Rather than answer her, Rhona began pacing the room, tapping her chin with a forefinger as she went. Caterine braced herself for the prattle soon to erupt from the younger woman’s pursed lips.
After years of companionship, she knew her friend well. Finger-tapping always preceded outbursts of foolishness. Silly ramblings that made sense to none save Rhona herself.
“I have the answer!” Rhona cried then, clapping her hands together. A triumphant smile lit her pretty face. “Simply pretend to wed the man your sister sends.”
Caterine’s brows shot heavenward. “Pretend?”
“Aye.” Her friend beamed at her, obviously waiting for Caterine to comprehend the brilliance of such a scheme.
Caterine disagreed.
Worse, her aggravation with Rhona’s badgering was making her head ache.
“You are the one who does not understand.” Pushing to her feet, she carried Leo across the rush-strewn floor and set him on his sheepskin bed near the hearth. “Have you not heard me? I will not plead Linnet’s aid nor will I enter into marriage again. Not even a false one,” she said, meeting Rhona’s exuberance with what she hoped sounded like firm resistance.
Firm and unbending.
Above all, unbending.
“Your plan won’t work,” she said, pressing her fingers against the throbbing at her temples. “Don’t mention it again. Please.”
“But it’s your best chance to be rid of Sir Hugh,” Rhona wheedled. “Have you forgotten he vowed to obtain an order from his king, forcing you to acquiesce if you not agree to the marriage by Michaelmas?” Rhona lifted her hands, clearly frustrated. “My lady, the feast of Michaelmas is long past.”
“For truth? Caterine plucked at an imaginary speck of lint on her sleeve. “Since our stores have grown too meager to allow us to celebrate St. Michael’s holy day, I hadn’t noticed its passing. Nor do I care what Edward III declares I should do. Yet is this land held for young David of Scotland.”
“Lady, please,” Rhona entreated. “You have no other choice.”
“Say you?” Stung to fury, Caterine clenched her hands to tight fists. Beyond the shuttered windows, thunder sounded, and the low rumbles echoed the churning bitterness inside her.
“You err, Rhona.” She turned to her friend, willed her to understand. “I do have choices. The trouble is, as so often in my life, none of them appeal.
“All my days, I have lived under a man’s rule,” she went on, ignoring the stinging heat behind her eyes. “Even now, newly widowed of an elderly but not unkind husband, and at a time when, at long last, I’d thought to find some semblance of peace.”
Peace and solitude.
“Lady, I am sorry.” Rhona’s face fell, her eyes full of sympathy. “But it could be worse.”
“Indeed?” Caterine knew better for, in that very moment, Sir Hugh de la Hogue’s heavily-jowled face rose before her, his swinish eyes gleaming with satisfaction, the sound of his heavy breathing giving voice to his lecherous nature.
Caterine shuddered. The mere thought of the Sassunach’s bejeweled fingers touching her made her skin crawl and sent bile rising thick in her throat.
“Lady, you’ve gone pale.” Rhona’s troubled voice shattered the loathsome image. “Shall I fetch the leech?”
“Nae, I am well.”
“I do not believe you.” Her dark eyes flooded with concern, Rhona rushed forward to grasp Caterine’s hands. “Oh, my dearest, you must relent. The MacKenzie men are bold and valiant, gallants every one. Your sister’s husband is a good man, he will send you the best warrior knight in his garrison.”
Rhona released Caterine’s hands and resumed her pacing. “Do you recall when he and your sister came for a visit some years ago? My faith, but the castle women were all aflutter did he but glance-”
“There is more to a man than the width of his shoulders and the charm of his smile,” Caterine broke into her friend’s praise of Duncan MacKenzie. “I will not deny my sister’s husband is pleasing to the eye and possessed of a goodly character, however fierce he may seem at times. But I warn you, he is nowise a man by which to measure others. He is a rare find. My sister is blessed to have him.”
“Aye, she is.” Rhona clapped a hand to her breast, looking nigh to swooning. “On my oath, what a man,” she gushed, her face aglow. “And it was more than his bonnie looks that impressed me. Ne’er will I forget how he unseated Dunlaidir’s finest at the joust, yet had the good grace to allow your late husband to best him.”
Rhona nodded slowly. “Aye, Laird MacKenzie is a just man. He will choose you a stout-armed warrior of great martial prowess, a man of honor to protect you.”
A man of honor.
Caterine swallowed the argument dancing dangerously near the tip of her tongue. She of all women had little reason to believe such a paragon existed. Though she’d seen many sides of the men who’d shared her life thus far, honor was one attribute most of them had lacked.
