Eighteen
 

Cate’s nose was pressed so closely to the wall she was probably getting splinters. He had her hands pinned and was immobilizing the rest of her by crushing her with the weight of his body.

It was hard to breathe. For one moment, she felt a flicker of panic but pushed it back. She tried to move her foot behind his ankle, but he anticipated the move and used his leg and thigh to inhibit her movement.

He pressed her even harder. “That won’t work this time, Cate. What else can you do? Think.”

There was an urgency to Gregor’s voice that she didn’t understand. But his words only increased her frustration. What could she do? She couldn’t do anything, blast it! He was as strong as a bloody ox! She could feel her pulse racing and her blood heating as the sense of helplessness mixed with anger. Every instinct in her body rebelled at this feeling of powerlessness.

But she wasn’t powerless. With a sudden clarity of purpose, she stopped struggling. The moment he eased the pressure, she reacted. She bent her knees and slumped just enough to bring her head forward and snap it back hard against his face. Because he was so tall, she connected with his jaw and not his nose, but it was hard enough to make a cracking sound.

He let out a grunt of pain and instinctively bent forward. Taking advantage of the opening, she twisted around, slamming her elbow into his ribs at the same time that her ankle laced around his foot.

He didn’t fall to the ground, but the imbalance was enough for her to slip away.

He was rubbing his jaw when she turned back to him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “That was good instinct. When you’re ready we’ll try again, but this time we’ll practice what to do if someone has you backed against a wall with a knife to your throat.”

She nodded, taking in the focused expression on his face. She knew she should be glad that he was taking her training seriously—very seriously—but she sensed a larger purpose at work. He was working her much harder than he ever had before. Almost as if he was trying to cram every possible horrible situation she could come up against into a single training session.

Gregor retrieved a skin he’d filled with well water from a pile of weapons he’d brought for practice, drank deeply from it, and then handed it to her. Although it was a cold, overcast day, with an occasional light flurry of snow swirling in the air, her cheeks were flushed and warm from her exertions.

She handed the skin back to him when she was done. “Is something bothering you, Gregor?”

“Nay.”

She frowned. “Are you sure? You seem rather intense today. I wondered if it might have something to do with earlier? I thought you said you didn’t find anyone.”

“I didn’t. But someone had been there. More than someone—I counted at least five sets of footprints.”

“It was probably just travelers passing through.”

His mouth fell in a tight line.

“What?” she asked.

His eyes were a very sharp and intense green when they met hers. “It wasn’t anyone passing through. They’d been there for at least a few days.”

“How could you tell?”

“What they left behind. They left quickly and didn’t have time to cover their rubbish.”

She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant thought. “So even if they were there for a few days, why does it bother you, and what does it have to do with me?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” he said. “At least not directly. And it might not be anything. Hell, it probably isn’t anything.”

He looked so unsettled—so unlike himself—that she reached for him. “What is it, Gregor? What are you not telling me?”

He held her gaze for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I suppose you have a right to know, and since the secret is already out, I won’t be breaking my oath.”

“What oath?”

He looked around as if he wanted to make sure no one was close enough to hear. Seeing a few of his clansmen moving around near the barracks, he motioned her a short distance away to the far side of the practice yard near the wooden palisade wall. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about my place in the king’s army.”

Her heart stopped, then started to pound furiously. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “You were right; there is a little bit more to what I do than serve as a bowman.”

She waited for him to continue, feeling mildly vindicated, but far more concerned about what he was going to reveal. The way was acting, so mysterious and secretive, made her wary.

“Have you ever heard of Bruce’s Phantoms?”

She smiled. “Of course. Everyone has heard of them, but …”

She stopped, her eyes widening and her mouth rounding in surprise. Suddenly, everything fell into place. It was as if her mind clicked, and things that hadn’t made sense now were clear. “You are a Phantom?”

His mouth quirked with amusement. “So to speak, although as you can see I am not a ghost. Nor was it our idea to be mistaken as such, but the rumor has proved useful over the years to prevent out enemies from finding us.”

“ ‘Us’? How many of there are you?”

He hesitated. “I do not want to tell you more than you need to know. I would not be telling you any of this, but it seems my place in the Guard has been compromised.” He gave her a short explanation of what had happened at Berwick, leaving out the tickets. Hawk was bad enough; he didn’t need to hear it from her, too. “We decided to keep our identities secret not only to protect us from our enemies, but also to protect our families. If they could not get to us directly, they might be able to get to us through our loved ones. But this was before most of the men took wives.” He smiled. “Let’s just say keeping the secret from the wives has worked better in theory than in practice. But we have largely been able to keep our identities from being known by others with a couple of exceptions—and now, it seems, with me.”

“So all of this fervor today is because you think I may be in danger?”

He swore. “I probably overreacted, but I don’t want to take any chances. If I thought it would have kept you completely safe, I would have sent you off with Farquhar, no matter how badly I wanted you. But wife or ‘ward,’ it wouldn’t have made a difference. You, John, and Padraig are all at risk.”

She was still too stunned by what he’d revealed to argue about Farquhar. “Do John and Padraig know?”

He shook his head. “I think John suspects. But they will both have to be told.”

Cate just stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. She’d imagined a lot of things, but not this. “A Phantom? I can’t believe it. They say you are supermen who can move through walls and disappear into the mist. They say you can’t be killed. That you are all giants and—” She stopped a memory from returning. “The men with you that day when you found me. You were all wearing those ghastly helms and the black cotuns and plaids. I thought you were demons at first. They are Phantoms, too, aren’t they?”

He nodded grimly. “If I asked you to forget their names, would you?”

“I would try, but I’m afraid I have a very good memory.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I figured as much. But I suspect I will not be able to keep the others’ identities from you for long.”

“I would never betray your friends, Gregor.”

“Aye, well, I don’t intend for you ever to be in a position to have to do that. What would you think about moving to the Western Isles until the war is over?”

She looked at him incredulously. “You are jesting, aren’t you?”

“Partly.” He reached out and swept a lock of dark hair from her cheek, tucking it behind an ear. “The thought of leaving you alone when Bruce sends for me makes my stomach turn.”

Cate didn’t want to think about that either, knowing he would be leaving soon—maybe even days after their wedding. “I won’t be alone,” she said. “I have John and the other warriors of your meinie. I will take care to not wander anywhere on my own. And I might not have the superhuman strength and skill of a Phantom, but I am not unable to defend myself if need be.”

He nodded. “I never thought it would be a relief to have a wife who is trained in warfare.”

Her mouth quirked. “And I never thought I would marry a ghost.”

“Phantom,” he corrected dryly. “Well, now you know all my secrets.” She paled, but he didn’t notice as he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Perhaps we can resume your practice with the dagger?”

She nodded, her shock at his news fading with the realization of what it meant. She might know all his secrets, but Gregor didn’t know all of hers. And with his place in Bruce’s army now revealed—although she still had dozens more questions—it was becoming a foregone conclusion that she was going to have to tell him. She could no longer delude herself that the name of her father wouldn’t matter to him. It would. The question—and what she feared—was his reaction when he learned the truth.

Gregor had his arm around her neck from behind, the sharp blade of his dagger pressed to her throat. He’d showed her two ways of escaping. She’d mastered the first, of pulling down on his arm with both hands, as if she were going down to the ground, before driving him back suddenly against a hard surface—in this case, the wall of the barracks—but she was having a more difficult time with the second.

“Tuck your chin to protect your throat,” he instructed. “And you still need to pull on my arm to lower the blade so it’s more at your shoulder than at your neck. The pivot has to be faster. You can’t give me time to react and get the blade back into position.”

“I’m trying,” she groaned, frustrated. “But I’m having trouble positioning my hands as I turn.”

“You’re thinking too much. Keep your hands in the same place as you are when pulling down on my arm, and just use your elbow and lean your head into my body as you pivot.” She had that fierce, determined, obstinate, pursed-mouth look on her face again that made him want to laugh. God, if she were a man, she could inspire legions with that look. “Ready to try again?”

She nodded.

He’d just gotten the blade into position when he sensed a movement behind him. He turned, but it was too late. His inattention cost him. Cate pulled, pivoted, and twisted the arm holding the blade behind him, forcing him to the ground by pressing against the back of that twisted arm.

He swore. But it wasn’t due to the fact that he was eating dirt, her foot was now on his back, and his torquing arm was in pain; it was due to their witnesses. One whose laugh he’d recognize anywhere.

“Watch that face, laddie,” MacSorley said, the laughter still heavy in his voice. He’d obviously mistaken Cate for a boy, which wasn’t surprising, as Gregor had forced her to wear a mail coif as they practiced with the blade at her throat. “Wouldn’t want those ticket holders to be disappointed.”

Cate frowned and released him, shooting him a questioning look.

Bloody hell. “I’ll explain later,” Gregor said, getting to his feet. Despite the fact that he was going to have to tell Cate about the ridiculous tickets, he grinned at the big West Highland chieftain, who looked more like a Norse raider than an elite warrior. It was damned good to see him. “Nothing to worry about, Hawk. If something happens to me, we can always have them come see you and charge two for the price of one.”

The two other men with him—Lachlan MacRuairi and Arthur Campbell—snickered. The men had obviously left their horses in the stables and come straight to the practice yard to find him.

“You might have to offer three for one,” MacRuairi said dryly. “My cousin has been married for so long, he’s out of practice at pleasing lasses.”

MacSorley smiled smugly. “There is only one lass I care about pleasing and believe me, cousin, she doesn’t have any complaints.”

“How is Ellie?” MacGregor asked innocently. “I’ve been meaning to drop in for a visit next time she visits Campbell’s wife at Dunstaffnage.”

The taunting grin fell from MacSorley’s face. His expression darkened, turning instantly deadly. “You aren’t going anywhere near my wife, MacGregor—not unless I’m there with her.”

Gregor quirked a brow and smirked. “Worried, Hawk? I thought you hung the moon and stars in your wife’s eyes?”

“More like prudent,” Campbell interjected dryly. “Even the smartest lass can be a little blinded and act silly around you. Believe me, MacSorley here isn’t the only one to be relieved to hear you’ve finally been snared.”

“Aye, so where is the lass who finally got her claws in you, Slick?” MacSorley added. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

Cate, who’d been standing at his side as he welcomed his brethren, had finally exceeded her patience. She drew off her coif, poked him in the chest with her finger, blew a wisp of hair away from her adorably dirt-smudged face, and glared at him. “Aye, Slick”—she shot a glance to a stunned MacSorley—“a fitting nickname, by the way. Aren’t you forgetting someone when you are discussing all these ‘lasses’?”

“Bloody hell, MacGregor,” MacRuairi said, “it’s a lass!”

“A lass pinned you down?” MacSorley said. He looked up as if the gods were smiling on him (which they usually were). “Thank you!”

No doubt the seafarer was thanking them for the future fodder. But Gregor would cure his friend of that belief soon enough, when he let MacSorley be the first one to practice with his soon-to-be bride. The unsuspecting Viking would be on his back in seconds. He couldn’t wait.

But introductions had to come first. Once made, not even the normally expressionless MacRuairi could hide his surprise. He could read their minds. This cute, wee lass in a simple tunic, hose, and mail was the woman he’d chosen for his bride? Damned right! He eyed them all challengingly, almost daring one of them to say—or think—anything.

Campbell came forward first and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. You’ll have to excuse our jesting. We meant no offense. It’s just that we don’t often see MacGregor here bested by anyone, let alone a squire—or a lass,” he added with smile.

Cate looked up at his partner warmly. “I am not easily offended, my lord … Campbell?” she added, with a confused look to Gregor.

Gregor smiled wryly, guessing the source of that confusion. The Campbells and MacGregors had been locked in a vicious feud before the war broke out, and probably would be again once it was over. Indeed, it was their enmity in the early days of the Highland Guard that had given Tor MacLeod the idea to make him and Campbell partners.

God knew, it wasn’t the only unlikely pairing. But it had worked. He and Campbell were like brothers now. Too bad all the pairings could not have worked out so well, he mused, thinking of Seton and Boyd. The Guard was still reeling from the defection of “Sir” Alex Seton. The England-born, Scotland-raised knight had been an ill pairing with the fierce patriot Robbie Boyd from the start. But no one had ever imagined he would betray them.

Turning from this troubling thought, Gregor smiled at Cate. “Aye, you heard that right: Campbell. It turns out this one has a few redeeming qualities. He’s a quiet bastard, though, so don’t let him surprise you.”

Cate looked up at him and said in a low voice, “Are they …?”

He quirked his mouth. He wasn’t surprised that she’d guessed.

Giving in to the inevitable, he nodded. He’d known it was going to be impossible to keep the others’ identities a secret from her once she knew the truth about him. Although this was certainly faster than he anticipated, as he hadn’t known his brethren were coming.

Discovering why they were here, however, would have to wait. Nothing was going to make him miss the opportunity to see MacSorley on his arse.

Hours later, the four men were gathered around the large table in the solar. Gregor sipped his wine, trying not to grin as the seafarer shifted on the wooden bench.

MacSorley’s sore backside hadn’t been Gregor’s only reward. He was also nursing a nice black eye that he’d earned when Cate’s elbow jabbed harder than she’d intended. Cate had been horrified, MacSorley had been silenced, and Gregor and the others had laughed until they cried.

“Hell, Arrow,” MacSorley said, grabbing a nearby cushion to slide onto the seat. “I can’t believe you taught your wee ward all our secrets. I never imagined a lass could learn to fight like that.”

“It was John mostly.” He grinned. “She’s good, isn’t she? I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it myself.”

“Just don’t let my wife see it,” MacRuairi said dryly. “I have a hard enough time keeping her away from the battlefield. God knows what she’d do if she got it in her mind that women could fight.”

He shuddered reflexively, and Gregor tried not to smile. Talk about unlikely pairings. MacRuairi, the mercenary without loyalties, had wed one of Scotland’s fiercest patriots, Bella MacDuff, the former Countess of Buchan.

“Your betrothed is small, but surprisingly quick and agile,” Campbell said. “She moves like …”

His voice dropped off. They all guessed what he had been about to say, and sobered. Like Seton.

“Has there been any word?” Gregor asked quietly.

Campbell shook his head. “So far he’s kept his vow.”

“Kept one vow, you mean,” MacRuairi interjected darkly. “He may not have shared our names with the English, but he betrayed us in every other way that matters. ‘Sir’ Alex had better stay in London and pray he never finds himself face-to-face with one of us on the battlefield. I would enjoy sticking my blade in his back to repay the favor.”

No one responded, but MacRuairi was only echoing—albeit in harsher, MacRuairi-like terms—what they’d all thought at one time or another. The man who’d been one of their brethren was now an enemy—and a threat to them all.

Except maybe to Gregor. “Is there any news?” he asked.

“The rumors are spreading,” Campbell said. “It’s only a matter of time before your name is being bandied about like MacRuairi’s and Gordon’s. You will need to take precautions.” He looked at him. “Has the lass been told?”

Gregor nodded. “Just today, before you arrived.” He filled them in on the men who’d been in the forest.

MacSorley nodded. “Maybe Hunter will be able to find something when he arrives.”

“I thought he and Striker were in the south with Edward Bruce?”

“They are, but you don’t think they’d miss your wedding? Hell, Arrow, there is no man in Scotland any of us are more eager to see wed,” MacSorley added with a grin. “They and Raider are bringing your dispensation from the good bishop on their way north.” The Bishop of St. Andrews, William Lamberton, was well known to them all. His support had been a huge factor in Bruce’s success thus far.

“I’m surprised Raider can tear himself away from the babe.”

Boyd’s wife—his new English wife—had just given birth to their son a couple of months ago.

“He’s been in the south with Striker and Hunter, but I suspect he’s been making the journey to Kilmarnock often,” Campbell said with a wry smile. “Ice and Saint will arrive with Chief in a few days.”

“And Angel?” Gregor asked. Helen MacKay née Sutherland—Magnus “Saint” MacKay’s wife and Kenneth “Ice” Sutherland’s sister—was a gifted healer and had become the personal physician of the Guard. Unconsciously, he fingered the scar at his neck where he’d been shot with an arrow that should have killed him. It would have killed him had it not been for Helen. He owed her his life, and it had created a special bond between them—much to her husband’s continued annoyance.

Cate would love her. They were actually quite a bit alike. They were both pursuing interests that had been the preserve of men—Cate with her training in warfare, and Helen as a physician.

“Saint left to fetch her as soon as the king received your message. He knew she’d have his bollocks if he let you wed without her being there to see it. The king, Douglas, and Randolph would be here as well, but they are readying the army to Perth to begin the siege.”

Gregor nodded. It was what he’d expected. “When?”

“A week,” Campbell answered with a sympathetic grimace. “I’m afraid you will only have one night with your bride before we must leave to join him.”

Gregor cursed under his breath. He’d hoped to have at least a few days. Cate would be disappointed. Hell, he was disappointed.

But at least he’d be ready. It wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned to clear his head, but being with Cate had worked. The past week had relaxed him and reinvigorated him for the battle ahead. It wasn’t just Bruce now; there was Cate as well. He wanted her to be proud of him—to be the kind of man she could count on—and he wouldn’t let either of them down. He hadn’t lost his edge. If anything, the time with Cate had sharpened it. He was eager to pick up his bow and prove it.

“I don’t know,” MacRuairi drawled, giving him a long, knowing look over his tankard of ale. “If the way Arrow was looking at his wee bride tonight was any indication, I’d say he’s already had quite a few wedding nights.”

The black-hearted mercenary who was meaner than a snake and gave true meaning to his bastardy had obviously been around his needling cousin for too long. He was beginning to sound like him.

Gregor shot him a warning glare and told him to go do something that was physically impossible. The bastard only smiled.

Of course, MacSorley—the needling cousin—couldn’t let the matter rest. “Anticipated the wedding night, did you? Is that what happened? We wondered how the lass had gotten those manacles on you so quickly. Although now that I’ve met your wee ward, I understand. That sweet face hides a crafty mind—and I have the bruises to prove it.”

Gregor’s eyes narrowed, the muscles at the back of his shoulders flaring. He leaned forward. “What the hell are you insinuating, Hawk?”

He wasn’t going to let anyone cast any aspersions on Cate or speculate on his motives for marrying her.

MacSorley held up his hand. “Back down, Arrow. No reason to get all prickly. I wasn’t insinuating anything. I’d wager you aren’t the only one seated at this table who has been unable to wait for a priest. We all have our breaking point—I met mine five years ago. We just despaired that you’d ever meet yours, that’s all.” He leaned back, crossed his arms, and grinned. “There’s no shame in being trapped by the right woman. And from what I see, you’ve been good and trapped.”

Gregor relaxed and eased back in his chair. “Go to hell, Hawk. It’s not like that.”

The famed seafarer’s grin turned smug. “I’d say it’s exactly like that.” MacSorley put his hand up to his ear, as if he were listening. “What’s that crashing sound I hear? Must be the sound of all those thousands of hearts breaking across the Highlands. The most handsome shark in the sea has been good and hooked.”

Gregor shook his head. “Hell, Hawk. I’m saying my vows, not taking them.”

MacSorley waved off the protest. “I’ve experienced the lass’s unusual skills firsthand. If I were you, I wouldn’t give her a reason to put a knife to my throat—or anywhere else, for that matter.”

Gregor’s mouth quirked, remembering Cate’s words to the same effect.

“He won’t,” Campbell interjected.

Gregor lifted a brow at the note of confidence in his friend’s voice, but he didn’t question him. Campbell had an eerie way of seeing things that other people didn’t. Maybe that Gregor didn’t even see himself.

His partner frowned. “It’s funny. She reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who.”

Gregor felt a cold shiver race down his back. He looked at his friend. “Aye, I’ve thought the same thing.”

They exchanged a glance, and Gregor tried not to be bothered by the troubled look in Campbell’s eyes. But it stayed with him. And he would recall it later.

But by then it would be too late.