“Are you troubled by his scar?” Rhona’s softly spoken words cut through the quiet.
“Of course, not.” Caterine snatched her hand from the deep knife scorings she’d been tracing with her fingers. A silly occupation chosen solely to keep from sneaking covert glances at the Sassunach.
“Why should his scar bother me?” She met her friend’s probing gaze. “Think you I am so shallow?”
“Nae. It is just…” Rhona paused, ran a slow finger around the rim of her wine chalice. “The frozen-faced expression you’ve worn since he entered the hall gives me cause to wonder.”
“Truly?” Annoyance, hot and tight coiled in Caterine’s breast. “You should know what it is about him that aggrieves me.”
“There is more to a man than the width of his shoulders and the charm of his smile. Your own words, my lady,” Rhona reminded her. “Perhaps there is also more to a man than his blood? He did come to champion you.”
“He is English.”
“He was sent by your sister.”
Something snapped inside Caterine. “Then he holds Linnet in such thrall she’s forgotten why I would never welcome an Englishman into my home.”
“Lady…” Rhona’s expression softened. “I doubt she’s forgotten, though I wish you would.” Reaching across the table, she pressed Caterine’s hand. “This man is no craven. I cannot see him hurrahing over the land raping innocents and dirking men before their wives’ eyes. Truth to tell, he seems quite the gallant.”
“AnEnglishgallant.”
“You cannot blame him for the villainy of others. What was done to you years ago and by-”
“English soldiers, and more of them than I could count,” Caterine finished for her, straightening her back against a deep-seated shame still as laming as the long-ago day she’d been so violated.
Half-turning in her chair, she pretended to study the nearby hearth fire. Anything but peer across the table and see pity in Rhona’s eyes. Instead, she risked a glance at the broad-shouldered English knight. He sat at a table on the far side of the hall, quietly conversing with his men, holding their rapt attention with the same mastery his sheer presence dominated the vastness of Dunlaidir’s great hall.
Annoyance welled in her breast. Even seated, his bearing marked him as a confident man.
A leader of men.
A charmer of women.
Indeed, if not for the scar running from his left temple to the corner of his mouth, and his damaged eye, he would have been quite handsome. Marred or not, he made a striking figure and possessed an air of calm assurance she would have found most appealing were not a Sassunach.
He looked her way then, almost imperceptibly inclining his head as if he knew she’d been perusing him. Knew, too, the conclusion she’d reached.
Her cheeks flaming, she swung back to face Rhona. All traces of commiseration gone from her pretty face, the younger woman gave her a slow smile.
A knowing smile.
Caterine cleared her throat. “I did not mean to imply he is ungallant,” she said, her voice catching on the admission.
It was the best she could do.
Rhona cast a slant-eyed glance at a glum-faced man slouched in the shadows near the hearth. “He is more courteous than some Scots nobles I shall not name,” she vowed, low-voiced. “My faith, even you must admit that.”
“Sir John has good reason to brood with de la Hogue and his minions housing in his keep,” Caterine defended her late husband’s friend. “We can be grateful we weren’t visited by so ill a fate and it wasn’t Dunlaidir Sir Hugh took possession of when he came north. God’s curse on the dastard.”
“And I say a pox on any who frown into the soup you offer them,” Rhona hissed, her unflagging loyalty coaxing an inward smile from Caterine’s heart.
Outwardly, she kept her expression impassive. “Sir John has suffered much. He lost everything.”
“Were it not for your hospitality, he would be sleeping in the heather.” Rhona warmed to a favorite topic. “He should be glad of a bed and dry roof, and not raise his brows at the food you set before him.”
Tossing a glance at the English knight, she pressed her point. “Heis quality. Did you see how tactfully he declined Eoghann’s best attempts to seat him with us? You know he only refused because you made it obvious his presence anywhere near the dais end of the hall would displease you.”
“I will not argue with you, Rhona.” Caterine drew a long breath. She had noticed the knight’s chivalry toward Dunlaidir’s doughty seneschal, just as she’d noted the smooth gallantry he’d displayed when kissing her hand – and the way her heart had leapt at his touch. But the sour taste of her own bitterness weighted her tongue and kept her from making any such admissions.
