel had gone once she’d climbed down from the secret door,
they might have gone only as far as the orchards or the gardens in the opposite
direction. Either way, Catherine was fairly certain that they must be outside
of the castle.

Waiting until all sounds of Susan
had receded into the darkness, Catherine again moved forward in pursuit, only
to have her progress immediately arrested by a wall of stone.

From the time she’d stepped past
the trap door, the feel of the walls had made her think that these passages
were older than Balvenie itself. But this barrier appeared to have been
intended to block the tunnel.

Knowing that the other woman had
passed through the barrier made Catherine even more determined to find the way
out. Feeling with her hands along the rough stone blocks, she could find no
opening. The ceiling of the tunnel seemed to be high, though, for as high as
she reached, she could not reach the top. Finding a narrow foothold on one wall
of the tunnel, Catherine hoisted herself up and grabbed for the barrier.

Her fingers caught on the edge of
an opening. A toehold on the barrier itself allowed her to pull herself up to
the level of the opening. It was small, barely wide enough for her shoulders to
pass through. In an instant, however, Catherine had wriggled her way into the
tiny passageway, and after several yards, the opening widened, and she found
that she was able to get to her hands and knees.