Throughout the women’s conversations at the almshouse, Catherine hadn’t been able to conjure the image of any man but Rab. There were several handsome men at court, some of whom were even Highlanders. She knew Andrew was right when he reminded her that she had a healthy dowry, but she’d also caught the gossip among the men during evening meals, warning one another away lest they get into bed with the Campbells rather than her. While many thought it a boon, just as many feared their clans falling short of the Campbells’ esteem. Either way, it left only the less honorable men to bid for her hand.
“Evina, when do you think your father will sign the contracts?” Catriona asked, bringing Catherine back to the present.
“Any day now, I think. Laird Matheson is eager to marry off his youngest son. Since naught came of the brief interest in Madeline MacLeod—er—Grant,” Evina stumbled over her words. It still surprised many that the once would-be-nun and the often-recalcitrant Fingal Grant were now blissfully married. “My father believes it’s an excellent match for me. He is the youngest of four, so there is little chance I will ever be Lady Matheson, but he is handsome and amusing. I’ve met my future sisters-by-marriage before, and they seem welcoming.”
Evina’s cheeks grew red. There were few who didn’t know the couple was smitten. There were even rumors that they’d shared more than one kiss when the young Matheson visited Evina at court, but they had set no date.
“My Liam delivered the bride price to my father a sennight ago.” Margaret Hay boasted, but few were interested in her impending marriage to Liam Oliphant. He was slithery and smarmy. He’d been an instigator of the conspiracy in which Edgar Gunn found himself, thusly ruining Catherine’s chance for marriage.
Catherine hadn’t realized Margaret was truly only a few steps from the altar. Jealousy, much like she’d felt earlier when she watched Catriona cast Rab a speculative expression, surged through her. First, she’d been jealous that Catriona might be interested in Rab, and with no acrimony between the MacLarens and the Douglases, there was little to keep Catriona from flirting with Rab. Now, she was jealous that Margaret, who rarely had a kind word or a deep thought, was marrying soon, even if it were to a man who reminded Catherine of a toad.
Catherine had more time than she wished over the past two days to spend reminiscing about how her feelings for Rab developed. It had been slow since she’d met him when she was on the cusp of womanhood, noticing young men but not understanding the draw. It took her nearly a year and a half to realize that her emotions for Rab ran deeper than mere infatuation. She’d tried to convince herself that it was simply a physical attraction, but just as she recalled in her Stirling chamber the past two nights, she’d enjoyed her friendship with Rab since it began.
It took little for Rab to gain Catherine’s trust, as they were so much alike. There had been an intuitive connection since the moment she landed on the ground in the orchard and spotted Rab and Douglan. She’d barely noticed the younger brother. It was as though a magnet in her chest drew her to Rab, and she’d been certain that the same had been true for him. The four Highland Gatherings they spent together and various weddings they’d both attended gave them time to explore their burgeoning feelings.
“Ye should talk to him,” Catriona whispered in Catherine’s ear as she reached for the wine pitcher. Catherine froze. It surprised her that Catriona lowered her guard and allowed her brogue to break through, and she was uncertain to whom she referred. She feared Catriona suspected Rab. “Ye keep stealing peeks at one another since the hunt. Ye will resolve naught if ye dinna talk. And ye dinna want to lose the one chance ye have.”
Catherine canted her head to observe Catriona, who appeared intent upon pouring her wine. Catherine wondered if Catriona meant her one chance before he left for Balquhidder, or her one chance before King Robert punished him for his relatives’ crimes. That thought was a bucket of ice water, a reminder yet again of what she’d lost at the hands of MacLarens.
Chapter 5
Rab sat at a table close to doors leading to the terrace. While he loathed having his back exposed to the dark abyss beyond the doors, it allowed him to watch all around him. He and his men had agreed to eat and leave the meal without dallying. None felt comfortable in the Great Hall, especially without their swords. There’d been more than one guardsman training in the lists that day who put more force into his swings than necessary. Cullen and the others sported nicks and bruises. They’d defended themselves but never went on the offensive. Rab had warned them that they would be scapegoats and targets, and he hadn’t been wrong.
Rab wondered if the morbid interest in the raid was because Catherine lived at court, so it constantly reminded people of her clan. Or perhaps it was how unprovoked the attack seemed, along with women being the only target. Either way, he heard plenty of people, including several Highlanders, question his honor. He cared little for the Lowlanders opinions, but losing face and respectability among his peers sentenced his future lairdship to ruins. The MacLarens couldn’t face gaining any more rivals.
Rab continued to mull over the false accusations. The Buchanans, a clan loyal to the Bruce and once seneschals to the Earls of Lennox, clamored to gain the king’s attention and favor. Rab feared they searched for an excuse to engage the MacLarens in the name of self-defense. If they vanquished the MacLarens for a supposed incursion, then the court, and even the king, would deem them heroes. Rab spotted Dennis Buchanan when he entered the Great Hall; he’d found the man already staring at him, an assessing gleam in his eyes. Rab pretended not to notice as he took his seat. It wasn’t hard to forget Dennis when his gaze landed on Catherine. He did what he could to ignore her and the feelings she elicited. Remembering that he’d warned his men not to tarry, he ate as quickly as they did. The meal was pure frustration as his thoughts jumped from his cousins and meeting with the Bruce to the Buchanans to Catherine and back again. When the music began and the servants cleared the tables, he prepared to make his escape.
Moving toward the doors to the terrace, Rab leaned against the wall as he nodded to his men. None were eager to yet again abandon Rab to the wilds of court, but his piercing glare told them they followed his orders and not the other way around. Few paid attention to a handful of guards leaving before the nobles began dancing, but Rab leaving with his guards wouldn’t go unnoticed. Despite how he wished to flee, he refused to give anyone the satisfaction of watching him do so. The crowd swelled as people moved into place for the first dance.
“Catherine,” Andrew’s voice floated to Rab, who casually turned toward it, kicking himself as he was in line with an unobstructed view of Catherine’s profile. The soft angles of her face were ones he’d stared at countless times over the years as they stood, walked, and sat alongside one another at gatherings and weddings. “A MacDonnell of Keppoch and a Keith approached me today. Their lairds are interested in pursuing matches with you.”
“And what did you tell them? Did you say that my dowry redeems me for your poor choices with Edgar?” Catherine’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her cousin. “Óg, I’m not foolish enough to think feelings between me and the mon I marry count for aught, but you really intend to marry me to a mon who has never even laid eyes on me, never once spoken a word to me? The Keith laird is auld enough to be our father. He’s never paid attention to me when we’ve seen one another. The MacDonnell laird is even aulder and a practical recluse. What happens when neither can sire a child on me, or worse dies trying?”
“They aren’t that auld, Catherine.”
“Óg,” Catherine snapped. “They are both sixty, if not aulder.”
“And many a mon has sired a child aulder than that. Besides, they already have heirs.”
“So it really is only aboot my dowry.”
“Catherine.” Andrew released an aggrieved sigh.
“At least Edgar was close to my age.”
“Does the marriage bed really matter that much to you?” Andrew narrowed his eyes, his glare matching Catherine’s.
“No. But it means something. I want a family, Óg. I want children. What happens when they die and there’s no dowry left to marry me off a second time? Neither clan will keep me if I’ve borne the laird no children, and even if I do, there’s no chance they would ever inherit. Both lairds have married sons with sons.” Catherine’s frustration increased with each word. Her gaze darted around the Great Hall as she searched for any excuse to escape. It passed over Rab before slowly returning. She realized he could hear the entire conversation, despite his apparent nonchalance.
“We don’t always get what we want, Catherine,” Andrew stated pointedly as his head canted toward Rab. Catherine realized he’d positioned them on purpose. He wanted Rab to understand he was moving forward with a marriage. Catherine’s hands fisted at her side, and Andrew nearly took a step back, recognizing the near menacing edge in Catherine’s gaze. He’d been on the receiving end more than once as a lad when he’d crossed the line, teasing Catherine or his sisters. There’d inevitably been hell to pay afterward.
“I’m walking away. If I stand here another moment, I will get some wicked thought in my head. And you know you barely survive when I do.” Catherine caught a slight movement beyond Andrew’s shoulder. Rather than looking at Rab directly, she allowed her peripheral vision to catch him nod toward the terrace. Catherine cocked a challenging eyebrow at Andrew but hoped Rab recognized it as the expression she’d always given when she waited for him to lead them on an adventure. Before Andrew could say anything, she stepped around him and entered the crowd of dancers. She moved through the people, avoiding bumping into dancing couples until she watched both Andrew and Rab without being obvious. She caught sight of the back of Rab as he eased through the terrace doors. She noticed Andrew already deep in conversation with a Keith delegate. Catherine slipped through a set of doors into a passageway, then sprinted along it until she could inch open a door that led to the bailey. She hurried through and made her way to the terrace.
“Kitty,” Rab whispered. His hulking form emerged from the shadows. It would have been intimidating if Catherine had ever feared Rab a day in her life.
“Shh. Follow me.” Catherine reached out her hand, slipping it into Rab’s. She led them across the bailey and into the dark gardens. When they were sufficiently far enough into the orchard on the far side of the garden, Catherine stopped. Neither knew who reached out first, but they fell into one another’s arms. The embrace was fierce, each of them clinging to the other. Both implicitly knew this might be the only chance they had to share a private moment together.
As they eased their hold, their mouths sought one another. It wasn’t the first kiss they’d shared, but it was the most intense, far more than a mere peck. It was as though it brought them back to life after sleeping through years of their lives. It was languid, the opposite of the ferocity of their embrace. Rab ran his hand over Catherine’s back as the other wrapped around her waist. Her hands tunneled into his hair as she gave herself over to the kiss.
