Four

“Boyd will take the chit to Morton.”

His father was making sure his voice was heard by half the men in the hall.

“And give that Douglas the opportunity to take the payment without giving us what is due?” Rolfe inquired. “Better that I go. He can raise me up in yer stead, in front of witnesses, and I’ll make very certain no’ to let him even see the wench before he seals the patents of nobility in front of men he’ll think twice about crossing.”

His father was suspicious. Rolfe watched him weigh his words along with the looks on his men’s faces.

“Morton is a Douglas, sure enough.”

“Send only yer senior captain, and ye might be waiting until the end of time for yer title,” Rolfe said.

William grunted. “Aye, and aye.” He slapped the tabletop. “Ye’ve a fine head on those shoulders, right enough. Take the English girl down there, and if that Douglas does no’ keep his end of the bargain, bring her back, and we’ll ransom her to the MacPherson.”

There were nods of agreement from those watching. Rolfe caught Adwin giving him a curious look, but he didn’t linger in the hall. He offered his father a tug on his bonnet before going to make preparations to leave.

His father enjoyed the fact that he had a good head on his shoulders? Rolfe hoped so, because he was going to test that.

* * *

She shouldn’t have any feelings for him except loathing.

Katherine intended to lecture herself firmly on the merits of cultivating a deep dislike of Rolfe McTavish, but all of her words seemed to slip away once she was in his company again.

He was too handsome, but it was more than his exterior that she found attractive. The man had honor in the truest sense of the word, and it took self-discipline to maintain such a thing. So she was drawn to him, both in flesh and spirit.

The fascination would only do her harm. Rolfe would obey his father. It was his only option if he planned to maintain his honor, and she would rather suffer being handed over to the Earl of Morton than watch Rolfe McTavish become less than he was.

She fought to keep her attention off him as they rode. At least during the day, it was simple enough. His men were over forty strong, and they clung to her hem in groups of four anytime she was out of the saddle.

Which wasn’t often.

At least that thought offered her a twinge of distaste for Rolfe at last, but it wasn’t in the form she wished. Instead, what she felt was a sense of impending parting that was going to leave a scar on her heart.

At last she came to a hard truth, one that nauseated her.

The Earl of Morton was a man, like many nobles she had encountered among her father’s sort. They were men who had been raised believing they were elite, placed in their positions by God himself. There was no arguing with such men. They expected submission, and she suspected they enjoyed the odd person who didn’t give it immediately because it offered them the amusement of breaking that person.

Today was different, though. It drew her from her thoughts as Rolfe took them near a village and up to the doors of an inn.

She was grateful to him for it.

And chided herself for thinking of him in any way that was positive, but she simply couldn’t seem to loathe him.

More the fool her. He was driving them hard in an effort to deliver her to the man willing to pay the McTavish the most for her. She’d be wise to remember her purpose, because Rolfe certainly would.

Still, it had been raining the entire day and the opportunity to lay her head down in a dry place was too enticing. There was also something to be said for knowing when to see one’s blessings and enjoy them before they were gone. Katherine slid from the back of her horse and happily went toward the front of the inn. The McTavish retainers crowded around her, but tonight, she decided that they were just as eager to get out of the rain as she was.

Once they were inside, the scent of supper drew a rumble from her belly. Conversation filled the great room where trestle tables were crowded in with benches for travelers. A buxom woman by the hearth wore an apron sporting numerous splotches. She wielded a ladle and called out a greeting to them.

“Plenty of bread and supper for all!”

Rolfe still stole Katherine’s breath.

It was an admission she couldn’t avoid as she caught sight of him sending a smile toward the woman before he turned to her husband and began to discuss the details of business.

With the rain, the tavern was full. Katherine ventured toward the hearth, only to be pushed back by two large Scots.

“Excuse me.”

It was an ingrained response, polite manners that had always served her well. Tonight, they had the opposite effect. The two men turned on her, their expressions dark.

“English bitch.”

One of the men reached out and started to shove her away from him. Another response came from the years she’d trained with Marcus. She stepped to the side at the last moment, so that his own motion sent him stumbling past her. His companion roared with amusement.

The first man snarled and flipped around to face her. “Think ye’ll be getting the best of me? No English will ever live to see the day.”

“Causing trouble already?”

Rolfe was suddenly there, pressing her behind him as he shielded her with his body. The two clansmen faced off with him.

“What are ye doing with an English wench, McTavish?”

“Better still, why are ye bringing her into our taverns?” The second one spat on the ground at Rolfe’s feet. “Let her bed down in the stable.”

“But apologize to the horses first for making them suffer her presence,” the first man added with a grunt.

“I’m on me father’s business,” Rolfe said firmly. “And I’m no’ one to question him.”

Rolfe hooked Katherine by the upper arm, turning and pushing her toward the back of the room where there was a narrow flight of stairs. The woman from the hearth was in front of them, and she pushed open a door at the top of the stairs.

“In here.” She was flushed and gestured Katherine inside, as though she were stuffing someone with a case of the pox out of sight before word got out and her business was deserted.

Katherine made it inside and heard Rolfe snort. She turned on him. “Don’t think I will be apologizing for keeping that man from putting his hands on me.”

Rolfe had paused in the doorway. She looked past him and realized her two tormenters had followed them.

“Well, now,” the one who had tried to touch her declared. “I’ve misjudged ye, McTavish. Seems ye are putting the bitch to the only use she truly has. How much for a turn on her?”

“She belongs to me,” Rolfe said firmly.

Boyd and Adwin suddenly appeared to haul the two away, and Rolfe started to close the door but hesitated. He finally cursed in Gaelic before shutting the door and turning to level a hard look toward Katherine.

“If I leave, there is going to be a fight, and no mistake about it.”

Katherine was still standing in the middle of the room. Her belly had decided to twist with excitement, a very inappropriately timed sort, too.

“Unless ye prefer to sleep in the rain, lass, I’ll have to stay here, no matter the damage it will do to yer reputation.” He spoke softly but maintained his position right in front of the door, as though he was loath to venture any farther into the room without her permission.

Which was ludicrous, since she was his hostage.

She suddenly laughed at their circumstances. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’ve never seen you uncertain, Rolfe McTavish,” she explained.

He rocked back on his heels for a moment. “Enjoying it, are ye?”

She shrugged and moved a little farther into the room. Her memory offered up a fine, perfect recollection of what had happened the last two times they were alone together. And exactly how much she’d enjoyed it.

Her cheeks heated.

She turned and looked into the small hearth the room was furnished with.

“I suppose ye’re due a bit of enjoyment,” he said quietly. “’Tis the truth that I’ve missed seeing ye smile.”

Katherine turned back to face him so quickly that her skirts swished in a wave of wool. “I have little to be pleased about, thanks to you.”

“Me father is the one responsible for ye being taken back to Morton.”

“If you had not insisted on taking me to McTavish land in the first place,” she argued, “I would never have met the man.”

Rolfe was watching her and suddenly came to some sort of conclusion. He stepped into the room, and she fell back instantly. The heat in her cheeks doubled, her breath catching in her chest.

Why did it have to be Rolfe McTavish who had suddenly awakened the woman inside her?

He placed his sword on the table and walked over to the hearth. It was strange the way he drew her attention. She was fascinated by his motions. The way he knelt so easily and sat there, poised on a knee as he placed some wood into the hearth and struck a flint next to it. She’d done the same many times, but had never enjoyed watching someone do it. The man mesmerized her.

The only saving grace was that he detested her English blood. At least he would prevent her from succumbing to his touch.

Yet was that a blessing?

With the fate she was bound for, was she wise to squander her opportunity to enjoy the touch of a man she craved?

Wicked…

Perhaps she was everything she’d been accused of being recently, and more.

There was a knock on the door, and it swung open a moment later as the woman returned with her arms full. She bustled over to the table and set several dishes on it. Rolfe had turned to watch her, but he was looking through the open door at his captain. Adwin didn’t smile often, and tonight his expression was dark.

“We’ll be at the base of the stairs.”

Rolfe nodded as the woman lowered herself and hurried out.

“I’ll sleep by the fire, lass.”

“Of course you will.” She should have sounded more grateful, but the sting of that moment when he’d jerked away from her was still too sharp.

Rolfe slowly chuckled. The sound wasn’t one of amusement, though. There was a dark promise in it, one clearly expressed on his face when she looked toward him.

“Ye think I pulled away from ye because ye’re English?”

Part of her recognized that she might be far better off ignoring his question, but the wound that had yet to heal from that moment refused to allow her to suffer in silence any longer.

“Yes.”

He rose and closed the distance between them. “I am a man of me word, Katherine.”

His comment caught her off guard, but she was having trouble thinking again. He was too near, too large, too imposing, and her flesh was far more interested in responding to him again without any interference from her thoughts or sense.

“I did bring ye to me land to ensure ye did nae meet a foul end due to yer foolishness.”

She bristled. “And I have told you that you were justified. Is it so terrible to say I felt at ease in the Highlands and never suspected that there would be men who harbored hatred for me simply because of my blood? Is it so very wrong to see the world as a good place? Inhabited by men of honor? I never had a reason to hate the Scottish and didn’t see any reason to distrust the MacPhersons when Marcus brought me north. They gave me every reason to embrace their kindness.”

“Ye were old enough to have heard about the strife between our two peoples.”

She lifted her hands into the air. “Aye, and yet young enough to decide to embrace a life that seemed free of such hatred.” She finished with a sigh, realizing how desolate her life was now that she’d been forced to face the hard reality of hatred. It left her so lonely. “There must have been a time when you were forced to face such harsh facts. Wasn’t there a time when you viewed the years ahead with hope instead of duties to be fulfilled?”

He paused, brought up short by her words. She glimpsed a moment of surprise flashing through his green eyes.

“Aye,” he offered with an honesty that felt very personal. He locked gazes with her, and she knew she was looking at the boy he’d once been. The one who had believed in hope. The one so similar to herself that she felt a kinship with him that was nearly soul-deep.

It made her realize how alone she’d felt since Robert had decided to see her as a woman instead of his companion.

“When me father lost his leg, he took to his chamber abovestairs.” Rolfe moved back toward the hearth, leaning on the mantel as he relived the moment.

“I thought the worst of it was when the surgeon took off his leg. I’ve heard men scream before, but this was my father. I wished it were me own limb, and that’s the truth. I cursed the bloody Hays to hellfire because it was a skirmish with them that had festered.”

Rolf took a deep breath. “But that was no’ the worst of it all. Me father lived, and yet he was no’ alive in those months after the fever passed. He kept to his rooms, refusing to be seen.” Rolfe shot her a hard look. “Thought his men would no’ respect him with a leg missing.”

“He strikes me as that sort of man.”

“Aye, he was raised to be laird and does nae have anything but his clan.” Rolfe moved back toward her. “That time, I was forced to shoulder the weight of the clan. Made to face the fact that I’d been living the life of a man who was no’ completely a man because I had nae been forced to make choices. I chose me father’s life over me honor, told him I’d leave him to starve abovestairs. Ordered the staff to obey me over him, and the McTavishes followed me. I understood I could no’ play games any longer. Everything I did had consequences, repercussions.”

“You are better for it.” She could not deny that she admired the man he was.

“Well, no’ so perfect.” He was looking at the fire now, but turned to lock gazes with her. “I should have thought harder upon the matter before bringing ye back to McTavish land. I overlooked yer English blood. That was a grave error.”

The moment shattered into a thousand tiny shards that felt like they sliced her on their way to the floor. “I am sorry you find me so. Yet you are the one who kissed me.”

His lips curled into an unpleasant grin. It sent a shiver down her spine because it was pure intention.

“And I pulled away from ye because I was acting like a youth who had no concern for the harm it would do yer reputation. Preaching to ye of honor when I was forgetting that a decent man does nae ruin a woman. If we’d been seen, ye’d no’ only be English but branded a slut as well.”

He’d closed the gap between them again, reaching out to stroke his fingers across the crimson surface of her cheek.

“Ye captivate me, Katherine,” he whispered, looking down into her face. Only a single step remained between them.

“Yes.” The word slipped out as she shivered. Strange how a sensation such as shivering could have more than one purpose in the body. She wasn’t cold, wasn’t horrified; no, that same little jolt of awareness was now a beginning of her response to him.

He slid his hand along her cheek and into her hair. Never once had she realized how sensitive the skin of her face could be. Beneath his touch, it felt as if she’d never been fully awake.

“A lass should no’ be kissed as I kissed you in the stable.” He took that last step while he cradled the nape of her neck in his hand. “No’ the first time.”

He leaned down, easing her against him when she shifted, full of uncertainty. It wasn’t a hard hold, but his body was so solid that she sighed as he moved so she was in contact with him from knee to head. She felt his breath teasing the delicate surface of her lips before he pressed his against them. The moment while she waited for the contact seemed impossibly long, while anticipation twisted her insides.

Then he was kissing her, controlling her head with his hand as he pressed his opposite one against her lower back to keep her in his embrace. Sensation went swirling through her, touching off a hundred different points of awareness inside her. Her heart was thumping in hard beats that drove her blood faster through her body. Her breathing increased, and she caught his scent. Before, it had merely been a small part of him, but now she felt intoxicated by the combination of his kiss and scent. Her thoughts were falling away, leaving something else exposed, some part of herself that had been dormant in her heart.

“That’s the way a first kiss should be.”

Her eyelids felt heavy, but she lifted them and found him watching her. There was a flicker in his eyes that unleashed a ripple of need inside her. She’d laid her hands on his chest, and it was suddenly not enough. She curled her fingers into his doublet, trying to pull him closer.

His expression tightened, the look in his eyes brightening. He leaned down and kissed her again, but this time it was harder, more demanding, as he abandoned his need to handle her like a fragile bird.

It suited her perfectly.

She rose onto her toes, kissing him with every bit of desire flowing through her. He rocked back, absorbing her motion before his fingers spread wide and he clasped a handful of her hair to hold her in place.

A half sound of delight escaped her lips before he was taking them in a searing kiss. There was no gentle exploration. He wanted a taste of her and intended to take it.

But she wanted one of him as well. She opened her mouth as he teased her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, unleashing a new sensation that gripped her with a need that went rushing down her body to clench her belly. A throbbing began at the top of her sex, an awareness of that part of her she’d never encountered before.

And she didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to contemplate what was right or wrong. All she knew for certain was that she hated their clothing. She pulled at his doublet, pushing the buttons through the holes as she tried to make contact with his skin.

“I’ll not ruin ye,” he rasped, pulling her back and keeping her away from him as she let out a frustrated sound.

“No one believes I am not soiled.”

His lips twitched. “That does no’ mean it is acceptable for me to take ye, lass. Surely ye see that?”

Standing still seemed impossible. She wrenched herself from his embrace, her body tight with frustration. “Aye. And yet, I wonder if it is foolish to save myself for the fate Morton would plan for me. Any man who will agree with his plans is only concerned with power and gain. It seems such a poor pairing, maintaining my virtue so it might be bartered to a man who merely wishes to collect Morton’s approval.” She ended up facing the fire. “As you noted, maturity holds more moments of duty than anything else.”

Along with disappointment.

But she didn’t loathe the frustration nipping at her insides, at least not completely. No, she was enjoying the flickering of heat, recognizing it as passion, along with the more blunt reality of what acting upon it would entail. What made it worse was the certain knowledge that she was savoring her time with Rolfe because she knew her future would be dim indeed. Although she’d accepted that the world was not always a pleasant place, she hadn’t wanted to give up on happiness completely.

But it seemed that she had.

* * *

The Earl of Morton was the regent for King James the Sixth of Scotland.

Mary Stuart’s son was Scotland’s monarch, but the boy was too young to rule, and there was no way the lords of Scotland were going to allow the boy to be raised by his mother. In a way, it was sad, because Mary had been raised in France from the time she was five years old. She’d been crowned as an infant and smuggled out of the country to save her from the English.

Morton took a moment to enjoy his success. Scotland was Mary’s country once more. The English stayed on their side of the border, and he wouldn’t apologize to anyone for the means he had employed to make it so.

He was Scotland’s leader.

His only true fear was that James was growing into a young man. His blood entitled him to the crown, but Morton couldn’t help but wonder if it might be better if the boy never succeeded.

Well, he must, at some point.

And Morton would serve Scotland until the boy was a man.

Morton recalled his thoughts to the issues that needed his concern. There were the Highland clans, a topic that took a great deal of his time. For years, he’d invested his time in quelling the fighting between them. Scotland needed to be united if she were to remain strong. England’s Virgin Queen had shown him the value of letting go of wars in favor of trade.

England flourished under the rule of Elizabeth Tudor, in spite of the fact that she had not wed. In fact, she had ignored all of the rules that should have applied to her as a woman.

Morton admitted to admiring her, because her country was strong and her people fat. It made them forget she wore the crown alone and seemed in no hurry to produce an heir. In fact, the nations of Europe were all loath to make advances on her realm, so they sent suitors to try to win England by way of marriage to its queen. Elizabeth played her part to perfection, never granting a clear answer to any of those men, and so she maintained her throne without firing a single shot. The battle for England was being fought in the queen’s court, with dances and flattery.

He wanted the same for Scotland. A state of peace that would produce a society with time to invest in producing goods for trade. So the clans would cease their feuding. He’d begun on that path years before, forcing a union between the Robertsons and MacPhersons to stop their fighting. He smiled as he looked at a letter from one of his spies in the Highlands. That feud had truly been put in its grave. He wasn’t fool enough to think that the Robertsons and MacPhersons were friends, but the bloody skirmishes had ceased. They contented themselves with stealing cattle now.

That brought him to the matter of Katherine Carew.

Strange how Fate delivered matters into his hands at the proper time. Marcus MacPherson had taken the girl home with him instead of wedding her as Morton had ordered the man to do. True, she’d been too young, but when it came to securing Scotland, Morton couldn’t afford to be too particular. He had to use the means available. Katherine was the natural daughter of the Earl of Bedford, one of Elizabeth Tudor’s privy councillors.

Scotland needed alliances, and Morton wanted the Highland clans to be aware of the power of the crown. He looked over the demand from Laird McTavish. He didn’t care for it, but he admitted to admiration for the man’s ability to see the girl’s value.

Which was her father’s blue blood.

Morton snapped his fingers at his secretary. “We will send a letter to the Earl of Bedford.”

His secretary never questioned him. The man withdrew a sheet of parchment and dipped a quill into his inkwell, waiting for Morton to begin. The chamber was full of the scratching of the quill until Morton was satisfied. He had the secretary read the letter back before moving over to the desk and waiting while the man lifted a small silver ladle sitting beneath a candle flame to keep the wax hot. The secretary poured it carefully onto a place at the bottom of the letter. It beaded, while the candle flame glittered off its surface. Morton curled his fingers into a fist and pressed his signet ring into the wax. It stung his knuckles, but didn’t burn because his skin had been toughened by the numerous times he’d sealed letters. When he lifted his hand, the crest of the King of Scotland was firmly displayed in the cooled wax.

Yes.

It was a good plan. The secretary rolled the letter and placed it in a leather case, ready for a messenger to carry to the border. Part of the Earl of Morton didn’t care for the English any more than his fellow Scots did, but countless centuries of war had yielded nothing and he’d be a fool to ignore that fact. Perhaps it was more a matter of better the devil he knew. The English were demons, and it would be better to have alliances with them than to deal with their armies marching onto Scottish soil.

So Morton chose the alliances.

And he would have one with the Earl of Bedford.

* * *

Rolfe didn’t ride to Edinburgh.

Katherine found herself in yet another stronghold, with another clan filling the yard to stare at her curiously.

A huge man came out to greet them. “Rolfe McTavish, what has ye darkening me day?” he asked.

Rolfe slid from the back of his horse and turned to offer Katherine a hand down. He pulled her away from her horse once her feet had touched the ground.

“Duncan Lindsey, Katherine Carew.”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed as he considered her. He was every bit as large as Rolfe, but they were opposites because he had devil-dark eyes and midnight hair.

“I’ve heard that name before,” Duncan said as he considered her.

“Ye have,” Rolfe responded as he took her up the steps to a tower. “Morton tried to force Marcus MacPherson to wed her a few years back.”

Duncan chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “Morton is a fool more times than not. He should have known he was on borrowed luck after forcing Bhaic MacPherson to wed Ailis Robertson.”

“And he learned that lesson when Marcus left with a different wife and the lass in tow as well.”

Katherine felt Duncan contemplating her. “And now the McTavishes have ye.”

Inside the tower, the scent of supper was thick in the air.

Duncan gestured to a woman, who came bustling over to him. “See to the lass.”

The woman lowered herself before propping her hands on her ample hips and looking Katherine over from head to toe.

“A bath first,” she said.

Katherine started to lower herself but quelled the urge. Instead she moved away, determined to ignore Rolfe. It wasn’t a matter of what she wanted. No, it was a necessity that might protect her from the moment when he delivered her to the man she feared the most. Her feelings strengthened with every moment she was with him. It would be hard enough to leave him as it was.

Better to remind herself of her fate. At least that way, she would not cry.

* * *

“I’m thinking ye should be thankful the little lass did nae have a dagger,” Duncan observed as he settled himself in a chair inside his solar. The Lindsey stronghold wasn’t as large as McTavish Castle, but that was because there was more than one fortification on Lindsey land. “The look she sent ye was sharp enough to draw blood, man.”

“Best make yer men aware that Katherine knows how to use a dagger,” Rolfe responded as he settled in beside Duncan.

Duncan had been lifting a mug to his lips, but he paused and locked gazes with Rolfe. “Ye’re planning on leaving her here?”

Rolfe nodded. “Ye owe me a favor.”

A memory crossed Duncan’s eyes, his expression drawing tight. “I do. Now tell me what is so important about this girl that ye’re calling in that favor.”

Duncan placed his mug on the table and ignored it. Rolfe didn’t blame him. It had been years before, but Duncan owed Rolfe his life. Rolfe didn’t have any doubt Duncan would pay the debt, but that didn’t mean the man would be fool enough to think Rolfe would call it in for anything frivolous.

“I’ll be straight with ye,” Rolfe said. “And no’ be surprised if ye tell me to take her and get off yer land.”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been too long since ye’ve come down out of the Highlands, man. Ye seem to think me cock has shriveled up and I’m less of a Highlander than yerself. I might be closer to the border, but I’ve not taken to kissing Morton’s ass along with that lot clustered around him and our boy king.”

Rolfe enjoyed Duncan’s brassy humor. “Katherine is English.”

“Now I’m insulted ye think I am blind as well,” Duncan responded. “To think I’d overlook how fetching that lass is in favor of her blood. Now that wounds me, Rolfe, truly.”

“I’ll be the one wounding ye if ye do more than notice,” Rolfe warned.

Duncan’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

Rolfe nodded. Duncan picked up the mug and drew off a long sip. “Interesting, considering she looked as if she wanted to gut ye. I might just do as ye say, all in the interest of enjoying the spectacle of ye trying yer hand at changing her mind. That little lass does nae like Scots.”

“That is no’ the reason she is thinking of drawing me blood,” Rolfe responded.

Duncan tapped the tabletop. “I’m growing old waiting for ye to explain the matter.”

Rolfe nodded. “Marcus MacPherson took Katherine up into the Highlands. He trained her.”

Duncan absorbed those words. “Why?”

“Because she’s English, and Marcus… Well, the man is ever practical.”

Duncan nodded. “I suppose it makes sense, even if I doubt I’d be brazen enough to tempt the Church by doing something similar. Now tell me why ye think I’d send ye on yer way empty-handed after ye saved me life.”

“Because me father has a mind to trade her to Morton for a title, and I plan to leave Morton with naught.”

Duncan took a moment to consider the matter. His lips started to rise into a grin that Rolfe recognized from their younger days, when they’d been hell-bent on embracing their wild natures.

“I can nae wait to hear how ye plan to do it.”

Rolfe’s eyes brightened. “I plan to have ye help me dupe the man.”

Duncan chuckled again, only this time the sound was crusty and full of anticipation. “No one will enjoy it more than us Lindseys.”

* * *

There was a rap on her chamber door. Katherine turned and watched Rolfe enter. She cursed the way her heart leaped in response and then regretted her fickle emotions. There would be plenty of time to be unhappy in the future. Best not to impose such things upon herself.

“I’ve business for ye to attend to, lass,” Rolfe said softly.

There were men with him. They came through the door and tugged on the corner of their bonnets as they crossed into the room. One of them placed a writing desk on the table, lifting its lid and withdrawing a sheet of paper. He placed it on the top of the desk and withdrew the waxed rope stopper used to keep the ink in the small pottery jar.

“Ye remember Duncan Lindsey?”

Katherine nodded. The man offered her a grin that was as devilish as the color of his hair. There was a gleam in his eyes that set her on edge, because Rolfe’s jaw was set and his expression guarded.

“Yes.”

She started to venture closer to the page, intending to read it. Rolfe stepped into her path. “I am no’ taking ye to Morton.”

To say she was surprised was an understatement. Katherine absorbed his words as she looked again at Duncan. The man was enjoying the moment far too much for her comfort.

“So just where are you planning on taking me?”

“To church,” Rolfe replied. He tapped the page of paper behind him. “I’ve had a contract drawn up.”

“And I’m here to witness ye signing it,” Duncan added.

They appeared to be well pleased with themselves. A tingle touched her nape as Katherine debated asking Rolfe what he meant. She stepped closer to the table to see what sort of contract he had brought with him.

“Are you insane?” she demanded. “A contract of marriage?”

Duncan Lindsey was choking on his amusement, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his shirtsleeves over his upper arms. “Might be, at that. He just might.”

She tore her attention from the contract to glare at him briefly before looking back at the desk. It was there, in bold, black ink. Rolfe William Brian McTavish and her own name, clearly noted as the parties entering into holy wedlock.

“It’s the perfect solution,” Rolfe said, trying to soothe her.

“Perfect?” She looked up to find him watching her intently. “Perfect until you take me home to your father as his daughter-in-law. I doubt he’d consider your actions very favorably.”

A gleam appeared in Rolfe’s eyes that drove home just why he was as arrogant as he was. The man had more daring than was healthy for a single soul. Of course, she’d come to realize that more than one Highlander suffered from that same affliction.

“Me father will appreciate me cunning” was his confident response.

Katherine settled her hands on her hips and scoffed at him. “Right before he has me smothered.”

“Ah…she’s met yer father, I see.” Duncan was doing a poor job of containing his snickers.

“There is nothing for you to witness. Get out.” She was being overly daring to order the man about in his own tower, but Katherine didn’t really think about her words.

Duncan’s dark eyebrows rose with surprise before he opened his arms wide and lowered himself in a mocking display of courtesy. “One of the fine things about Scotland is, now that he’s offered to make an honest woman of ye, I really do nae need to stay to protect yer reputation.”

“So I’ll sign that contract or face being labeled unpure?”

Duncan nodded without a hint of remorse for the blunt fact that he was trapping her.

Katherine pointed at the door, her temper straining against the hold she had on it. “I don’t much care if your people say I’ve sampled half your men.”

Duncan had started toward the door, but he turned and cocked his head to one side. “And ye did nae think to share any of yer honey with me?”

“Duncan!” Rolfe growled at his friend. “If ye do nae mind, I need to woo me bride.”

Katherine snorted, eliciting another round of snickers from Duncan.

“I’ll tell the surgeon to expect ye shortly.”

Duncan held the door wide for his men and let it swing shut the moment the last of them was past the threshold. He closed the door with a solid sound that shattered Katherine’s anger, letting it fall to the floor like ice, and leaving her to look at Rolfe in pure, unguarded uncertainty.

He was watching her now, determination glittering in his eyes, his jaw set stubbornly.

“I would never allow me father to harm ye, Kat.”

He meant it. Part of her didn’t care to insult him by arguing, but that left her far too aware of the marriage contract sitting on the table near her and the fact that there were only her own arguments to overcome. Ink and quill were at the ready while Rolfe McTavish stood waiting for her to accept his suit. It both astonished and confounded her. No one had ever wanted her, not merely for herself. The contract was only a single page long, because no one was promising him anything.

Did she dare?

Christ, wasn’t Fate done toying with her?

“You don’t question your father,” she began, trying to find some patience. No one chose their parents, after all, and the scriptures bound all children to obey their parents.

“Which can lose its shine when I fail to consider what my father is ordering done,” Rolfe explained. “Ye reminded me the other night of just how important it is for me to question him from time to time.”

She shifted away from Rolfe and the contract. Her heart was thumping hard beneath her breastbone, pushing her blood through her veins too fast. That made it hard to concentrate and form calm thoughts.

Katherine pointed at the contract. “That is not an answer to anything.”

Rolfe slowly grinned, giving her a glimpse of his teeth. It made him both menacing and delectable. He stepped toward her and she retreated, earning a soft sound of victory from him.

“It’s an answer, sure enough,” he offered in a soft tone edged with promise. “I want to take ye to bed, and by Christ, I will wed ye first. For I will no’ act like a brute who sees ye as a prize.”

Was it so simple?

Katherine scoffed at her own thoughts. Life was never so easy.

“We cannot do any such thing,” she told him firmly.

He crossed his arms over his chest and faced her with his feet braced shoulder-width apart. He was only two paces from her, making it necessary for her to look up to lock gazes with him.

“And why no’?” he asked seriously. “Are ye contracted to another?”

She shook her head.

“Promised?” he pressed her.

“I am English,” she argued. “And your father detests me for it.”

Rolfe closed the distance between them, and her breath caught. He reached out and gently tapped her on her chin. So simple a touch, and yet she jerked because it felt as if lightning had just struck her.

“Are…ye…promised? By the MacPhersons’ word or yer own?”

He had that sense of purpose, the one he’d so often used when dealing with her. Part of her was melting in response to it, the need to just sag against him and allow him to shelter her nearly overwhelming.

She drew herself up straight instead. “You would respect a private promise I may have made?”

“I respect ye enough to insist we take the Church’s blessing before I take ye to bed.” He tilted his head to one side and offered her an arrogant grin, with no apology for how personal his words were. “I’ll be happy to allow ye time to pen the man a letter explaining why ye chose me over him. If he does nae have the blessing of the MacPherson, the man has nae the courage ye deserve in a husband.”

“That is not funny,” she exclaimed. “And you are too sure of yourself by far, sir.”

“I’m sure I crave ye.” His voice had deepened, stroking something deep inside her. He reached out and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

She shuddered, sensation flooding her. The simplest of things, such as breathing, had becoming difficult with him so close.

“And very sure ye want me to touch ye.”

He moved close, slipping his hand around the back of her head to cradle her nape.

“So,” he muttered, just a bare inch from kissing her, “I am going to wed ye.”

“But your father—”

Rolfe sealed her protest beneath his lips. It was a firm kiss that pressed his will upon her. She shifted but honestly couldn’t say if what she felt was the need to get closer to him or to move away. They were twisting against each other, her hands on his chest as she tried to use his clothing to pull him closer. She rose onto her toes, pressing her mouth against his as she kissed him back.

Heat flared between them, stealing her breath and turning her thoughts into vapor that dissipated in the flames of need. There were so many new sensations, things she’d never associated with passion before. Such as the way her nipples contracted into hard little points. It wasn’t from a chill and they didn’t hurt, but there was a definite ache that had her pressing forward, seeking out some sort of comfort from his body.

Rolfe tore his mouth from hers and kept control of her nape to keep her from following him.

“Sign the contract.” His voice was raspy, his eyes glittering with hard purpose. He released her and backed away, as though he doubted his own control. He paused at the door and sent her a look that left no doubt about how determined he was.

“I will have ye,” he declared. “And I will no’ do so without giving ye the respect ye have earned.” He looked past her. “Sign it.”

“And if I do not?” She questioned him, or maybe her own need to quarrel with his will. Honestly, she did not know for certain.

“Ye are a coward.” He pulled the chamber door open. “For I will stand firm in the face of me father’s displeasure because ye are a woman of rare spirit, and I willingly admit I want to bed ye nearly more than I want to continue drawing breath. Refuse to meet me in church, lass, and ye are afraid of yer own body—and that is a solid fact.”

He closed the door, the sound like a stone dropping in the chamber. She flinched, wrapping her arms around herself because she felt chilled without him against her. The surface of her lips was tingling and still moist from his kiss. Her heart was racing, and she felt more aware of her body than she ever had been. Wave after wave of sensation was washing over her, and as her thoughts returned, she faced the hard truth that Rolfe had awakened something inside her.

It was rare.

Perhaps it was also wicked.

For certain, she knew the way lust was spoken of in church, and yet she couldn’t help but feel elated over the sheer intensity of the feeling. To think she might have gone through life without ever feeling it horrified her, making her sure she would have missed out on something very special.

Intimate…

Yes, that was the correct word, or at least when such feelings were sanctioned by the Church. Katherine came to a stop near the table, looking down at the contract. The black ink on the creamy paper would serve to legalize her relationship with a man and take it from murky, slanderous terms such as fornication into the realm of holy wedlock.

One a sin, the other a duty.

Rolfe was correct: if she refused, she was a coward. Frightened of her own gender and unwilling to embrace everything that being a woman meant. That knowledge burst upon her as she stood there, looking past the table to where the bed was.

It would have been simple for him to claim her, and not many would have reprimanded him for it.

She was English. Her blood deserved to suffer recompense.

Rolfe wasn’t that sort. She smiled as she contemplated his character. His nobility was more than a word spoken by men who didn’t care for the struggle it might take to uphold it. Rolfe embodied it.

She dipped the quill and signed her name on the bottom of the contract. Only after she’d laid the quill aside did she realize she’d held her breath.

The ink was shiny at first, slowly drying as Katherine smiled at the sight of her name.

Embrace her fate?

Indeed.

That was exactly what she would do after all.