There was only one problem. He had to find someone fool enough to take her on.
Two
Dunlyon, Roro, Perthshire, Scottish Highlands
This time when Gregor came home, Cate was going to be ready. She could no longer be patient.
As she’d done every day for the past week since John had sent the letter, she dressed with particular care. As she normally didn’t takeanycare, this was quite an extraordinary undertaking. The “boyishly” short, just-past-her-shoulder, dark hair that she usually kept tied back with string, a piece of leather, or whatever else she happened to have on hand had been brushed and brushed until it was as glossy and shiny as polished mahogany to hang loose around her shoulders.
A simple circlet of gold, given to her by Lady Marion before she’d succumbed to the fever, rested upon her head, securing the gossamer-thin pink veil that covered—but did not hide—the dark tresses. Her hair was one of her best features, and she had to take advantage of whatever she could.
Cate didn’t need to pinch her cheeks as some girls did; hers were rosy enough from all the time she spent outdoors. Her lips, too, didn’t need any color, as they were naturally a dark, vibrant red.
She wrinkled her nose. Unfortunately, the freckles she couldn’t do anything about. Cate told herself they added character, but she’d never convinced her mother or Lady Marion to agree.
She stepped back from the looking glass procured from the bottom of one of Lady Marion’s trunks, held out the deep rose velvet skirts of hercotehardie, and chewed anxiously on her lip, not knowing quite what to make of her attempts.
She hadn’t been sure about the color—she’d never liked pink—but Lady Marion had insisted it would be “beautiful” on her. That was an exaggeration, but it did seem to flatter her coloring. The gown was one of three that Lady Marion had insisted on buying her two years ago on Cate’s eighteenth saint’s day.“You are a lady now, sweeting,”the older woman had said with a fond smile.“You need at least a few fine gowns.”
It had been so important to her, Cate hadn’t had the heart to argue, but she’d never seemed to find the occasion to wear them. Frankly, dressing in such fine things made her feel a little silly. Like she was pretending to be someone she was not.
Her father had given her a beautiful dress once. It had made her feel like a princess. When he left, she’d shoved it under the bed and never looked at it again.
Her chest squeezed with a longing she refused to acknowledge. She wasn’t a lady, no matter who her father happened to be.
Her attention returned to the strange woman in the looking glass.
“Men want a woman to act like a woman, my love.”Her mother’s voice mingled with Lady Marion’s in her memory—in so many ways they’d been one in the same. Both gentle, sweet ladies. Nothing like Cate.
Her chin set with determination. She would be soft and feminine if it killed her. But goodness gracious, did being a lady have to be so blasted uncomfortable?
She tugged at the fabric around her bodice, trying to pull it up. Two years had added a certain dimension to parts of her body that she was not quite used to, making the gown a bit tight in the bodice. But as that was the fashion, she supposed no one would notice.
Cate had given up the breeches under the skirts when Lady Marion nearly fainted the first time she’d seen them, but she’d made few other concessions. She would wear shoes in the winter but not in the summer. And no matter how plain, the simple “peasant lad’s” clothes were what she felt comfortable in while training.
She’d just finished her critical appraisal when the door burst open behind her. Assuming it was Ete, who was supposed to have helped her with her hair and veil but was called away when Maddy started crying (screeching, actually), Cate didn’t turn right away. It was only when the silence became noticeable that she looked and realized that it wasn’t the maidservant but John.
He was staring at her slack-jawed, with a slightly dazed look on his face.
Cate wrinkled her nose. Whatever was the matter with him?
Suddenly, the blood slid from her face, and her heart started to pound—gallop, more accurately. “Is he here?”
John didn’t seem to hear her. “You look…you look beautiful.”
Despite the rather unflattering level of surprise in his voice, a warm blush spread up her cheeks, and she grinned with unabashed delight. Cate didn’t have any real pretensions toward beauty, but she could not doubt the admiration in John’s eyes. And it gave her the confidence that until that moment she hadn’t realized how much she’d needed.
She had never doubted her appeal to men—they liked her. Indeed, she had more male friends than she did female. But they treated her like a little sister they were fond of, which wasnotthe way she wanted Gregor to think of her.
She was determined that this time he would notice her as a desirable woman. Of course, she’d told herself the same thing last year, but she was confident that it would be different this time. This time she had more than herself to consider. This time she was going to act—and look—like a lady.
From the first moment he’d looked down at her in that well, Gregor MacGregor had stolen a piece of her heart. When he’d taken her to his home, he’d stolen a little more. As the years passed, each time he came home—of which there had been precious few—he claimed more and more, until eventually he held it all. Her love had matured from that of a young girl’s to a woman’s, but it was the one constant in her life since that horrible day, and she held to it like a lifeline. (That and the resolve to discover the identity of the man who killed her mother. But after five years, Gregor had been unable to find out anything about the English captain.)
A less determined person might have given up in the face of Gregor’s obvious disinterest. Well, not disinterest really, more a lack of awareness. He still thought of her as the “child” he’d rescued, or the young girl he was forced to acknowledge when some kind of trouble arose (which, to be clear, wasn’t always her fault), and not the strong woman she’d become.
The woman who was perfect for him.
It was that certainty that kept Cate going when she became discouraged. And with Gregor MacGregor it was very easy to get discouraged. She knew he wasn’t perfect, but sometimes he certainly seemed that way. Not for the first time, she wished he weren’t so handsome. Or so charming. Or so good at everything he did. It made him feel out of reach. Elusive. Like trying to catch quicksilver.
