‘So you are mistaken, Ciara.’ Ciara stood and tugged Cat to her feet and away from the distressing sign of her illness.
‘That is what my cousin Lilidh said when I recognised her symptoms as well,’ Ciara said, a wise smile perched on her mouth. ‘Their son Tavish is nigh to two years now.’
Whether Ciara had guessed Lilidh’s condition correctly or not, it was not possible that she was pregnant.
‘No matter,’ Ciara said. ‘Time will show if I am correct or not.’
She sat down hard on the bench, unable to think it a thing that could happen. If she was, it changed everything. Aidan deserved to at least know that she was carrying a child of his. Born out of wedlock or not, if the child was a boy, he was his father’s responsibility. Bastards were accepted more easily into their families here than in the Lowlands or, God forbid, England.
Catriona glanced at Ciara then. If this was true, she did not want Aidan to hear about it before she told him.
‘I beg you to keep your suspicions quiet for now, Ciara. I pray you not to share them with anyone until I know for certain.’ She searched the woman’s face for some sign of acknowledgement but it was blank. ‘I may just be ill.’
Standing, she left, not realising she’d not spoken a farewell to Ciara. She must think her a madwoman, wandering off in the middle of a conversation, but Cat needed to be alone then. She did not go back to the house, to her house. Instead she spent hours simply walking along the paths of the village, thinking about this new impossible possibility that would change everything.
Her easy way out of this situation—leaving Lairig Dubh and him behind—had just turned incredibly difficult.
* * *
Four long, frustrating, infuriating, boring days.
He’d had no sight nor word of Catriona since that night when his parents arrived unannounced and early with the Sinclairs. It had taken hours to get them, their retainers and guards settled in for what looked to be an extended visit. Lord Sinclair explained that they had been travelling and the roads had been better than expected. So they passed through MacCallum lands a day or two earlier than planned and travelled the rest of the way back with his parents.
Margaret Sinclair appeared just as thrilled as he was at the prospect of marriage, at least when she was not under her parents’ glaring sight. In view of her parents and his, she was beautiful, polite, knowledgeable and well educated. His father pointed out privately to him that she was also wealthy, endowed with much lands and those lands had access to the North Sea. Her family was in line to inherit control of the earldom of Orkney and had direct ties to the king of the Norse.
In other words, a woman worthy of the heir of the MacLerie clan and all that he would bring to the marriage.
She left him as cold as a frigid night’s air.
So, he found himself escorting her and her mother and her maid across their lands, spending a few days at their southern holding, the one that he would control shortly. She rode well and nodded and smiled and laughed at just the right times in conversation. But he recognised the same uninterest in her gaze that he was trying to hide in his.
As they entered the village, he could not help but to look for Catriona. Glancing down the road that led to the edge of the village where she lived, he saw no one.
‘My lord,’ Margaret said, riding up next to him. Following his gaze down the path, she asked, ‘Is this where you keep your whore? Or do you have her with you in the keep?’
He pulled on the reins so heavy and hard that his horse danced up on his hind legs. Aidan brought him down and under control, but he could not say the same for his temper.
‘You dare much, lady,’ he warned in a low voice so only she would hear. No matter his attempt at discretion, everyone in their travelling group halted as they had.
‘Mother, go on ahead. Lord Aidan will see me safely to the keep,’ she called out.
Her mother glanced from her to him and back again before agreeing. His father would be insulted by any suggestion that his guests were not safe on his lands. He waited until they were alone before speaking.
‘Have a care before speaking on matters not of your concern, Lady Margaret,’ he warned.
His horse reacted to the tension in his body, moving skittishly beneath him. Deciding it was safer to speak to her from the ground, he jumped off and pulled the reins down, trying to calm the horse. She sat silently on hers, watching him. He glanced around to make certain no one could hear their words before speaking.
‘Do not call her whore, for she is not one,’ he warned. ‘Now, what is it you truly wish to know?’
For he sensed she had something to say on the matter and now was the perfect time to determine if she would abide by his intentions to keep Catriona. He knew he could convince her to stay, he just needed time.
‘You misunderstand me, Lord Aidan,’ she said, dismounting easily with no help. Her skills were admirable. Walking to his side, she placed her hand on his arm. His skin crawled beneath it.
‘I do not mind at all if you keep your wh— Woman after we marry.’
‘If we marry,’ he corrected.
‘I am not inclined to share in the...pleasures...of the marriage bed, so I would prefer you slake your lust for such things on her,’ she said directly. ‘I prefer a quiet life of contemplation and prayer.’
