“He willna. Da couldnae stand the mon after he insulted Mama at a gathering. He’d haunt Mòr until his last day if ma uncle wed me to that mon. It surprises me that Óg is even entertaining the suggestion.”
“Mayhap yer uncle thinks more aboot yer clan’s safety than he does his dead brother’s wishes for a lass.” Rab’s sympathetic gaze took the edge from his words.
“I dinna want to think that. I’d rather believe I’m right until I’m nae. Otherwise, it’s too scary, Rab.”
“I ken,mo piseag.” Once more they fell into silence as Rab held Catherine against him, and she brushed her fingertips along his beard. Neither minded the quiet, both lost in thought but enjoying the companionable silence. They eventually dozed off until a horse whinnied. Catherine stirred when Rab jumped. They gazed toward the window opening in the loft and noticed the dark black sky of night had lightened to the deep sapphire of predawn. Rab descended the ladder first, lifting Catherine down the last few rungs. Sticking to the building’s shadows, they crept to the door Catherine used earlier that night. Without a word, she guided him to the ladies’-in-waiting floor. He watched her dash to her chamber with only a soft click of the handle to announce she’d entered. He wound his way through the keep until he reached his bachelor’s quarters. Much like the previous night, his years-long recurring dream took the place of his more recent nightmares, and for the first night since he arrived, he didn’t wish to ride out with the sun’s earliest rays.
Chapter 7
Andrew watched Catherine fight the urge to swipe her fingers over her eyes yet again as he approached her in the bailey. He’d seen her bloodshot eyes when they spied one another during Terce, and he’d seen her attempt to stifle her yawns during the morning meal. He’d even watched her act as though she were brushing away an eyelash, the hint that she wished to rub her eyes. On his way to the lists, Andrew decided on the detour since he needed to speak to his cousin, anyway.
“Óg,” Catherine greeted him with a smile, albeit a weary one. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” Andrew cast her a speculative expression and watched as she stiffened, a wariness added to her weariness.
“I slept poorly.”
“Slept poorly or not enough?”
“Both. You’ve given me much to worry aboot. You can’t deny it’s enough to be troublesome both when I’m awake and when I’m asleep.”
“Worry? Catherine, no one has finalized aught. I said they were interested in you. I’m obligated to present them to Father, but it doesn’t mean aught will come of it.”
“You seemed hopeful two days ago, and I’ve seen you speaking to both representatives.”
“Aye. I’m negotiating, but Father has the final say.”
“And if he listens to you and marries me to one of them?”
“Then he won’t have listened. Catherine, I’m trying to balance what’s right for the clan and what’s right for you. They’re the only two who have stepped forward of late. I can’t ignore that.”
Catherine watched Andrew, biting her tongue to keep from blurting that there was only one candidate he should consider. Staying with Rab later than they intended exhausted her, and she’d tossed and turned once she went to bed, worrying about what might not work out. She was grateful that the court rose much later than people in villages and rural areas. She didn’t have to appear until Terce, which was nearly midmorning. She was disinclined to argue with her cousin, so she remained quiet.
“Catherine, I’m riding back to Inveruglas tomorrow. You know that means I’ll be away at least a sennight. I know you feel comfortable with him, but do you feel safe with his men around?”
Catherine cast Andrew a dumbfounded expression before scowling. “Of course I do. He’d never let his men do me harm. I can’t believe you’re worried aboot that or that you’d ask me such a thing. You should be more relieved that he is here and will keep me safe, regardless of what you think. It’s not he who I feel uncomfortable around. Liam Oliphant has returned, supposedly because he’s announcing his marriage to Margaret Hay. He makes my skin crawl. I’m not fond of Dennis Buchanan either. He’d like naught more than to trap me into marrying him to gain an alliance with our clan. The Buchanans will do naught for us but make our troubles worse with the MacLarens. You should be silently grateful that you can travel without fear of what you’ll return to.”
“Och, I fear plenty of what I will return to. As long as you two are together here, I trust neither of you to have the sense God gave an ant. Neither of you can see the woods for the trees. You will only make the strife worse if word travels back to Father or Laird MacLaren.”
“Then be sure that it doesn’t, Óg. Do not redeem yourself at my expense.”
“I never would. That hurts.” Andrew whispered the last two words, and Catherine recognized the genuine emotion in his gaze. She’d seen it before when he thought of his mother and sisters.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you of that. I don’t envy your position any more than you envy mine. Just please don’t mention Rab and me to Mòr. I know you’ll have to say he’s here, and Mòr is no fool. He’ll know I’m aware Rab came to court but use discretion.”
“I will. But in turn, please don’t jeopardize your actual future with hopes of one that can never happen.” Andrew wrapped Catherine’s arm around his as he escorted her to where the other ladies-in-waiting were awaiting the queen and their morning constitutional. “I want you to be happy, Catherine. I can’t promise it, but I will do what I can to help you marry a mon worthy of you.”
“Thank you, Óg. I love you too.” Catherine grinned as she kissed her cousin’s cheek, then grimaced. “And if you want to find a lady who will come to your bed without being paid or screaming the roof down, shave this bluidy beard. It’s like kissing a boar’s arse.”
“I shall miss you too, Cousin.” Andrew returned the kiss, rubbing his beard against Catherine’s cheek on purpose. She swatted at him. “Save me a dance this eve.”
“I will, Óg. Now go train. You can at least swing one sword today, if not both. And don’t tsk at me. I got my sense of humor from you and your friends.” Catherine released her arm from Andrew’s and offered a genuine smile before he turned away. While she thought they might have made some progress toward Andrew not recommending the Keith or MacDonald lairds with any sincerity, she couldn’t be certain. He’d matured as a politician since his debacle with Edgar and the MacDougall brothers. She wasn’t certain she could read him as well as she once had.
Catherine fell in step between Sileas and Catriona, but she wished she could walk at the back of the group once she heard Agnes Buchanan’s voice. She was the lady her uncle suggested her cousin might marry. Her voice did remind Catherine of a braying donkey, loud and nasally. The young woman glanced over her shoulder at Catherine several times as she gossiped with Evina. Catherine knew where the conversation headed since the woman took an interest in Catherine.
“Did you notice him and his men this morn? They shoveled their porridge like a farmer shovels shite. Uncouth beasts.”
“They may not fit in well, but they’ve kept to themselves,” Evina hedged. “Other than table manners, or their lack of them, they seem like ordinary Highlanders come to pay their taxes.”
