Seven

“The earl will hear no pleas for mercy.”

Adwin tightened his hold on his belt and resisted the urge to curse the herald. “I’m no’ looking to go in there and babble like some English ambassador.”

The herald’s eyes flickered with amusement, even though his expression remained smooth.

Adwin leaned closer. “Tell the man I have what he wants.”

The herald locked gazes with him. Adwin stared him straight in the eye.

“Go on, man,” Adwin urged him.

The herald gave a reluctant nod before he disappeared. Adwin rocked back on his heels as he waited, being careful not to look where Katherine was. There was a tap on the floor when the herald returned.

“The Earl of Morton will see you.”

Adwin tugged on the corner of his bonnet when he entered the room. “As far as courtly manners, that’s about as much as I know.”

Morton was angry, but Adwin caught a flicker of amusement in his eyes in response. “Truth be told, I have little patience for French fashion—and even less for the games the McTavishes seem intent on playing.”

Adwin faced off with the man, gripping his belt and tightening his resolve. Telling tales by the hearthside was one thing; this was another. Today, whether his audience was convinced would have serious consequences.

“The lad is young,” Adwin began. “Sense… Well, that takes a wee bit more time to grow.”

“Rolfe McTavish lacks it, sure enough.”

“That’s why the laird has me watching out for the lad.”

Morton leaned back in his chair and made a motion with his hand. “Get on with it. I am a busy man.”

“I have the girl,” Adwin said.

Morton sat up again. “Here?”

Adwin nodded. “Of course. Rolfe was just attempting to swipe the cheese out from under yer nose.”

Morton bared his teeth.

“Lads do such things,” Adwin was quick to add. “I pulled a few stunts of that nature in me own day that are still bringing me grief. And there are a few stories about ye making the rounds in the Highlands.”

Morton grunted but relaxed. “Why did ye nae bring her in yesterday?”

“Had to fetch her up from where Rolfe left her in the country,” Adwin answered. “And I do nae mind saying plainly that it likely did the lad a bit of good to spend the night in chains. Maybe it will teach him some sense.”

“Bring her in.”

Morton snapped his fingers, and his men opened the doors. Adwin watched the man’s eyes narrow when he saw Diocail Gordon bringing Katherine forward. He had a disgusted look on his face as he half tossed her toward Morton.

“English chit,” Diocail declared. “I pity the man ye wed her to.”

“You swine.” Katherine drew in a deep breath and looked at Morton. “How much longer must I endure this country?”

“As long as I tell ye to, madam.” Morton sent her a stern warning look.

Katherine played her part, folding under the power of the earl’s gaze and lowering herself before him. When she straightened, she began to pluck at the front of her skirt as though she was nervous.

“So, is it an agreement?” Adwin pressed the earl.

“A poor one, if ye ask me,” Diocail added. “One day in her company, and ye’ll be begging her father to take her back.”

“You cannot expect me to enjoy being taken to your barbaric Highlands,” Katherine informed Diocail. “Savages. The lot of them.”

“Hold yer tongue, woman.” Morton pointed at her. “Or I’ll have ye locked in a bridle.”

Katherine shut her mouth, inwardly cringing at the thought of such a device being used on her. It was a cage of sorts that went over the head, with a plate inserted into the mouth that often included hooks or barbs to cut into the tongue. It would be locked at the back and was often used on women for gossiping.

Adwin let out a bark of laughter. “No’ so happy to be here now… Are ye, mistress?” He reached up and tugged on his bonnet again. “Sorry, my lord, but I can nae hide the fact that I will be well rid of her. Still do nae understand what Rolfe was thinking to try to keep her.”

“He claimed to have wed her.”

Adwin grinned, and Diocail made a show of smothering his amusement. “His father would have his balls first.”

Even though it was part of the charade, Katherine still cringed. Rolfe’s father wouldn’t receive the news of their wedding well. Of course, at the moment it hardly mattered. Morton was much the same. She shied away from thinking that he looked even more arrogant, because circumstances were dire enough without adding to them.

The dress they’d found for her was a sturdy wool one. It was a fine, soft weave that was dyed a dark blue. As she’d come through the court, she’d passed ladies in full court fashion, with farthingales, face paint, and even wigs. Some of them wore a fortune in pearls and gold.

Morton himself was turned out in a fine doublet made of brocade. His buttons were solid gold and his fingernails buffed from being attended. He looked down at her from his throne and contemplated her in exactly the way she’d remembered. As if he was gauging her value.

“Ye can have yer master back,” Morton declared. “And he can go home and tell his father why he is no’ gaining the title I promised. That will be the price for his son’s disobedience.”

Adwin started to argue, but the earl slapped the arm of the chair. “That is the only offer I will make. Take him and go, before I decide to keep them both.”

Adwin made a show of wrestling with the earl’s warning. He reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet at last, earning a grunt from Morton.

“And tell yer fellow Highlanders what happens to ye when ye try to dupe me.”

Relief moved through her. Katherine looked at the floor to hide the feeling. She didn’t dare allow it to be seen. She heard the outer doors opening, and there was a moment when Adwin and Diocail hesitated to leave her. It endeared them to her, but she couldn’t allow it, so she lifted her face and wrinkled her nose at them.

“At last, I am free of you.”

She made sure to enunciate her words. Beyond the doors, her English accent was clearly noted, earning her as many scowls as curious looks. It was nothing new; neither was being in the Earl of Morton’s power. The doors closed, leaving her facing the man.

“Well, now, mistress, ye are no’ too young any longer.” His gaze lingered on her breasts. “No’ a bit.”

* * *

“Are ye daft, Adwin?” Rolfe was seething. They’d barely made it off the street and into the boardinghouse before he let loose.“How could ye give Kat to that man?”

“Truth was, it was her idea.”

Rolfe growled, his temper darkening his complexion.

“The best idea we had at hand,” Diocail Gordon added as he placed a bowl on the table. “Ye could no’ have done better.”

“I would never take me freedom at the cost of me wife’s,” Rolfe sneered.

“Thing is,” Adwin replied, “she was right about one thing. The earl will no’ be putting her in chains.”

“And there was no other way, short of divine intervention, that we were going to get ye out of that dungeon,” Diocail added. “So we listened to the lass. It was sound thinking.”

Rolfe wanted to argue more, but his belly was knotted with hunger. While his will was raging, his flesh was needy. Two days without food, and the scent of the stew being served to him was making his mouth water, reducing him to little better than a hound.

He mopped up the last of the bowl’s contents with a hunk of bread. Diocail and Adwin had settled down beside him, the rest of the tables in the boardinghouse empty after they had tossed some silver on the tables to encourage the occupants to leave.

“The lass will be abovestairs somewhere.” Adwin spoke softly. “The earl does nae suspect she is anything except a biddable female.”

“It was the reasonable choice,” Diocail said.

“Perhaps for ye it was,” Rolfe growled at him. “She is me wife. I am duty bound to protect her, no’ cower behind her. Morton tried to wed her when she was but fourteen. Do ye have any idea what he might plot now that she is woman enough to no’ cause a commotion with his actions?”

“He’ll want to get a good amount for her,” Diocail said. “So it will take him some time.”

“And she played the part well, wrinkling up her nose as if she hated us,” Adwin said. “Morton has no reason to suspect she is no’ happier here.”

“Unless one of his spies has told him of the MacPherson hellion,” Rolfe countered. “He has spies all over the Highlands.” He snorted. “Morton would put her in chains in an instant if he suspected he had need of them to keep his prize.”

All three men went silent with the gravity of the situation.

“In that case”—Diocail stood—“we’d best get on with rescuing the lass.”

* * *

“She’s tight.”

Katherine felt her cheeks burning as she glared at the physician. The man paid her no mind as he continued to speak with Morton. She knotted the tie around her dressing robe and pulled it tight, but that didn’t remove the feeling of having the man’s hands on her intimate person.

“Perhaps not a virgin; it’s very hard to tell for sure.” He looked over at her. “The mortification proves a certain level of innocence.”

“The prospective groom is only interested in a maiden,” Morton said.

“Give her a knife to cut herself and bloody the sheet,” the physician remarked as though it was far from the first time he’d been called upon to offer such advice. “And impress upon her how dire her circumstances will be if she fails to make the union binding.”

Morton slowly smiled before he nodded and waved the man out of the chamber. That left her alone with him, which made her belly knot with apprehension. Two of his retainers stood nearby, the same two men who had been instructed to hold her down while she was inspected.

The shame was theirs.

She repeated that a few more times, trying to force herself to believe it.

“Ye think I am a monster.”

Katherine turned to look behind her and discovered she was alone with the Earl of Morton. He was a huge man, one who hadn’t allowed himself to run to fat. It was a telling fact that should be noted, because he wasn’t the sort who sat around talking about things he never did with his own hands.

“Scotland was in the grip of a civil war when I took the regency,” he continued. “The Church was split, and the Highlanders, well, they were doing their best to kill each other. If Mary had her way, she’d have taken this country into a holy war, first with our own people and then on to England.”

Still caught in the grip of mortification, Katherine wanted to loathe him, but the truth sliced through her temper. The earl nodded slowly.

“It’s good to see that ye have a bit of sense, madam.” He considered her. There was a way he looked at people that reminded her of Rolfe, so very intense, as though he approached life more seriously than some people. “Ye were a child the last time we met.”

“And yet you considered me ready for marriage.”

“An alliance with England would end two hundred years of wars,” Morton cut back. “Alliances made through marriage. Fate decided that ye would be born with blue blood.”

“So what now?” she asked. “Now that you have had me prodded by your physician, which I suspect was merely to impress upon me how much power you have over me.”

His lips curled up into a grin. “The groom’s family insisted on the physician. I am the one who paid him enough to ensure he will never let it be known he isn’t sure if ye are a virgin.”

“So now,” she said softly, “you are here to impress my circumstances upon me?”

The earl’s grin grew wider. “As a child, ye would have bent to whatever situation I put ye in. Now, though, ye are grown.”

And the earl was attempting to gauge what manner of will she had. It surprised her because it meant the man was not simply dismissing her as an object to be bartered at his whim. No, he was more calculating than that, and she was impressed with his dedication to ending wars. She would be the monster if she failed to recognize the value of that.

“Yes, grown.” She tempered her tone. “Old enough to understand that a good marriage is important.”

It was the sort of thing little girls were taught to say. Even little boys earned such lectures from the Church when they came back from the playhouses with fanciful ideas about wedding the woman of their heart’s delight. Such was fine and good for an afternoon’s entertainment, but not very practical.

“Are ye wed to Rolfe McTavish?”

“I’d be a fool to admit it,” she countered. “You can make a much finer match for me.”

The earl’s grin became menacing. “The Bedfords are rumored to have more money than the queen. It appears ye are yer father’s daughter.”

“I could be.” It was a risk, being so bold.

The earl drew in a stiff breath. “If I made it worthwhile to ye?”

“Nothing quite so…lacking in feminine grace,” Katherine answered.

“Explain yerself, woman.”

“I am simply suggesting that I might be so…much more than a prisoner.” She flipped her hand in the air. “Consider this. If I were to apply myself to my union, with grace and…happiness.”

“Ye’d be a fool to do otherwise,” the earl said. “No man suffers a shrew.”

There was a thick warning in his tone. He followed it with a stern look before he quit the room. She gained a quick glance at the men beyond the outer door. They tugged on the corner of their bonnets as the earl passed them and firmly closed the door behind him.

She’d heard their boots on the stone floor the night before. Not so very unlike the sound of the stake being readied in the Gordons’ yard.

Well, you escaped that fate. So you will not abandon hope now.

She’d escaped with Rolfe’s help.

And once more, she was in dire straits because she had helped him.

Star-crossed lovers.

Truly, the phrase described them well. She just hoped they didn’t end up as a tragedy, as so many lovers did in theatrical plays.

However, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from acknowledging it was very, very possible.

* * *

“Ye’re playing a dangerous game.”

Rolfe cut Diocail a side glance. “As are ye.”

He nodded and continued to watch who was arriving and exiting from the court. “A pair of Highlanders willingly staying at court. That will raise a few eyebrows.”

“Why do ye think I’m wearing breeks?”

Diocail shifted in his own set of breeches. “I do nae fancy them meself.”

Diocail snorted and slapped Rolfe on the shoulder. “Men have done worse in the interest of claiming the lady they desire.”

“She is me wife,” Rolfe growled back.

Diocail wasn’t impressed. “Are ye saying ye do nae desire her?” He slowly shook his head. “Now that is a shame. One I think I may have to remedy by stealing her from ye.”

Rolfe sent him a grin that made it clear he’d enjoy the attempt. “Careful, Diocail, I’m in need of a good fight, and a Gordon and a McTavish going at it… Well now, that will no’ be anything to take notice of.”

Rolfe turned back to watching the main entrance to the court.

“What are ye waiting to see?”

“The Earl of Bedford’s secretary arrived this morning.” Rolfe sent Diocail a satisfied smirk. “If Morton has a mind to wed Katherine to someone for an alliance, well, he’ll be needing her father’s agreement or—”

“It would be worthless because the union was made in Scotland.” Diocail slowly laughed. “Ye’ve a fine head on yer shoulders, Rolfe. Of course, ye’ll be needing all of yer wits when ye get the lass back home. I hear yer father is nae too fond of the English.”

“An English heiress would be a bit more welcome.”

Diocail didn’t answer right away. Rolfe knew the man was thinking the facts through. It didn’t take him long to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “And ye’ll likely be asking for less than the Earl of Morton.”

“Almost certainly.”

Diocail nodded slowly. “Unless the Earl of Bedford wants an alliance. I hear the Bedfords support the troops in the Netherlands. Morton has been raising the king as a Protestant. Bedford would approve.”

“There he is.” Rolfe caught sight of the man wearing the pin of the Earl of Bedford. The man looked enraged as he came out of the gate with his attendants hurrying to keep pace. Rolfe moved along the street, following the man until he ducked into a town house.

Rolfe stayed out of sight. Morton wouldn’t forget to have the entrance of the place watched, and there were too many people on the street during the day.

* * *

“The earl has sent a bath for ye, mistress.”

A young maid came through the door and happily informed Katherine of what Morton had sent to her. The girl smiled as two men carried a fine copper tub into the room. They were followed by a line of boys, all laden with yokes and buckets of fresh water.

But what Katherine was focused on was the way the guards at her door kept their eyes on her, their expressions tight. They might have no liking for their duty, but they were devoted to it nonetheless.

There was a splash as the maid poured hot water into the tub. Another maid had arrived, carrying a silver tray with a cloth over its contents.

“Fine French soap, mistress,” the maid exclaimed with a happy smile. “And lavender oil. The earl has been most generous in providing all of the things a lady might wish for.”

“I believe you mean to say, all the things my groom might expect me to make use of before a wedding.”

The maids both lowered themselves and clapped their hands together gleefully. “Yes, yes, it is all here. We will have you…perfect in no time at all.”

There was a distinctly French manner about the maids. French women were considered the most beautiful in the world, but Katherine soon discovered that they had some very odd preferences about their bodies. Once she’d risen from the tub and dried off, the maids refused to give her a dressing robe, but instead came toward her intending to bare her mons.

“Come, come, mistress…” One of the maids cajoled her like a frightened child. “You do not need all of that hair.”

“Barbaric,” the other insisted. “You want your lover to kiss you there? Yes? So, the hair must go.”

Their words sparked a memory that heated her cheeks. The maids laughed and pulled her back toward the chair they had been using.

By the time they left her, there wasn’t a single hair left anywhere except on her head. Katherine wandered over to the mirror and untied the tie of her dressing gown. She let it slip from her shoulders, refusing to cower away from the sight of her own body.

Was she pretty?

She didn’t know.

Now, though, every bit of her was on display, the little bush of hair that had hidden her cleft gone.

She missed Rolfe.

Alone with her thoughts, she realized she was a wanton indeed. Her clitoris was throbbing gently as she recalled their time together. As she looked at her reflection, her nipples drew tight.

“Good.” The Earl of Morton announced his presence with a snicker. “Ye are ready to be wed.”

Katherine hissed and sank to where her robe was puddled around her ankles. Morton didn’t look away as she struggled to pull it up and over her shoulders to cover herself.

“The French do know a thing or two about preparing a bride,” he offered in a tone that made her temper flare. He tossed a small knife on the table near the hearth and sent her a warning look. “Ye’ll be the one to suffer if ye displease yer husband. Think on that before ye defy me.”

“I am wed to Rolfe McTavish.” The words burst out of her. Desperation was clawing at her insides as she looked at how confident Morton was of his plans for her.

The earl moved closer to her. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that reminded her of Colum Gordon. A moment later, she was reeling from a vicious slap.

“Do nae ever say such again.”

The earl was standing still, watching her absorb how easily he struck her. She knew what that flicker was now. It was confidence, absolute confidence in his plans.

“James will inherit England because Elizabeth Tudor is unwed,” the earl explained. “She’s also wise enough to know that the only way she will keep her crown is to never choose a groom, because the moment she does, the rest of the countries of the world will send their armies to try to take her kingdom from her. As long as she keeps them dancing to the tune of courting her, they will not risk the cost of a war.”

The earl paused for a moment and offered her a satisfied grin. “Ye will wed tonight to secure yer father’s devotion to making certain James remains Elizabeth’s heir by keeping Catherine Grey’s sons illegitimate.”

He was so very different from Rolfe.

Perhaps the thought was misplaced just then, but Katherine really didn’t care. She found herself absorbed by how straightforward Rolfe was, while Morton was as twisted as the plots he devised.

Of course, that opened the gates she had been using to hold back hopelessness. It flooded her now, dragging her down as the earl sent her a satisfied look before leaving her to a new group of maids who brought her wedding dress with them.

* * *

“What?” the Earl of Bedford’s man exclaimed. “What is this?”

The shadows shifted, and Rolfe emerged from them. Adwin still clung to them but made sure the man caught a glimpse of him to drive home that Rolfe wasn’t alone.

“I’ve come on business,” Rolfe said.

“These are my private chambers, sir!”

“Aye.” Rolfe moved farther into the room and sat down. “I believe ye’ll understand why I do nae care to have any of Morton’s spies reporting our meeting back to the man.”

The Earl of Bedford’s man clamped his teeth together as his expression became one of disgruntlement. “I should enjoy never pleasing that man myself, so who are you?”

“Rolfe McTavish.”

The man perked up. “Now I have heard that name.”

“The question is, what would ye like us to do about the lass?” Adwin asked.

The Earl of Bedford’s man cleared his throat. “Well now, my master has bid me to make an amicable agreement with the Earl of Morton.”

The man held up a finger when Rolfe started to speak.

“However, Bridget Hussy, the Countess of Bedford, has made it plain that she has no desire for her stepdaughter to ever be heard from again. In England, that is. She wishes no harm toward the bastard.”

Rolfe slowly smiled. The Earl of Bedford’s man did the same. He leaned toward Rolfe. “So, my good…Highlander…if you were to take your bride home…is it north?”

“Very much so,” Rolfe confirmed.

The secretary nodded. He moved to a small table and struck a flint. Little sparks of light fell into a tinder pile before catching. The man used it to light a candle before he reached into the collar of his nightshirt and pulled out a key that was hanging around his neck. He fit it into a writing desk and opened the lid.

“Here,” he said at last. “An official offer of dowry for the girl.” He handed it over to Rolfe. “Rather generous.”

Rolfe read it over, astonished to have in his hands the means of placating his father’s objections.

“Of course, you will have to steal her away from her wedding.”

Rolfe looked up, all interest in the offer gone.

“Yes, Morton has promised her to one of Lord Campbell’s nephews.” The secretary’s tone made it clear that he disapproved of the match. “You will have to hurry if you plan to steal her away before the vows are consummated.”

Rolfe was already heading toward the door, but Adwin stepped into his path. “Sign the offer and seal it.”

The secretary nodded and fumbled in his desk for a wax stick. He melted it with the candle and pressed the seal of the Earl of Bedford into the wax. Adwin pushed Rolfe back toward the table.

Rolfe snorted at his captain, but took the quill offered to him and affixed his name to the document.

Adwin took it and nodded. “Do nae be thinking no’ to transfer these funds.”

“As long as you are successful in making certain there is no marriage with the Campbells. There must be witnesses.”

“I wed her in front of witnesses,” Rolfe declared.

“A Catholic wedding?”

“It is nae illegal in Scotland,” Adwin advised the man.

“Yet her dowry resides in England, where a Catholic wedding is not recognized,” the secretary stated in a firm business tone. “If Lord Campbell’s nephew consummates his union with her, the marriage will be considered valid.”

“She’ll be a widow if he does,” Rolfe snarled before he left the house.

* * *

“Ye will no longer need that dress.”

The Earl of Morton had followed her right into the bridal chamber. Katherine turned to consider the man who was quite determined to see her consummate her wedding. “There seems little reason to remove it.”

Robert Campbell was lying in the middle of the bed, flat on his back, where his father’s men had tossed him after carrying him away from the wedding feast. He was snoring loudly, the stench of French wine rising off him.

Morton cursed. He moved over to the bedside and shook Robert’s shoulder. He earned a snort and sputter from the man before the snoring resumed.

Katherine turned back toward the door as a giggle alerted her to more company. Two couples were coming into the chamber with excited looks on their faces.

“We are not too late,” one of them exclaimed. “The bride is still dressed.”

They came right in and stood by the bed, intent on watching everything as though it were a new play.

Katherine felt like retching.

Depravity had merely been a word until that moment.

“I will return,” Morton announced. He stormed through the chamber and sent the others scurrying with a flick of his hand. He paused for a moment and grabbed the pitcher of wine set out on the table with a selection of cheese and fruit.

There were sounds of disappointment from those waiting to watch while they went toward the chamber door. A moment later, Katherine was sealed in with nothing but the sound of Robert’s snoring.

A reprieve.

Honestly, she was not sure if it were a blessing, because it allotted her more time to dwell on her circumstances.

She looked toward the bed and felt disgust well up in her.

A reprieve was a reprieve.

The dress was the most formal thing she had ever worn, with a tightly laced corset, a hip roll, and a farthingale. There were long, hanging sleeves, and tight inner ones, all decorated with pearls. The silk swished when she moved, and the entire thing required a great deal of concentration on her hips and posture to keep it from swinging like a large church bell. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of it, but couldn’t reach the laces.

It was also dreadfully heavy.

She plucked a few slices of cheese from the plate as she made her way to a chair and sat down.

Life was so much more practical in the Highlands.

Tears stung her eyes. She was never going to see those places again.

Fate had reclaimed her.

* * *

“That is no’ how ye wear it,” Adwin chastised one of his fellow McTavishes in a rough whisper.

“As if ye know any better,” the man argued. “It’s too tight.”

“I dragged that one in here because he’s the same size as ye.” Adwin pointed at the man lying unconscious on the floor of the small storage chamber. He reached out and tugged on the doublet until it came up and over the retainer’s arms.

“No muscle on him.”

“Aye,” Adwin agreed. He looked over at Rolfe, who was struggling to button a doublet. “They’ll draw and quarter us for this if they catch us.”

“One fine thing about Morton refusing to ennoble those around him for the past few years…” Rolfe pulled the hat down on his head. “We’re all commoners.”

“That won’t make a bit of difference,” Adwin argued. “And the Campbells will slit yer throat for wearing their colors.”

Rolfe merely grinned. “They’ll have to catch me first.”

He leaned down and stripped a young boy of his outer garments and boots. He stuffed the clothing under the front of a doublet one of his retainers was wearing that had come off a man with a large, round belly.

“Let’s go get me wife.”

There was no pleasure in his tone, simply pure determination. The consequences didn’t concern him.

Only the very real threat of being unsuccessful.

* * *

Katherine indulged her need to think of the Highlands and drifted off into sleep. Her dreams were light and filled with memories of the place she’d called home for the last few years. Marcus and finally Rolfe.

God, he was a handsome brute.

Perhaps it was a sin, but she adored looking at him. Her wedding had been attended by men in silk and brocade, with servants aplenty to groom them. Their clothing sparkled with precious gems, and yet she preferred the way Rolfe’s green eyes shimmered when he was about to kiss her.

“Kat…”

She let out a little hum of enjoyment. Her dreams were so full of details tonight. She heard the rich timbre of his voice keenly.

Someone shook her shoulder, and she let out a huff because she didn’t want to let the dream go.

“We’ve got to go, lass.”

Katherine blinked, having trouble absorbing what she was seeing. Rolfe pulled her up and onto her feet while she tried to clear slumber’s hold on her brain.

“Lad is out cold.”

Adwin’s voice was the slap across the face that she needed. The brassy Highlander’s humor made her smile as she looked into Rolfe’s eyes.

“How…?”

“I’ll tell ye how.” Adwin was walking back toward them. “Through assault—what those court fops will likely call attempted murder—and deception.”

“And ye enjoyed every moment of it,” Rolfe informed his captain with a smirk.

Adwin tilted his head to the side. “So long as we do nae get caught.”

“Aye.” Rolfe had spun her around to get at the laces on the dress. Katherine turned to face him, needing to confirm he was not a dream. He frowned at her, turning her again and resuming his task.

“We’ve precious little time, Kat. Explanation will have to wait until we’ve gotten ye free of this place.”

That was all the encouragement she needed to stand still while he tried to open the dress. There was a flash as Adwin pulled out a small dagger and simply slit the laces. She let out a sigh as the bodice sagged, and they both dug their hands into it to raise it above her head. She bent her knees to help, coming up on the other side of the skirt in her underpinnings.

“Never seen so many layers of clothing in me life,” Rolfe muttered as he pulled at the farthingale and tried to free her from the hip roll.

“Are ye in there, lass?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” she answered as she tried to help. “I believe they put this on me to keep me from running away.”

“Oh, in that case, please continue.”

They all froze as Robert Campbell spoke from the bed. He was sitting up, his legs slightly apart, which afforded them all a fine view of the bottom of his shoes. “Please don’t think me a beast, dear, but I really do no’ want a wife or to go to the English court. Getting stinking drunk was the only thing I could think of. But I am no’ quite as drunk as I put on.”

“Thank you,” Katherine said sincerely as Rolfe tossed a pair of pants at her. Down to her smock and corset, she pulled the clothing on as she began to shake with anticipation.

Maybe…

Just…maybe…

“Morton came to witness the consummation, along with some others,” she told Robert. “They will be back.”

Robert shrugged.

“There will likely be repercussions,” Rolfe added as he looked at Robert.

Her groom slowly grinned. “You Highlanders are not the only ones who enjoy having a bit of fun at the earl’s expense.” He shot an arrogant look at them. “We’ll cross paths again.”

“I’ll call ye friend when we do,” Rolfe assured him.

“We need to be gone.” Adwin pushed a hat onto Katherine’s head.

Rolfe was stern, grasping her wrist and pulling her behind him. She cast a last glance back toward Robert, who sent her a grateful little smile before he collapsed back onto the bed.

* * *

The passageways were lit by candles.

Katherine had never seen such a waste of candles, not even in her father’s home. They were left burning every ten feet or so. That left plenty of shadows, but afforded far more light than she was used to having at night.

“Let go of my wrist.”

Rolfe’s fingers tightened in response.

“I am your servant,” she stressed in a whisper. “My duty is to follow you.”

There was a shuffle and a smothered cry, confirming they were far from alone. Huge tapestries hung over the walls, making plenty of hidden alcoves for couples interested in darkness to hide their actions.

Rolfe released her, but Adwin was behind her. Every footstep seemed to take forever as her heart pounded. She strained to see through the murky light, hoping she wouldn’t see Morton coming around one of the turns in the passageways.

Their footsteps seemed to echo as loud as thunder while they made their way. She caught the scent of the kitchens before Rolfe headed through them. The servants looked away when they entered, clearly not wanting to recognize them. It spoke of a harsh life, but with Morton ruling, Katherine had firsthand knowledge of how much easier it must be to remain obscure.

Diocail Gordon was waiting for them with horses. “Marcus and Symon are a half day’s ride out since neither of them dares to be seen here.”

Rolfe nodded. He made sure she was on her horse, a satisfied look entering his eyes before he swung up and into the saddle himself.

They rode out, uncaring of the darkness or the way the rain was starting to fall.

After all, they were Highlanders, and there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

* * *

Morton stared at the scattered pieces of the dress. Robert snored away while the earl slowly laughed. It was a rare indulgence. One he didn’t allow himself lightly.

Being bested by Rolfe McTavish? Well, that was unexpected. He might be a man, but he was a young one who had yet to fully taste life. Wisdom came with that desire, or perhaps it was more correct to say that one gained knowledge after being tossed aside by life. It was always a humbling experience to discover that while the flesh was strong, circumstances might still defy brawn.

Katherine and Robert’s preferences were insignificant next to what their marriage would have accomplished. Besides, Morton knew they were both young and would have learned to make the best of their arrangement, be that through learning to like each other or taking lovers. If it prevented war, he didn’t care a bit.

Because he couldn’t.

No, a man had to choose what to fight for.

Tonight, Rolfe had won the day. Morton awarded the victory silently before he turned and moved his thoughts to the next order of business.

* * *

They rode hard, only stopping near the afternoon for the sake of the horses. Adwin and the other retainer happily went off into the bushes to change out of their court clothing.

Katherine waited long enough for Rolfe to have some privacy to relieve himself before she followed him. He turned as she came around the bushes, and she rushed into his arms.

She was breathless and giddy, but Rolfe didn’t return the embrace. He was stiff and unyielding, making her draw away.

“Ye need to be taken in hand,” he said tersely.

Katherine felt her eyes widening. Rolfe nodded at her response. He wore only a shirt, his kilt lying on the ground, but he left it there while he stared at her.

“Aye, ye heard me correctly.” He’d stopped with his hands on his hips, as though he was deciding on her punishment. “Ye will never allow yerself to get into danger such as that again.”

“It was the only way to free you,” she countered. “Even Adwin saw the correctness of it.”

Rolfe snorted. “I’ll be dealing with Adwin soon enough for allowing ye to do it.”

“What are you saying?” She was reeling. Her happiness was being shattered by his wounded pride.

“Is it no’ clear enough, woman?” Rolfe exclaimed. “Ye are me wife.”

Her temper got the better of her. “You have that correct, and if you think I will stand by while you rot in chains, think again.”

“Ye will never place yerself in danger like that again, and I’ll strap yer arse if that is what it takes to teach ye to mind me.”

She recoiled from him. “You will do no such thing.”

Rolfe’s expression changed, becoming one of reluctance. “I would no’ enjoy it, but ye will never put yerself in such danger again or I swear I will.”

It horrified her, and drove home how little they really knew each other. She was reeling as reality drew its claws down her, reminding her that a husband did have the right to beat his wife, and that she had willingly signed the contract to place herself in his keeping. No one would interfere.

Rolfe frowned, not caring for the way she shrank from him. “Kat, ye must know I mean only the best with such a promise.”

“And you should know well what sort of woman I am,” she countered. Tears stung her eyes, and she fought to keep him from seeing such weakness. “I thought you accepted me as I am.”

“I did.” His tone was edged with passion now. “Did I no’ wed ye knowing me father forbade me?”

It was an unexpected blow. “He forbade you?”

Rolfe drew himself up, shutting her out, but she stepped toward him. “Answer me.”

A curt nod was her response.

And now Rolfe would be bringing her home—without the noble title his father had sent him to court to gain. She turned and walked away before the tears gathering in her eyes betrayed her.

She’d never known a pain so deep before. It was centered inside her, the agony nearly enough to buckle her knees. Never once had it crossed her mind that there would be anything to worry about once they were both free.

It seemed she had greatly miscalculated. Somehow, she had convinced herself Rolfe was unlike other men. That he was somehow accepting of her nature and will.

The truth was, now that he’d claimed her, he expected her to submit to his will in all things.

At least that idea warmed her temper. Men made so little sense. They claimed to enjoy spirit in women and then expected their wives to bend to their dictates. They treated a woman like a hawk that would be kept in line by starvation. Yet when one looked into the creature’s eyes, its wildness was still there. And that enhanced its value.

She couldn’t live like that.

Wouldn’t.

Even if it killed her.

* * *

They met up with Symon and Marcus just before sunset. The welcome she’d been looking forward to from Rolfe was finally hers when Marcus pulled her feet right off the ground while he nearly crushed her ribs in a hug.

Once he set her down, he reached past her and lightly punched Rolfe in the shoulder. “Well done, lad! I’ll admit, I had me reservations about this marriage, but ye’ve proved me wrong.”

Katherine bit her lip and drifted away. Symon Grant, Diocail Gordon, Marcus, and Rolfe all clustered around the fire. Their expressions turned serious as they listened to the tale of what had happened.

Morton’s words rose from her memory.

Scotland was in the grip of a civil war when I took the regency. The Church was split, and the Highlanders, well, they were doing their best to kill each other…

Now, MacPherson stood next to Gordon, and McTavish broke bread with Grant. It was a fine sight. She would be the monster if she ignored it. Living with the MacPhersons, she’d heard the tales of raids and feuds. Seen the children growing up without fathers and watched as Ailis Robertson sat beside her husband, Bhaic MacPherson, when Morton had forced them to wed. Ailis had done so with grace, when she had been anything but welcome in the stronghold of her enemies.

So Morton had his uses, it would seem.

As did she.

Perhaps Rolfe didn’t care for her taking risks, but he was standing there, and she soaked up the sight of him before she turned and contemplated the setting sun. Day surrendered to darkness as she felt herself accepting the harsh reality of Rolfe’s nature. It had always been his devotion to his honor that had attracted her to him. Yet she’d been foolish not to realize that the trait that enamored her would trap her if she stayed with him.

He’d not accept a hellion as his wife.

No, she’d be expected to be as graceful as Ailis and Helen. Taking her place and learning to obey her husband.

She couldn’t do it.

Honestly, it wasn’t a matter of wanting to or not; she simply didn’t know how. For the first time, she realized her education was lacking. Severely so. No one had taught her to run a house, to keep the books, to ensure there was enough food stored to last through the winter. There were memories of such lessons back in her childhood. That only served to shame her. She had always thought of her stepmother in harsh terms, yet Bridget Hussy had made sure her stepdaughter had tutors.

It all left Katherine feeling as if she were standing in a puddle and the rain was pouring down on her, threatening to make the puddle much deeper. The question was, how long would she be able to stay there before it became unbearable? Would it be long enough for the rain to stop? The uncertainty ate at her.

“He’ll come to terms with it, lass.”

She jumped, so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized Adwin had ventured after her. The captain gripped his wide belt, clearly not accustomed to soothing a female’s melancholy. He offered her a bundle, and she saw it was a dress, rolled in a length of McTavish plaid.

Katherine took it, feeling as though it were as heavy as chains.

“Rolfe has more devotion to honor than most,” the captain continued, searching for words he thought a woman would like to hear. It was a strange pairing to say the least, with the bushy, dark beard that went from his face to his neck, the scars that decorated his cheeks, and the two breaks in his nose. He was a hardened Highlander, suited to his environment and thriving on the challenge of living in the northern country.

“It’s to be expected that he’d be less than…gracious about accepting help. Seeing as how he did vow to protect ye at yer wedding.”

And she had promised to be obedient, submissive, and meek.

“Perhaps it was a mistake,” she muttered. “For us to wed.”

Adwin tilted his head to one side, clearly perplexed by her words.

“Since his father detests me,” she continued. “And now Rolfe is vexed.”

There was no arguing with the two points she had made. Katherine watched Adwin try to think of something to say. “It was kind of you to try to soothe me, Adwin.”

She started to turn away, realizing the best she could do was to release the man from any feelings of obligation to her unhappiness. No, it was hardly his fault she was unsuited to the task of being Rolfe’s wife, or that she was English.

Adwin reached out and caught her upper arm. It surprised her, drawing her attention back to his face.

“I will no’ forget.” His tone was deep and hard. She watched a look of respect cross his eyes. “Ye might have left him in chains, and no one would have blamed ye because ye are a woman.” He released her and nodded firmly. “I will no’ ever forget ye kept him from that fate. No McTavish will curse yer name in me hearing.”

A man such as Adwin only gave respect to those who earned it. At least she seemed to have done something right. In his eyes, she witnessed the belief that she had.

“Well, except for your laird.” She’d meant it as a way to lighten the mood. A mild jest, something to take her mind from the turmoil her emotions were in.

Adwin nodded again. “Well, as ye say, except for Laird McTavish. I can nae be smashing him in the jaw.”

“Do not smash anyone on my account,” she implored him. “I did what was correct.”

Adwin snorted. “Ye did it because ye love that lad. Do nae deny it. I see it in yer eyes.” He looked back toward Rolfe. “The lad is young, and blind. He’ll come ’round.”

She tried to let the confidence in his tone soak into her. Adwin took it as a sign she’d accepted his reasoning on the matter. He tugged on the corner of his bonnet before he turned and returned to the camp.

The fire illuminated the faces of the men as they talked. It wasn’t that she felt they would send her away if she ventured toward them, but they would change their demeanor. Right then, they were relaxed, teasing one another as they shared stories of a nature they’d deem unfit for her ears.

And yet she’d heard them.

Still, time had caught her firmly in its grasp, making it so she was no longer in their world. At least not as one of them. As a woman, yes, and along with that came the expectation for proper behavior.

Hellion…

Truly, it was what she was.

She’d been naive to believe Rolfe would accept her as such. She was far from the first bride who’d discovered the courting finished once the soiled sheet had been flown. She belonged to him now, and a man who could not control his wife would never be followed by men.

That hopelessness returned. She settled down and pulled the skirt of the dress around herself. She was being perverse in refusing to use the plaid, but she wasn’t in the frame of mind to be objective. The dress was made of wool and warmed her, luring her off to sleep as she floundered in a sea of unruly emotions.

* * *

She heard someone venture near her just before first light. A soft step on the ground, just a shifting of gravel beneath a boot heel. It brought her awake in an instant, because Marcus had bedded his training troops down in the yard more than once to sharpen their skills.

Waking up blurry-eyed and slow-witted was an invitation to get kicked in the backside by one of the captains.

Rolfe bent his knees and hunched down near her. The sky was just starting to lighten. It wasn’t day yet, just that hazy time when it was no longer night and the first birds had yet to sing in welcome to the dawn.

“Ye do nae care to wear me colors?”

The length of McTavish wool was lying a couple of feet from where she’d slept. She’d used the hip roll as a pillow and slept in the skirt of the dress. Rolfe didn’t care for what he saw, but there was only one way to appease him, and that was with submission.

“You do not care for my ways.” She’d sat all the way up and was perched on her feet, crouching low, as secure in the lunge as he was. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a moment.

“I never deceived you as to what I am,” she stated clearly.

“Nor did I hide from ye what I felt ye needed to learn,” Rolfe answered her, his expression becoming stern. “Ye still wed me, Katherine, of yer own free will. Get dressed. We can come to agreement once we’re out of Morton’s reach.”

“You mean to say that I can accept my lot.”

He’d pushed to his feet but looked back at her. She watched him grip his belt and set his jaw. He left it unsaid between them, turning his wide shoulders on her and walking back toward where the horses were starting to stir.

Refusing to put the dress on would have been childish and foolish, considering she started to shiver now that she was clothed only in the thin court clothing. Silk might be very pretty, but it was completely ill-suited to nights spent outdoors in Scotland.

The cold was cutting through the fabric, making her clench her teeth to keep them from chattering.

She gave a little huff and gathered up the parts of the dress before moving behind some bushes to dress. Stubbornness wouldn’t keep her warm. When she emerged, one of the younger retainers was standing there. He’d turned his back on her position, nodding when he heard her come around. He offered her the length of McTavish plaid, having plucked it from the ground where she’d left it.

Confusion flickered in his eyes when she didn’t reach for it. He didn’t seem to think it worthy of a question, but followed her down to where the horses were waiting and tossed the wool across the back of a mare.

Her will meant nothing.

And the knowledge of that was like salt water flowing into a garden. Her happiness strangled on it, poisoned by harsh facts and blunt reality.

* * *

“Still being stubborn?”

Rolfe looked up and found Adwin contemplating him.

“She did ye a service.”

Rolf finished his business and dropped his kilt. “Ye should never have allowed her to show herself. Christ, Adwin, Morton might have wed her to a bastard who would have been happy to have her.”

Adwin looked straight back at him. “Life is no’ fair. I taught ye that lesson a long time ago, and do nae forget it was me. For all that yer father is laird, he was no’ the one riding beside ye, taking the same risks ye were, willing to stand in front of ye to shield ye from harm. I’ve had plenty of experience protecting ye, so do nae start suggesting I will be changing me ways. I’d have done anything to get ye out of that dungeon. If that makes me a bastard, so be it, but I’m one who watched yer back.”

Rolfe rocked back on his heels. “I’d do the same for ye, Adwin, but hiding behind a woman?”

“Morton was nae going to hang her,” Adwin responded. “I’d no’ have allowed her near the man if I’d thought her life was in danger. And before ye argue with me further, yer bloody life was in jeopardy. Morton is a mad bastard. He’d have chopped off yer head as an example, and ye’re a fool if ye do nae believe so. He’d been bested already by Marcus over Katherine, so he had a great deal to lose if he was duped again.”

“So I am to just accept that me wife might have been called upon to prostitute herself on me behalf?”

Adwin stepped toward him and lowered his voice so it didn’t carry. “Ye recognize she does nae put herself above ye. That’s a rare thing, lad. I’ve lived more years than ye have, and I’m warning ye, do nae let her affection be strangled by yer pride.”

“It’s more than me pride to want to keep her from being bedded by another. A man she did no’ choose. That’s rape, Adwin. Something I’m sworn to shield her from.”

Adwin closed his eyes, and when he lifted his eyelids, there was a hard glint in the dark depths. “Better some fucking than yer head rotting on a pike. Hate me for saying it, but at least ye’re alive to do it.”

Adwin turned and left. Rolfe watched him go, feeling as though he’d been smashed in the jaw.

“I can kick ye in the balls if ye do nae see the wisdom in what yer man said.”

Rolfe turned to discover Marcus MacPherson standing behind him. The war chief had stopped in his favorite pose, feet braced shoulder-width apart as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yer turn to have a go at me?”

Marcus only curled his lips back and gave Rolfe a flash of his teeth.

“I’d think ye would disagree with Adwin on the matter of being raped as something to be dismissed.”

Marcus’s grin faded. “Aye, I do.”

“So ye understand why I took her back to McTavish land.”

“That’s a matter that has been laid to rest,” Marcus responded.

“No, it has nae,” Rolfe responded. “Do ye think I enjoy reprimanding her? Would ye have me allow her to place herself at risk? What manner of husband would that make me?”

“A dead one,” Marcus informed him. “By my hand. I promise ye so.”

Rolfe snorted. “Then ye understand why I can nae find peace with her trading herself for me.”

Marcus slowly shook his head. “Nae, ye’ve got it wrong, lad. It was yer father who put ye both in the position of having to deal with Morton.”

“It was me duty to see the man. A son’s duty.”

“Aye, and yet ye chose to shield Katherine from him,” Marcus continued. “Ye forget, I know something about that meself. I could have wed her as a child, when Morton tried to press her on me, but I reasoned with meself about the fact that she was too young to take to me bed. Aye, I might have placed the good name of me father and me clan before me own decency, telling meself I’d bed her once and she could simply come to terms with it as more than one bride has been forced to do. Brenda Grant might have refused to help her, too. Lord knows, Brenda has taken her fair share of abuse in this life and did nae need to be the one to face Morton when the man discovered both meself and Katherine gone.”

“Another reason Katherine must learn to mind me.”

“Everyone has a choice in life,” Marcus explained slowly. “Katherine made the decision no’ to live in fear. I let her train to build her confidence. So, ye’ll have to understand that I will no’ allow ye to crush her. If ye can nae come to terms with the fact that she stood by yer side and it is her nature to do so, I’ll take her home to MacPherson land.”

Rolfe stiffened, feeling every muscle he had tightening. “Ye will nae.”

Each of the three words came out in a clear warning. Marcus wasn’t a naive man when it came to such things. He stared straight at Rolfe, taking his measure.

“Do ye recall how ye felt when I took Helen from ye?”

Rolfe’s question caught Marcus off guard. The man growled, and Rolfe grinned at him.

“I can see that ye do.”

“What point are ye trying to make?” Marcus asked.

“Was yer union any more settled than mine is?”

Understanding dawned on Marcus. He shook his head reluctantly.

“So do nae threaten to take Katherine from me,” Rolfe warned him softly. “We’ve no’ had the time to learn to trust each other, and here on the road is no’ the place for us to be settling things between us.”

“So ye’re thinking I am going to allow ye to take her into yer stronghold while she is miserable?” Marcus asked. “I can nae do that, lad. She’s dear to me, make no mistake about that.”

“Be careful about letting me father hear ye say that,” Rolfe replied. “He’ll be pressing ye for a dowry.”

“If Katherine were content in the union, I would gladly provide it.” Marcus drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I’d no’ have Helen without Katherine. Many might say Katherine was simply a pawn caught in the scheme, but I do nae care about the details. I believe in gifts from God.”

“Katherine is as much mine,” Rolfe stated clearly. “I will nae allow ye to take her, and before ye argue further, know I am staying away from her because all I want to do is kiss the hell out of her.” Rolfe shot Marcus a knowing look. “No’ exactly a fitting thing under our current circumstances.”

Marcus growled at him, low and deep.

Rolfe didn’t take it from him.

“I recall the way ye had Helen cornered on a riverbank.” Marcus stuck a finger out at him in warning, but Rolfe only smirked. “So taken by her that I snuck up on ye.” He snickered at the memory. “I’m no’ going to lie. That tale has done me name well.”

Marcus popped his knuckles and made a fist that he sent smashing into his opposite palm.

Rolfe stopped toying with the man and sent him a hard, serious look. “Do I strike ye as any less taken by Katherine? I defied me father to wed her. Only once before have I ever willingly committed such defiance against him.”

There was a long silence between them. Marcus contemplated Rolfe, searching his gaze for long moments before he nodded.

“I believe ye, lad.”

“So, ye’ll be telling her no,” Rolfe clarified, “when she comes to ye looking to go home with ye?”

Marcus closed his eyes. “Aye.” He opened them, granting Rolfe an unguarded glimpse into his thoughts. “It will tear something inside me to do it, and I’m warning ye”—Marcus pointed at him—“I will be checking back to make sure she’s settled to her satisfaction.”

“I expect no less.”

Marcus shook his finger at Rolfe before he left. Rolfe stood for another few moments, realizing just how uncertain he’d been of the outcome of his conversation with Marcus. Satisfaction moved through him in a slow wave that left him with a growing sense of urgency to reach McTavish land.

Katherine was withdrawing from him.

It was like a raw wound that wasn’t healing. One he needed to tend to in private.

She’d be his. He refused to accept anything less.

He just wished he didn’t know firsthand how often life made him take what he didn’t want.