“Such stalwarts are worth two of every knave who left,” he told her, his voice a shade huskier than usual. “Do not fret their loss. Sometimes it is wise to concede a battle if in doing so, we achieve later victory in the war.”
James pinned him with a glare. “Did you come here to champion us with your brawn, sir, or would you impress us with your bottomless wisdom?”
Caterine gasped at her stepson’s rudeness, flashed a look at Marmaduke. “I am so sorry.”
“No need,” he said, lowering his voice so only she heard him. Then, he turned back to her stepson. “A man worth his salt makes use of both – muscle and his wits.”
James’ face darkened. “Are you saying I have neither?”
“James, please-” Caterine began, but Marmaduke pressed her shoulder, urging her to hold her tongue as James pushed to his feet.
“Nae, sir, do not trouble yourself to say more,” he bristled, drawing up before Marmaduke. “I already know the answer.”
He gave Marmaduke one more furious look, then stormed from the table, his hobbling gait more pronounced than ever – only it was his good leg that he dragged behind him.
* * *
“Mercy!”Caterine stared after her stepson, her eyes rounding. “He’s dragging the wrong-”
“Leave him be.” Sir Marmaduke tightened his grip on her shoulder when she tried to wrench free. “Only after he’s faced his dragons and laid them to rest, will he be able to rise high enough above himself to win yon men’s respect.”
“And I suppose you are well-practiced at winning men’s esteem?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “So some say.”
“He wins the ladies, too,” Sir Alec boasted, plunking down his ale mug. The crusty Highlander dragged his sleeve over his mouth. “Steals their hearts afore they ken what hit ‘em, he does.”
“Their hearts and all else they toss after him,” another added with a bold wink. Others shouted agreement, Dunlaidir men joining in the ribaldry as well, until the remaining tension faded amidst a flood of ever bawdier jesting.
“…he’s so bi- er – well-blessed, none of the ladies will even glance at the rest of us after he’s-”
“God’s bones, Ross, hold your tongue,” Marmaduke’s commanding voice carried clear to the inky dark corners of the hall.
His man, a ruddy-faced Highlander, shrugged burly shoulders but appeared anything but abashed. “A spellcaster, he is!” he called out, slapping his thigh. “Charmed Arabella, charms ‘em all.”
The more vocal among those present roared approval and a swell of chortles tripped down the length of the high table and beyond.
Caterine caught every word, wished she could plug her ears as the Sassunach’s men boasted of his prowess, his many conquests.
Visibly paling, he released her shoulder at once. “’Fore God, that’s enough!” The massed power pouring off him silenced his men as much as the heat of his words.
Bracing his hands on his hips, he raked the lot of them with a fearsome stare. “Have you forgotten there are ladies present? Think well before you speak, my friends.”
“Beg pardon, my lady,” a bearded Highlander said, half-rising off his bench. “’Tis a hard-bitten lot we are, no’ always fit for a lady’s hall.”
The others were quick to agree, but Caterine scarce heard their gruff but well-meant apologies nor her own murmured acceptance, for other words echoed in her heart.
Some sent heat inching up the back of her neck, others pinched deep into a hitherto unknown streak of feminine awareness.
Big, the ruddy-faced MacKenzie had meant to boast.
Well-blessed, he’d amended.
Caterine’s face flamed. The English knight was both, as she’d seen.
With startling clarity, the Highlander’s words summoned the unhindered view she’d had of Sir Marmaduke’s naked maleness in the moments before he’d settled into his bath.
A glimpse that revealed a splendid array of manhood.
