Twenty-two
 

Heartbreaker. Gregor’s reputation was well earned. But with all the times she’d heard it, in her arrogant belief that they were meant to be together, not once did Cate think it would be her heart that would be the one broken.

She had been seated at the table for only a few moments before Gregor walked by with Maggie, but it was long enough to see him—really see him. The too-handsome heartbreaker in all his roguish glory, drinking, cavorting, and looking every bit like a man without a care in the world.

One tear slid out of the tight tether she had wrapped around her shredded emotions. Furiously, she wiped it away. She couldn’t break down yet. She had to do this. She had to finish it so there would never be a doubt. Never again would she be able to delude herself that she meant something to him.

Keeping her head down and doing her best to fade into the background of the crowded, smoke-filled room, Cate wound her way around the perimeter to the door where she’d seen them exit. She was glad she’d taken the time to change her clothing. Dressed in her practice garb, with the hood of her cloak pulled low over her face, no one paid her any mind. She looked like a lad who’d just come in out of the cold.

It was cold outside. Bitterly cold. But the chill inside her that had turned her skin and bones to ice had nothing to do with the weather.

She stepped through the doorway and saw the stairs. Her chest twisted. She’d suspected what she would find, but part of her had still held out hope that she was wrong.

Although Cate had never been in this part of the alehouse, she knew what went on here. She knew there were a few solars above where travelers might spend a night, or lonely men might find a companion from one of the women who frequented Annie’s.

Normally, Cate did not begrudge women like Maggie who’d lost their husbands to war a way of making a few extra coins. But seeing the lovely black-haired, blue-eyed woman with her generous breasts crushed against Gregor’s chest and her hands all over him had changed Cate’s mind. She’d felt very grudging indeed and wanted nothing more than to toss the brazen harlot right off his lap.

But she didn’t. She’d waited for Gregor to do it. Waited for him to realize that he couldn’t do this. That he couldn’t make love to another woman because he loved her.

He hadn’t, though. Instead, she’d watched in stricken pain as the man she loved—the man she thought she would spend her life with—let another woman put her hands on him.

Now, Cate would see the rest.

Stonily, like a woman condemned to hang climbing the scaffold, she walked up the wooden stairs. Old and rickety, they creaked as she moved, but with all the noise below, she doubted anyone above would notice.

What must have been one large room (albeit a low-ceilinged one) had been partitioned into a few private chambers off a central solar. But with only wooden screens for walls and hangings for doors, there was little privacy. Cate could hear everything. She could hear the couple in the room to her left grunting and groaning in the throes of a very energetic coupling, and she could hear the voices in the room to her right: Maggie’s giggling followed by Gregor’s deep, rough tones: “I like it just fine.”

Like what? Cate wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She moved toward the curtain like a ghost. They hadn’t bothered to close it completely—why should they, as it hid little of what was going on?—and if Cate stood at the edge, she could see the occupants well enough.

Oh God, no …

She drew in her breath as a fresh surge of hurt rolled over her in deep, hot waves. Gregor stood in front of the narrow box bed—the only piece of furniture in the tiny room—facing her. Although there was very little of his face that she could see, as he was locked in a passionate embrace with Maggie. His hand rested at the base of her spine with his fingers spread over the top curve of her buttocks. Maggie’s dark hair was loose down her back, the lacing at the back of her kirtle had been undone, and the gown had been tugged down past her shoulders. Her breasts must be bare.

This wasn’t like the kiss with Seonaid that she’d witnessed. It was far more carnal. Far more passionate. Far more painful. Far more like the way he kissed her. Special … different. Her claims seemed to taunt her. She couldn’t seem to look away from his hand. Those strong, powerful fingers gripping someone else.

Fortunately, the kiss lasted only a few seconds before Gregor pulled away.

“Is something wrong?” Maggie asked.

Yes. Please say yes.

“No,” Gregor said, his voice slurred. He’d obviously been drinking heavily, but that didn’t excuse what he was doing; it only added to the unsavoriness.

“Are you sure?” Maggie said, a coy playfulness to her tone. “Maybe it’s the drink?”

Her shoulder moved and Cate had to bite her fist to prevent the fresh stab of pain, realizing what she was doing. Maggie’s shoulder had moved because her hand was between his legs. She was stroking him.

Cate’s stomach turned in violent revolt.

Maggie giggled. “Let’s see if this will help.” She dropped to her knees before him and reached her hands around to grab him by his backside. “I remember you told me how good I was with my mouth.”

Cate stilled, not understanding. But when Maggie’s head moved forward between his legs, comprehension dawned in shocked, cruel clarity. She was going to pleasure him with her mouth.

Push her away. Please push her away.

Instead, Gregor gripped the back of Maggie’s head with his hands, holding her to him. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of taut lines and intense concentration.

Unable to bear another moment without being ill, Cate moved away. She’d seen and heard enough. No further proof was necessary. Gregor had achieved his purpose. She believed him. God, how she believed him.

What they had together wasn’t special. She wasn’t special. He’d proved it. He didn’t care about her—at least not enough to stop him from seeking out another woman’s bed at the first sign of difficulty between them.

Cate wouldn’t marry him, even if he came crawling on his hands and knees begging for her forgiveness. She didn’t doubt that he would regret it when he learned the truth, but she didn’t care. It was too late. She’d run out of patience, excuses, and faith. Seeing this side of him had shattered every last one of her illusions. She was done making excuses for him.

She’d wanted to believe that she was the woman for him, but there was no one woman for a man like Gregor MacGregor. She’d been fooling herself to think he could be faithful to her—that he could commit. The bond between them that meant so much to her didn’t matter to him. Not if he could make love to another woman. Maybe he was right. Maybe for him love had nothing to do with the bedchamber. But for Cate it had had everything to do with it.

Had. But not anymore. Gregor had done what she thought impossible. He’d destroyed her love for him. He’d ripped her heart out of her chest, torn it to shreds, and ground the scraps to dust. There was nothing left. Only the dull, numbing ache of emptiness—as if she were missing a vital piece of herself. The love she’d had for him that had filled her with such joy and hope was gone.

A part of her hated him—but not completely. She also felt sorry for him. Sorry that he was too jaded and cynical, too molded by his past experiences with women, to recognize real love when he had a chance.

It was his loss. Cate would not waste another moment of her life on him.

The man Cate married would believe in her just as much as she believed in him. And it was clear that man would not be Gregor. She did not doubt that he would marry her still. But if he did, he would leave her feeling just as abandoned as her father had. Maybe not physically, but in every other way that mattered.

Gregor wasn’t the man she’d thought. She had thought there was more to him than a handsome face. She had thought he was the kind of man she could count on, the kind of man she could trust. But he was no more the noble knight of her fantasies than her father had been. Maybe Gregor was right. Maybe she had been trying to create the perfect family to replace the one that she’d lost with him at the center, representing everything she thought a great man should be. She’d wanted him to be something he was not and imagined qualities in him that weren’t even there.

She was about to start down the stairs when she heard men below and stopped in her tracks.

“Damn it, someone needs to stop him.”

Cate recognized the voice of one of the Phantoms—the big, tall blond one who looked like a Viking, Erik MacSorley. She bit her lip, still embarrassed about the black eye she’d given him.

“We tried, cousin. He didn’t seem to be of any mind to listen.”

Lachlan MacRuairi, she thought with a shiver, identifying the dark voice and the brigand it belonged to with ease. He sounded as menacing as he looked. Except for the facial hair—they both had unusually shaped, stubbly beards—the two kinsmen looked nothing alike.

“We’ll make him listen,” MacSorley said. “He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He loves the lass, and once he realizes it, he’ll never forgive himself for doing this.”

Cate wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she was more worried about finding a place to hide if they came up the stairs.

“And if making him listen doesn’t work?” MacRuairi asked.

“We take him out of there by force,” MacSorley said, taking a few steps up the stairs.

Cate was about to dart behind a trunk to hide when another voice intervened in the argument between kinsmen. “Arrow needs to figure this out on his own. If he does love her, he’ll realize it. It’s not for us to decide.”

Arthur Campbell, she realized, the quiet voice of reason. He was right, too. Unfortunately, Gregor had proved that he didn’t love her.

After a few more moments the men moved away from the stairs. Cate debated following them—it was dark, and she’d imagined more than one shadow in the woods on the way here—but not wanting to risk discovery, she exited the building and slid into the stables to wait.

When it started to snow a short while later, however, she decided she’d waited long enough. It didn’t take her long to reach the edge of the village. She hesitated; the darkness of the forest ahead proved vaguely unsettling. Though she was tempted to borrow a torch from one of the village cottages, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

It was a decision she would regret a short while later, when the darkness of the forest seemed to swallow her up like a snowy dragon.

She looked over her shoulder more than once, swearing she heard something. A snapped twig. A rustled branch. Then she decided she was only imagining the sounds, her fear causing her mind to play tricks. But once she was deep in the forest, Cate realized it wasn’t her imagination. At first she thought she was being tracked by a pack of wolves. But the beasts that surrounded her were horrifyingly human.

Cate fought with everything she had. But in the end, against five soldiers, it wasn’t enough. Forced to the ground with a knife to her throat and voices swearing to kill her if she didn’t stop struggling, she surrendered.

Two men hauled her off the ground—none too gently—pinning her arms behind her back to face the others. They’d taken her sword, but she still had the dagger Gregor had given her in a scabbard at her waist. If she could just reach it …

Her fingers extended toward the hilt. Feeling her movement, one of the men tugged one of her arms harder, making her groan in pain, but also aiding her cause by bringing her hand an inch closer to the hilt. She could just about reach it.

A torch was brought forward and held to her face by a third man. She sucked in her breath, recognizing him: the man on horseback in the woods. The man who looked just like the soldier who’d killed her mother.

“I told you it was her,” the man said. “She might dress and fight like a man, but it’s MacGregor’s bride.”

“You were right, Fitzwarren.”

Cate froze at the mention of his name. It couldn’t be—he was too young.

Nay, it wasn’t the captain, she realized, but it could well be his son.

“What do you want with me?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Fitz warren said slyly, his eyes dropping to her out-thrust breasts with a cold, lecherous look that told her he might be like his father in more ways than just appearance. “It’s what you are going to do for us. You are going to give us one of Bruce’s Phantoms.”

Cate froze, but she quickly tried to cover her reaction. “You don’t think that rumor is true, do you?”

She cried out as Fitzwarren grabbed a thick tress of hair that had come loose in the struggle and twisted it hard against her scalp. “Don’t bother denying it, gel. We know it’s true. He’s been under suspicion for some time, but has proved elusive. But thanks to you, we won’t need to try to capture Gregor MacGregor; he’ll walk right through the gates of Perth Castle all on his own to secure his beloved bride’s freedom.”

Cate was about to argue with his premise—she wasn’t his beloved or his bride for much longer—but she clamped her mouth shut. If these men thought she wasn’t worth anything to them, they would kill her. And the way young Fitzwarren was eyeing her, she would be lucky if they just killed her and didn’t rape her first.

She shuddered with revulsion. But not with fear. Gregor had given her that at least. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. She bit back a smile of satisfaction as her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger. The moment they released their hold, she would be ready.

Suddenly, the other part of what he’d said hit her: Perth Castle. The same place the missive from her father had said the captain was heading. The captain who’d escaped punishment for too long.

Gregor had said he would handle it—and maybe he would if given a chance, even with all that had happened. But Cate didn’t want him to. It wasn’t his responsibility; it was hers. She wanted to do it herself, maybe even needed to do it herself. Right now it was the only thing that mattered, and the only thing she wanted to think about. For so long, her entire world had revolved around Gregor and the perfect life they would have together that she’d lost sight of anything else. How could she have forgotten the duty she had to her mother and the other villagers? The price of living was to see justice done. Cate might never have another chance to get so close to the man responsible for their deaths, and she would not waste it.

All the hurt, all the hatred, all the heartbreak, she turned to vengeance. Nay, embraced it. It gave her a purpose.

Loosening her grip around the hilt of the dagger, she let it go. For now.

Gregor woke to the sound of snoring and the stale stench of whisky-laden vomit. His stomach rolled at the smell and bile shot up the back of his throat, threatening reemergence.

The vomit was his, he realized, the unpleasantness of the night coming back to him in surprising clarity given the amount he’d imbibed and the current throbbing state of his head.

He felt like hell—which was probably no more than he deserved. He blinked up at the ceiling first, and then at the face of the woman on the pillow beside him.

He winced. God, he needed to get out of here. But as the slightest movement caused extreme pain and threatened what little control he had over his stomach, he unfurled himself from the lass’s vice-like grip with painstaking care.

It wasn’t Maggie snoring, he realized, but the man in the room beside this one.

Christ, what the hell was he doing? Looking around, he felt a blast of self-loathing and repugnance. Was this what he wanted? Drunken, meaningless liaisons in an alehouse where he woke up to the sounds of another drunkard’s snores?

He was a fool. Last night had served no purpose. He’d failed. Miserably. Even with Maggie’s mouth around him, he’d seen Cate’s face in his head, heard her voice, and knew he couldn’t go through with it. Didn’t want to go through with it—even if Maggie had been able to get a rise out of him.

He’d blame the whisky, but he knew that wasn’t all of it. The moment her mouth had come around him, he’d wanted to push her off. He’d tried to concentrate, tried to think about what she was doing, tried to force back the revulsion, but it hadn’t worked. After a few seconds he lost the battle, barely making it to the chamber pot in time.

He’d lost the contents of his stomach from a woman trying to pleasure him with her mouth—that had to be a first.

Maggie had been surprisingly understanding, telling him to lie down and that they would try again when the whisky wore off.

Gregor had passed out knowing it was never going to happen. Not sober, not drunk, not ever.

Cate was right. He loved her. Even knowing what she’d done, he loved her. He loved her resilience, her fight, her determination. He loved her strength and independence. He loved how she made her own way and didn’t rely on what was given to her like most noblewomen he knew. He loved kissing her, he loved holding her in his arms, and he loved making love to her.

And just touching another woman—or letting another woman touch him—was enough of a betrayal to make him physically ill.

He’d done nothing wrong, he told himself. Cate was the one who’d betrayed him.

Then why did he feel like emptying his gut all over again?

With a grim look at the woman sleeping in the bed, he fished a few coins from his sporran and left them on the bed. He would apologize later, but he needed to get away from here or he was going to embarrass himself again.

He hurried out of the alehouse, fortunately not running into anyone. It was barely dawn, and most of the occupants were probably still sleeping off last night’s festivities.

Gregor needed to wash them off. Taking a slight detour on his way back to the tower house, he stopped at the river to swim. That there was snow on the banks and the river was a few degrees from frozen seemed somehow fitting. But not even the icy dunking could wash away the stain of guilt that clung to him. No matter how many times he told himself that he’d done nothing wrong, that he owed her nothing, he couldn’t convince himself that it was true.

He might not have gone through with it, but he’d done enough.

The only way he was going to feel clean was to tell Cate what he’d done—or tried to do. Would she understand? Things were so buggered up between them, he didn’t know, but he would tell her the truth and apologize. No matter how bad things were, he shouldn’t have done—or attempted to do—what he did.

She’d hit a tender spot, and he’d reacted badly. But he loved her. He was going to have to try to trust her. If she said she hadn’t tricked him into marriage, he was going to do his damnedest to believe her.

With grim resolve, he pulled himself out the river and quickly—very quickly—donned his shirt, hose, and braies. He was reaching for his cotun when he heard a noise behind him.

His head still foggy from the aftereffects of drink, and his movements slow from the cold, he barely deflected the knife aimed for the lower right side of his back. A stab that given the location could have killed him in a minute or two.

He could feel the edge of the blade brush past his side as he twisted, slammed his hand against his attacker’s wrist, and swung his leg around to knock him off his feet. A move that was easy given the size of his attacker.

Pip! The boy reached for the knife, but Gregor stepped on his wrist before he could get it. Leaning down, he dragged the lad up by the collar. “What in Hades do you think you are doing? You could have killed me.”

Pip’s face was an angry contortion of frustrated rage. “I wanted to kill you! I wish you were dead.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you’ll have to get in line. Most of the English army is in front of you. I know why they want to kill me, but what have I done to deserve a knife in the back from you?”

“You weren’t supposed to marry her. You were supposed to leave. I just wanted you to go, so you wouldn’t send me away. But you sent all of us away, and you hurt Cate. I never meant for her to get hurt.”

Gregor released the boy and took a step back. The heat in his blood from the attack chilled. A shiver of premonition trickled down his spine. The boy’s words didn’t make any sense, but somehow he knew what had happened. “It was you. Cate never sent for John. You did.”

Pip nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I saw her come out of your room that morning and saw the blood on the cloths that she tried to hide. I wanted John to marry her, not you. I thought you would leave. You were supposed to leave. John is honorable, not you.”

As the full ramifications of what the boy was saying hit him, Gregor had to sit down. He found a rock and stared wordlessly at Pip, feeling like he’d just taken a knife in the gut.

She hadn’t set a trap for him; the boy had. She’d been innocent of any true wrongdoing, and he’d called her a liar. He’d nearly … ah hell, he almost got sick again, knowing how close he’d come to doing something he would have no right to ask her to forgive. “Do you have any idea of what you’ve done? What I’ve done?”

Pip looked at him uncertainly, his reaction obviously not what he’d expected. “What?”

“I love her, and I might have destroyed whatever chance at happiness that we had.”

Pip stared at him as if he were a stranger. “You love her?”

Gregor didn’t answer him. His mind was on one thing. He donned the rest of his clothes quickly and strapped on his weapons. Noticing the blade on the ground, he picked it up and handed it back to the boy. “You might have need of this yet. If Cate won’t forgive me, I’ll let you plunge the damn thing into my heart.”

Pip’s eyes widened, but he remained silent on the short walk back to the tower house.

Gregor hadn’t taken a step into the hall when his brother blocked his path. “Where have you been? Or do I want to know?”

Gregor gritted his teeth, ignoring the unwanted questions. “Where’s Cate?”

“I was hoping you would know. When Ete went to her room this morning, she wasn’t there and her bed hadn’t been slept in. No one has seen her since last night.”

“What do you mean, no one has seen her since last night? Where the hell could she be?”

His brethren must have heard the commotion and left their meal to come over to help. “What is it?” Campbell asked.

“Cate is missing,” Gregor answered.

“Where would she go?” MacSorley asked.

MacRuairi asked the one question all of them were thinking. “Did she know where you were?”

Gregor looked to John. His brother nodded. “But that isn’t all. She saw the note.”

“What note?”

“The missive in your solar about Fitzwarren.”

Gregor swore. The panic running through his blood turned to a full gallop. He quickly explained about the letter to the others.

“Would she go after him on her own?” Campbell asked.

“I don’t know, but I think we have to assume yes.”

Wasting no time, Gregor quickly organized a few parties of riders to go after her. John and Campbell would lead one, MacSorley and MacRuairi another, and he a third. But before they left the Hall, one his men found him and handed him a crumpled piece of parchment.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“One of the village lads brought it this morning. He said a man had given it to him last night but told him not to bring it until morning.”

There was something inside. Unwrapping it carefully, Gregor’s heart stopped beating when he realized what it was. The familiar ring stared back up at him. The betrothal ring he’d given Cate. The words on the parchment swam in front of his eyes. He handed it to John to read, but he knew what it said. “We have something that belongs to you. If you want her back alive, come to Perth Castle.”

The blood drained from his body. For the first time in his life, he felt like he might faint. They had her. The English had Cate. It was just as the Guard had feared if their identities were ever revealed. They would use her to get to him.

If anything happened to her …

He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. Cate was the most important thing in the world to him. He would give his life to save hers a thousand times over. And it looked like he was going to have to do exactly that.