Chapter 7
Something had extinguished the fire in her eyes and she’d gone so pale even the dusting of freckles across her nose was difficult to discern. Rather than the usual purposeful grace and bounce in her step as she went about her duties, her actions were stiff and jilted. She behaved as though her mind was troubled, trapped elsewhere in a place she couldna escape. She’d been this way for days.
This afternoon, Alexander studied her with growing concern. She meandered between the tables in the great room. Mindless idle movements, gaze focused somewhere off in the distance while her hands worried with a bit of linen. Several times during her walk about the hall, she snatched the dainty cloth from inside her sleeve and dabbed it to the corners of her eyes after a furtive glance around to ensure no one looked her way.
Alexander shifted on the bench beside the hearth, keeping his bandaged leg stretched out along it and the other foot on the ground as he sat at the table studying Catriona. What had caused such a change in her?
He suspected that bastard brother of hers was responsible but she’d seemed well enough after the night Calum had struck her. She’d been the same lively Catriona he’d awakened to when his fever broke. She’d even refused to speak of the incident, brushing his concern away as though her brother’s behavior was naught more than a minor annoyance. Of course, that was when Calum had been away from the keep for most nigh a month. Catriona’s melancholy had taken hold upon his return.
Nay. Calum had to have done something to quell her spirited nature, and Alexander was damn well inclined to find out just what that something was. When she came close enough, he reached out and touched her arm. “Catriona—lass, sit with me for a wee spell, aye?”
Catriona caught her breath and jerked her focus to him, batting her eyes as if startled out of a deep sleep. “Beg pardon?”
“Sit with me, lass,” he repeated in a quiet tone as though gentling a skittish filly. He swung around on the bench and faced the hearth, repositioning his injured leg with a strained grunt. He patted the spot beside him. “Sit for a while. I’m weary of my kinsmen’s complaining about being hemmed in by the Highland winter. Tell me more about Clan Neal and how your people came to be here so high upon Ben Nevis.”
To be honest, he didna give a rat’s arse why Clan Neal had settled in such a remote part of the Highlands, at an almost inaccessible point on Scotland’s highest mountain, but 'twas all he could think of to say to convince her to sit. Something about Catriona made it hard for him to settle on words to share with her. No woman had affected him in such a way since he’d been a young lad foolish enough to think himself in love. He brushed aside that memory of so long ago. 'Twas different now. He was older. Wiser. He patted the bench again and smiled. “Come. Tarry and rest awhile. Ye deserve a wee respite after dealing with the lot of us and listening to our nattering to be on our way.”
She paused, crumpling the linen in the hand she held fisted against her waist. The faintest of smiles flickered for a moment along the corners of Catriona’s tempting mouth then she lowered herself to the bench beside him. Rather than looking at Alexander, she stared down into the dancing fire of the hearth. “Perhaps today's journey will ease your kinsmen’s restlessness for a time since the weather’s lifted and given them a chance to be out and about.” She turned and gave him a sad, thoughtful smile. “I’m sorry ye werena well enough to join them. Ye must be as vexed as they are, what with being held prisoner by your wounds and the weather.”
"I’m no' vexed." He did, however, possess a great yearning to brush away that reddish-bronze curl resting on the curve of her cheek, slide the silk of it between his fingers, and bring it to his lips. He pulled in a deep breath and eased it out, flexing his hands against the urge. "As I’ve said many times before, I’m thankful ye took us in, lass, took us in as though we were your own." Spurred on by her woeful demeanor, he slid his hand under hers, lifted it with a slow careful motion, and pressed a kiss to the silkiness of her knuckles. "I am grateful to ye, Catriona," he whispered, keeping her hand close and tucking it to his chest. "More grateful than ye’ll ever know."
The way she looked—so sad, so helpless, so in need of saving. He wished he could gather her up in his arms and tell her the same thing she’d repeated over and over to him when he’d been beset with fever. He wanted to tell her she was safe now and that everything would be all right. But how could he when he had no idea what had stolen the light from her eyes nor what he could do to help her? “What troubles ye, Catriona? Pray tell me so I can make it right. Ye’ve no' been yourself for days.”
It had been weeks since he’d fought free of the fever and awakened to Catriona’s caring smile and discovered genuine concern and kindness shining in the rich verdant green of her eyes. And he had no’ failed to notice that whilst Mrs. Aberfeldy, Mrs. Bickerstaff, and the maids took turns tending to his brothers’ healing and his kinsmen’s other minor scrapes and bruises, Catriona alone tended to him. He had to admit, he liked that. Verra much.
Pulling her hand away with a nervous jerk, Catriona pressed her fists together in her lap and stared down at them. “Your brothers—Magnus and your cousins—what do they hope to find today? From what I overheard of their conversation, it didna appear they were going out for a ride just to clear their heads and breathe the fresh Highland air.”
She was changing the subject. Again. Alexander shifted on the bench, pretending to resettle his worrisome leg but in reality, scooting closer to Catriona. He craved her warmth, her scent. The past few weeks in her care had made him need her closeness like a starving man needed food and drink. He tried not to think about how much he’d miss her when he’d healed enough to move on and return to his duties as a mercenary for hire in the Highlands.
“Where were they going? Glencoe, perhaps?” she prodded.
“Aye.” Alexander nodded, an almost suffocating sense of doom filling him. A burning log popped and crackled in the hearth, shooting up sparks as it shifted deeper into the coals. “'Tis important that we give the Lord of the Isles an accurate account when we return.” He forced away the troubling memories of all he’d seen, all the carnage and suffering he’d witnessed during the massacre at Glencoe. They’d failed in their task. Failed Clan MacDonald and the Lord of the Isles.
He reached for his tankard of ale and drained it. Rolling the metal cup between his hands, he stole a glance over at Catriona. The mere sight of her soothed him faster than a sip of fine whisky. The way the glow of the fire lit up her face. The graceful curve of her throat. Alexander wet his lips. How silky would her skin feel? How delicious would she taste? He shifted again and tugged at the folds of his kilt, verra much aware of the effect she had on him but not wishing to share it. 'Twas no' the time. No’ when she was troubled so.
“The MacDonald, the Lord of the Isles hired ye and your men to fight against the king? Kill his men?”
The question hit him like a slap in the face. He’d already told her as much as a woman should hear about the battle. Mayhap more than she needed to know. She’d seemed relieved when he’d told her they’d no' sworn fealty to the MacDonalds of Glencoe. He knew what she thought, and he felt he couldna blame her for her suspicions. She thought him and his men to be traitors. Jacobites. And depending on the pay, sometimes they were—but he didna share that information with her. Catriona feared for the safety of her clan and he understood that. He chose his next words with care.
“Aye, the MacDonald of Islay hired us. 'Tis true.” He watched the emotions flashing in her eyes, trying his best to read them. “He hired us to watch over his kin in Glen Coe. Informants advised us about the lawlessness of his cousins and in particular, their feuding with Clan Campbell, but no rumors ever mentioned an uprising against the king.” He took Catriona’s hand again and held it between both of his. “Never would I bring the king’s wrath down upon your clan. I swear it.”
Firelight flickered in her green-eyed gaze as she looked at him, searching his face as though he held all the answers she needed and so much more. What he wouldna give to pull her close and reassure her, to hold her in his arms until she believed the truth of all he told her. He could tell she hungered for such. He saw it in the way she held herself, her unconscious leaning toward him. The heart-wrenching need for comforting shone in her eyes. This rare woman had touched something deep within him, touched him with her attentiveness to his healing and the way she’d ne’er left his side whilst he was ailing. He’d ne’er received such caring before. Not even long ago when he’d thought himself in love. What he wouldna give to wipe away the sorrow weighing so heavy upon her and take care of whatever troubled her. A realization hit him. She hadn’t reacted or responded to anything he'd just said. “Do ye believe me, lass?”
“Aye,” she said in a subdued tone. With an awkward gentle pull, she removed her hand from his grasp and tucked it back in her lap. She sniffed and swiped her fingers across her eyes as she turned away with a quick shifting on the bench.
“Catriona?” He took hold of her shoulders and made her face him. “Ye must tell me what else troubles ye. Tell me. I swear I’ll slay those demons.”
Before she could speak, the large double doors leading outside to the bailey blew open and Duncan, Sutherland, Magnus, Alasdair, and Ian strode inside, stomping snow and ice from their boots and shedding their fur cloaks. Graham rose from a bench close to the hearth at the far end of the room and hurried to join them.
“Ye best see to them,” Catriona said as she handed him the cumbersome crutch his injured leg demanded he use. “I’ll leave ye to your men. I’m sure the lot of ye wish to speak in private.”
Perhaps that was the way to ease her worries. Maybe if she learned that the skirmish they’d almost not survived wasna some ill-fated rising against the Crown, maybe then she’d return to the lively, full of fire Catriona he’d first met and wished verra much to know better. He caught her by the arm and pulled her back with a gentle tug. “Join me and hear what they have to say. I’ve nothing to hide from ye.”
She studied him for a long moment then agreed with a graceful nod. “Verra well. If that’s what ye wish.”
“Aye, I wish it.”
Alexander gimped his way toward his men, noting as he walked how Catriona curbed her steps to match his slow, hitching gait.
