Three
 

In retrospect, perhaps it had been a bad idea to laugh, but, damn it, Cate looked so adorable and fierce with the mud streaked all over her face and clothes—an unusually pretty dress for her, actually. Seeing her look so refreshing girlish had been something of a relief, after the uncomfortable and far from guardian-like thoughts Gregor had been having about her since his last time home.

But he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings and would have apologized had he not been struck by what could only be described as sickly panic when he heard what she’d done (she could have been hurt, damn it!), and then momentarily struck dumb by her announcement.

“My w-what?” he sputtered.

“Your son,” she replied calmly.

The words didn’t lose any impact on repeating. If Gregor had been more shocked in his life, he couldn’t recall. She might as well have proclaimed herself the Queen of bloody England. She had about as much chance of claiming that position as he had of having sired this whelp.

Aside from the fact that the boy looked nothing—nothing—like him, he was at least fifteen or sixteen years old. Gregor was thirty-one, and the only woman he’d had relations with before he was twenty hadn’t given birth to this boy. He should know, since she married his older brother a few months after their relationship had served her purpose.

He gritted his teeth, casting a sharp glance at the bloodied, mud-splattered youth. “I don’t know what hard-luck story he’s told you, but that boy is most assuredly not my son.”

The whelp shot him a black scowl, looking as if he’d like nothing more than to stick a blade between Gregor’s ribs. Cate, however, acted like the wee blackguard had just been grievously injured and hastened to protect him by wrapping her arm around his shoulder.

“Of course he is. Just like Eddie and Maddy.”

“Who in the hell are they?” Gregor exploded. He’d given up trying not to swear and blaspheme around her years ago. Not even God would have enough patience and restraint for Cate.

“Did John not tell you? Congratulations—you have two sons and a daughter!”

This was the “emergency”? The lass wasn’t only trouble, she was mad—especially if she thought he’d ever have a son named after the English king.

He told her so, and what skin on her face wasn’t covered with mud turned red. She turned to the boy. “Pip, you go on ahead. Your father and I have something to discuss.”

This Pip could give Viper a contest in venomous glares. The lad looked like he wanted to argue, but when Caitrina added, “Please,” he nodded and left—though not without a few more black scowls cast in Gregor’s direction.

Christ, did the lad think he would hurt her? Gregor hadn’t strangled her in the five years he’d known her; he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. With any luck, in a few weeks she’d be out of his hair for good. Although in light of today’s events, his plan to marry her off was going to be even more of a challenge than he’d thought. He shook his head. Brawling in the dirt like a … he didn’t know what, but it certainly wasn’t befitting a marriageable young lass.

She turned on him, hands on her hips, as soon as the boy moved out of earshot. “How could you say that in front of him? You hurt his feelings!”

Gregor jumped off his horse, preparing to square off for the battle he knew was coming. If he didn’t know better, from the way the blood was racing through his veins, he might think he was actually looking forward to it.

“Hurt his feelings? My good name is the one being dragged through the mud.” Her eyes flared at that. “The little charlatan has lied to you and taken advantage of your kindness. How old is he?”

“Fifteen.”

Gregor smiled; it was as he suspected. “It’s impossible for him to be my son.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know how to subtract.”

Clearly, she didn’t understand, and he was in no mind to explain. His age when he’d first been intimate with a woman was not a proper topic for a young lady’s ears. But that wasn’t the only reason. She’d closed the gap between them to a few feet—which, as it turned out, was too damned close.

He was feeling it again. The heat. That strange tingling of his skin. The blasted awareness. The blasted inappropriate awareness.

The top of her head only came to his mid-chest, but he could still remember how it had felt tucked under his chin. How warm and silky her hair had been. How she’d smelled like wildflowers. How firm but undeniably feminine she’d felt in his arms.

What the hell was the matter with him? This was Caitrina. The lass he was responsible for, no matter how unwittingly—the lass he was supposed to protect from men like him. Bloody hell, he needed to find a little self-control.

Drawing his hand through his hair, he made a sound of frustration. Returning to the subject at hand, he said, “How did he come to be here?”

“His mother left him at the gate. She told him he was to find you and inform you that he was your son, and that it was time for you to take care of the lad, as she could no longer do so on her own.”

He might have felt a pang of sympathy for the boy at his cruel abandonment by the woman who’d given birth to him had Gregor not been so certain every word of it was a falsehood. The boy and his mother were probably in league together. God knew what they hoped to gain by their trickery. “What was this woman’s name?”

She shrugged, as if the question wasn’t important to her. “You’ll have to ask your son.”

He tried to control his temper, he did. But Caitrina—Cate—had a way of bringing out the worst in him. She was so blasted stubborn and too damned free with her opinions. He was her guardian, for Christ’s sake! She should defer to his opinions. Respect her elders.

“He is not my son,” he reiterated, emphasizing each word.

“So you’ve said.”

His jaw clenched at her smile. “And the other two children? Let me guess—they were abandoned as well, not long after word of Pip’s arrival spread, I would wager.”

She flushed, tossing her muddy hair as regally as any queen. “There is no cause to be sarcastic.”

“No cause? Christ, did you not think the timing just a little suspicious? Suddenly I go from having no progeny to three in the space of a couple of months? You are lucky there haven’t been more showing up on my doorstep.”

Her eyes widened and blinked. “You mean you have more natural children out there?”

Gregor squeezed his fists, praying for patience. Though she said it innocently enough, sometimes he could swear she was purposefully being obtuse just to get a rise out of him—irritation, not the other kind of rise, although regretfully she had managed to do that as well. Being around Cate was beginning to make him feel like an old lecher.

“I do not have any children. Get rid of them, Caitrina.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I won’t ‘get rid’ of them; you are responsible—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I have no more duty to them than I do to any child off the high street of any village in Scotland.”

She gasped, gazing up at him with a vulnerable expression on her face that he hadn’t seen in a long time. The look that made his cotun feel like it was too tight. “Like me, you mean?”

He cursed with frustration at the inadvertent hurt his words had caused. Of course she would sympathize with these foundlings. She knew what it was like to be left all alone in the world. “Ah, hell, I didn’t mean it like that. You were different.”

“Why?”

“Because we were responsible for what happened to you.”

“You weren’t responsible. You weren’t even there when the men sought shelter. If anyone was responsible, it was your king. Robert Bruce was the one who told those men to seek refuge in our village. So why did you offer to take me?”

He knew what she was trying to wrest from him, but it wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t what she thought he was. Cate wanted to see him as some kind of noble knight. A man she could rely on. That sure as hell wasn’t him. One of the reasons he’d stayed away so much over the years was because he didn’t want to disillusion her—even though he knew without a doubt that one day he would.

“Because it made sense, and it was the easiest solution. I knew my mother would love you, and I hoped you would be happy here.”

“I have been, and so will they—”

He stopped her, suspecting where she was heading. “It won’t work, Caitrina. They aren’t staying here. If you don’t find a place for them, I will. God knows there are a lot of mothers struggling to care for their bairns in this war, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let Dunlyon be used as a refuge for foundlings or claim children who aren’t mine.”

After the unwelcome tenderness he was feeling toward the lass, he was almost glad to see the irritation returning to her dirt-smudged features.

Her eyes narrowed. “How can you be so certain they aren’t yours? From what I hear, you are not lacking in bed partners. Is your seed incapable of bearing fruit?”

Gregor could only stand there and gape. How was it that this young girl managed to do what no one else could and so thoroughly, so maddeningly, disconcert him? He didn’t know what was worse: that she’d been listening to gossip about the number of women he took to bed (or rather, the number of women who took him to their bed) or that she’d just questioned the potency of his “seed.” Both were inappropriate topics for any young woman, let alone his … his … whatever the hell she was!

“I am perfectly capable of siring children, damn it! When I want them.”

She wrinkled her nose, causing the dried mud to crack. The thin whisker lines it made on her face made her look like a bedraggled kitten. But any warm, fuzzy feelings were quickly quashed when she spoke. “I don’t see how you can know that unless you’ve tried. And with all those women, one would think—”

He took a step toward her, fighting a losing battle for patience. “Caitrina …”

Wisely, she took a step back. “So you are telling me that it’s completely out of the realm of possibility that you could have made a mistake?”

“I don’t make mistakes.”

She gave him a look that was filled with more understanding than he liked. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not me. Not that kind.” He was always careful. Very careful. Although there was always the smallest, tiniest possibility …

Hell, she’d done it again. Turned him inside out. Upside down. Confused him. Rattled him, blast it.

Like any born warrior, she sensed the weakness and went in for the kill. “Just meet them, Gregor. You’ll see—”

He put up his hand, trying to tell himself it wasn’t like a white banner. So much for Bàs roimh Gèill. Death before Surrender, the motto of the Highland Guard—and his before he’d met Cate. “I’ve already met one of them, and I know for a fact he is not mine. It will be the same for the other two. I will see them, but it will not change my mind.”

“Oh Gregor, thank you!”

She’d apparently ignored the “won’t change my mind” part, proving she wasn’t immune to the skill possessed by so many of her sex to hear only what they wanted to hear.

When it looked as if she might throw herself into his arms, he took a step back.

Mistaking the cause, she made a face. “I suppose I should get cleaned up first.”

It wasn’t the dirt; he just didn’t trust himself to touch her.

“They aren’t staying, Caitrina.”

The smile quickly slid from her face. He regretted it, but it was necessary. He didn’t want any misunderstandings.

She held his gaze, and after a moment, nodded. He wasn’t foolish enough to mistake it for acquiescence; it was more temporary acceptance. But in this he would stay firm. No more foundlings. Worrying about her was distracting enough; he sure as hell wasn’t going to take on any more. His responsibility toward Cate was always hanging over him; even when fighting he thought of her. More so of late, the reasons for which he didn’t want to examine.

He was supposed to be clearing his head, damn it. Getting rid of all distractions, not adding to them.

Leading his mount, they walked the short distance to Dunlyon in silence.

It was one of the things he liked most about her. Unlike most women, Cate didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with chatter.

It was hard not to like the lass. That was part of the problem. When she wasn’t irritating him or making his life difficult, she was passionate, loyal, no-nonsense, and refreshingly straightforward. Too straightforward sometimes, he thought, recalling her reference to his bed partners.

So she thought him a profligate. Hell, he probably was—more by happenstance than by effort. What was he supposed to do, refuse the women who jumped in his bed? What man in his right mind would do that?

And why did he care what she thought?

He was still frowning when they entered the gate. She started to run off, but after a few steps stopped to turn around. “Have you found him yet?”

Gregor stiffened at the mention of the familiar subject. Damn it, did the lass never give up? He hated having to lie to her, but God only knew what Caitrina would do with the information. Actually, he suspected he knew exactly what she would do, which was why he’d never shared it with her. He’d learned the name of the man who’d attacked her village shortly after it happened. Unfortunately by that time, Sir Reginald Fitzwarren had already been recalled to London—where he’d stayed out of Gregor’s reach. But one day, he would find him and the lass would have her vengeance.

“Not yet,” he said.

She sighed disappointedly, and he felt a sharp stab of guilt in his chest. “Maybe I could—”

“You promised to let me handle it, Caitrina. I want you to trust me.”

She smiled. “I do.”

Somehow the blind faith only made him feel worse.

“I’d better hurry, if I’m going to have time for a bath before the meal,” she said, starting to turn away again.

A surge of unwelcome heat rushed through him. He shouldn’t think of her in the bath, those pert breasts that had felt so firm against his chest bare, the taut, shapely buttocks smooth and …

Wrong, damn it.

“Caitrina!” he snapped.

She turned with an uneasy smile at his tone.

“There is still the matter of that knife to discuss.”

There, that was good and guardian-like.

But his forbidding frown seemed to have no effect. The lass actually looked pleased. Aye, her lips were definitely curved upward. “It was your idea.”

Cheeky brat.

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered, but she was already gone.

For the second time that day, Cate finished making the final adjustments to her gown. This time she chose the moss green. Though she regretted the loss of the rose dress—Ete had taken one look at the ruined gown and nearly burst into tears—Cate thought the green might be even more flattering. The gold ribbon that lined the bodice, hem, and sleeves seemed to pick up the lighter flecks in her eyes.

She didn’t bother with a veil. It would only get wet, as her hair was still sopping from her bath. But with only an hour until the midday meal, she didn’t have time to sit before the brazier brushing it until it dried.

She replaced the circlet atop her head and gave herself another quick once-over in the looking glass before stepping away. She might not look quite as primped and polished as she had this morning, but she looked a good sight better than she had with mud splattered all over her face. The humiliation of being seen like that by the man she so desperately wanted to impress was painfully fresh. But she would do what she always did: get up, dust herself off, and try again. Bruised and battered perhaps, but ready to fight again. Not just for her, but for the children. They needed him and the stability she’d never had.

She hustled from the room, wanting to make sure the children were looking their best for their “presentation.” Her mouth pursed. She tried not to be disappointed by Gregor’s cold reaction—no doubt suddenly being told you were the father of three would be a shock to anyone—but she was. For the first time that she could remember, he’d let her down.

His harsh words still rang in her head. “Get rid of them.”

As if they were rubbish. As if she could just send them away and not care what happened to them. They were children, for heaven’s sake, not stray cats!

Once he saw them and came to know them, he would change his mind. She just had to be patient. He’d taken her in, hadn’t he?

Cate had enough faith in him for them both. As his mother had told her, ties didn’t come easily to Gregor, but once formed they were as unbreakable as steel.

Cate ought to know; she’d put them to the test enough.

She gnawed on her lip guiltily. Had she done so on purpose? Maybe once or twice. But eventually the fear that he would send her away abated. Now, she tested him just because it seemed to be the only way to get him to come home—not to mention it was rather fun. She liked pricking beneath the charming, roguish facade to see those gorgeous green eyes darken, that sinfully delicious wide mouth harden, that tiny muscle beneath the perfectly formed jaw start to flex.

But pricking his temper wasn’t good enough anymore. She wanted him to notice her the way a man does a woman. She wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her the way she’d seen him kiss the previous seneschal’s widow the last time he was home. She wanted him to realize that she was the one for him.

When she reached the top floor of the tower, she found that Ete and Lizzie, one of the kitchen maids, had Eddie and Maddy temporarily under control, but Pip was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t returned to the tower house or to the garret chamber where he slept with Eddie.

Leaving the younger children to the capable hands of the servants, Cate went in search of Pip. She suspected where she would find him. He’d slept in the barn for nearly three weeks, before she’d been able to convince him that he belonged inside. The barn was still the place he retreated to when the chaos of the house grew too much for him.

It was where he would go to lick his wounds.

Not that she blamed him. Cate had worked so hard to make Pip feel like he belonged, and with a few sharp words, Gregor had undone it all.

Her heart squeezed for the proud boy who was trying so hard to be tough and pretend it didn’t matter that his mother had abandoned him on the doorstep of strangers. Trying so hard to believe in a story that even Cate conceded left room for a few questions.

She’d wanted to believe it was true nearly as much as Pip had. But the boy’s age had always bothered her. She knew Gregor had just turned one and thirty, and although she wouldn’t put it past him, fifteen was awfully young to father a child.

Gregor’s certainty—at least about Pip—left little room for error. She only wished Pip hadn’t had to hear it.

What had she thought, that Gregor would take one look at the boy and his heart would go out to him as much as hers had? Perhaps. Though she knew it wasn’t fair. Gregor hadn’t been eager to be saddled with her; she shouldn’t have expected that he would welcome three children with open arms.

Even were she to believe him that they weren’t his children—and there seemed little room for doubt about Pip—it didn’t matter. He couldn’t turn them away; they needed him.

He would come around.

Having reached the barn, she drew open the door. The pungent, earthy smells accosted her at once, but she didn’t mind. She’d spent a lot of time in the barn when she first arrived, too.

“Pip?”

She heard what sounded like a muffled sniffle, and then a bit of shuffling around. “Back here,” he said. “With the pup.”

One of the dogs in the village had given birth to pups a few weeks back. The bitch had ignored the sickly runt, and the farmer had been about to drown the poor thing, when Pip had come to its rescue and brought it back to the tower house. Remarkably, not only did the creature seem to be thriving, but their old, stubborn barn cat, who didn’t like anyone, seemed to think it was the pup’s mother.

Cate moved toward the far end of the barn, finding Pip sitting against the wall of the last stall.

Her heart squeezed, seeing the telltale streaks down his swollen, bloodied face. But she pretended not to notice. His pride was a tender thing right now. He was so full of bluster and bravado. But it had helped him survive, and she would not destroy it with comfort. Not until he was ready.

“How is he?”

Pip shrugged. “I brought him some scraps of meat from the evening meal last night, and he seemed to like them.”

“Have you named him yet?”

The boy shook his head. “No.” She understood. He wouldn’t name him until he was certain the pup would live. His eyes scanned her dress, and then narrowed angrily. “That’s for him, isn’t it? You’ve dressed like that for him.”

Cate hoped she wasn’t blushing, but her cheeks felt suspiciously hot. Good gracious, was it that obvious? “No, I—”

“You like him, don’t you? Well, I don’t. I hate him—and he’s not my father!”

Cate pulled over a stool that was used for milking the cows and drew it over to sit by him. “Why do you say that?”

For a moment he looked stricken, but then he looked away and mumbled, “My mother said he was handsome. That we looked just alike. I don’t look anything like him. He’s cold and arrogant and ugly.”

He looked so upset, Cate didn’t have the heart to smile. She doubted anyone had ever called Gregor MacGregor ugly before. “He didn’t mean what he said, Pip. He was surprised, that’s all. Once you get to know him—”

“I don’t want to get to know him. I hate him!”

Dear Lord, had she actually thought this would be easy? Her plan to bring them all together had the makings of a disaster. “You both started off on the wrong foot, that’s all.” Not wanting to leave any more room for discussion, she stood. “It will be time for the midday meal soon—you have just enough time to wash up.” He started to protest, but she stopped him in a voice that brooked no argument. “I will fetch some salve for your cuts.”

He looked down at the dog and nodded.

Again she wanted to put her arms around him, but she remembered all too well how she’d been at that age. Lady Marion had been patient with her, and she would do the same for Pip.

She turned to leave, but he stopped her. “How did you do what you did to Dougal today?”

Her mouth twisted. It had been rather amazing. She hadn’t really been convinced all of her practice would pay off. But it had, and she was proud of herself. “Practice.”

His eyes darkened again. “Did he teach you?”

She shook her head. For years she’d pestered Gregor every time he came home to teach her how to defend herself, but he always put her off “until next time.” Finally, she grew weary of waiting and asked John. “No, John taught me.”

Pip paused for a moment and looked up at her uncertainly. “Do you think that maybe you could teach me?”

She grinned. “You wouldn’t mind taking lessons in warfare from a lass?”

He thought for a minute, obviously taking her question seriously. “Not if you can teach me to do that.”

She laughed. “Well, why don’t we see what you can do tomorrow?”

He stared at her, a look of cautious excitement on his bruised and battered face. “Really?”

She smiled. It was still so hard for him to believe that anything good would be coming his way, but she was determined to change that. “Really. But you’ll have to work hard.”

His black head was nodding so enthusiastically, she feared he might start his nose bleeding again. “I will, I promise.”

She hid a smile. “Then come to the practice yard after your chores. John and I should be done by then.”

A few times a week—more if she begged him hard enough—John found time to squeeze in a few practice sessions with her in between his other duties. With Gregor and their youngest brother, Padraig, off fighting, it had been left to John to keep watch over their holdings for the time being. Although John was anxious to return to the battle, Cate looked forward to their training more than anything—except for Gregor’s visits.

Reminded that the very man was likely waiting for her and the children in the Great Hall, Cate hurried to get the salve and see what could be done about Pip’s poor face. She had to ensure that Gregor’s second impression was better than the first. A wry smile turned her lips. Given the first meeting, that shouldn’t be too hard.