Twelve
 

Gregor had been wrong. She could distract him again—easily. All she had to do was gasp and part those soft, red lips of hers, and all he could think about was kissing her. Of course, there was also the fact that she was under him, and it wasn’t very hard to imagine what it would be like to be inside her.

It would be incredible. He didn’t need an imagination to know that—he could feel it. Desire swelled hard and heavy inside him, threatening to drag him under. He wanted to kiss her so intensely, he could practically taste her on his lips.

She wanted it, too. He could see it in her eyes. Eyes that held his with anticipation, arousal, too much damned trust, and an emotion that he was beginning to think might actually be real.

Fuck.

He pulled back and rolled off her, not realizing he’d uttered the curse aloud until her eyes widened.

“I can’t do this,” he said, getting to his feet.

He turned to help her, but she had already done the same. She stood there staring at him, confusion and hurt replacing the anticipation and arousal—though unfortunately the trust and that other emotion were still there.

“Why not?”

There was nothing accusatory in her tone, but he felt it all the same. Or maybe it was his guilt at work. His mouth hardened. “It isn’t right.”

“Because you still think of yourself as my guardian? I told you, I’m a twenty-year-old woman; I’m capable of making my own decisions. You aren’t taking advantage of me.”

“That’s not it, damn it,” he snapped. Or not all of it.

“Then what is it?”

He dreaded telling her and wished it hadn’t happened like this, but she needed to know what he planned for her. He couldn’t avoid the discussion any longer. He told himself to stop being such a damned coward. As her guardian, or stand-in father, or whatever the hell he was, it was well within his duty to do what he’d done. “I’ve made arrangements.”

She eyed him hesitantly. “What kind of arrangements?”

“For your future.” She stiffened, but he continued. “I’ve been remiss in my duty. Had I been aware of your true age, I would have begun discussions years ago. But perhaps it is better that I waited, as the perfect suitor has come forward.”

“The perfect what?”

Her shock and outrage were not limited to her tone—nay, they shook from every part of her body, from the combative stance, to the fists tightly balled at her sides, to the dark fury blaring at him from her eyes.

“The reeve’s son, Farquhar, has asked for your hand in marriage; I have given him my permission.”

She took a step back, her face white. The look of stark betrayal made him wish for a return of the shock and outrage.

She continued to stare at him for a long time. It wasn’t easy, but he restrained himself from turning away or shuffling his feet. Why that minor feat felt like a major victory, he didn’t know.

“You have it all arranged, then?”

The dull stoniness of her tone turned that urge to shuffle into an urge to squirm. Damn it, he knew she wasn’t going to like it. But he hadn’t anticipated being made to feel like an ogre—and a traitorous one, to boot.

He raked his hair with his fingers. Christ, this was exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. He was doing this for her own good. She might not see it now, but she would.

“I told Farquhar that if you agreed, he could announce the betrothal after the Hogmanay feast.”

He filled her in on the position awaiting Farquhar at Ballock Castle, and his future prospects as steward. She listened expressionlessly, as his enthusiastic presentation of the lad took on the characteristics of a farmer presenting his prized bull at market.

“If I agree?” she repeated. “Do you mean I am to have some say in the matter? How very considerate of you.”

She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm; it dripped coldly from her voice like droplets of ice. “Of course, you have a say, damn it. I want you to be happy.”

Those big brown eyes turned on him as if he were crazed—which was exactly what she made him. “Yet you arranged all this without letting me know what you intended. I assume that is what all the messengers have been for?”

He acknowledged it with a nod. “There will be other men at the feast. If there is someone else you would rather wed …?”

“There is no one,” she said flatly. “As I told you, I have no wish to marry anyone else, but apparently my wishes—my feelings—mean nothing to you. Have you been planning this since you returned?” He must have done a piss-poor job of masking his guilt because she said, “Of course you have. How eager you must have been to finally have the chance to be rid of me.”

He muttered a curse. “Damn it, Cate. It isn’t like that.”

“Isn’t it? You took me in, but you never wanted the responsibility. I knew that, but I thought … I thought …” Her voice caught. “I thought this was my home, but you were just waiting for me to be old enough to marry off.”

The way she was looking at him made his chest burn, but he couldn’t turn away. He almost reached for her. Almost. But he feared what would happen if he touched her again. How easily comfort could lead to something else.

“It is your home,” he said gently. He just couldn’t give her the family she wanted to replace her lost one. “But now that my mother is gone, with you and John alone … it wouldn’t be right for you to stay here.”

For one moment he thought she might slap him. “How dare you insinuate … I told you, John is like a brother to me.”

“But he is not your brother, and others will start to realize that as well.” Especially if John kept looking at her like he might kiss her all the time. “You had to know that you couldn’t stay here forever. Don’t you want to marry and have a family?”

“Don’t you?”

It was his turn to stiffen. “This isn’t about me.”

“Why not? I’ll marry when you do.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Cate, and you know it. I have the luxury of waiting; you do not.”

“Then you will force me?” Her eyes were too bright and shiny. God, please don’t cry. If she cried, he didn’t know what he’d do. “Do you wish to be rid of me so badly? My feelings mean so little to you?”

“Of course not.”

“If you planned to marry me off, why did you kiss me?”

Because he was a damned fool. “You looked so upset.” He shrugged helplessly, unable to explain himself. “I told you, it didn’t mean anything.”

He felt sorry for me. That is why he kissed me.

Cate wanted to collapse in a wounded heap and bawl her eyes out like a baby. But her pride wouldn’t let her.

She didn’t know what was worse: discovering that the man she’d given her heart to had been trying to find a way to be rid of her since he’d arrived, or that he’d kissed her because he felt sorry for her. Both were worse. Both felt like a betrayal.

“It meant something to me,” she said softly.

His expression looked truly pained, not that it helped ease hers any. “I’m sorry, Cate. Truly. I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you don’t love me, have no intention of marrying me, and would see me wed to a man I barely know just so you don’t have to worry about me? I understand.”

But she didn’t. How could he have been planning this and said nothing? John must have known about Gregor’s plans for her betrothal—that was what he’d been trying to warn her about. She was such a fool.

Oh God, the children. What about them? They’d needed her, and she’d let them down.

“Cate …”

He reached for her, but she stepped away to avoid his grasp. She straightened her spine, hurt turning to anger. “You don’t need to explain. It is my fault for falling in love with the wrong man. Of course you’ve no wish to marry me. You’re the most handsome man in Scotland, with your choice of brides. You could have a kingdom. I’m a bastard.” Seeing his shock, she added, “Aye, a bastard, some nobleman’s by-blow. Kirkpatrick was my stepfather.”

He was clearly taken aback. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Because I was tired of being ashamed of the ‘noble’ father who deserted me when I was five.”

“Who is he?”

“What difference does it make? He’s dead to me. Dead. Bastard or orphan, I have little to recommend me and much not to recommend me. I’m surprised you managed to find someone to marry me at all.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. He was angry now. Good. If the man known for breaking hearts managed to feel one-tenth of the emotion she felt right now it would be enough.

“If you want to know, there were plenty of men eager to marry you.”

He didn’t sound happy about it—not that she believed him anyway. “But not the only one who matters. Would it be so horrible to let yourself love me, Gregor?”

He looked pained—uncomfortable—as if he would rather be anywhere than here, having this discussion. “I’ve no wish to marry anyone right now. But if I did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be for a ‘kingdom’ or to a woman who wanted to marry ‘the handsomest man in Scotland.’ And if you don’t know that, you don’t know me at all.”

Was he mad? “Know you? I know you like your beef rare, your pork lightly pink, your sauces savory, and your vegetables firm. I know you prefer plums to pears and oranges to apples. I know you like oysters raw and eggs from salmon spread on crusty bread—which is disgusting by the way. I know you can tell where a wine is from from the first sip, and would rather go thirsty than drink the sweet wernage your mother loved. I know you drink more when you are unhappy, which I suspect has been a lot of late.”

Taking advantage of his shock, she continued. “I know you hate accepting anything unless you’ve earned it. I know your father was an arse and made you think you would never amount to anything, but that you’ve proved him wrong. I know you think you need to be perfect but that you never will be. I know that a man who is the best archer in Scotland, and who has fought loyally beside Robert the Bruce for years—even in the lowest part of his reign—is not irresponsible but a man to count on. I know you don’t want to be a protector but you are. I know you let John do your duty as chieftain because you don’t think you deserve it. I know that the enemies you kill in battle mean something to you, and that’s why the stack of stones on your father’s grave and the coin in Father Roland’s offertory basket grow higher every time you come home.”

She drew a deep breath. “I know you think that you are better off alone and don’t want to care about me, but that you do. I know that I’m the only woman you really talk to, and that means something. I know that when I sent Lizzie to the wine storage room with you, you didn’t touch her, even though you could have. I know you’ve bedded many women but the only one you really cared about hurt you. I know you think that you will hurt me, but that if you loved me, you’d be loyal and true to me to death—just as I would be to you.”

Their eyes met, and she dared him to stop her. “I know that being a notch in a bedpost bothers you more than you let on, but you don’t think anyone can see beyond that perfect face of yours to the flawed man underneath. Maybe you’re right, but you’ll never know because you won’t take a chance and trust your feelings. Because I know you feel this, too, Gregor. Just as I know that one day you will regret marrying me to another man, but by then it will be too late, and you will have no one to blame but yourself.”

He just stared at her. “Jesus, Cate, I …”

Didn’t know what to say. That was clear. Suddenly, the storm of emotion drained out of her. What was left was a sense of futility and hopelessness—and maybe a need to strike back. “Marry me to whomever you want, Gregor—it doesn’t make a difference to me. None of them are you. But when you are lying there in the dark tonight, trying to go to sleep with your body aching for me as mine will for you, think about this: The next man I am lying under might be my husband, and unlike you, he will not pull back.”

The pulse below his jaw jumped, his mouth hardening into a tight white line. She thought he might reach for her, but his arms stayed rigidly fixed at his sides.

“Of course, you could prove I mean nothing to you and find relief another way, but I don’t think you’ll do that. I think you want me and no other. But go ahead and prove me wrong … if you can.”

Cate didn’t know where she’d found the strength to utter the challenge, but even knowing the risk, she would not take it back. She had too much to lose. Her faith would be rewarded or destroyed now—before he married her to another man.

Feeling more battered and bruised than she’d ever been from training, Cate turned on her heel and walked away.

She didn’t look back.

Jesus. It was the only coherent thought he could manage, so he repeated it: Jesus.

Gregor didn’t know how long he’d stood there after she left. She’d done it again: turned him upside-down, inside-out, and all the way around. He felt like he’d been sucked up into a tempest to spin around for a while, before being spit back out onto the ground like a ship scattered on the rocks. A ship that had been sailing along just fine—perfectly fine—until it had run into an unexpected maelstrom.

Cate.

She loves me. After hearing that litany of his character—good and bad—how could he doubt it? It wasn’t a girlish tendre or an instant infatuation with his face; she really did know him.

Hell, she knew him better than he knew himself. And he didn’t know what to think about that except he didn’t like it. It confused him. Nay, she confused him.

How did she know so much about him, anyway? Undoubtedly his mother had told her some, some she must have figured out from observation, and some was conjecture. “I think you want me, and no other.” That sure as hell was conjecture … wasn’t it?

“Prove me wrong … if you can.” He should. God knew he should. But he wouldn’t hurt her like that to prove a point.

He’d hurt her enough with his damned plan. A plan that had seemed perfect before he’d come home but didn’t seem so perfect now. He hadn’t anticipated wanting her. Hadn’t anticipated being unable to keep his damned hands to himself. Hadn’t anticipated her response, and sure as hell hadn’t anticipated the surge of what could only be called jealousy at the thought of her with another man. “The next man I am lying under might be my husband.” He swore again.

Nor had he anticipated the guilt he would feel for sending her from her home. For being so eager to be rid of her.

Being rid of her was what he thought he wanted, but when she put it so harshly, damn it, he didn’t like how it sounded.

He didn’t want to be rid of her. But what other choice did he have? He couldn’t marry her.

Or could he? Could he be the man she thought him? The man she deserved?

Ah hell, what was she doing to him? A wife sure as hell wasn’t the way to clear his head. Picking up the dagger that was still on the ground and sliding it into his belt, Gregor crossed the practice yard and headed toward the kitchens. A hot bath would clear his head. And if that didn’t work, a big draught of ale would make him forget. “I know you drink more when you are unhappy …” Christ, he had to stop this.

He was walking past the stables when a thin, dark form jumped out to block his path.

Recognizing the miscreant, Gregor’s lip curled with distaste. A curl of distaste that was returned in force by the miscreant—along with a menacing glare. “What did you do to her?”

From the way Pip was clenching and re-clenching his small fists, Gregor realized the lad was actually thinking about using them. Another time it might have amused him, but in his present state he was in no mood for the perceived wrongs of a deceitful brat who’d taken advantage of Cate’s too-big heart. The lad hadn’t been abandoned. According to the information Gregor’s seneschal had uncovered, Pip had been sending his mother money—probably since he’d arrived.

“Do to whom?” Gregor said. “Say what you will, Phillip—I’m busy.”

Hatred twisted the lad’s face into a mask of rage. “What did you do to Cate? Why did you make her cry?”

Ah hell. It felt like someone was pounding a hammer on his chest like it was an anvil. “Cate was crying?”

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you!”

Gregor was taken aback by the venom and intensity of the threat. He did not doubt the boy meant it. “Leave it, Pip. It has nothing to do with you. This is between Cate and me.”

“Why are you even here? No one needs you here. I wish you’d just go away and never come back. Everything was fine before you came.”

The lad’s words packed a surprising punch, perhaps striking closer than he would have liked. Gregor’s temper sparked. “Was it fine because there was no one here to question your story? Fine so you could deceive and take advantage of a woman who has been far kinder to you than you deserve? Or fine so that you could continue to send the mother you claim abandoned you coin?”

The boy’s face went so white it seemed all the blood had been leeched out of him. “Wait, you don’t understand!”

“I’m sure I don’t.”

Fear had replaced the hatred. In an instant the lad’s surly bravado vanished. It almost looked like fear in his eyes. “Please, you can’t send me away!”

Sending him away was exactly what Gregor should do. And he would, but he wasn’t as immune to the lad’s pleading as he wanted to be. Before he could question him further, however, Gregor had to fend off another attack. This one from a yapping ball of wiry fur that had come tearing out of the barn to attach itself to Gregor’s ankle again.

“God’s blood!” He reached down to grab the pup by the scruff—mindful of the surprisingly sharp little teeth that snapped at his hand—and held it up to his face. “Quiet.”

The sharp command startled the pup, who gave a pathetic little yelp before going silent—blissfully silent. It then proceeded to stare at Gregor with what could only be described as a big-eyed puppy-dog look.

Christ, not another foundling on his conscience.

Holding the creature out to Pip, he dropped it into his waiting arms. “Keep the little rat out of my way, Pip, or get rid of it.”

“Why am I not surprised that you don’t like dogs?”

“I like dogs fine. Find me one—or at least one that doesn’t shatter eardrums with its barking or try to sink its teeth into my ankles.”

The boy shielded the pup in his arms protectively. If he was trying to make Gregor feel like a bully, he was doing a damned fine job of it.

“Strange how he likes everyone else,” Pip said. “But they do say dogs are a good judge of character.”

Much as Cate had done shortly before, the boy turned on his heel and left him standing there. And like before, Gregor was left with the distinct feeling that he’d come out on the losing side of the confrontation.

Damn it, he needed to get back to the battlefield. At least there he was good at something. Or used to be good at something. But what if …

He refused to contemplate it. There was nothing wrong with him. He just needed to get back on track. Clear his head.

Hell, maybe he should just marry her so he stopped thinking about her so much.

He shook his head. Christ, he wasn’t losing his edge; he was losing his damned mind!