“Enough.” Rab’s voice rang with an authority he’d never used toward two lairds, certainly not one who was his father. He waited for Catherine to rein in her horse alongside him. “Put yer bluidy swords away, so the men will too. We need to talk, nae run each other through. We dinna ken what King Robert put in his missives, but we ken he sent them. Ye two may want to put each other in the grave, but I dinna feel that way aboot any MacFarlane, and I ken Kitty doesnae feel that way aboot any MacLaren.”
“And shockingly, I dinna think that way aboot any MacLaren either. Ye and Laird MacLaren may wish to continue feuding, Father, but none of us do.” Andrew Óg sheathed his sword and stared at his father until he returned his sword to his scabbard, but he drew a dirk in its place. Andrew Óg figured it was a compromise they must live with. Caelan mirrored his nemesis’s actions.
“And ye think it’s for ye to decide, lad?” Snideness oozed from Mòr’s words as he stared at his son. He vacillated between being proud of the young man and confident that he could hand the lairdship over to his son any day to fearing he could never die lest Óg run the clan into the ground.
“I think I’ll be deciding one day whether it’s now or in a score of years. I think we’d all do better to end it now. Do ye intend to attack Kitty, send men who might have to choose to kill her to follow yer orders?” Óg leaned forward in his saddle. “Because that’s what’ll happen. They’re married, Father. I’m certain it isnae something that can be undone.”
“And I’m certain it can be,” Andrew Mòr barked.
“Nay, Uncle. Rab and I married at Dunblane Monastery. A priest red the banns and married us. It’s recorded in the parish registry. It canna be undone, and I willna let it.”
“Let it?” Mòr stammered.
“Cease yer blathering, Mòr,” Caelan barked before he smiled at Catherine. “I welcome ye to Clan MacLaren, lass. If yer uncle hadnae stood in the way all these years, I’d have called ye daughter much sooner.”
“I stood in the way? Ye bluidy butchering bastard.” Mòr drew his sword, making every MacFarlane but Óg draw his.
“Nay!” Catherine called out. “Mòr, this must stop. There is plenty ye need to hear. Mayhap kenning it will put some of yer anger to bed, even if it canna ease yer grief. I’m nay coming back to Inveruglas with ye. But I’d like for ye to visit me at Edinample.”
“Then ye should have thought aboot who ye were marrying.”
“Thought aboot it?” Catherine exploded. The MacFarlanes shifted in their saddles as the MacLarens watched with fascination. “What the hell do ye think I have spent ma time thinking aboot since I was three-and-ten. I’ve spent seven years thinking aboot marrying Rab. I’ve spent three years fearing and dreading whomever ye planned to marry me to. I have thought aboot the hell ma life has been because ye have caught me in the middle of this fucking feud. I’ve thought aboot the misery I’d live in being married to someone who isnae Rab. Ye sent me to court to forget aboot him, but it didna work. It only left me with more time to regret yer—” Catherine pointed to Mòr, then to Caelan, “—and yer choices. Fight each other in single combat if winning the feud means more to ye than keeping yer clan safe. Let more people die. That’s yer plan. I am nae having it. I married Rab because I love him, but I also married him because I canna bear losing ye and Óg when I’ve already lost every other person I have ever loved. Ye would really take the last two people from me?”
Catherine was veritably screaming by the time she finished. Her face was flushed, and sweat trickled along her temples. Anger and resentment she’d kept bottled away for years erupted like a geyser. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but she felt out of control, adrift. She turned to Rab, who wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her onto Bolt’s back in front of him. She buried her face in his chest and took a deep breath, before pulling away far enough to speak clearly.
“If I keep looking at ye, Uncle, I shall say things I canna ever take back. That’s what got us into this vendetta. Things said that canna be taken back.”
“What got us into this feud was them razing our villages during a time when all clans were supposed to be in a truce,” Mòr argued.
“Nay. Ye got us into this just as Catherine said—with yer words. Ye accused me of something I didna do and questioned ma honor,” Caelan stated. “Ye lied.”
“I did nay such thing,” Mòr hurled back at Caelan. “I—”
“Catriona?” Óg interrupted his father as a woman with flowing red hair charged toward them at a pace no experienced rider should take. “Catriona!”
Andrew Óg spurred his horse toward a woman he would recognize even with the worst vision. She drew him to her as though she were the last drop of water a parched man could find. He cared not that his father called after him. He barreled forward until he reached her and grabbed her horse’s bridle. She lurched forward as she threw herself toward Andrew. He wrapped his arms around her waist as she rested her head on his shoulder. But the moment of comfort was brief before she pulled away.
“It’s nae their fault,” Catriona blurted.
“Cat? What’re ye doing—”
“It was ma uncle. All of it, Óg. From the start, it was Maxwell. And they’re coming.”
“Who? Ye’re nae making sense. How did ye get this far from court alone?”
“They’re coming, Óg. Please. I have to tell the lairds.”
Andrew watched Catriona as her gaze darted between the gathering ahead of them and the woods she’d ridden from. He’d never witnessed such terror on someone’s face who wasn’t in the heat of battle. She trembled, and her knuckles were white from gripping the reins too tightly. Her horse sidled away, not liking the tension on the bit.
“Ride with me, Cat.” Andrew pried the reins from her hands and tied them to his saddle. He lifted Catriona from her mount’s back and placed her in front of him. She curled against him the same as he’d watched Catherine do with Rab. “What happened? Tell me,mo ghaol.” My love. He’d finally said it, and he wasn’t certain she caught it. But when her lips pressed to his throat, and she inhaled a calming breath, he no longer doubted it.
“Catriona?” Catherine called as Andrew and Catriona approached.
“Aye.” Catriona pushed her wild and fiery hair from her face. She looked at Andrew Mòr and Caelan, anger burbling up from her core. “It’s all ma uncle’s fault. All of it.”
“What’re ye talking aboot?” Caelan asked.
“I ken ye agreed to me marrying Rab,” Catriona said, offering a sad smile to Catherine. “Ma brothers and Uncle Maxwell took me home. I overhead ma uncles and father arguing. It was all Maxwell. I knew he suggested an alliance by me wedding Rab while he was at court, but I hadnae kenned he wrote to ye aboot it.”
