“I am not stricken.” Caterine pushed to her feet, amazed her legs supported her. Faith, but her knees trembled. Nae, they knocked. “I…” she trailed off, a heated blush flaming her cheeks.
“I know what you meant. And you needn’t ever fear me.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he cast a glance into the dark recess of the curtained bed. “I came to see how Lachlan fares. I’d heard he rests comfortably, but wanted to see for myself.”
“Oh.” Caterine blinked.
Never had she felt more a fool.
Of course, he’d come to look in on his man.
Then she caught the twinkle of humor in his good eye. Her pulse quickened anew, something shamefully like hope spilling through her, exciting her.
As if he knew, he stepped closer and raised her hand to his lips. “And I came to see you,” he said, releasing her.
She blinked. “You did?”
“Indeed.” His voice held a soothing calm. “I would know you safe, my lady.”
“And I thank you,” she said, the warmth in his gaze sending a cascade of pleasurable sensation through her.
Hoping he couldn’t tell, she gestured to a nearby tray of buttered bannocks and roasted sea-tangle, the stalks of which made a fine savory dish. “My stepson brought refreshment earlier. Humble but filling fare, and tastier than it looks.”
“That I know,” he said, surprising her. “Duncan’s great-great-grandfather was especially fond of seaweed. The household keeps up the tradition, serving it now and then.” Smiling, he tried a portion, then nodded. “’Tis good.”
“We have it often. Likely more so than it appears on my sister’s table.” She stood straighter, brushed at her skirts. “James said you shall be with us but a short while.”
“Did he also say where he heard that?”
“From your men, I believe. The MacKenzie warriors.”
He frowned. “It would seem young James needs instruction in stringing words together as sorely as he needs to practice swinging a sword.”
“He erred?” She blinked, relief sweeping her. “You are not planning to leave?”
He looked past her to the bed. His man still slept. “I will not lie to you,” he said after moment, and folded his arms. “Your stepson spoke the truth, thought I suspect he did so rather clumsily.”
Caterine’s relief spun away, as short-lived as the sparks that shot up now and then from the smoldering peat fire. Her plans, Dunlaidir’s safe-being,everything, whirled around her and crashed at her feet, bursting into a thousand fractured pieces.
He meant to leave.
To give her his name, then depart.
A name alone wouldn’t protect her from Hugh de la Hogue, not without the man and the sword arm attached to it.
“You agreed to champion me, to lend us your warring skills,” she finally said, her pride thick on her tongue.
“So I did,” he admitted. “To lend them to this stronghold.”
Caterine swallowed, a sinking suspicion wrapping around her, its weight bearing down on her shoulders like a too-heavy cloak. “I see,” she said, glancing at the windows. Blackness now pressed against them, the flickering candles reflected off the glass panes. “Your skills and those of your men are but on loan.”
Marmaduke bit back an oath as dark as the young night descending outside the tall windows. “That is a rather bald way to put it, my lady,” he said, resisting the wish to throttle her stepson.
She looked back at him, her deep blue eyes bright in the mellow lighting. “Then how would you describe it?”
“Not as James did, to be sure.” Marmaduke glanced at the door he’d purposely left ajar. He searched for words, for once at a loss. His much-acclaimed silver tongue failed him, stilled by the top swells of his lady’s breasts peeking at him above her gown’s low-cut neckline.
Thearisaidshe’d draped around her shoulders had slipped, revealing just enough creamy flesh to challenge urges he’d rather keep in check. For now, some dark, impatient part of his soul reminded him.
“See here, lady…”
