Samantha Holt (Highland Fae Chronicles) (11 page)

***

Warily, Catriona descended the steps into the Great Hall. The smell of baked bread and roasted meats clung to the air. In front of her, two large tables lined the hall and already the household had gathered for supper. The scrape of eating knives made her wince.

Her chest squeezed and her breaths grew rapid as she tried to block out the images that assailed her. She clenched her eyes shut and steadied herself against the wall. Catriona dragged her heavy lids open, sucked in a deep breath—willed the memories to fade. Descending the last few steps, she found herself confronted by a wide chest in a linen shirt and red plaid.  She focused on that torso for a moment, taking in the lines of strength and the sinuous length of his arms. Gradually the world returned and the squashing sensation in her chest dissipated.

She dragged her gaze up, bracing herself for the soft understanding but there was none. His bold stare made her toes curl and her skin heat. She offered him a small smile in return, relieved not to have to suffer yet another look of sympathy. While the maids and Lorna had been kind in their care of her the past few days, the carefulness with which they treated her vexed. Here she was lying to them and they offered nothing but kindness. And the closed walls of the castle and the busy household seemed to compound the experiences of the previous sennight. It was as if the stone held in her fears until they surrounded and suffocated her. Catriona had tried her hardest to rest before supper but, alas, the sights and sounds of battle and death would not leave her.

However, this tall fair haired warrior regarded her as a woman rather than a wounded creature, coming to seek sanctuary to lick her wounds. And while she was used to men looking at her like that, never had there been such audacity behind the expression. Men usually revered her. Made her into something she was not. As soon as it became apparent she would be a great beauty, she struggled to live up to the impression she gave men. When they flirted, she blushed and cowered away. When she walked into a room and they stared, she lowered her head. And women were no better. Most loathed her on sight because of her looks. Even her sister hated that they shared the same face.

For the first time in her life, she preferred to be looked at with…
lust,
mayhap
?
Rather than pity.  Under Finn’s gaze, she forgot she’d been expelled from her home and had come very close to a violent death. In his company, she almost felt deserving of such a look.

If only she was. If only she had the freedom to act upon it.

“Did ye rest well, Katie?”

The low tone to his voice did something strange to her insides. How she wished he knew her real name, her real identity. To hear her name on his lips would surely be worth much risk.

“Aye, well enough,” she replied huskily.

“Allow me to take ye to supper.” He offered a hand and stepped to the side of her.

Catriona glanced up at him and laid her hand carefully over the top of his. She’d touched him often enough to remember how his skin felt—rough, warm—but it still made her jolt. Skirts held in her other hand, she allowed him to escort her to the top table. Lorna lifted a drink and smiled as Catriona followed Finn around the trestle table to a large chair. Pulling it out, Finn motioned for her to be seated.

Her breath trapped in her chest as she lowered herself. This was the first time she’d eaten in the hall. For the past three days, she’d remained in her room—hiding, mayhap, under the pretence of being shaken. And she was. But also she feared giving herself away. Twice now she had forgotten to respond when someone called her Katelyn.

She concentrated on inhaling slowly. Was it Finn’s gaze upon her that did that or the way the servants and men turned to watch her? Did they pity her? Did they know of her experiences at the hands of the Norse? And how it now plagued her mind more and more with every passing moment?

She clutched the oak table and drew her spine straight. With a gentle smile, she dipped her fingers into the bowl a servant offered her and dried her hands on a linen sheet. She needed to remember the role she was to play. Many a noblewoman saw bloodshed and yet they did not crumble like she. But years of being pushed aside and ignored meant she had been most at home in the company of the servants, all of whom had become dear to her. She felt very little like a woman of noble blood.

Finn seated himself next to her, his elbow brushing her arm as he did so. He leaned in to murmur an apology and the side of her face heated when his breath breezed over her cheek.

Flustered, and fighting the longing twist of her heart—the one that said she wished he would whisper more words in her ears—she pulled her trencher close and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her still tingling ear.

“How are ye, Katelyn?” Lorna asked between sips of ale. “Have ye rested some?”

“Aye, I thank ye. My chambers are beautifully appointed.”

Lorna’s lips curved. “It pleases me ye like them. I had a hand in most of the furnishings in the keep. Alas my husband had no eye for these things and even less liking for sparing coin for such frivolities.”

“Ye surely have a lovely home,” Catriona offered softly. She’d heard enough whispers of what Lorna’s marriage had been like—cold, painful, miserable. She understood Lorna’s need to surround herself with beautiful things. Once again, she envied the woman her strength.

Lorna cast a look around, her smile slightly wan and Catriona wondered if her thoughts followed her own.

“I must thank ye for all ye have done.” Catriona spilled out hastily, wary of causing her hostess distress. “Without ye, I’d-I’d…” Her voice cracked and she dabbed the linen to her mouth.

A hand pressed to Catriona’s arm, Lorna’s smile warmed. “Dinnae even think on it. While my men may have been under orders from yer betrothed, I was grateful to be able to help ye. No woman should suffer because of the folly of men. And as we well know, most wars are pure folly.”

Catriona pressed her lips together and swallowed. Deceiving such a woman—even for a cause as great as the safety of Bute—seemed so very wrong. How would Lorna feel if the truth was revealed?

“Ye and Finn risked much for me. I am most grateful. In truth, I dinnae know how I shall repay such kindness.” She chanced a sideways glance at Finn and noted he was speaking with the man at his side, thank the Lord. He’d seen her at her worst. She did not wish him to witness anymore of her fragility. Snatching her goblet, she took a gulp of ale.

“Ye need not repay it. Yer company is enough. I shall enjoy yer time here until we hear word from Laird Gillean”

Finn coughed, drawing their attention and Catriona twisted to view him. “Aye, I suppose ye ladies shall be busy preparing for the wedding.”

“I… I suppose so.” Aye, a wedding that should not be hers. “I confess I am ill prepared for it. With the fighting, the marriage arrangements became of little importance.”

“I can understand that,” Finn agreed. “What gown the bride should wear is hardly something a father should be thinking on at a time of war.”

Catriona scowled at his odd tone. “There is more to marriage than a gown,” she insisted quietly and Lorna gave her a look of respect.

Finn’s brows shot up and he took a long drink before responding, “Well, ye will find that out soon enough, I suppose.”

Frustrated by his sulky tone, Catriona turned her attention to her meal. Why did the subject of her marriage rile the man? She jabbed the meat with her eating knife, appetite gone. If only she knew more of Laird Gillean. Katelyn had been told very little of the man and shared even less with her—only boasting on occasion of his wealth. The contract had been signed and sent by messenger over two months ago but none expected Katelyn to become ill or for the island to come under siege. Catriona certainly never anticipated taking Katelyn’s place as Laird Gillean’s bride. She might have listened more carefully otherwise.

Suddenly the hall seemed too crowded, too noisy. Everyone was watching her and waiting for her to slip up. Looking for cracks in her disguise. Catriona clenched the knife in her hand and saw the tremble of her fingers. The steel tip of the blade turned red before her eyes and the room spun. Dropping the blade as the scent of blood invaded her imagination, she thrust back her chair and hurried out of the hall.

***

Finn threw down his knife and shared a look with Lorna. Damnation. Had it been what he’d said? He’d been behaving like a boar. The mere mention of her marriage to a man she barely knew set him on edge.

Lorna went to follow after her but Finn put his hand on hers and shook his head. “I shall go to her. ‘Twas my fault and ye are still yet a stranger to her.”

Lorna nodded. “As ye will.”

Scraping a hand through his hair, he stomped across the hall and pushed through the half open door. He took a moment to glance around and spotted her on top of the ramparts, black hair fluttering lightly in the breeze, her pale blue gown billowing behind her. With her arms wrapped around her waist she looked small and vulnerable. The need to add his strength to hers created an ache in his chest.

He would have to apologise though he did not relish such a duty. Still, he had not meant to hurt her. Since their arrival at Kilcree she had become strained and quiet. Her words came out at no more than a whisper, if at all. What had happened to the determined woman he’d met on Bute? Finn shook his head. And he had added to her worries, whatever those were, with his uncouth words.

He pressed his lips together and studied her, considering what he would say. In truth, he did not know, but he longed to heal her hurts. He shook his head at himself. What was he thinking?

Regardless, he walked up the inner steps, all impatience and heavy legs. Torn between fleeing the hold she had over him and simply clamping her to him and taking her then and there.

Either she was lost in thought or she did not hear him approach as she remained looking out at the hills on the horizon. He paused to observe the slight tilt of her upper lip, the smoothness of her cheeks. This was dangerous. Already he felt more than he should for such a woman.

“Katie?”

She spun and released a tiny sound of surprise. “F-forgive me, I didnae mean to—”

Tears shimmered in her gaze and Finn cut her off by dragging her to him. One hand to the base of her spine, the other on her neck, he trapped her against his chest. She did not crumble as he thought she might. He recognised this woman. The one who insisted on walking barefoot across the Highlands. The one who declared she would keep watch. Her rigid spine and the hold on her emotions assured him that the lass he’d first met was not completely gone.

But eventually she softened into him, like liquid forming to the shape of a bottle. She fit him perfectly. Warm breaths teased his skin at the open collar of his shirt, round breasts crushed against him, and the soft, soft flesh of her neck sent heat curling through him. Desire gathered between his thighs, making him hard.

Could she feel his arousal? Ach, of course she could. Would she think him a blackguard? She made no moves to draw away so he concluded it did not bother her… or mayhap she even welcomed his need for her.

While he prayed the latter, it could not be. Finn mac Chaluim did not bed maidens or betrothed women. He took his pleasure with widows or willing maids. With lasses who wanted a night of shared desire and nothing more.

She belongs to another man
, he reminded himself while he inhaled the scent of lavender that clung to her hair.

Or at least she would soon. And he would not ruin her or hurt her further. A man like himself was destined to be alone and that was how he liked it. He did not want to be worrying for Katelyn. He’d done enough of that for Alice and look where that had led him. The deep throb of pain panged in his stomach. He failed to protect her from death and had their baby daughter survived, he probably would have spent the rest of his days worrying for her too. That kind of anxiety, a man could do without.

And he could do without Katelyn.

A shame his body didn’t agree. He almost groaned aloud when she finally flung her arms around his waist, pressing herself closer.

“Forgive me, wee lass,” he said gruffly. “I didnae mean to be rude.”

“Nay,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest, “wasnae ye.”

He forced out a breath through gritted teeth. For some reason the thought of her marriage to a stranger had twisted something inside him. Would he feel more assured if she knew more of Gillean? If she appeared prepared to devote herself to the man with whom she was to spend the rest of her days?

Mayhap, but he doubted it. In all likelihood, nerves about her coming nuptials were making her quiet. Would that he could soothe such worries, but what could he say? Finn knew little of love or arranged marriages. Not being heir to any great fortune, he had few obligations. Alice was a good woman, from a strong family and he liked her immediately. Theirs was no great love story, but he imagined they could have enjoyed a fine life together had she survived the birth of their child.

The desire to fling her back and storm away struck once more but how could he? Here was a woman who had been caught in a battle waged by men and now she was to be at the mercy of a man once more. He’d never considered how such matters affected women before, but Lorna’s pain made him all the more aware of what Katelyn could be walking into. She deserved so much more than that.