Fifteen
 

“You bastard!”

Instinctively Gregor blocked Cate behind him, as if he could somehow shield her from the unpleasantness of the situation.

It would have been bad enough with just John as witness, but his brother hadn’t come barging in alone. Ete and Lizzie were standing behind him. Unlike his brother, however, they were considerate enough to back away quickly and not stand there radiating condemnation.

Not that it wasn’t deserved, damn it. But Gregor didn’t want Cate to accidentally get in the way of anger that should be directed toward him, and him alone.

“I will see you in the solar,” Gregor said pointedly.

John ignored him, taking another step into the room, every muscle in his body flaring with outrage. “How could you do this?” He must not have expected Gregor to answer because he immediately added, “You’ll damn well marry her. Even if I have to drag you to the church door myself.”

Cate made her first sound since her initial gasp on the door opening. “No, John—”

Gregor cut her off with a squeeze of her hand that rested on the bed between them. “Your escort won’t be necessary, brother. I have every intention of marrying her.”

“You do?” Cate said at the same time as John—with equal surprise.

Gregor ignored his brother and looked at the wide-eyed woman nestled beside him, clutching the bed linens to her neck with her dark hair tumbling wildly around her bare shoulders, looking wonderfully—thoroughly—debauched. Her eyes were pinned on his, searchingly. A wave of tenderness rose inside him.

Tucking a lock of hair that always seemed to be in her face behind her ear, he nodded. “Aye, if my clod of a brother here hadn’t interrupted, you would have had a proper proposal.” This time John took the hint. But he didn’t go without a look that promised this wasn’t over. Gregor turned back to Cate when the door had closed behind him. “Surely you could not have thought otherwise?”

His honor demanded it. He’d known that before he’d made love to her and realized what he would have to do.

But he knew it wasn’t just honor at stake. He cared about her—more than he’d thought possible. Enough to try to be the kind of man she thought him to be.

She blushed, casting her gaze down in a way that suggested that was exactly what she’d thought. He tilted her chin, forcing her gaze back to his.

“I didn’t know what to think,” she admitted. “You’ve made your feelings about marriage quite clear.”

A wry smile pulled one corner of his mouth up. “Aye, well, it seems I’ve been good and trapped this time.”

The color drained from her face in a sheet of white. “T-trapped? I didn’t mean … Oh God, do you think I meant …?”

He grinned. Damn, she was cute. Of course he hadn’t thought that. Cate was far too straightforward and honest to do something so underhanded. If he thought she’d had an ulterior motive when she’d touched him last night, he would have walked away. It was ironic that he’d finally found himself in the exact situation he’d always wanted to avoid—being “caught” in bed with an innocent—and he didn’t mind at all. The public discovery of what he’d done had only hastened the inevitable.

“You don’t need to look so horrified—I was just jesting. Although if I’d known how enjoyable it could be to be trapped into marriage, I might not have resisted for so long.”

His levity didn’t seem to help. Her smile seemed forced, and her color had turned from pallid white to ill-looking gray.

Suddenly he sobered, realizing why. Christ, he was an unfeeling arse! What had just happened had no doubt been traumatic for her. Of course she wouldn’t be ready to jest when his brother had just walked in on them in flagrante delicto.

The lass was an innocent maid—or at least had been a few hours ago. She was probably properly mortified. As he should be, and would be, if he weren’t so damned happy. Aye, he was happy. He hadn’t thought she existed, but he’d found a woman who cared about him, and not all the superficial shite that other women couldn’t seem to look beyond.

He leaned over, cupped the side of her face, and kissed the worry gently from her mouth. By the time he was done, she was lying back on the bed and he was on his side with her tucked against him again—exactly where she belonged.

He lifted his head. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his.

“You haven’t given me your answer,” he pointed out. “Although I supposed I never asked you a question. I will get down on my knee, if you like, but it feels a little silly in my current state of dress.” And his current state of arousal.

Her cheeks warmed with a soft pink blush, and she consciously or unconsciously—he didn’t care which—rubbed against him. “Where you are is just fine.”

Where he was was about a hair’s breadth from rolling on top of her, spreading her thighs with his, and sinking into her for the third time. That would be a proposal to remember.

His hunger for her hadn’t diminished any; if anything, it had only grown more ravenous and insatiable. What had she done to him? Not only had she turned him into a debaucher of virgins, but also a brutish ill-user of one.

His throat was surprisingly tight when he took her chin in his hand and caressed the velvety-soft skin that bore a faint burn from the scratch of his jaw. “Cate, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Cate blinked back tears. This couldn’t be happening. Gregor MacGregor, the man she’d been in love with for five long years, was leaning over her in bed, his tawny hair slumped rakishly across the face that had launched a thousand hearts if not ships, looking at her with a gentleness in his eyes she could never have imagined, and asking her to marry him.

Someone wake me up. For surely, I must be dreaming.

But she wasn’t. This was really happening. Everything she’d ever wanted was waiting for her to reach out and take it. To say yes.

But she couldn’t—not without being sure of his motivation.

His jest earlier had sent a chill through her veins, reminding her of the conversation she’d had with Seonaid and the thoughtless boast she’d made. She’d been certain that Gregor would marry her because he loved her, not because she’d intended to force him into anything. But she recalled with vivid detail the way she’d boldly—brazenly—touched him. She’d wanted to stop him from leaving, aye, but she hadn’t been trying to trap him. Nor could she have known John would come bursting into her room so early like that.

A small furrow of concern gathered between his brows. “I’d rather hoped my question wouldn’t require that much thinking.”

She took a deep breath. She had to know. “Why do you wish to marry me, Gregor?”

The furrow deepened. “I would have thought after last night that was obvious.”

It wasn’t; that was the problem. Was it simply the fact that he’d taken her innocence or was it because he cared about her? The word she most dreaded hearing right now was “honor.”

“I’m not a lady, Gregor. You know the manner of my birth. You do not need to marry me if you do not wish to do so.” She drew a pained breath through hot lungs. “My father will not come storming your gate with his sword drawn, demanding satisfaction.”

His face darkened. “He should. He should be drawn and quartered for leaving you like that. What kind of man—”

“Please, Gregor, I don’t want to speak of him—ever.”

She glanced away, unable to meet his gaze. His outrage on her behalf raised a question she didn’t want to ask herself. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. But what if it did? For the first time, the secret that she was keeping from him felt like a secret and not an irrelevant fact to be pushed under the bed and forgotten like her gown.

He took her chin and forced her gaze back to his. His expression wasn’t just dark now, it was also angry. “Do you think the manner of your birth makes any difference to me?”

“Maybe it should. It will to your family. What will your uncle say? No doubt the chief has expectations for you. You have a duty to marry—”

“You know I don’t give a shite about any of that. I’ll do my duty to my uncle without being bartered to the highest bidder. My position in the king’s army will be enough. What’s this really about, Cate? I thought you wanted to marry me. I thought you loved me.”

“I do … I do.” That was the problem. “But I don’t want you to feel honor-bound or compelled into anything.”

“Look at me, sweetheart.” She did as he asked. “Hear me well. I knew exactly what I was doing last night, and what it meant. I am honor-bound to marry you, aye, but I wanted to marry you before I made love to you.”

Her heart seemed to be coming out her throat. “You did?”

“Aye, I care about you, and I’m going to do my damnedest to be the kind of man you deserve.” He stroked her chin with his thumb again, then moved it up to play over her lip. “Now will you answer me?”

She smiled, tears of happiness brimming in her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

His growl of something like “it’s about damned time” was lost, as he rolled on top of her and covered her mouth with his.

He spent the next hour telling her without words exactly how much he wanted to marry her. He did protest at a key moment about not wanting to hurt her, but she decided to take matters into her own hands, so to speak. She was becoming quite good with them—if his reaction was anything to go by.

Cate had never been happier in her life. The news of their betrothal was announced at the midday meal and was greeted with a resounding roar of approval. The litany of toasts and cheering that followed turned into a spontaneous celebration with copious amounts of wine, cuirm, dancing, and later a few bawdy tunes that made even her ears blush.

Given that it was Christmas Eve tomorrow and they were still in Advent, she was sure the church wouldn’t approve of the merrymaking, but Father Roland did appear to be having a good time.

Gregor took all the ribbing and congratulations with a satisfied, almost smug grin that, when coupled with his unusual attentiveness, put her last doubts to rest. He truly seemed to want to marry her. For all intents and purposes he was acting like a man in love, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether those feelings that she’d always known were there might finally be ready to reveal themselves.

About the only person who didn’t seem happy was Pip. He’d disappeared not long after the announcement, and it wasn’t until later that evening that she found him waiting outside the door to her chamber.

“You can’t marry him!” he burst out, his dark, overlarge features twisted with a bevy of emotions that ranged from a very manly rage to childish frustration, an accurate reflection of his on-the-cusp-but-not-quite-a-man state.

The swelling in his nose had receded considerably, but there were still black marks under his eyes from the beating he’d suffered at the hands of Dougal MacNab.

A heavy flop of dark hair hung in his eyes. She’d told him after their last practice session to cut it, but it seemed he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. He would—when it hampered his vision one too many times.

So far she’d introduced him to sword fighting, archery, and some of the hand-to-hand combat moves she’d learned from John. He hadn’t shown great promise in any one discipline, but he was enthusiastic, a quick learner, and a hard worker. All of which spoke well for future accomplishment. He was also stubborn like her, which prevented him from giving up.

Unfortunately, however, that same stubbornness that helped him drag himself out of the mud during practice also made him dig in his heels where Gregor was concerned.

She pressed her lips together in a hard line. Gregor might have made her happier than any woman ought to be, but that didn’t mean she didn’t wish she could throttle him for a thing or two—Pip being foremost among them. Gregor and Pip had gotten off to a horrible start—in large part due to Gregor’s insensitive handling of the boy’s situation—but she was determined that would change. They would come to care for one another, even if it killed her.

Ushering Pip inside the chamber, she motioned for him to take a seat on a stool by the brazier. She sat on the bed opposite him and tried to soothe his hurt by calmly responding to his demand. “I know you are not fond of the laird—”

“I hate him!” Pip cut her off virulently. His eyes glinted with proof of his words. “He wasn’t supposed to marry you. He was supposed to leave. Men like him always leave.”

Cate sensed something important lurking behind his words. She’d assumed that Pip had never known his father—he had professed him to be Gregor, after all—but he spoke as if from experience.

Her heart went out to him. She knew how horrible it was to have one parent abandon you; how much worse it must be to have two. She would know the truth eventually, but she would wait until he trusted her enough to tell it.

“Pip,” she said patiently, “you barely know him.”

“I know all I need to know,” he said with a belligerent thrust of his chin. “I saw the way he was looking at you last night in your chamber when you had a nightmare; I knew what he was going to do. He hurt you!”

Cate was shocked—and embarrassed—by how much the boy had guessed. “He didn’t hurt me, Pip,” she said quietly.

His mouth drew in a tight line. “I might be a bastard, but I know that what he did was wrong. I know all about him. I know how many women he takes to his bed. Why do you think my mother—”

He stopped, staring at her with wide, horror-struck eyes.

“Why do I think your mother what?” she asked gently.

His face crumpled, and tears he was valiantly trying to hold at bay shone hotly in his eyes. “You’re going to hate me, and want to send me away just like him. He knows—or thinks he knows.”

“Knows what, Pip?”

The whole sordid tale burst out in a wave of tears and choking apologies. Apparently, his mother, who had been ill-used and then discarded by one of the MacGregor tacks-men a few years after Pip’s birth, had seen the money he’d sent to her every month to care for the child end on his death about six months ago. Pip had tried to do odd jobs to make money, but whatever he made was barely enough to pay for his mother’s ale, let alone keep them fed and clothed as well.

Turned to bitterness and drink, his mother had begun concocting wild stories about his father, until it seemed even she believed them. Unable to feed them both, she’d forced Pip to go to the man who’d bedded so many women, saying, “Why couldn’t he have been your father?” Pip had gone along with it because he’d expected to be turned away at the door. He’d never imagined Cate would take pity on him.

He’d wanted to tell her the truth, but he’d been scared that she would send him away. When his mother found out he’d been taken in—and how well he was being treated—she’d demanded he give her money or she would take him from his new home.

About halfway through the story, Cate had taken him in her arms, holding those scrawny shoulders with all the affection she’d been wanting to show him from the first. She heard what he wasn’t saying as well. His mother’s abuse had been physical as well.

By the time he was done, they were both shaking: Pip with sobs, and Cate with outrage. She’d known there would be a story, and it would be an ugly one, but what kind of woman could do that to her child? Cate didn’t care what she’d been through, or how mired she was in her drunkenness—it was inexcusable. Poor Pip.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry for lying to you and not telling you the truth. But I knew you’d send me away.”

“I have no intention of sending you anywhere, Pip. This is your home.”

He pulled back and looked up at her as if she were either deaf or addled. “Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

She nodded. “I heard you perfectly.”

“But you’re marrying him; he won’t let me stay.” He paused, a gleam in his dark eyes. “Maybe you can marry John instead?”

Cate fought a smile, but she returned his earnestness with her own. “But I don’t love John; I love Gregor.”

His face fell. “You do?”

She nodded.

He didn’t hide his distaste. “Does he love you?”

How like a young person to get right to the heart of the matter. She didn’t blame him for asking it, when she wondered as much herself. Sometimes it was a little difficult to conceive. “I think so, but I don’t think he realizes it yet. Gregor does not form attachments easily.”

Pip’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

She smiled. “Nothing more than a healthy case of cynicism. He’s had so many women offering him their hearts for the wrong reasons, he’s become jaded. He does not trust easily,” she added. Thinking of Isobel and what happened with his brother, perhaps it was understandable. To say he’d erected defensive walls around himself was putting it mildly.

Pip didn’t look convinced.

“Give him a chance, Pip—you’ll see. He won’t let us down.”