Dunlaidir’s gruff seneschal, Eoghann, his bony shoulders having carried a weighty burden far too long. Sir John, her late husband’s friend, a man whose own heart had been crushed by Sir Hugh. Even Lady Rhona, for all her long-nosed, meddlesome ways.
But most of all, James.
With the exception of her brothers, all of whom she hadn’t seen in years, her stepson was the only male to have ever truly cared for her.
His kindness alone had made early years at Dunlaidir bearable. When she’d felt lonely and full of despair, he’d helped her patch together a semblance of her tattered pride and feel worthy again.
Despite the stains tarnishing her soul.
She couldn’t leave him, not when he needed her most.
“You are quiet,” her champion said then, his deep voice spooling through her, honeyed balm to her ragged cares. “Dare I hope you believe me? That I shall rid you of Sir Hugh and his villainy?”
“I believe you have lived away from England too long, Sir Marmaduke Strongbow,” she said, finally managing to speak past the tightness in her throat.
She traced her fingertips along the crease of his scar, hoping the caress would gentle the bitterness of her words. “Your people are as sand kernels on a beach,” she began. “Dispatching Sir Hugh will bring but a breathing space of relief, for no sooner will he have been rooted out, but another will come to replace him.”
“Ach, lady.” Her champion sighed, a weary acknowledgment of the truth.
“That, my good sir, is why I bid you to stay. James will never be strong enough to stand against such might.” She glanced into the hearth fire, not wanting him to see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Already, the garrison respects you. If you leave, they will lose heart again and we will be defeated before the first blow has even struck our proud and ancient walls.”
“You err,” he murmured against her crown.
She shook her head, her gaze still averted.
“Aye, you err gravely,” he said, louder this time. “And you just voiced the most glaring reason I must leave. My honor demands it.”
Caterine looked at him, no longer caring if he saw her distress. “Dear sir, I see only reasons for you to remain.”
“Say you?”
“I do.”
“Well, then…” He wound one of her braids around his hand, caressed its links with his thumb, much as he’d smoothed the same over her cheek moments before.
“Sweeting, you are not looking deeply enough to see the other reasons.” Releasing her hair, he slipped a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “Or you are seeing only what you want to see - James, as a weakling, unable to stand on his own.”
“That is not true.”
“It is how you see him,” he said. “But he is not weak. He’s merely troubled. The difference is a great one. He’s a fast and able student. He’s proven himself to all of us, especially to Lachlan, who trains with him often.”
“You’re trying to ease my mind.”
“So I am,” he returned. “That doesn’t change the truth of my words.”
“You are leading him down a path to nowhere with all your training. The men here will not follow him.” Caterine held his gaze, letting her stare dare him to disagree. “They look to you.”
He sighed then, and pulled her closer, snuggling her spoon-fashion against the hard contours of his body. “Do you not see they will continue to do so if I stay? Your garrison will only accept James once he’s shown them that he’s a worthy leader. He cannot do that as long as we stand in his way.”
“We?”
He nodded.
Caterine stiffened and would have jerked out of his arms were his hands not moving in such soothing circles across her shoulders and up and down her arms.
Purposely lulling her, trying to win her agreement.
“Aye, we,” he murmured into her hair. “You, for coddling him. Me, because-”
