“Campbell, might we have a word?” Rab’s need to know Catherine was safe outweighed his wariness around the Campbell laird’s younger brother. He was certain Dominic knew more about anything Dennis plotted than either of the women. He also knew Dominic was no fool and had already figured out that something still existed between Rab and Catherine. He’d been on the hunting trip when Rab christened Catherine with her pet name. He’d seen Rab give Catherine bouquets of wildflowers after the women’s archery tournaments.
“Aye.” Dominic agreed, but it was obvious he didn’t wish to step away from his wife. He watched the Campbell guards, who surrounded the trio, and the MacLaren men, who arrived with Rab. He handed the babe to Emelie and moved out of the circle with Rab.
“Ye ken, dinna ye?”
“That something is still between ye and Lady Catherine? Aye. Neither of ye can hide yer twitchy smiles. What do ye want?”
Rab ignored Dominic’s bluntness, both mildly annoyed and amused that Dominic described their expressions the same way Andrew had. “Andrew must have spoken to ye before he left. Ye ken Buchanan isnae pleased with Kitty. Has he done aught?”
“Nay, he hasnae. Andrew warned me and asked me to keep Lady Catherine with ma wife whenever we could. Lady Catriona has been with us much of the time too, but she’s out riding with her brother and uncle.”
“Rather late for a ride,” Rab mused as people hurried toward the Great Hall for seats since the evening meal began soon. Dominic shrugged, neither caring nor inclined to speak about the Douglases. He liked Catriona well enough since he’d known the lady-in-waiting as long as he’d known Rab. “Do ye think Dennis has let it go, or is he merely biding his time?”
“I’d say the latter. He was a mardy wean, and he’s a mardy mon. He shall make all our lives miserable once he’s laird. The wind blows in the wrong direction, and he claims someone did it to spite him. He’ll do naught but cause more strife.” Dominic rolled his eyes and gave a small shake of his head.
“Aye. And that’s what I fear now. Ye ken I canna be at Kitty’s side, but I’m still concerned.”
“And ye still call her Kitty.” Dominic arched an eyebrow and kept it raised.
“I always will.” Rab’s jutting chin dared Dominic to say more, but the man remained quiet. “Thank ye.”
That surprised Dominic nearly as much as Rab’s apology took Andrew aback.
“Ye’re welcome. I ken what happened, and Lady Catriona was right. Had Agnes been a mon, she’d have died in that garden or in the lists. Lady Catherine mayhap wasna prudent in slapping the woman, but she was within her right to respond.”
“I ken ye wish to return to yer wife, and I dinna wish to keep anyone from their meal.” Rab offered a tight smile before turning toward his men. He and Dominic joined the women, where Rab bowed once more. “I bid ye good eve, Lady Emelie, Lady Catherine.”
Catherine watched Rab hurry into the keep. She couldn’t guess whether he planned to retire for the evening meal and take a tray in his chamber or if he might change and make his way to the Great Hall. Either way, she was certain about their rendezvous that eve. Giddiness made her want to bounce on the balls of her feet, but she contained her excitement as she walked sedately beside the Campbells until they left her at the ladies’-in-waiting table.
Servants were presenting the second course when Catherine spied Rab entering the Great Hall. She supposed he knew it behooved him to make his presence known to the Bruce. She’d heard the king was displeased that Rab left court without permission, so she understood the necessity for the king to realize Rab had returned after only four days away. She wondered if Rab’s unexpected absence might spur King Robert into granting Rab an audience sooner, if for no other reason than to admonish him for his absence.
Despite missing Rab while he was away, she hadn’t missed the other ladies’ running commentary on what they believed were his shortcomings. They recommenced their litany of complaints as soon as Margaret spotted the MacLarens.
“He’s filthy. And we’re supposed to believe Highlanders aren’t heathens when he looks like he’s been rolling around with swine.” Margaret sniffed. “I can smell the beast from here.”
“Where does Liam Oliphant hail from again?” Catherine asked softly. No one at the table was unaware that the Oliphants’ territory was nearly as far north as the Sinclairs, who lived at the northern most tip of Scotland.
Margaret glared at Catherine. She was eager to brag that the betrothal had been set, and the couple planned to marry after Christmastide. But the pretentious lady-in-waiting also avoided acknowledging that marrying Liam meant moving to the wilds of the Highlands.
“I could teach you to wear an arisaid,” Catherine offered. “I know you think only barbarians wear their plaids, but it gets mighty chilly that far north.”
“I have a sealskin cloak. I have no need of one of those peasant blankets.”
Catherine, Catriona, Evina, and Sileas glared at Margaret. All four women were either a daughter, a niece, or a cousin to a laird. None were peasants, and while plaids were often used as bed coverings, they were never the same ones that a laird’s family wore as garments.
“Lady Margaret, I’m certain your new clan will enjoy your views on their clothing and habits. Pray, do be sure to share them as soon as you arrive.” Sileas spoke the false encouragement with a mocking tone. While normally the quietest of the Highland ladies and most conciliatory to the Hay sisters, she bristled at comments that might disparage her people. She rarely took comments made about her specifically being a Highlander to heart, but she was fiercely loyal to her clan.
“I agree with Lady Margaret. They are beastly and scratchy,” Agnes complained. “The gowns we wear here are far superior and far more appropriate to our status.”
“Only plaids made from inferior wool and poor weavers are scratchy. That must be why your clan reives sheep. The ones you raise aren’t worth shite.” Catriona stared directly at Agnes. “Or do you steal from your neighbors because your land is so worthless you can’t feed your own flocks?”
Catherine nudged Catriona under that table. While she knew Rab still worried about Dennis hurting her, and Dominic had been vigilant since Andrew approached him, the tension between Agnes and her had eased. Catherine didn’t want Catriona reigniting the now low burning fire.
“You speak to me of stealing? I’m not the one who has kin named “Black” to match his soul,” Agnes countered.
Catriona shrugged. “At least it means people remember him. What’s your laird’s name again?”
“My father—” Agnes didn’t have a chance to finish before servants cleared their tables, forcing the women to move aside. They separated into smaller groups as they waited for the dancing to begin.
