Three

Clean.

Katherine sighed and stood in front of the hearth in naught but her skin while she looked at her fingernails. They were chipped and broken—unlike her stepmother’s, which had always been carefully shaped and buffed.

But for the moment, Katherine was absorbed by the fact that there wasn’t a bit of dirt left under her nails or on any other part of her body. She sighed and turned so the fire could dry her hair. She had distant memories of bathing in a shift, but those habits had fallen away in Scotland.

The Scots were far more practical. The purpose of a bath was to get your skin clean, and cloth was expensive, greatly so. No coin was spent on a garment whose only use was to shield modesty while sitting in a bathing tub. She’d gladly discarded the often-tedious ceremonies of England as she’d settled into the Highlands.

Katherine smiled as she felt the warmth from the fire drying her bare skin. In England, the Highlanders were labeled savages and wicked.

Well, that suited her rather well.

Thanks to Marcus.

Her thoughts darkened. He’d been more of a brother to her than any kin she had ever known. He’d made certain she grew strong, and that was a gift she treasured. It pained her to know she would cost him.

Rolfe was correct; she’d been acting like a child who didn’t consider what her actions wrought.

Well, no more.

She moved across the chamber and picked up a shift that had been laid out for her. She couldn’t fault the McTavishes, because they had provided her with good clothing to wear. The shift was made of soft linen that felt good against her skin. There were stockings for her, too. She pulled them up her legs and secured them with garters before putting on her boots.

She really had been thinking like a child to believe the cobbler hadn’t sought payment for the fine footwear, or that the man hadn’t noticed they were men’s boots. They closed all the way up to just below her knees with the aid of antler-horn buttons that she wound a leather lace around. She’d certainly been grateful for them in the Gordon stronghold.

Well, now she had another place to escape from. Marcus had taught her to be strong, and the best way to repay that was to take care of herself.

There were two sets of skirts for her to choose from, both made of sturdy wool. She chose one that looked as if it was hemmed correctly for her height and slipped it up and over her head. The waistband was worked with several eyelets that she threaded a lace through. Next, there were bodices. Her McTavish guards had been unwilling to allow any of the maids to stay and help her dress.

Katherine smiled as she recalled how the men had stood guard over her while the tub was filled. In the past, she’d taken pleasure in revealing her strength and ability. Now, she realized it would have been far better if the McTavishes had believed her to be helpless. So she’d bitten her lip and stood quietly, trying her best to appear meek. Perhaps they thought their clansmen were exaggerating the tales about her abilities.

The bodices had boning in them so that once she laced one up, her breasts were supported. It had become harder over the last year to bind herself. She’d hoped that her breasts simply wouldn’t grow because of the wide strip of cloth she used to flatten them. But nature seemed to be determined to have her way, and the bodice cupped two rather large mounds.

Katherine looked at herself in a mirror, enjoying the sight of herself in a dress. Sometimes, she longed for a life that didn’t make her choose to discard her gender. It was just that a woman’s place was so very difficult to stomach. Such as her current circumstances. She was expected to be submissive and accept that she would just have to wait to be ransomed.

Perhaps that might have been acceptable if the idea of being returned to the Earl of Morton wasn’t a possibility. Or to England, for that matter. It had been a long time since she’d been under her father’s roof, and she would be an unwanted mouth to feed.

So she had to use her wits and her skills to escape.

The chamber was on the second floor. She looked out of the window, but it was too high to descend from, even if she knotted the sheets. The knot might give or her hands fail to hold her.

But she suddenly looked back at the second set of clothing as an idea formed in her mind.

Maybe she needed to fight smart and dupe her captors with the aid of their own fear.

* * *

Someone screamed.

Rolfe looked up, as did a dozen or so men. There was a commotion coming from the new tower, and it took him about two seconds to decide Katherine was the likely cause. He went running around the gate and into the yard, just in time to see a woman dangling from a crude sort of rope from the third-story window.

“Bloody fool,” he snarled as he pushed people out of his way to try to get to her faster.

She was dangling from the rope, twirling around and around, and he suddenly stopped, realizing there was no weight on the rope, at least not the weight of a person. It was flapping like a child’s toy. There were men in the window of her chamber, tugging on the bedsheet to pull her up. They stumbled out of sight as they tugged too hard, anticipating a person’s weight.

Rolfe scanned the area. Everyone was hurrying into the courtyard to get a glimpse at what was causing the commotion.

Katherine would be heading the other way. He turned and ran toward the stables. He caught sight of a skirt as she went around a bend in the stalls toward the back door that was open to let in fresh air.

“Katherine.”

She turned on him, her eyes wide as she realized he’d caught her.

“Ye’re a bloody hellion, woman!”

Her eyes narrowed in response. She reached out and picked up a pitchfork used to move hay.

“Yes, and I am more trouble than you need.”

“On that we agree,” Rolfe stated.

“Your lesson is well learned,” she argued. “Now, leave me be. I do not wish to hurt you. I am simply set on going home.”

His lips twitched into an arrogant grin. “Put that down so I do nae have to hurt ye.”

“You said you would not risk me being turned over to the Earl of Morton.”

That made him stop edging toward her. “I did.”

“But your father is laird here.”

He drew in a deep breath. “He is.”

Katherine felt a much-needed breath of relief fill her lungs. “Good. Go back the way you came.”

He shook his head. “As ye have learned, lass, the McTavishes are no’ the worst ye might run across. I will no’ allow ye to leave alone.”

“I will go straight back to MacPherson land,” she offered. “I promise, no more rides at night.”

Katherine tightened her grip on the pitchfork, but she was loath to use it.

“Ye’ll have to trust me, Katherine.”

Her name came across his lips in a deep tone that send a shiver down her spine. It mixed with the way her heart was racing, producing a very unexpected sort of excitement.

“You owe me a debt,” she reminded him.

“No’ at the expense of yer safety.” Rolfe stepped closer, eyeing her weapon. “No honorable man would let ye take the risk of crossing all the clans between here and MacPherson land.”

She lifted the pitchfork, shooting him a clear warning. Rolfe didn’t back down. He was edging toward her, backing her into a corner. She twisted away, bringing the pitchfork up before the wall behind prevented her from using it. For a moment, she hesitated, wishing things might be different between them.

That was her undoing. Rolfe launched himself at her, pushing her back, and claiming her weapon in a motion that knocked the breath from her. But she went with it, turning back so he stumbled past her. He took the pitchfork away with him, while she gained a few steps of freedom.

It wouldn’t be enough. She knew that. She’d have to disable him or submit to his will. She lifted her foot and kicked the back of his knee.

He let out a curse and hooked his hands into her skirt as he went down. He twisted and turned, tumbling her as she tried to get her feet braced beneath her.

“Curse and rot this dress!” she exclaimed as it trapped her legs.

“I preferred ye out of it meself.”

Rolfe landed on top of her in a hard, panting mountain of muscle that she was powerless to move. She flattened her feet beneath her and tried to heave him off her. All he did was roll over and take her with him, until she was beneath him once more with her wrists held captive in his hands as he pinned them to the ground near her head.

“However”—his breath was close enough to tease her lips—“I believe it’s better that ye have more than a shirt on right this moment.”

“Get off…me…” She was breathless and panting, her heart hammering as she shuddered.

He seemed to feel it, suddenly lifting a bit of his weight off her as he stroked the insides of her wrists with his thumbs.

She shuddered again, this time twisting away not because of any conscious choice but because the sensation was too deep somehow, too purely intimate to endure.

“I should,” he rasped, drawing her attention back to him. There was something in his tone that stroked another place inside her, one she hadn’t known might be touched by another human being.

In his eyes, she caught a promise that made her belly twist. It was so deeply personal that she withered, straining against his hold on her wrists.

“No’ just yet, lass,” he said. “I’ll be claiming a prize from ye first.”

She knew he was going to kiss her before he angled his head and fitted his mouth against hers. She moaned softly, unable to remain silent as sensation went flowing through her as if a dam had ruptured. She’d never realized what it held back, and now it swept her up in its grip, tumbling her with its power and rolling her completely within its current.

The kiss was hard, just like his body. He didn’t allow her to keep her mouth closed, but pressed her lips open with the motion of his own as he moved his mouth over hers. It was overwhelming, like a clap of thunder directly overhead. She was left with her ears ringing, off balance as she reeled, and all the while, the storm continued.

And then she was free.

One moment, she was full of the taste of him, every inch of her body prey to the sensation of his contact, the bite of his hold on her wrists confirming how much stronger he was than herself, and then the air brushing over her was cool because he’d withdrawn. She rolled over, frantically trying to recover her poise, and found him facing her as he balanced on his haunches just a foot away.

They stared at each other for a long moment. She thought she saw uncertainty in his eyes, although she wasn’t really sure her mind was working. But the stall where they’d landed was full of the raspy sounds of their breathing.

“Has no one ever kissed ye before?”

Of all the things he might have said in that moment, his question caught her off guard. She looked away, realizing that it bothered her to have to admit that no one had.

She heard him mutter in Gaelic and looked back toward him. “Just because I didn’t kiss you back doesn’t mean—”

“It is no’ a shame,” Rolfe informed her softly. “At least no’ yers. It’s mine to admit that I let me temper get the best of me. For that, ye have me apology.”

He straightened up, reaching back down to offer her a hand. She was crouched in the corner, watching him warily, when her senses cleared enough for her to realize she must look like a trapped fox.

She didn’t take his hand but rose under her own power. He nodded slowly, admiration in his eyes that granted her some measure of poise. Was it for the way she failed to cry? She wasn’t sure. But she did know she wouldn’t be showing him any sort of weakness.

There was a pounding of feet. Rolfe looked out into the stable and whistled. “I have her, lads.”

She was grateful he was looking away during that moment of crushing defeat. She clamped her jaw tight as she felt her fingernails digging into the wall behind her. The impulse to turn and break it down was strong but senseless.

So she set her shoulders and faced the men who skidded to a halt in front of the stall. They took her in, shock registering on their faces at the sight of her.

Which pleased her at last because she knew she’d given them hell.

And she planned to do it again.

* * *

Helen was wringing her hands. She didn’t question Marcus when he came in because she knew his body. He was stiff from long hours in the saddle. Dirt was caked onto his skin, and his boots were covered in mud. His horse eagerly took off toward the stable and a warm stall.

Bhaic stood on the top steps, waiting for his brother to reach him.

“The Gordons had her, planned to burn her as a witch.”

Helen sucked in her breath, as did Ailis. Marcus cut her a quick glance. “Somehow, she managed to escape. Rumor is there were McTavishes in the Gordon stronghold as well, but I’ve no solid proof of it.”

“Rolfe McTavish?” Helen asked in a ghost of a whisper.

Her husband nodded.

“I pray so.” Ailis spoke up, gaining the attention of her husband and brother by marriage. “They’ll just want ransom again.”

“We can nae be certain of that,” Bhaic informed his wife.

“It’s better than the Gordons,” Helen offered, but she knew her husband. He took the welfare of all MacPhersons personally.

He trudged toward the bathhouse, and Helen followed. He shed his clothing as she readied a tub for him.

“I failed her,” he said at last.

“We share the blame.” Helen rubbed a lump of soap across his back. “I should have argued with ye when ye allowed her to train.”

Marcus grunted. “The good Father Matthew should have said something about that.”

“I’d like to have heard it.” She worked the soap into his hair. “Let me see, it is a sin for the wife to argue with her lord and husband…and yet it is a sin to allow a young girl to run wild like a lad.”

“Aye,” Marcus agreed. “It would have been a very interesting conversation.”

One they would never have. He sighed. “We’ll have to wait, to see what news comes.”

* * *

He’d taught his son not to lie.

Just as a father should.

William McTavish watched Rolfe tug on his bonnet and leave his study.

“Are ye sure ye need to send the lad out?”

It was his senior captain Boyd who asked the question.

“Ye saw her.” William reached for his mug and downed what was left in it. “Hay stuck to her skirts and hair.”

“She was trying to escape. To tell the truth, I can nae recall when I saw such determination in a lass before. Stuffing the bedding into those clothes and sending them out of the window was a fine idea, sure enough. Fooled the men into thinking she’d gone out that way, and all the while, she was just waiting on them to leave the door open for her… Clever.”

William snorted. “I still remember what a woman looks like when she’s been kissed.” He pointed at Boyd. “That lass looked startled down to her garters. Which means she’s a maiden, and Rolfe is… Well…he’s…”

“A man to be proud of,” Boyd offered.

“Aye.”

“An honorable man,” Boyd continued.

“Which is why I’ve sent him off to the Robertsons,” William replied. “I’ll no’ have him near that wench. If she was nae worth something, I’d turn her out and let her make her own way back to MacPherson land. But know this, I will not have me son wed to an English chit.”

Boyd nodded. “It would nae be good, unless she brought a dowry worth overlooking her English blood.”

“There are things more valuable than coin.”

Boyd lifted an eyebrow at his laird’s words. William looked around first, making sure no one was inside his study. “The Earl of Morton stole that girl to use in an alliance with England. She’s a woman now, ripe for marriage. I sent a letter to him to see if he will ennoble me line in exchange for her.”

“The man might just insist ye have Rolfe wed her,” Boyd cautioned.

William grunted. “I’ll see her wed to Niul first.”

“Ye think ye’d have a choice in the matter?”

William merely shrugged. “The man might just have to take what alliance I give him.”

Boyd didn’t correct his laird, but he had his doubts. The Earl of Morton was king, or at least he might as well be, and from what news came up from Edinburgh, it was clear the earl was intent on making sure he maintained power.

“For now, put that wench in the cellars.”

Boyd was shocked. “Ye’d do that to a lass?”

William nodded. “I need her more submissive, ready to do me bidding, and too a-feared to cross me. Make sure Angus knows I’ll cut off his balls if he fucks her. The earl might have her inspected.”

“Well now, taking an English bride is bad enough,” Boyd agreed. “Getting saddled with another man’s leavings… That’s downright pitiful.”

William made a low sound of agreement in the back of his throat. He pointed at a pitcher, and Boyd refilled his mug. He detested having to ask for help. The damned wooden leg he was saddled with was almost more than his pride might bear. It had been Rolfe who refused to let him stay abovestairs, and it had proven that Rolfe was a man grown. William would be wise to listen to him.

Yes, he was a fine son. More like his mother when it came to his honor, but a woman could afford to be devoted to things such as honesty and integrity. A laird had to temper that with the will to improve his clan’s lot. A noble title. It was a fine thing to want. The regents surrounding the young king made sure to not hand out titles to the Highlanders, preferring to keep them all beneath their higher stations. The Earl of Sutherland was one exception, and William planned to be another.

Rolfe would come around in his thinking.

* * *

Grant land

“Ye are very fetching,” Niul complimented Brenda Grant honestly.

The woman was breathtaking and a few years past the first blossom of her youth. He decided maturity suited her even better, and wondered just what skill she had when it came to riding a man. Virgins were tiresome with their shyness.

“And ye”—Brenda looked straight into his eyes and fluttered her eyelashes—“are clearly accustomed to yer handsome face melting the hearts of the women on McTavish land.”

Niul chuckled. “Perhaps I’m the lucky one to be sent up here after all. And here I was thinking it was another duty thrust upon me by me brother.”

“Happy to be proven wrong?” Brenda asked him in a lyrical tone.

Niul took the opportunity to lean closer to her, but froze when he felt the point of a dagger against his thigh. Brenda’s eyes flickered with hard purpose.

“Brenda,” Symon Grant spoke his cousin’s name in warning. “Tell the man ye are no’ interested and be done with it.”

Brenda withdrew the dagger and looked at Symon. “Men such as…him do nae listen to a female. They think us all creatures to serve their needs.”

Brenda rose and lowered herself before the new laird of the Grants. In a motion that was so graceful that Niul discovered himself enchanted by it, she turned and left the hall.

“Why do ye allow her to behave in that manner?”

Symon angled his head so he could make eye contact with Niul down the head table. “Brenda did her duty in wedding her father’s choice of husband for her. The Earl of Morton used her cruelly, and me own father arranged a match for her that was distasteful, so…” Symon sent him a hard look. “It was me father who decided she would be her own woman on account of the service she’s done for the Grants. Make no mistake, McTavish. I will be keeping me promise to me father. If ye want her, best learn a thing or two about courting.”

Niul didn’t care for Symon’s words, especially when the Grant captains were listening in. “I’ve heard rumors of the way it is here on Grant land now that ye are laird.” Niul took a deep drink from his mug. “Heard ye spent a year following that Lindsey wench about before she agreed to wed ye.”

Symons knuckles popped as he curled his hand into a fist. “Never”—his voice was as tight as his body—“speak of my wife again.”

The Grant captains were shooting Niul hard looks. He wasn’t willing to back down, and not just because he wanted to pick a fight. There was a chill in the air in Grant Castle. It raised Niul’s hackles and made him want to kick Symon Grant in the arse. The man had a full mourning beard on his face, growth that was over two years old.

“This place needs life,” Niul began. “Ye and yer cousin are the only members left of yer line. Ye need some weddings here.”

Symon slammed his fist onto the tabletop. “I did so and buried me wife before a year had passed. No more talk on the matter.”

He’d loved her. Niul drew off a long sip of ale and contemplated Symon. Since Niul was a bastard, William had made sure his half brother never wed. Never produced another branch of the family tree. The laird had no idea how much Niul resented his ways or how Niul longed for a son of his own. One he might recognize and raise up. Without one, he found himself seeing Symon as a younger man in need of guidance. Everyone around the new laird was too intimidated by his position to do what needed doing.

Being a bastard had its advantages at times.

“Women die in childbed, man. Ye sound like me brother, cursing Fate for the loss of his leg when he is hardly the first man to suffer a wound that festers.”

“I said—”

“I heard what ye said.” Niul raised his voice. “And I see how yer captains are looking at their suppers and letting ye seep yerself in yer mourning. I’m no’ afraid of ye, boy… She is dead. Long cold in her grave, and it’s far past time someone found the balls to tell ye to notice how long it’s been.”

“Bastard!”

Symon roared as he came up and out of his chair. Niul met him, the pair of them rolling over the long head table as they grappled.

“Ye aren’t fit…to speak her name…” Symon snarled.

Niul staggered back under a hard hit, but raised his leg and drove his knee into Symon’s belly when the Grant laird tried to follow his first blow with a second one. “Ye are nae dead, man.” Niul smashed his elbow into the side of Symon’s jaw, sending him staggering away. “Stop expecting her to rise up and give ye children.”

Symon wasn’t ready to listen yet. He charged at Niul, and they collided like bears. There was grunting and curses, but everyone stayed away. Niul finally broke free and threw his hands wide.

“Look at yer men, Laird Grant!”

Symon stiffened, his rage cracking as he did indeed cast a look around him.

“They are no’ stopping me because they recognize the truth of me words.” Niul softened his tone. “Do ye think it brings me pleasure to say them? I nearly watched me brother die abovestairs when he lost his leg and would nae be seen. Bastard? If I truly were less of a man, I’d be after yer cousin in the hope that our children will inherit after ye leave the Grants without an heir.” He spat blood on the floor and wiped his mouth across his sleeve. “Instead, I’m trying to kick yer arse and drag ye kicking and screaming back into the light of life.”

Symon slowly grinned. “Well, ye are no’ the smartest man, are ye?”

Niul opened his arms wide and performed a courtesy, lowering himself. “The lot of a bastard—to please as often as I might while still being expected to fail at it due to me lack of breeding.”

Symon nodded and slowly walked toward him. He offered his hand, and Niul grasped the Grant’s wrist.

“We all have our lots,” Symon said as he finished shaking Niul’s hand. “I thank ye for reminding me of mine.”

* * *

Symon turned to see Brenda walking down the passageway with a tray in her hands.

“Ye’re going to tend him?” he asked, surprise thick in his tone.

Brenda only smiled at him. “Yes.”

“Why?” Symon asked in a quiet tone.

Brenda moved up next to him and cast a look at the portrait he’d been staring at. His wife looked back at them, the paint making her appear almost lifelike.

“Because I could no’ give ye the thrashing ye needed to keep ye from following Tara into the grave.”

Symon tore his gaze from the painting and looked at Brenda. She watched the pain still flickering in his eyes.

“This is for ye.” She held out a razor. “I sent a maid up to yer chamber with hot water and soap.”

Symon drew in a stiff breath and fought the urge to look back at the portrait. He took the razor and offered Brenda a stiff nod. He started to walk away, looking as though his feet were heavy, but he stopped and turned back toward Brenda.

“Ye are right,” he said firmly. “I will shave this mourning beard off.”

Brenda inclined her head.

“And I am no’ the only one who needs to start living again, Brenda.”

It was her turn to stiffen. Symon offered her no mercy as he nodded. “For all that I have no’ been able to move past that moment when Fate decided to take the woman I loved from me, I would no’ have learned what it is to love without her. It changes a soul, enriches the world around ye in a way, and no one can understand until they allow themselves to love another.”

He pointed at her. “Ye need to move past yer history too. Let someone touch ye, and hopefully teach ye the pleasure of being a woman.”

“Symon,” she hissed in a low tone.

“I am correct.” He cut her off by holding up the razor between them. “Just as ye are right about me needing a thrashing. Ye’ve never chosen a lover. It can be more than duty, Brenda, and it falls to me to say so bluntly since yer parents are gone, and ye and I are the only kin we both have left. Do nae squander the years ye have on the ones who treated ye cruelly. We are both here and we must begin living, no’ simply going through the motions while we are chained to the dark elements of our pasts.”

Brenda felt his words cut through something inside her. To be certain, she’d never thought to discuss such personal things with a man, yet he was correct. They had only each other, and the castle was a sad place because of it. Life was merely an echo in the stone hallways.

“I will…will…think upon the matter…” Her composure failed her as her tongue felt graceless inside her mouth.

“As will I,” Symon said. “We must both begin living again.”

Symon pointed in the direction of their guest’s chamber. Brenda found her belly knotting as she began to move toward Niul. Did she desire him? Would she even recognize passion if it gripped her? Her thoughts were full of questions, and she felt an odd heat teasing her cheeks.

Blushing?

It stunned her and made her smile at the same time.

Because it had been a very long time since she had felt so alive.

* * *

McTavish land

“Where is Katherine?”

William McTavish turned and eyed his son. “I’ve never had an Englishwoman at me table.”

Rolfe considered the captains on his father’s right who were sending him cutting looks. “So, she is just locked away until the matter of her ransom is resolved?”

His father took a bite of his supper and chewed it before answering. “It worked well enough for the other one ye brought home.”

“Helen Grant was only here for a week.”

“She did nae cause such a fuss, either,” one of his father’s captains declared with a frown.

“That was good fun,” Adwin shot back from his place beside Rolfe. “Clever lass to stuff a dress with the bedding and send it out the window. Nice to see Scotland has influenced her. Ye can wager she did nae learn such spirit in England.”

There were some chuckles in response, but Rolfe was more focused on his father. “I’ve been gone nearly a fortnight. Are ye saying she’s been locked in her chamber all that time?”

“Nae,” another of his father’s captains answered. “We’ll no’ be wasting men on the guarding of that hellion. She’s down in the cellar, where she’ll not be—”

Rolfe didn’t wait for the man to finish. He shoved his chair back and gave his father a single, hard tug on the corner of his bonnet before he was striding away.

“Hey.” Adwin caught Rolfe by the bicep in the passageway between the hall and the kitchens. “Are ye certain ye want to be showing so much concern? The lass has a purpose, and so do ye. Or did ye no’ notice that yer sire sent ye out because of yer little tryst with the lass?”

“It was a kiss,” Rolfe defended himself. “No’ a tryst. For Christ’s sake, what are ye all so concerned about? Do ye think she has the pox?”

“Worse than that. She’s English, Rolfe.” His man gave him a hard shove in the shoulder. “Ye’re no’ daft. It matters. To some more than others.”

“She’s a lass,” Rolfe cut back. “One I’m sorry I brought here.”

But she was there, and he’d been gone a long time. Rolfe made his way through the kitchens, startling the women working there. The closest thing McTavish Castle had to cells were the cellars next to the buttery where the casks of ale were stored. Cells were generally unnecessary; the worst thing that could happen to a person on clan land was to be put out of the castle without his colors. Rolfe turned and descended belowground where the air was chilly year-round.

“Angus?”

There was a shuffled step on the hard floor. The massive form of the butler came into sight. A ring of keys hung from his belt, but his collar was open and the skin of his neck wet.

Angus reached up and tugged on his bonnet, except that it was missing, so he settled for touching two fingers to his temple.

“Where is the English lass?”

Understanding dawned on the butler. “In the back. The laird said it had to be so. For meself, I would have placed her near the stairs, to keep her warmer, as well as give her more than bread and water. The laird was firm in his orders, though. Very clear. Bread and water, naught else. And only once a day at that.”

“Of course he was.”

Rolfe went down the dark passageway. Below the tower, it was narrow, the walls composed of rough rocks that were not plastered to make them smooth. He caught sight of a maid hurrying away before he recognized her, only half of her hair shoved up into her cap. At the end of the passageway, there was a very solid door. It was barred and locked. Angus came up behind him, the keys jingling as the butler sorted through them for the correct one.

Rolfe peered into the darkness and cursed.

* * *

Time had never moved so slowly. Of course, it was difficult to grasp it when there was no sunlight. Katherine began to know the day by the visits from her jailer. Angus wasn’t unkind to her, at least not after their first meeting, when he’d made it clear he knew a great deal about causing pain, should she be any trouble and need a lesson in minding him.

She believed him. The butler bore the marks of too many fights to count and seemed to enjoy his battered appearance. As far as choices for guarding the buttery, she had to concede that Angus was a fine selection. No one would be getting into the stores of ale and grain without permission.

Every house had such strictures, lest gluttony deplete the storerooms before spring arrived with a new harvest to fill them again.

He came once a day and unlocked her door. If she wanted to be fed, she would be against the far wall and stay there. He left her plate and changed her toilet bucket before locking her back in. A crude sort of grayness made it into the room during the daylight, but by night, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

And so the days passed slowly, because she could only sleep so much and the chill kept her from ever being comfortable. She passed the time by coming up with escape plans or at least attempting to concoct a means of escape. Just because she hadn’t succeeded didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“So, you have come to see me.” Katherine recognized Rolfe’s voice and did her best to sound as though it meant little to her.

“I’ve been gone,” he said. “On me father’s orders.”

She liked the sound of that. A ripple of relief went through her, and she didn’t bother to question it. Beggars couldn’t be too particular, and she was starting to smile when she heard the squeaking of the mice as though they were companions.

“I did nae know me father put ye here, lass.”

But he sounded as if he was sorry. She did bristle a little, straightening her back and setting her chin. “I’ve weathered it well enough.”

He extended his hand. “Come, lass.”

She started to reach for his hand but stopped when she noticed how filthy her nails were. They were a testament to how she’d crawled around the room, testing every stone for loose ones that might lead to a secret tunnel. His jaw tightened when she folded her hands together instead of taking his.

“Truly, I did nae know, but I promise ye, I will be having words with me father.”

He’d stepped out of the doorway, and she took the chance to leave the cell behind her. Rolfe seemed larger than she recalled, and she shied away from his form as she drew in a deep breath, but froze when she noticed Angus was watching her.

The burly butler reached up and tugged on a tuft of his hair. “Do nae be cross with me for doing me duty.”

“Yer duty is finished.” Rolfe reached across and grasped her by the upper arm.

But now that she’d left the cell behind, she realized she reeked and pulled away from him. He stiffened but released her.

“I’m filthy.” She wasn’t sure why she spoke; it was just another one of those impulses that seemed to take command of her thoughts when she was near him.

Her admission earned her a softening of his features. He truly was a handsome man when he relaxed. Heat teased her cheeks as she walked beside him.

“Well, that is something I can remedy.”

He took her down the passageway and into the kitchens. She drew plenty of notice from the staff, who must have known what her fate was. The scent of food was strong, and her belly rumbled.

Rolfe frowned again. “I’ll feed ye better than Angus did.”

“I don’t want to be pitied.” There was a humph from one of the women working at a table near enough to hear. “I can make do when I must.”

That earned her another grin from him, but this one was more knowing. “Aye, I can see that ye do nae take delight in wielding yer gender like some sort of weapon against us poor men.”

“You’re so defenseless against me, after all,” she mocked him in return. But it stirred the memory of the last time that she’d seen him.

And felt his kiss.

Her pride was still tender from the encounter because she was not a match for him.

“Here.” He’d stopped in a doorway. “It’s the bathhouse. There will be soap, and I’ll set one of the women to finding ye some fresh clothing.”

There was a snap of fingers before an older woman came forward. She lowered herself before Rolfe.

“I’ll see to her.”

Rolfe nodded but locked gazes with Katherine. “I’ll be right here.”

It was a warning and a reminder of her plight. Katherine ordered herself to move forward and take advantage of what she might. It would be foolish indeed to shun a bath simply because she didn’t care for her circumstances.

“Having you waiting on me is a surprise I didn’t expect.”

Katherine caught the flash of surprise that went across his face before she disappeared through the doorway. The woman behind her was snickering and trying to hold her breath to muffle the sound.

“Lord, ye’ve a fine wit,” she said as she stopped in front of Katherine. “I’m Ceit, and I’ll tell ye straight that I did nae care to hear ye’d been locked in the cellar.”

Katherine shrugged. “I suppose I frightened someone.”

Ceit leaned her head back and chuckled. The sound was balm for Katherine’s lonely soul, bouncing around the room and lifting her spirits until she was returning Ceit’s smile even as her belly rumbled again.

“Well, now,” Ceit said as she rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get ye bathed so ye can get on to having some supper. It’s the truth that I was after Angus for taking ye naught but bread and water.” There was a splash as she emptied a bucket of water into a tub. “The brute claimed the laird gave instructions for ye to be tamed.”

“It will take more than that to break me.” It would likely have been wiser to remain silent, but Katherine didn’t much care. The tub was a large, round half of a barrel, coated with pitch on the inside to hold the water. The room itself was very warm, making disrobing a pleasure. They were behind the massive hearths the kitchens used to roast the meat for the tables in the great hall.

But there was another novelty that gained her interest. There was a long trough running along one side of the wall. Water glistened in it, and Ceit was refilling the bucket from it.

“A fine luxury, is it no’?” She poured more water into the tub. “There’s a longer trough outside that is fed from the water wheel. No fetching the water up from the river. Saves the hands.”

“It does indeed.”

Katherine hesitated and looked behind her, but Rolfe wasn’t in sight. He wouldn’t be.

No, for all that she might think ill of him for bringing her to McTavish Castle, she could not accuse him of being dishonorable.

So she stripped down and climbed into the tub with a shiver because Ceit had yet to add any hot water. Katherine didn’t care. She started to rub a lump of soap across her arm, delighted to feel the grime being washed away.

* * *

“Do ye nae worry about yer hair being wet after the sun’s gone down?”

Katherine emerged from the bathhouse to find Adwin keeping watch. The captain was enjoying a thick piece of cheese he’d placed on a hunk of bread. His beard sported crumbles of bread as he chewed.

“I find myself more focused on the fact that it may be a long time before I am able to bathe, so it’s best not to waste my opportunity.”

Adwin swallowed. “It’s yer head, I suppose.” He jerked his toward the kitchens. “This way.”

She didn’t care for being under guard, but Adwin led her away from the cellars, so Katherine moved along without complaint. She heard him smacking his lips as he chewed, and the sound was nearly her undoing. Her mouth began to water as the ache in her belly became painful. The scent of meat had never struck her as so delicious before.

But Adwin didn’t stop in the kitchens. He led her through them as she fought to control her disappointment.

Such seemed her lot among the McTavishes. Well, she’d weather it. Take what Fate was forcing on her. Just as she always had. The only true choice she had was how she stood up to it all.

Hellion?

It sounded far better than pitiful, so she would embrace it.

* * *

“Ye countermanded me orders.”

Rolfe stood firm in the face of his father’s displeasure and looked him straight in the eye. “I did.”

William snorted and lifted his mug, but he stopped short of drinking from it. “Ye brought her here for gain.”

“Ye wanted to break her,” Rolfe replied. “I told ye, I owe her a debt of gratitude. She should be treated as her station demands.”

“It was a necessary action, brought on by her own escape attempt,” his father responded firmly. “I’ll no’ have that hellion turning me house on its ear.”

“The MacPhersons will no’ be happy to hear how she’s been treated,” Rolfe said softly.

“Lecture me on that, will ye?” his father demanded. “Was it nae ye who told me that she needed a lesson?”

Rolfe nodded, earning a grunt of satisfaction from his sire.

“Ye are the one who tumbled her. Why do ye think I sent ye away?”

“I did no’ tumble her.”

His father choked on his amusement. “Everyone saw the hay sticking to her.”

“I stopped her from escaping,” Rolfe explained.

His father smiled brightly at him. “Mind ye, I’m rather relieved to see that shell of honor ye’ve always worn cracking. There are times a laird must employ a bit of deception to gain what he seeks. It’s canny.”

“I am not deceiving ye.”

William shook his head. “I’m missing part of me leg, no’ one of me eyes, boy. I saw the way that lass was looking at ye, her eyes wide and her lips swollen. Ye kissed her. Deny it, and I’ll call ye a liar.”

Rolfe snapped his jaw shut. His father roared with amusement.

“It’s no’ that I blame ye—she’s a fine sight—but I’ll no’ have ye taking up with any English chit.”

“Good night, Father.”

His sire slapped the arm of the chair he was sitting in. “Did ye hear me, Rolfe?”

Rolfe had started to turn away, but he stopped and made eye contact with his father. He gave him a hard nod before he left the study behind.

He had kissed her.

And he had scarcely stopped thinking about it since.

Perhaps the rest of the clan saw him as honorable, but the truth was that he’d been less than respectable in his dealings with Katherine.

He stopped in the passageway, quelling the urge to hit the wall out of frustration.

His position gave him a view of the great hall. Adwin was playing dice with Cedric and others. As it was late in the evening, supper had been cleared away and many had sought their beds. Rolfe looked toward the stairs that led to the top of the tower. He didn’t doubt that Adwin had made certain Katherine was secure in a chamber.

But he wanted to make sure.

The urge was strong, so much so that it made him hesitate.

But that was the extent of the hold his better judgment had on him. He was halfway up the tower stairs before he finished thinking the matter through. Was it truly a case of wanting to make certain she’d been treated fairly, or was he standing outside her chamber door because he just couldn’t stop thinking about how much he’d enjoyed the taste of her?

* * *

Someone knocked.

Katherine turned in time to see the chamber door opening. The stairwell was dark, but the candle she had burning in the chamber cast a yellow light over Rolfe. He found her quickly, his jaw tightening.

“Ye do nae have to be against the wall when this door opens,” he informed her.

“I was looking out the window.” She wasn’t sure why she wanted to soothe the anger in him. In some way, his ire should have pleased her, provided balm for her wounded pride. But it didn’t.

He crossed into the room as the door shut behind him. She watched his body go tense as the sound of it meeting the doorjamb hit their ears.

Katherine ended up smiling. “I don’t believe my reputation could be in worse condition.”

“So I should just dispense with correct behavior?” he demanded.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she answered. He drew himself up stiffly in response. “I meant that as much for myself as you.”

She’d surprised him once more. He crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated her. Something rippled over her skin, an awareness of him, or maybe it was more correct to say that she was conscious of how aware he was of her. She couldn’t recall feeling so exposed to anyone before.

“Why were ye allowed to be a lad?”

It was a personal question, and yet she didn’t shy away from answering. Maybe that was because she had been alone for so long, or perhaps it had more to do with her feeling that he saw deeply into her soul. All she knew for certain was that it was very nice to be asked a question like she was more than a prisoner.

“I’m English.”

Rolfe rolled his eyes at her. “I had no’ noticed.”

Katherine discovered herself sharing a smile with him. “Marcus knew there would be times I might be faced with difficulties over my blood.”

“So he took ye into his training yard?” Rolfe’s tone was disbelieving.

She smiled brighter, feeling her pride returning. “Not exactly.”

Rolfe snorted at her, admiring her daring. “Ye snuck in.”

She nodded, not bothering to hide how proud she was.

Rolfe’s grin faded. “But Marcus is no fool. For all that I do nae profess to call the man a friend, I know him. He does not miss details. No’ for as many years as ye must have been training to be as good at mounting as ye are.”

“In truth, I failed to think about it myself, but it seems he did know. Only recently did it become a matter he was unwilling to ignore any longer.” Lament crept into her tone.

“Ye should no’…dislike yer own gender, Katherine. Ye’re a fine-looking woman.”

He’d moved closer. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed, or perhaps she was simply becoming at ease in his presence. She felt more aware with him there, and it was a relief after so many endless hours alone in the darkness. She craved the sensation, even though it felt as if everything was heightened. Her sight, hearing, even the way her skin registered the air moving in the room. All of it was intense, and Rolfe was the most overwhelming of all. The span of his shoulders, the way he pushed his sleeves up to expose his forearms.

His gaze was enchanting.

“Green eyes,” she muttered. “I don’t believe I have ever seen them before.”

He took another step toward her, angling his head down now that he was so close to her.

“I’ve never seen a woman pull herself up into the saddle.”

She started to smile, but froze when he leaned down toward her.

He was going to kiss her.

The thought felt frozen in her mind, becoming the only thing she could manage to think about. There didn’t seem to be anything but him and the way her insides felt as if they were twisting with anticipation. Even the surface of her lips was eager, and Rolfe didn’t disappoint her.

He pressed his lips to hers with a softness that delighted her. Unlike the last time, she wasn’t crushed by his strength. No, it was intoxicating. Her wits dulled until there was nothing but the motion of his lips against hers. Naught except for the impulse to lift herself up onto her toes so she might kiss him in return. He guided her with a gentle hand on her nape, his fingers sending a ripple of excitement down her spine that spread out over her skin, raising gooseflesh and drawing her nipples into tight little points.

She gasped, and he sealed her mouth beneath his once more as he moved with her. She was twisting, unable to remain still, so she grasped the front of his doublet, holding on to the only steady thing in her world.

Him.

He made a low sound that rumbled through his chest. It was a mixture of promise and enjoyment that made her heart accelerate and her thoughts fall completely away. She found a new place inside her mind, one where impulses bred and combined and were ruled by nothing.

In this state of mind, she pulled him to her and opened her mouth so the kiss might grow deeper, harder, more intoxicating. Rolfe bound her to him, delighting her with his strength. She craved it, craved him, and she simply wasn’t close enough. There were too many layers of clothing between them when what she wanted was to be pressed against his bare skin.

It was a shocking urge that knocked her back to her senses for a moment as she pulled away, breaking their kiss so she might drag in a ragged breath and think.

Rolfe simply kissed his way down her face and onto the side of her neck.

Delicious…

She had never understood why women were called creatures of enchantment. Now, she felt that way herself, only she was the one falling under the spell. It wove its way through her mind as Rolfe’s lips sent ripple after ripple of pleasure down her body. She heard herself crying out. Little sounds of breathless wonderment that she scarcely believed came from her.

She had never been so wanton.

Never realized her body could feel so much delight.

And then she was alone, stumbling back a step to lean on the wall. She was grateful for the support because her knees trembled and threatened to fold.

Rolfe was stepping farther away from her, his jaw so tight that the muscles running down his neck were corded.

His agitation slapped her straight across the face, shaming her with just how willing she had been, while he appeared furious to have fallen for her charms. He was gone in another moment, leaving her to battle the guilt that tried to tear her flesh from her bones.

But that wasn’t what sent tears into her eyes. Hot, stinging drops that spilled over and onto her cheeks. What broke her was the way he’d retreated from her.

From the Englishwoman that she was.

* * *

How could she crave him?

Katherine woke to that question in her mind.

Marcus, Robert, Rolfe… They were correct. She was a woman grown now, and she was far from innocent of what went on between men and women.

In some respects, it was better to know, because that helped her find her balance as she tried to sort her feelings into something that could be managed.

Her newest chamber was high in the top of the tower. It had a curved ceiling with exposed arches. What she enjoyed most were the windows. She walked toward one of them, carefully opening the glass that was set into shutters to seal out the weather. The morning chill came in, but she welcomed it after so many days sealed in the cellar, where the air never stirred and all she did was sit in her own stench until she didn’t notice it any longer.

The chamber was a single one, without a partition between receiving and bed space. She cared not at all about the lack of modern appeal, because the room afforded her windows that overlooked every direction. In the distance, she heard a church bell tolling and the McTavishes beginning to rise and greet the day.

She had been a child. Or, at least, childish.

The thought of what Marcus was thinking now was a burr in her underbelly. One she admitted she deserved full well for riding out without a care for what might become of her. Rolfe had done her a service in forcing her to see that.

Her cheeks burned scarlet as she thought of Rolfe. So many emotions rolled through her, like bubbles beginning in a pot of water as it neared the boiling point. First, there was one or two, then eight, and then the entire contents were boiling.

She enjoyed his kiss.

Craved his touch.

Wanted more.

And yet she’d be damned if she would throw herself at a man who detested her for her blood.

At least being loathed because of her parentage was something she understood well. Oh yes, she recalled that so very well from her childhood. Had tasted a different version of it when she’d encountered the Earl of Morton, and finally, it seemed she must face it again in the form of a man she longed for.

Cursed Fate.

She had been its plaything for too long. Frustration nipped at her as she combed out her hair and straightened her bed.

Well, she’d have to cultivate resolve. Wasn’t that the true difference between adult and child?

* * *

Boyd listened to his laird chuckle with glee. He’d served William McTavish for a long time and knew the different sorts of laughter that came from him. Today, it was a sound rich in victory, confirmed by the satisfaction brightening his eyes.

“Ye see?” William declared. “The English do have uses!”

Boyd took to stroking his beard. His laird didn’t care for the lack of camaraderie.

“Well, speak yer mind,” William said at last. “I’m growing old waiting.”

Boyd gripped his wide belt before choosing his words. “I do nae think yer son will be happy about taking the lass down to the Earl of Morton. Rolfe was clear when he brought her here that it was to teach her a lesson.”

“I am no’ the chit’s father,” William announced with a wave of his hand.

“Well, now, the earl would likely no’ be interested in her if ye were.”

William scoffed at Boyd. “What matters is that we have her, and the Earl of Morton values her.”

“Perhaps ye should be more concerned about what yer son will say when he learns that ye plan to give the little lass back to a man who tried to have her wed when she was too young.”

“She is a woman grown now,” William argued. “It’s time for her to wed.”

“Wedding too young is no’ the only sort of ill that a bad match can bring to a woman,” Boyd responded. “Yer son will be quick to tell ye so. He feels responsible for the lass, make no mistake.”

William took to drinking. It was a long moment before he lowered his mug and contemplated Boyd. “Ye’re right, and yet I am proud of Rolfe. He’s now a man to be reckoned with, so I’ll not shirk from telling him. I’m doing the best I can for me clan. He’ll have to reconcile himself to it in the end.”

“Ye’re certain of that?”

William lifted his mug but paused with it in the air between them. “Aye. For I’ll tell him in front of the men, at the same time that I inform the English wench of her fate. Rolfe will nae cross me in front of the clan. His honor would no’ allow him to.”

It was a bold strategy, but he was a Highlander. William drank long and deep before he set his empty mug aside and stood. He was going to dress well for the moment, taking care to ensure that he looked every inch the laird of the McTavishes.

* * *

It was one of Laird McTavish’s captains who knocked on her door next. Katherine turned toward the sound, anticipating supper. All she received was a curt nod and a jerk of the man’s head.

“The laird wishes to see ye.”

Her belly knotted, and at the same time, she was hopeful that perhaps Marcus had arrived to fetch her back. She wasn’t sure how she would repay the MacPhersons, but she would worry about that after she was home.

The great hall was full of McTavish retainers. They filled the long tables as supper was served to them. She heard them before she reached the hall and realized how much she missed being part of conversations. Her debt to the MacPhersons was mounting as she appreciated how welcoming they had been.

And now, there would be the matter of a ransom.

Guilt heated her cheeks as she turned and stood in the large double doorway that opened into the hall. Men grew silent as they spotted her.

“Aye, bring her up.”

It was the laird who spoke, and his people quieted as they waited to hear what he wanted with her. Rolfe looked up from his seat beside his father.

“Katherine Carew,” the laird began with a satisfied tone. “Natural-born daughter and recognized bastard of the Earl of Bedford.”

“I have not seen him in over ten years.”

Eyes narrowed at her, as it was clear many believed she should remain silent.

“Blood is blood,” William McTavish declared. “And yers is blue. The earl recognized ye at yer baptism.”

“A fact that has brought me nothing but grief.”

William frowned and pointed a thick finger at her. “It gains ye men who are interested in taking ye to wife because of the alliances with yer father’s house.” He slapped the table in front of him. “Do nae be ungrateful. A place is a place.”

“I was stolen from mine,” Katherine replied.

“Hold yer tongue,” William warned her. The captain beside her gave her a shove to emphasize his laird’s command.

“I will not,” Katherine declared firmly. “For I will not have it said that I deceived you about what I am worth.”

“Which ye still say is naught?” William asked.

“I have been in Scotland for too many years for any of my blood kin to believe I am unsoiled.”

“Well, as to that matter…” William waved his hand. “It is no’ me concern, for the Earl of Morton has interest in ye. He can see to the matter of having ye inspected by a midwife.”

Katherine paled. She stood strong, but she felt the blood draining from her face.

“Do nae look so stricken,” William continued without a shred of mercy for her. “Ye are nae too tender for marriage now, and ye have thrived in Scotland, so a marriage with a Scot will likely suit ye well enough.” He paused to take a drink, the sound of the mug hitting the tabletop like a pistol exploding. “No’ that I care. What matters is that Rolfe has brought his clan a fine prize that will see me ennobled and the McTavish raised up above others.”

Katherine was numb as she locked gazes with Rolfe. “You promised to ransom me to the MacPhersons.”

“There was no promise made by my son.” William hit the table with his fist and struggled to stand. Once he was on his feet, he pointed at her. “Call him a liar again, and I’ll have ye beaten for it. No English chit will be making up tales about the McTavishes.”

He leaned on his hands once he was done, daring her to voice a complaint. She battled the urge, but it wasn’t his threat that kept her silent. It was the hostility of those watching her. All of that hate, and for what reason?

Her English blood.

It destroyed the foundation of her life, that wonderful existence she had been living with the MacPhersons.

No, what had smashed her life was Rolfe McTavish with his desire to claim her as a prize.

The McTavish started to chuckle at her silent form, enjoying her moment of submission.

The captain behind her grabbed her by the arm and swung her around. She went willingly enough, telling herself there was nothing for her in the hall.

And she repeated that again and again as she climbed to her tower chamber.

Rolfe McTavish was nothing, and she would take that to heart.

Because her private thoughts were the only thing she had left.

* * *

“Stay where ye are, son.”

Rolfe curled his fingers into fists as his father settled back into his chair.

“She is a prize that will net more than ye thought.”

“Since when do we play into the hands of the bloody Douglas?” Rolfe demanded softly.

“Since the man can bestow a title on me.” William turned his head to lock gazes with his son. “One which ye will inherit and pass on to yer own son one day. A laird always thinks of his clan first. Every McTavish will benefit.”

Rolfe disagreed. He shot his father a hard look but kept his jaw tight.

“Women are meant to wed for purpose,” William offered softly. “Why do ye think the MacPhersons allowed her to turn hellion? They do nae want the burden of providing a dowry for her. The Earl of Morton will find her a husband with a position, and her children will have better lots for it.”

Rolfe couldn’t fault his father’s thinking. It was the way the world was. A solid truth that only a fool argued with.

So label him a fool.

* * *

“Do nae let me father’s words wound ye.”

She hadn’t thought Rolfe would follow her into the chamber, much less touch her, but she felt him cup her shoulder. It was so tempting to indulge in a moment of bliss. Linger in the sensation that seemed to result when he touched her. It was a mystery—in many ways, an alarming one—but her pride refused to allow her to take shelter in it.

“Your father”—she made sure to enunciate every syllable exactly the way she’d been taught by her tutors in England—“does not have the power to frighten me.”

Rolfe knew she was lying. The look in his eyes told her she could not hide her emotions from him.

“So…go on with you.” She tried to make her tone one of disdain. “Or are you looking to gloat over what profit you have gained by bringing me here?”

“That is no’ why I am here,” he replied softly.

She shifted away from him, her belly twisting in response to how close he was. Her craving for him was undermining her ability to recall why she had to shun him.

“I meant what I said when I brought ye here, lass.” He spoke each word in a tight tone that sent a warning through her. “It was for a bit of ransom, and so ye might learn the value of thinking before ye took to acting rashly and placing men in peril.”

She nodded, in spite of her temper. It pleased him. For one small moment, there was peace between them. But she closed a door inside herself, refusing to let him see any more of her feelings. She had to do it or be flayed alive.

“But me father…” Rolfe’s tight expression crumbled for just a moment, allowing her a glimpse of his frustration. “He is laird here. I failed to think about how he’d treat an Englishwoman.”

Englishwoman…

Katherine stiffened but Rolfe cupped her shoulders, keeping her near him as he aimed a hard look into her eyes.

“I do nae share his feelings, Katherine.”

“Oh, really?” She twisted away from him, stumbling because of how much force she used. “Do not coddle me. I know your true feelings on the matter.”

His face was a mask of determination. “I’ve a mind to kiss ye again, woman.” He pulled her close enough to feel his breath on her lips. “So ye do nae forget.”

“Kiss me?” she demanded. “Why? So you can jerk away from me once more, to make certain I know you cannot stomach the fact that you lust for me?”

He sealed her against him with an arm around her waist, while his other hand captured her nape and he pulled her the last remaining inches toward him.

“So ye know I must have ye.”

She was melting, cravings rising up from inside her, but she jammed two knuckles into the soft spot where his neck and torso connected. He recoiled instantly.

“Your father is laird here.” Her anger had drained away, leaving her tone nothing more than a soft lament.

Rolfe drew himself up stiffly. “I can nae be a man of honor if I do nae agree with ye on that.”

Somehow, she’d still been clinging to hope. The look in his eyes made her release it. He turned but paused at the door.

“I should no’ have brought ye here, Katherine.”

* * *

“I know that look,” Adwin said when Rolfe emerged. His longtime friend was shaking his head in warning. “Ye’re plotting.”

“Ye’d rather I acted like a dog?” Rolfe asked. “Accept what me father does with me prize like a hound being tossed a table scrap? She is me prize.”

Adwin contemplated him seriously for a long moment. “This is likely no’ going to end well. Ye know that?”

Rolfe shot him a cocky grin and made sure it remained on his lips. He wasn’t going to admit how many doubts he had.