“You’re not the one who should be apologizing. The fact that the bastard lied and said that Cait had invited him…” Iain couldn’t even finish the sentence, he was so furious.
“We all know he was lying,” Palmer said.
“It doesn’t matter what we know. What matters is what he says, and I better not hear him spreading his lies about the countryside.” Iain’s back teeth came together. He should have incapacitated the man right away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this.
“Give me a few days,” Palmer said. “Let me see what I can do.”
“If you don’t do something, I will.”
They parted ways, Palmer to the study for a drink before going to bed, Iain to see Cait. Except he couldn’t go in just yet, not until this paralyzing anger dissipated a bit. He entered his bedchamber, shrugging out of his coat and throwing it on the bed before heading toward the decanter of Scottish whiskey to pour himself a generous portion. A fire—presumably lit by his housekeeper in anticipation of his return—blazed in the hearth.
He was arrested by the sight of Cait rising from the overstuffed chair in front of the fire.
She was still in the dressing gown she’d worn earlier. Her hair was dry but unbound and flowing down her back in soft, fiery waves.
“Cait,” he said on a strangled breath.
“My apologies if I’m intruding,” she said softly. “I wanted to hear what happened and didn’t want to stay in my own room.”
“You’re not intruding.” He was glad she was here. He’d been wrong, he realized. He hadn’t needed to avoid her because of his foul mood. He’d needed her presence to lessen it.
She was watching him with big green eyes, her face pale, the bruises on her jaw stark against the creaminess of her skin. “What happened?” she asked, clutching her hands in front of her until her knuckles were white.
He poured his drink and took a swallow, enjoying the burn all the way to his gut, where it spread its warmth through him. “He won’t be bothering you again.” He wasn’t about to tell her the details, that Donaldson had blamed her for his presence there. That he’d lied and said Cait hadinvitedhim and that he was a bloody bastard who needed a good thrashing.
Her eyes widened. “Is he…”
“He’s not dead.” Iain wished to God he were.
Her shoulders slumped and she passed a hand across her eyes. “I feel silly.”
“Why do you feel silly?”
“Ye probably think I made too much of this. And I did. Ye even brought Palmer into it, and it was probably all for nothing. The man…Donaldson…was probably—”
“I don’t believe that for a moment. You were truly frightened, and you have bruises. Don’t ever feel silly asking for my help.”
“I could have—should have—handled it myself.”
“You don’t really believe that.” She was having second thoughts about coming here; she was a strong woman who took care of herself, and she hated having to rely on him. He understood that, but he also knew that she was no match for a man like Donaldson. “He was there tonight, Cait. Just like he promised he would be. I have no doubt his intentions were not honorable.”
She shuddered and rubbed her arms as she stared into the fire.
Iain grabbed a blanket from the foot of his bed and draped it around her shoulders. It was a cool night, and the fire chased away some of the chill, but he feared she wasn’t so much cold as she was frightened.
“Thank ye,” she said softly.
“I’d do anything for you, Cait. I hope you know that.”
She glanced up at him, but he could see she wasn’t ready to hear that just yet, and it frustrated him. He wanted to tell her of his feelings. Feelings that grew as the days wore on. They weren’t going away. They weren’t abating. They were here for good, and it was so damn frustrating that every time he tried to tell her, she backed away. He was weary of tiptoeing around her. Still, he had no other choice, and tonight was not the night to address it.
“Did you eat the dinner I brought up?” he asked, feeling silly that they were standing while having this conversation. But he couldn’t sit until she did, and she was staring blindly into the fire. “Cait?” He touched her elbow and she jumped, startled.
“I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
“You were very far away. Sit down.” He guided her to the chair and settled the blanket around her shoulders, thinking of the night he’d spent in her cottage, sitting at her kitchen table, eating bits and pieces of the food she’d scrounged up for them while wearing a blanket. That had been the best night of his life. He’d been happier, more comfortable, than he’d ever felt. He could happily spend more nights that way. Hell, he could happily spend the rest of his life that way. With Cait, he didn’t need a large house or titles or wealth. She made the simple seem extravagant and the most mundane moments the best memories.
He sat in the opposite chair and sipped on his whiskey while the silence wrapped around them. She didn’t seem inclined to talk, and he was content just sitting there with her. He finished his whiskey but was loath to get up and refill his glass for fear of breaking the spell.
