She gave him a look that was filled with more understanding than he liked. “Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Not me. Not that kind.” He was always careful. Very careful. Although there was always the smallest, tiniest possibility…
Hell, she’d done it again. Turned him inside out. Upside down. Confused him. Rattled him, blast it.
Like any born warrior, she sensed the weakness and went in for the kill. “Just meet them, Gregor. You’ll see—”
He put up his hand, trying to tell himself it wasn’t like a white banner. So much forBàs roimh Gèill. Death before Surrender, the motto of the Highland Guard—and his before he’d met Cate. “I’ve already met one of them, and I know for a fact he is not mine. It will be the same for the other two. I will see them, but it will not change my mind.”
“Oh Gregor, thank you!”
She’d apparently ignored the “won’t change my mind” part, proving she wasn’t immune to the skill possessed by so many of her sex to hear only what they wanted to hear.
When it looked as if she might throw herself into his arms, he took a step back.
Mistaking the cause, she made a face. “I suppose I should get cleaned up first.”
It wasn’t the dirt; he just didn’t trust himself to touch her.
“They aren’t staying, Caitrina.”
The smile quickly slid from her face. He regretted it, but it was necessary. He didn’t want any misunderstandings.
She held his gaze, and after a moment, nodded. He wasn’t foolish enough to mistake it for acquiescence; it was more temporary acceptance. But in this he would stay firm. No more foundlings. Worrying about her was distracting enough; he sure as hell wasn’t going to take on any more. His responsibility toward Cate was always hanging over him; even when fighting he thought of her. More so of late, the reasons for which he didn’t want to examine.
He was supposed to be clearing his head, damn it. Getting rid of all distractions, not adding to them.
Leading his mount, they walked the short distance to Dunlyon in silence.
It was one of the things he liked most about her. Unlike most women, Cate didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with chatter.
It was hard not to like the lass. That was part of the problem. When she wasn’t irritating him or making his life difficult, she was passionate, loyal, no-nonsense, and refreshingly straightforward.Toostraightforward sometimes, he thought, recalling her reference to his bed partners.
So she thought him a profligate. Hell, he probably was—more by happenstance than by effort. What was he supposed to do, refuse the women who jumped in his bed? What man in his right mind would do that?
And why did he care what she thought?
He was still frowning when they entered the gate. She started to run off, but after a few steps stopped to turn around. “Have you found him yet?”
Gregor stiffened at the mention of the familiar subject. Damn it, did the lass never give up? He hated having to lie to her, but God only knew what Caitrina would do with the information. Actually, he suspected he knewexactlywhat she would do, which was why he’d never shared it with her. He’d learned the name of the man who’d attacked her village shortly after it happened. Unfortunately by that time, Sir Reginald Fitzwarren had already been recalled to London—where he’d stayed out of Gregor’s reach. But one day, he would find him and the lass would have her vengeance.
“Not yet,” he said.
She sighed disappointedly, and he felt a sharp stab of guilt in his chest. “Maybe I could—”
“You promised to let me handle it, Caitrina. I want you to trust me.”
She smiled. “I do.”
Somehow the blind faith only made him feel worse.
“I’d better hurry, if I’m going to have time for a bath before the meal,” she said, starting to turn away again.
A surge of unwelcome heat rushed through him. He shouldn’t think of her in the bath, those pert breasts that had felt so firm against his chest bare, the taut, shapely buttocks smooth and…
Wrong, damn it.
“Caitrina!” he snapped.
