Gregor asked Cate what she knew of the child, and Cate started to tell him, but apparently Maddy had other ideas. She started kicking and bouncing up and down, reaching for Gregor to pull her closer. “My!” she said, then louder, “My!”
“I think she wants your brooch, my laird,” Ete said. “She likes shiny things.”
But it wasn’t the large gold broach set around an onyx stone securing the plaid he wore around his shoulders that Maddy wanted. It was theothershiny thing.
As soon as Gregor pulled the little girl in closer, she reached for his face, putting her no-doubt droolly hand on his cheek. “My! Pretty!”
There was a moment of stunned silence at the child’s proclamation.
But then Cate and Ete took one look at Gregor’s horrified face, exchanged glances, and burst into laughter. Seeing Gregor’s horror at being called “pretty,” even Pip joined in.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if Eddie hadn’t started laughing, too. Thus they found out the hard way that the little boy didn’t release his bladderonlywhen he was scared or upset.
“Oh, no,” Eddie whispered, tugging her skirts. “I have to go.”
Cate looked down and tried not to groan. “I think you already went, sweeting.”
“What the hell?” Gregor yelled, jumping back and nearly dropping Maddy as the stream of liquid headed for his feet.
Cate took one look at his face and knew the chance for a good impression was long gone. With nothing to lose, she gave in to the laughter and grinned. “John warned you to watch your feet.”
After nearly having had his foot pissed on, the midday meal was blissfully anticlimactic. But Gregor was painfully aware of the woman at his side.
As if it weren’t bad enough that his body was humming with attraction, she was aggravating his edginess with laughter. Hers, at his expense.
“This is quite a pretty bowl, isn’t it, Gregor?” and “What a pretty dress that is, Màiri, don’t you agree, Gregor?” followed by “The heather was so pretty a couple of months ago, Gregor—too bad you could not have returned then.”
Each time she said “pretty” with such teasing laughter dancing in her eyes, he itched to throw her back against the “pretty” tablecloth and kiss that impudent grin right from her mouth. Kiss her until those golden flecks in her dark eyes were soft and hazy with passion. Kiss her until the laughter in her throat turned to soft moans and whimpers. Kiss her until she knew just how far from pretty he could be.
Wrong, he reminded himself. But the voice was weaker this time. Or rather the desire hammering through his body for her was getting louder.
Normally, he wouldn’t mind the prodding—God knew he’d heard far worse from MacSorley—but he was wound so damned tight, he felt ready to explode.
To avoid that, he distracted himself with Màiri. The seneschal’s widow had slid into John’s seat after his brother had disappeared when Gregor called for the wine. At his first taste of the spiced swill, Gregor knew why. He would deal with his wine-poaching brother later, but for the moment all his attention was on the pret—damn it,lovelywidow. He found himself relaxing. Enjoying the food—which was exceptional—and the easy, flirtatious banter.
Cate he largely ignored. Or tried to ignore, which was easier said than done, since she seemed to poke or nudge him for something every other minute. It was the oddest thing, though. Rather than getting all prickly or annoyed by his curt-bordering-on-rude responses, she was unusually calm and solicitous. “Is the lamb to your liking?” (It was exactly how he liked it, actually—roasted with lots of mint.) “Can I get you more wine?” (No. God knew he needed all his senses sharp to deal with her.) “What do you think of the new piper?” (He was the best Gregor had ever heard.) “Can I get you another trencher?” (No, he and Màiri didn’t mind sharing this one.)
Once or twice he thought she was about to lose her temper, but then she would mumble something under her breath and smile at him instead. A very demure, maidenly smile that he couldn’t recall ever seeing on her face before. That made him uneasy. The lass was up to something, and he suspected he knew what.
Cate’s adoration for him had always made him uneasy, but now that she was older it was worse. The last thing he wanted was to be the object of a young girl’s first love. She would only get hurt, and he didn’t want that. He cared about her. As any man put in his position would, of course.
By the end of the meal, he and his bruised ribs were looking forward to the evening, when he intended to rid himself of the edginess for good. He thought Màiri was looking forward to it as well, which was why he was surprised when he found himself walking back from the stables alone after she didn’t appear for their assignation.
He passed through the Hall, where the trestle tables had been replaced by bedrolls for the sleeping clansmen, on the way to his room.
“Did you have a nice walk?”
Recognizing the voice, he stiffened. Cate was seated on a wooden bench before the fire with John, a chessboard set out between them. They looked…cozy. He frowned.
“It’s rather cold for a nighttime jaunt, isn’t it?” she added.
Though it was an innocuous question, something about the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight made that frown deepen. Had she been aware of his foiled plans? And why the hell did her knowing about his liaisons bother him?
“I like the cold.” Especially when he felt so damnedhot.
He strode toward them and glanced down at the chess pieces that had been carved by his father. His father and his eldest brother, Alasdair, had loved to play. Gregor, on the other hand, had never had the patience for the game—another mark of many against him to his father’s mind.
Striker, Raider, and Chief played, as did Bruce. Indeed, some of their matches had been more fierce and contested than the battles with the English of late.
