“I never babble.” Rhona flashed her a smile as they stepped into the dimly lit great hall. “I may meddle now and then, but only for your own good,” she added, pausing to secure the iron-studded door.
“And what meddling have you done?” Caterine probed, her blood thrumming with a new kind of agitation. “If you’ve ignored my wishes and sent for a champion, you’ve not only thwarted Sir Hugh, you’ve thwarted your own ill-considered plans as well.”
“How so?” Rhona blinked. “I may have overstepped my bounds by sending a courier to your sister, but once Duncan MacKenzie’s man arrives, you will see the wisdom of having a brave master-at-arms to guard you.”
“By pretending to marry me?” Caterine could hardly push the words past the bile in her throat.
“I but wished to help, my lady.” Rhona gave her a look so guileless Caterine almost felt guilty for arguing with her.
Almost.
She glanced to the side, released a long breath before turning back to her friend. “Did you consider that with Sir Hugh in attendance it will be exceedingly difficult to hold a mock ceremony?”
“You wouldn’t invite him.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t,” Caterine agreed, wishing it was that simple. “He would come all the same, if only to watch from a distance.”
“You think he would dare?”
“I do.”
“But he now knows Linnet’s man is a great champion,” Rhona argued, a hint of awe in her voice. “A warrior knight of untold skill and fame.”
“Ah, well.” Caterine rubbed her arms, annoyed that even with a fire going, the hall was so cold. “If Sir Hugh is worried about such a paragon, which I doubt, he will send a spy in his stead. God knows he has them.
“He will know the marriage is false before Linnet’s champion and I leave the chapel. And then…” She glanced to where some of the larger castle dogs were sprawled on the floor rushes. “He will make his move, wreaking vengeance on us all.”
“Oh.” Rhona’s dark eyes rounded. When she glanced at the blackened ceiling rafters and began tapping a finger against her chin, Caterine left her, crossing the near-empty hall as swiftly as her rain-soaked clothes would allow.
She did not care to hear whatever new pearls of wisdom her companion cared to offer. Truth tell, she already had a strong suspicion of what they’d be.
Rhona would smile, get that misty-eyed look on her face, and declare a true marriage to Linnet’s chosen champion might prove to be the best solution to Caterine’s woes.
Aye, such would be the words to tumble from her fanciful friend’s too-loose lips.
Worse, Rhona would chatter on until she persuaded, or needled, Caterine into believing her. Trouble was, Caterine did not want to believe her.
Not this night.
Nor on the morrow.
And most especially not as long as a tiny and annoyingly persistent ember of hope nestled deep inside the hidden-most reaches of her lonely heart.
Chapter 4
Something was wrong.
Ill ease crept up and down Sir Marmaduke’s spine as he reined in and surveyed the imposing curtain walls of the clifftop stronghold that marked the end of a long and harrowing journey.
Dunlaidir Castle sprawled high atop a massive bluff jutting far into the North Sea, and attached to the mainland by a high and narrow ridge of land. Sheer cliffs fell straight to the sea on all sides, making the stronghold near impenetrable – if only someone manned the empty gatehouse guarding the castle’s sole means of access.
But nothing more daunting than wheeling seabirds, a few hardy weeds, and a stiff sea wind, occupied Dunlaidir’s most important defense.
No men-at-arms strode forward to question the approach of Sir Marmaduke and his four companions.
The gatehouse stood neglected, leaving the way into the stronghold’s more vulnerable inner heart wide open.
Twisting in his saddle to face the four Scottish knights behind him, Marmaduke peered sharply at each man. Their faces reflected his own wariness, and their posture as they sat their steeds bespoke keen awareness.
