His liege and his wife had spoken true. Herewasa gentlewoman in a dire need of a champion, and perhaps in more ways than they’d been aware.
So with a driving urgency Marmaduke hadn’t felt in more years than he cared to count, he wanted to champion her, burned to chase the shadows from her face and replace them with the glow of happiness … oflove.
His heart thumping against his mailed hauberk with the exuberance of a green and untried youth, he swung down from his saddle and strode purposely toward her. At his approach, she set the small dog upon the cobbles. The wee nugget immediately bared his teeth and growled at him, but scampered behind Lady Caterine’s skirts as he drew near.
No matter.
Marmaduke quickened his steps. He’d gain the wee beastie’s approval later. For now, the lady would receive his fullest attention. And he, God willing, would begin to feel a lessening of the ache he carried deep in his soul.
Or so he hoped.
* * *
Caterine stood as calmlyas she could and waited as the tall knight strode toward her. Blessedly, she recognized the MacKenzie colors flung proudly over his mailed shoulder, and so steeled herself against his formidable appearance. Formidable, yet impressive. Every inch a true knight, his hauberk highly polished and shining like the sun, even on such a dark and dismal day.
He’d clearly stopped along the way, taking care to come before her without muddied gear, not wanting to greet her rumpled and stained from the long journey behind him, across the whole of Scotland, truth be told.
And so with all the grace she could muster, she offered him her hand when he dropped to one knee before her.
Her old nurse, Elspeth, the woman who’d raised her and her many siblings, had e’er impressed them never to judge a man – or woman – by appearance alone.
Certainly not by a scar.
What mattered was the goodness of one’s soul, one’s inner worth. The wicked slash marring this champion’s otherwise arresting face was surely the remnant of some noble deed or a battle worth fighting.
Even though she’d rather he hadn’t come at all, she knew Linnet would not send her a man she could not trust. Someone she could not rely on – even if his countenance might prove a bit difficult to gaze upon.
More than scarred, he appeared blind in one eye as well, but the expression in his good eye, a fine brown one, seemed a look of honest compassion and warmth. And, much to her surprise, the touch of his calloused hand as he lifted hers to his lips for a kiss, proved not entirely unpleasant.
Ne’er had a man treated her in such a courtly manner. For truth, he held her hand with so much care, she suspected he feared she might shatter beneath his fingers.
“Fair lady,” he began, his English-accented voice instantly banishing the faint fluttery feeling his gallantry had stirred inside her. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he addressed her in fluid Gaelic, perfect save the coloration of the Sassunach speech of his mother tongue.
“I am Sir Marmaduke Strongbow, soon of Balkenzie Castle in the west, come from your sister, the lady Linnet, to champion you.”
“You are English.” The words came out sharp and cold, more harsh than she’d intended.
At once, the knight released her hand and stood. He inclined his head. “Yes, my lady, I am of English blood, but my heart beats only for Scotland. You have no cause to fear me.”
“I do not fear the English.” Caterine gathered his skirts for a swift retreat. “I revile them,” she said, then whipped around and sailed toward the stairs, her little dog, Leo, fast on her heels.
She hastened up the steps, desperate to put the massive oaken door and the hall’s thick walling between herself and the Sassunach knight her sister had had the ill-sense to send to her.
Unfortunately, it was not as easy to run from the disturbing flare of raw and needy emotions his gallantry had breathed to life deep inside her.
Chapter 5
Hours later, Caterine sat in stiff-lipped silence at Dunlaidir’s high table and tried hard to ignore her keen awareness of Linnet’s champion. Even without looking directly at him, just knowing him beneath her roof sent a strange warmth tingling through her.
She didn’t care for the sensation.
Not at all.
Unfortunately, it persisted, making her immensely uncomfortable.
Pretending indifference, she smoothed her fingers along the edge of the heavily scarred table. Torchlight fell across her late husband’s elaborately carved great chair, calling conspicuous attention to the chair’s emptiness.
And the gravity of her plight.
