Thirty-Two

“I don’t want you to leave. Wait for me.” Wait for what? Wait for him to finish his dalliance with barmaids and treason? Wait for him to come to his senses? Catherine was tired of waiting. She’d been tired of it when she’d followed him to Dublin and found him with his doxy. Most wives would consider themselves lucky if their man confined himself to the occasional tavern whore whilst far from home, but since they’d been intimate she’d thought… hoped… well, she’d been as foolishly romantic as any moonstruck girl.

At first, she’d hoped he’d come chasing after her with some earnest explanation, but that had been six weeks ago. She’d nearly completed her arrangements, honoring their agreement and doing what he’d asked for Kieran. It was time to admit she wasn’t good at the type of games he played. She cared too much, and he too little, for her not to be hurt.

She was startled from her reverie by the sound of thundering hooves and shouting men. He’s back! What shall I say to him? Her heart beat a rapid tattoo and her breath caught in her throat. She hastily arranged her clothing and her hair before leaning back in her chair in a pose of studied nonchalance. Let him come to me. It was a moment more before she realized the shouts were cries of warning and challenge, not welcome. She leapt to her feet as a booming voice rose above the din.

“Cat Drummond! We’re looking for Catherine Drummond! We’ve no quarrel with the Irish. Hand her over and no harm will befall you.”

Catherine raced to the window and looked down in astonishment. A score of brawny Highlanders wearing tartans of crimson, blue, and green milled about the courtyard, held at bay by Granny O’Sullivan, in all her fearsome glory.

“There be no Drummonds here, you bloody big lummox! You’re on the wrong side of the pond! Now get you gone before I set the hounds on you.”

“There are now, ya scolding harpy! Jerrod Drummond at your service, and we’re not leaving till we have the girl. Now step aside.” He had a scowl that could make grown men quaver, but Mrs. O’Sullivan was made of sterner stuff, and firmly stood her ground. Jerrod tried maneuvering his horse around her as men came streaming from the village and fields. “Cat!” he bellowed again. “We know you’re here. Get your arse out here, girl. We’ve come to fetch you home.”

“He is indeed a bloody big lummox, Mrs. O’Sullivan, but he’s also my uncle,” Catherine called from the casement above them. “Kindly bid him enter and make him welcome. I’ll be right down.”

“You’re a poor liar, old woman. I’d have sworn you claimed the girl wasn’t here,” Jerrod said, dismounting.

“And you’re a fine big bully. If my boy weren’t down to Cork, you’d not be so brave. I may be old, but at least I’m not deaf and senile. I said there were no Drummonds here. The girl is Lady Sinclair, Countess of Carrick, and her husband might have a thing or two to say about you taking her away.”

“Would he now? So she really is married!”

“Of course she is, you stupid man! Well… come in. It seems she’s bid you welcome.”

“Aye, she has, and very gracious you are about it, too. Perhaps you can make yerself useful and find some food for me and my men, and maybe some of that watered-down tea you Irish like to call whiskey.”

“You’re about to get your ears boxed, Uncle Jerrod,” Catherine said, stepping into the great hall.

“Cat!” Jerrod sprang to his feet, enveloping her in a crushing embrace that lifted her toes off the ground. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, girl! What in God’s name are you doing here? Don’t tell me you got lost on the way home.”

“I’ve missed you too, Uncle,” she grunted, extracting herself from his embrace.

“So where’s your man?” he asked, looking curiously about the hall. “Heard we were coming and ran away?”

“He had affairs to tend to up in Dublin.”

“The cocks are all gone? Down to Cork, up to Dublin, and the place left in the charge of the hens? You must be missing real men, lass. I thought you came to be shed of him. Why haven’t you done so and come back home?”

Servants had begun to arrive with platters of cold meat and flagons of beer. “We’ve a quaint custom in these parts. It’s called hospitality. Sit yourself down. I’ll greet the men, we’ll share a tankard, and you’ll tell me of home. Then we’ll speak of business.”

“Well, pardon me, Lady Carrick. You’re a fine one to lecture on hospitality when your people refuse me whiskey and serve me beer.”

“No doubt Mrs. O’Sullivan felt you undeserving.”

“So the servants run the place do they?”

“Aye, Uncle. The servants and the women, just like back home. Mrs. O’Sullivan is no servant, though, and you’ll do well to remember or you’ll be sleeping in the fields tonight. I’ll be back in a moment.” Catherine made her way down the table, greeting the men with hugs and smiles, noting with disappointment that Rory wasn’t among them. She’d known them all since childhood: cousins, neighbors, comrades, and friends. She sent for Maire to come and join them, and returned to sit by her uncle near the head of the long table. “Tell me of home. How are Martha and Donald and Alistair? Why didn’t Rory come with you?”

“There’s trouble to home, Cat. You’re needed. Bloody Donald’s gone and got himself killed, yer brother has hied himself off to France, and there’s talk throughout the Highlands that there’s going to be war.”

“Donald was killed? When? How? Why did no one tell me?”

“You haven’t exactly been easy to find, lass. He was killed six months ago, feuding with the Murrays.”

A hollow ache took her breath away, and she had to blink back tears. How could someone you’d known all your life just slip away without your even knowing? “I… I’m very sorry to hear that, Uncle. We had our differences, but… ”

“I know, lass. He was fond of you, too. He just didnae know what to make of you.” He reached across the table and patted her hand. “You’ve been missed, Cat. It’s time for you to come home.”

She pulled her hand away. “I’m deeply sorry to hear about Donald, Uncle Jerrod, but that makes you laird and chief now, and I’ll not stand in your way. Why come seeking me?”

“I’m a simple man, Cat. Show me an enemy and tell me whether you want him baked, boiled, or fried, and I’ll see it done, but I’m not one for politics and strategy. I’ve not the patience. The council’s met. They want the old fox’s daughter. They’re asking for you.”

“You’re as canny as any man yet born in the Highlands! There’s more to it than that.”

“James is King of Scotland too, and a Catholic prince. If the English try to give his throne to William, the Highlands will rise to defend him, and the Irish will as well, no doubt.”

“No doubt. Just what we need. Another bloody war.”

“We’ve no choice, lass. We gave our oath. You gave our oath. He knows you. That could be a great help.”

“I was careful with my words, Jerrod. We pledged to support him as we may and not bear arms against him. It left a good deal of room for interpretation.”

“Aye, of course it did. You’re yer father’s daughter. That’s why we need you. These are dangerous times. It’s brains we need as much as brawn.”

“And what of my husband?”

“The Sassenach? Sinclair’s his name? I wasn’t certain he was real before today. You signed all your correspondence Catherine Drummond, and your bloody lawyers wouldn’t tell us where you were.”

“How did you find me, then?”

Jerrod winked and tapped his nose with a finger. “Follow the money, Cat. So what does your man do when he’s not killing Scots or lording it over the Irish? Do you want me to kill him for you?”

“That’s kind of you, Uncle, but no. You’ve tried and failed before. When he’s not killing Scots or lording it over the Irish, he plays at being a Highlander, hiking about the mountains stealing heiresses and fixing broken pots.”

“The devil you say! That was him? The cheeky bastard! And you never said a word!”

“You’d have killed him outright if I had. I owed him my life. Leave him out of it. He’s not my man or anyone else’s, and he has troubles of his own.

“And what about you, lass? Will you do your duty by your clan?”

“As they did theirs by me?”

“I know I failed you and I’m sorry for it, but I’m asking you to be bigger than that. Your people need you now.”

“Things are complicated here, Uncle Jerrod, and my connection to the king is not what it once was. There’s nothing I can do for them that you can’t do as well.”

“I’m tired, lass. I haven’t the heart for it anymore.”

She noticed it then, the haggard lines etched on his face, the slight stoop to his broad shoulders. When did he grow old? “Nonsense! You’ve the heart of a lion and Rory to help you besides.”

“Rory’s dead, Catherine.”

“What?” It hit her like a blow.

“He died guarding Donald’s back, as was his duty.” Jerrod’s voice was steady but his hands shook.

“Oh no!” Not Rory too! Eyes hot with tears, she reached out her hand, wanting to comfort, seeing the grief and pain in her uncle’s eyes. How could I have missed it? All this fighting, all this killing, all this wasteful snuffing of precious lives. Her mother gone, her father gone, and now Rory and Donald, too. Sobs tore at her throat and she struggled to contain them. Moving around the table, she gave her uncle a fierce hug.

“I’m so sorry, Uncle Jerrod! I know how much you loved him. I loved him, too. He was the best of us all.”

“Aye, lass. He was. And he loved you, too. Now stop your tears. We’re making a spectacle of ourselves. Will you come home, Cat? I can nae do it on my own.”

She thought of Jamie. He was doing what he could to stop a conflagration that threatened his country. I have to do what I can to stop the one that threatens my clan. She winced, remembering how she’d accused him of betrayal and greed, wishing she could talk to him, wishing she could take it back. I told him not to tell me things I didn’t want to know. I’m as responsible for the distance between us as he is, and wishing doesn’t make things so.

“I’ll come with you, Uncle, but only on my terms.”

“You’re going to set conditions?”

“Aye, I am. There’ll be no attempt to harm my husband, and no attempts to find me another one. What I decide in that regard shall be no one’s business but my own. I’ll expect to be acknowledged and treated as chief. That means when I consult with you and the council, your purpose must be to help, not hinder. When I give orders, they’ll be followed. There’s no point in my coming if all we’re to do is sit and bicker like bored old women. I also tell you this. I’ll not waste my—or anyone else’s—life in useless battles and stubborn pride. If war comes, as you fear, I intend to do all I can to keep us clear of it.”

“Your father would have done the same. I can speak for the council. They’ll accept your conditions.”

The decision made, Catherine was almost as eager as Jerrod to be on her way. She wanted to see Martha, her people, the Highlands, and home. She loved Jamie, but she loved them, too. She had a duty toward them. They needed her and he didn’t. It was as simple as that. Speaking with a noticeably unhappy Mrs. O’Sullivan, she made arrangements to leave the next day.

“He’ll not be pleased, child. Shouldn’t you wait for his return?”

“We’ve no idea when that will be. He’s been gone over six weeks, with no word or any indication if, or when, he’ll be back, and I’ve pressing business to attend to.”

“Where shall I tell him you’ve gone, lass?”

“Tell him my family had need of me.”

“And when shall I say you’ll be back?”

Catherine looked at the older woman, but made no reply.

“So you think he’s good enough for loving, but not for keeping? I know him well. He’s a better man than you think, and he cares for you deeply. If you go, you’ll break his heart.”

“If I stay, he’ll break mine. I know he’s a good man and I know you love him. So do I. But no one can keep him. He stays where he wants to and goes where he will, and so must I.”

“Just a few more days, child. What can it hurt?”

“I have the same duty to my people as you do to yours, Mrs. O’Sullivan. I didn’t come here to argue with you. I want to make sure you’ve adequate funds, and there are arrangements that need the attention of my solicitors and bankers regarding Ja—my husband. I need you to witness the papers. That’s all.”

Catherine dealt with what she had to, wrote Jamie a letter and gave it to Mrs. O’Sullivan, and set out the next morning in a cold rain, just past dawn. How strange we come to such cross-purposes, Jamie. Catholic against Protestant, king against king, though we both know better and want the same thing—an end to these infernal wars.

Granted what she’d always thought she wanted—the trust of her people and a chance to lead them—she had no choice but to leave the man she loved behind. Her father had always put duty before what he wanted, and now she understood the sacrifices he’d made. Jamie had never tried to rule or direct her. Like her father, he’d let her be, giving her respect and freedom, and accepting her as she was. Wasn’t that love? Why did she need more? Why couldn’t she accept them both as they’d accepted her? Like her father, Jamie was a good man, doing his best, and she could do no less. Hunching her shoulders against the wind, she turned her pony south.