Twenty-one
 

Cate barely acknowledged Campbell as she came up to stand before Gregor. Her eyes were only on him. Haunting eyes. Eyes filled with hurt, condemnation, and disbelief. Eyes that begged him to tell her she was wrong about what he’d done.

She was pulled tight as one of his bowstrings, her hands in tiny balls at her sides, her slender figure taut and straining. “Where are they?”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “The bairns have been returned to their rightful homes and families.”

Her fists squeezed and her lips pursed white. But it was the sheen of tears that made his chest feel too tight and his lungs feel as if they were on fire. She was projecting calm fury, but he could see the hurt and pain and knew just how close she was to losing her composure. Don’t cry, damn it. If she did, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do.

He shouldn’t care, damn it. She’d deceived him. Used him. Made him think she loved him for the right reasons. Made him want something he’d never wanted before. And that was something he could not forgive, no matter how remorseful or heartbroken she appeared.

“This is their rightful home. We are their family.”

The accusation in her gaze pricked his conscience, letting loose some of the anger whipping around inside him. “Neither is true. It was a fantasy you created that had no place in reality. Those children didn’t belong here, they belong with their true family—their real blood relatives.”

She drew back, clearly surprised. “What are you talking about? They were abandoned.”

“Edward and Mathilda, yes. But both had kin eager to take them in.”

He didn’t mention the generous yearly allowance he’d offered.

“You found their relatives?” She spoke in a small, soft voice that made her sound about twelve.

“It wasn’t difficult. A few enquiries was all it took.”

She blinked, staring at him. “And then you got ‘rid’ of them.” Her voice broke, and something inside him twisted—coiled—cutting off his breath. “How could you do that, Gregor? How could you send them away without letting me say goodbye?”

He shuffled a little, unable to completely ignore the discomfort provoked by her question. She might not be able to fault him for what he’d done, but maybe she could for how he’d done it. “I thought it best to prevent a scene. What purpose would it serve to wrench weeping children from your arms? A clean break was easier on everyone.”

“Is that what you think? A clean break? At least they would have known I loved them, which was more than I ever knew. My father left without telling me, and let me tell you, there was nothing clean about it. What must they think? How could you do that to them? How could you take out your anger at me on them?”

“My decision had nothing to do with you.” It had to do with him. He hadn’t known whether he could go through with it if he’d had to watch. It was better for everyone this way. Those children didn’t belong here, no matter how much she wanted them to. “You knew this would happen at some point. I told you from the start.”

Her eyes shimmered with angry tears, but she couldn’t argue with him. “And what of Pip? Was he returned to his kinsmen as well?”

This time he didn’t flinch or feel even a twinge of guilt. “There was no need. His mother was close at hand.”

She looked aghast. “You sent him back to his mother? How could you do that? God knows what she’ll make him do this time.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you were aware of the boy’s subterfuge?”

“Pip told me everything, but it is you who don’t understand. His mother forced him to do what he did, and then threatened to take him away if he didn’t give her money.”

Whether what she said was true didn’t matter. “You had no claim on them, Cate. Any of them. They didn’t belong to you.”

“I love them. It might mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me.”

“Yes, I know exactly how much your love means.” He didn’t hide his sarcasm. “You might have trapped me into marriage, but I won’t take three children from their real families to satisfy some girlish fantasy you have of the perfect family.”

He might have slapped her, so jarring was the shock of pain. But she didn’t crumple or fall apart. She just stood there staring at him, her silence somehow challenging and condemning at the same time. “I didn’t trap you, Gregor. I didn’t send for John.”

“So my brother is lying?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say that. But I did not send Pip to fetch him. I don’t know why he did.”

“Convenient that Pip isn’t here to explain for us.”

Her cheeks flushed angrily. “Whose fault is that?”

They stared at each other in the cold, clear light of day, emotion coiling dangerously between them. And something else. Something else he wanted to deny. The fierce, frenzied attraction that didn’t differentiate between love and hate. It flared and crackled between them. Even knowing what he knew, he wanted her still. So intensely that his hands itched to wrap around her arms and haul her against him. To cover her body. To punish her for making him fool enough to care. How could she have done this?

He could almost hate her for it. He straightened. Hardened. “So the fact that I woke and found you gone, and then shortly afterward a crowd appeared in your room, was a coincidence?”

She held his gaze, her eyes unwavering. “Aye.”

He didn’t say anything but clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.

“I’m asking you to trust me, Gregor. To have a little faith in me. I’m telling you the truth.”

He hesitated. For one long heartbeat he actually hesitated. She sounded so sincere. He replayed the conversation in his head, heard her feeble denial mixed with guilt, heard her boasts and damning words, and John’s condemning ones.

Looking at her, he could concede that her plea was heartfelt. He didn’t even doubt that she loved him. But it wasn’t enough. He’d been here too many times before. He had no faith in any of it. “You ask for too much.”

He pretended not to see the disappointment brimming in her eyes, but he felt each tear that slid down her cheek like acid in his chest.

“If you loved me, you would know I was telling you the truth.”

“Then I would be a fool.” He paused meaningfully. “And I am no fool.”

She sucked in her breath, taking in his meaning: he didn’t love her.

He should be impervious to her hurt. Should be. But he wasn’t, damn it.

God, he had to get out of here! But he needed to make sure she understood. “You have what you wanted, Caitrina. You will be my wife. Just leave it at that. Don’t expect anything more.”

“Like love?”

Especially that. “I will give you my name and in return I will have my freedom.”

“What do you mean?”

He held her gaze unflinchingly. “I can only be trapped into marriage once.”

She sucked in her breath when his meaning took, looking at him as if he were a stranger. “You do not intend to keep your vows.”

It was not a question. He cocked a brow. “Did you think I would? I have a reputation to uphold. But you know that.”

Her hurt flared to anger. “So I will be your wife, but you will owe me nothing else, is that it? I will stay here with John, run your castle, and you will return whenever you like? What other duties will I have in this marriage you envision? Am I to share your bed, or will it be too crowded?”

His fury matched hers and he returned her sarcasm with his own. “I will need sons.”

“Of course. How could I have forgotten? Those sons that you can have”—she snapped her fingers—“whenever you wish. So you plan to make love to me but not love me, is that it?”

“I told you before: one is not required for the other. Call it whatever the hell you like, but there is very little love involved in shoving you up against a wall and taking you from behind.”

He could not have shot an arrow with more deadly accuracy. His words had struck with cruel precision, wounding deeply. He saw it in her eyes and heard it in her gasp of pain.

But Cate was a fighter. She would not go down so easily. She drew herself up and faced him like a warrior on a battleground. “I won’t let you do this, Gregor. I won’t let you try to convince me that what was between us meant nothing. That it was only lust. Call it what you will,” she repeated his words back to him, “but even pressed up against a wall you care. I can feel it every time you touch me. Every time you whisper in my ear. Every time you let go inside me, crying my name. My name, Gregor, not someone else’s. The passion we have is more than lust and you know it. Deny it if you want, but I know the truth. What you feel for me is unlike anything you’ve felt for another woman. It’s special, and you won’t convince me otherwise. So if you think you can marry me—make love to me—and take other women to your bed, who do you think is the one fooling themselves?”

Gregor fought for control, but his blood pounded in his ears. She was the one who’d betrayed him, and yet she stood there so damned confident, so sure that she had him under her spell. This twenty-year-old girl who’d been a virgin a little over a week ago thought she knew more than he did about passion and lust. Thought she knew what he felt. She was still trying to control him, damn it.

But she didn’t know a damned thing, and she’d challenged him one too many times.

She was wrong. And he was going to prove it.

Cate was furious. How dare he try to cheapen what they had by making it sound crude and base!

She knew he was angry and more hurt than he wanted to admit by what he thought she’d done. But he’d gone too far, both in sending the children away without telling her and in turning their future marriage into some kind of meaningless, convenient arrangement. She would never marry him like that—ever. And if she’d really believed he’d meant what he said, she would have told him to go to the devil right there.

But Cate was wagering everything on the fact that she knew him better than he did himself. That what he was doing was not because he didn’t care, but because he did. He was acting like this because she’d hurt him—deeply. Once he realized she was telling the truth, it would be the way that it was before.

She hated that she was being forced to prove her innocence, but she was not ready to give up on him—on them. She had faith enough for them both.

She would make him pay for doubting her, though. Maybe she’d make him write her a love poem or sing her a love song? Or maybe she’d make him take Pip with him as his squire when he left. Aye, that was it. He would personally see to Pip’s training.

For she had every intention of getting Pip back—and Maddy and Eddie, too, if she wasn’t absolutely convinced the kinsmen Gregor had sent them to wanted them.

She couldn’t believe he’d found their families. But maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. You never tried. Cate felt a stab of guilt, knowing she should have made enquiries herself. But she hadn’t wanted to. She’d wanted them for herself.

Yet even if he was right that she had no real claim on them—that it was just “some young girl’s fantasy of the perfect family”—the way Gregor had sent them away was wrong. She had to find them to say goodbye. She had to tell them that she loved them and would be here for them if they needed her.

Somehow she made it through the midday meal without her face cracking, her expression like ice as she sat beside Gregor on the dais and pretended everything was all right. She wasn’t surprised when he refused to tell her where the children were, insisting that for now they needed time to settle in with their families. Later, he told her—later she could go and visit them.

Cate was too furious to chance arguing with him in public. The meal seemed to go on forever, but the moment it was over, she began making enquiries of her own.

Ete and Lizzie had been just as surprised as she—and were just as upset. They were also in the dark about where the children had been taken. Aonghus, Bryan, and Cormac had woken them at dawn and informed them the children were leaving. They’d been forbidden from waking Cate and letting her know what was happening. They’d made noise above her room, hoping she would hear, but she’d slept in Gregor’s room.

Of course, Aonghus, Bryan, and Cormac—as well as John—were nowhere to be found. Most of the men (including Gregor and the other Phantoms) had gone hawking and would not be back before the evening meal.

Suspecting information would not be forthcoming from Gregor’s men anyway, Cate took advantage of their absence and decided to see if she could find any clues amongst Gregor’s papers.

Slipping into the laird’s solar, she lit a few candles (the windowless room was already dark) and began to look through the various chests. She knew that the leather folios holding the household ledgers were in the largest of the chests, so she focused on the others. One contained documents from the time Gregor’s father was chief, but the smallest wooden chest, closest to the clerk’s table, contained a number of folded missives with their wax seals cracked.

One caught her eye. She sucked in her breath, the burn of pain that seared her chest surprisingly intense even after all these years. She recognized the seal, having seen it many times. The young Earl of Carrick had never been without the ring engraved with the Lion Passant above the St. Andrew’s cross. As it wasn’t an official document, the king must have used his ring rather than the royal seal.

Learning had not come easily to Cate, but she was grateful that her mother had insisted she be taught how to read and write. Scanning the words, however, she felt her legs turn to jelly. She had to reach for the edge of the table to steady herself, as her stomach and head fought the swirl of dizziness.

No.

Though her skills were rudimentary, they were enough to take in the meaning of the words on the piece of parchment before her. Still, she read it twice to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

But the truth was there in flourishing strokes of black ink. Her father’s missive contained congratulatory remarks about the betrothal, news about the words of Gregor’s identity spreading, and new intelligence about the arrival of De Bohun’s men to help with the defense of Perth Castle, including the return to Scotland of Sir Reginald Fitzwarren, the captain that Gregor had been enquiring about for years.

For years.

He’d known. All this time, Gregor had known the identity of the man who’d attacked her village—the man who’d killed her mother and the unborn child—and he’d kept it from her. Nay, he hadn’t just kept it from her; he’d lied to her, telling her he didn’t know. She must have asked him a dozen times over the years. Why … why would he do something like that, knowing how desperate she was to know? Knowing how badly she’d needed to put a name to the face of the nightmares that haunted her?

She was so lost in the hurt, she didn’t hear the door open behind her.

“What are you doing in here, Cate?”

Still holding the devastating missive in her hand, she turned to face John. “He knew.” She held up the letter, her hand shaking. “All this time Gregor has known the identity of the man who attacked our village.”

John swore. “You weren’t meant to see that.”

“Obviously,” she sneered. “I guess I don’t need to ask if you knew, too. How could you keep this from me, John? How could he? Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

John’s mouth pursed in a hard line. He took her condemnation without trying to defend himself.

She understood. “He told you not to tell me, didn’t he?”

Clearly answering carefully, John tried to explain. “He was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” she repeated incredulously. “From the truth?”

“Fitzwarren has been in England since the attack—unreachable. But Gregor worried you might try to do something, uh … ill-advised.”

“You mean foolish. He thought I’d run off and try to kill him myself, that’s what you mean?”

“I believe he may have considered the possibility,” John said, hedging. “Do you deny it?”

Tears blurred her eyes. It wasn’t the lie that hurt as much as it was what it signified. He hadn’t trusted—or respected—her enough to think she’d be able to handle the information and make her own decisions. She’d wanted Gregor to think of her as a strong woman—capable of taking care of herself—but he still saw her as the little girl in the well who needed to be protected. Even with their growing closeness the past few weeks he’d kept this from her, knowing how important it was to her.

She wished she could be angry, but it was the weight of disappointment crushing down on her that hit her most. “I trusted Gregor when he said he would handle it. I would have listened to his explanations. But he never gave me the opportunity. He has no faith in me at all.”

“Talk to him, Cate. He was only trying to protect you. Give him a chance to explain before rushing to judgment. He does have faith in you. It might not seem like it right now, but he does.”

John was right. They needed to clear the air between them if this marriage was going to have any chance of working.

She looked at the missive in her hand, the red wax of the seal catching her eye. It wasn’t only the contents of the letter they needed to discuss, but also the identity of the man who’d sent it. Gregor hadn’t been the only one to keep a secret.

“Where is he?”

“Washing for the evening meal.”

Cate did the same, and then entered the Hall to wait for him. But Gregor didn’t appear. None of the Phantoms did.

It didn’t take her long to discover they’d gone to the village. But it wasn’t until John kept dodging her questions and refused to look her in the eye that Cate guessed why.

Horror descended over her in a smothering mask. Her last conversation with Gregor came back to her. She knew the way he thought. He’d taken her words as a challenge, and he’d gone to the alehouse to prove that what they had wasn’t special.

She should have known better than to push him when he was like this. But she’d been so confident—so certain she knew him. So certain he loved her and wouldn’t be able to do it.

Her stomach curdled. She wanted to bend over and wrap her arms around her middle, but she hid her pain behind a stony mask of calm as she finished the meal and walked upstairs to change. She would see the truth for herself. Only then would she accept what her heart was already telling her.

“The handsomest man in Scotland and one of Bruce’s Phantoms? Just wait until I tell my sister.”

If there was any doubt whether the news of his place in the guard had spread there wasn’t a few minutes after arriving at the ale house. The secret was out.

Gregor’s smile hid the flash of irritation caused by the lass’s remarks. But rather than nudge her off his lap, he concentrated on the soft bottom rubbing against his cock, the full, heavy breasts brushing the hand that he had wrapped around her waist, and the very talented mouth that he knew from past experience would give plenty of pleasure.

Also from past experience, he knew that she’d shout from the bloody rooftops that she’d had him in her bed. Needless to say, after the first time—no matter how pleasurable—he hadn’t gone back.

But what the hell did he care? It was the way it was. Why fight it? She would get something to lord over her sister and the other lasses—war widows, mostly—who took advantage of the rooms above Annie’s alehouse for companionship, and he would get a night of mind-blowing, head-clearing lust.

To hell with Cate and what she thought. She didn’t know a damned thing. She might have tricked him into marriage, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to get anything else from him. He could take whoever he wanted to his bed. Her “special” “only me” shite was exactly that.

Maggie leaned closer. The blast of lavender smote him. Cate used lavender, but on her, the scent was soft and delicate and made him want to inhale and draw it deeper into his lungs. On Maggie, it was cloying and overpowering and made him want to run outside to get a breath of fresh air to clear the stench from his nose.

He swore silently and reached for his tankard. Why the hell was he even thinking about her? Cate was wrong, damn it, wrong.

Maggie had leaned in to whisper something to him. “Are they Phantoms, too?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

“They” meaning his three frowning brethren crowded on the benches around the small table with him, who were doing damned fine impressions of Father Roland, the village priest.

Nay, not priests, monks. But just because they’d been gelded by their wives and didn’t want to have any fun sure as hell didn’t mean Gregor couldn’t. To hell with them, too. To hell with all of them.

“These three?” He looked over at his disapproving-looking companions. “Do they look like the best warriors in Scotland? They’re just West Highland brigands, hoping to make a few coins now that Bruce is poised for victory.”

Even MacSorley’s eyes narrowed at that. Gregor glared back at him. What did they want, for him to confirm it for her?

Maggie looked unconvinced as she scrutinized the fierce, hulking warriors. “I don’t know.” She wrinkled her nose. “They certainly look big and scary enough to be Phantoms.”

“All muscle,” he said. “The Phantoms are clever.” Unlike these three, he left unsaid. That she seemed to accept. “If I were a Phantom”—the rumors might have reached the village, but Gregor wasn’t going to admit anything—“I would hardly be in their company so publicly.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, snuggling deeper into his lap. When that didn’t give her the desired effect, she started to circle her fingers on his stomach and rub her soft, in-danger-of-falling-out-of-her-bodice breasts against his chest.

The lass had fantastic breasts. They were big and lush, and he could remember burying his face in the deep crevice, cupping, squeezing, and then sucking the cherry-red tips until they’d extended a good half-inch and poked against his tongue.

Despite the generous size of her chest, Maggie was slender and dark-haired, the way he liked. She was taller than Cate but her body was too soft, not firm and taut like …

He stopped, swore again—this time not so silently—and took another guzzle of his ale. The tankard was discernibly lighter than before. He shot a glare at MacRuairi, who was seated next to him, suspecting that he’d been emptying it when Gregor’s back was turned.

Christ almighty! They were treating him like a damned bairn. He didn’t need watching over—or saving. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Then why did he feel like he had when he was younger, and he knew he was making a mistake but just couldn’t seem to stop himself?

His stomach muscles clenched as Maggie’s hand dipped to the waist of his breeches. But it wasn’t lust he was fighting.

It felt good, damn it. It had to feel good. How could it not? Her hand was only inches from his cock. But his body wasn’t responding the way it should to her touch.

Only me …

He told that voice to shut the hell up. That wasn’t it. He just needed Maggie’s hand wrapped around him. Her mouth sucking him. Then he would feel it.

But the anger surging through his veins grew darker and more heated. This was all her fault. Cate had done this to him. Messed with his head. Messed with other parts of him as well. But he wasn’t going to let her turn him into a damned eunuch.

He wanted other women. Of course he did.

Maggie hadn’t lied to him. Maggie hadn’t tried to trap him. Maggie hadn’t turned him into a blind, besotted fool.

He had nothing to feel guilty about, damn it. Cate had practically thrown a gauntlet down at his feet. Should she be surprised that he’d picked it up?

He drained another tankard of ale before one of his brethren could do it for him.

“I must admit, I’m surprised to see you in here with the wedding and all,” Maggie said.

He stiffened, but the lass didn’t seem to notice, as she was too busy trying to covertly—or not so covertly—brush her fingertip along the ridge of his cock.

“Some people were surprised when you chose Cate, but I wasn’t.” She waited for a response from him. Not picking up on his simmering rage, she continued. “She might be a little odd with her sword fighting and all, but she’s a real lady. Not judgmental like some of the village women, I’ll tell you that.” Maggie’s mouth pursed with distaste. “Nay, Cate is kindhearted and always has a nice word for me whenever our paths cross.”

She frowned, suddenly seeming to realize that what she was doing right now might not be viewed as graciously by Cate.

Gregor’s mouth fell in a hard line. He’d had enough. He wasn’t going to listen to Cate’s finer points from her. He stood suddenly, and barely managed to snag Maggie’s wrist to prevent her from falling to the ground. He swayed a little at the sudden movement, his head thick with drink.

But not thick enough. He took a jug from the table and tucked it under his arm. “Come, it’s a little too crowded in here. Let’s go find someplace a little more private.”

Whatever qualms Maggie had vanished. She nodded eagerly and started to drag him away.

But Campbell caught his arm and held him back. “Don’t do this, Arrow,” he said softly. “I don’t know what is going on with you and the lass, but you will regret it.”

Campbell didn’t know a damned thing. None of them did.

“Go ahead and prove me wrong … if you can.” That was exactly what he would do, damn it.

“Don’t wait for me,” Gregor said, ignoring the unsolicited and unwanted advice. “I don’t anticipate I’ll be making it back to the castle anytime soon.”

Determined, Gregor followed Maggie through the crowd to the stairs. He was so focused, he didn’t notice the small hooded form sitting quietly in the corner.