Since the night she’d ended up in his arms, his inconvenient lust for Cate had only gotten worse.Muchworse. The lass seemed to be going out of the way to drive him half-mad. Nay, completely mad. Teasing him. Tempting him. Tormenting him with the desire for him that she didn’t bother to hide. Coming home was supposed to clear his head, giving him his edge back, not putting him on it.
He’d done his best to avoid her, but within the small confines of Dunlyon, it was virtually impossible. She tracked him down with some excuse whether he was locked away in his solar, in the stables, or training in the yard with the men. The only time he had a moment of peace was when he rode out with his men to scout or to see to some of his more distant clansmen.
It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been the target of a less-than-subtle invitation by a young lass who was pandering to his every need, entrancing him with her smiles, accidentally brushing her body against his, or using any excuse to touch him. He’d been subject to such games and machinations since he was a lad. He saw through them and knew how to deal with them.
Usually. But with Cate it was different. With Cate he might see through it, but it didn’t stop him from wanting her. She was the only one he’d ever had to resist, and doing so was proving more difficult than he ever could have imagined.
Twice he’d arranged other distractions, but twice his plans had been foiled. Once when a few of the men returned to the barracks unexpectedly, and another time when the servants decided to clean the storage room (at night, which seemed an odd time for housework).
Dunlyon was too damned small and the places for privacy few. There was his solar, of course, but with Cate right next door…
It made him uncomfortable. Cognizant of her tender feelings for him, he’d always tried to be somewhat circumspect in his dealings with other women while he was home. But he wondered how much longer he could keep that up in his present state. Exhausted and on edge were putting it mildly.
If it weren’t Sunday, he would have pulled the pillow over his head and rolled back over.
Sunday. Damn it, he had to get ready for mass in the village. With a groan of resignation, he fished around groggily for his braies. He could wash and dress practically in his sleep. The last seven years of war had taught him to be ready at a moment’s notice, and his movements were so engrained as to be rote. Cold water from the urn splashed on his face, a quick wash of his body, a paste of mint and salt and a rinse of white wine for his teeth, a comb through his hair (when he had a comb), tunic, hose, breeches, surcoat, plaid all nicely folded (which he couldn’t remember doing), and boots. Boots…
He squinted again at the foot of the bed. Damn it, where the hell were his boots?
Jerking open the door, he was about to call for one of the servants, when Seamus, the son of a local chieftain who John had agreed to foster and who served as something of his squire, came hurrying up the stairs, the missing boots in his hands.
“Sorry, my laird. You were probably looking for these. I was supposed to have them back before you woke.”
Gregor took the boots from the lad, noticing that they were no longer thick with mud. “You cleaned them?”
“Aye, Cate thought you would like them freshened up for mass this morning.”
“She did, did she?” How bloody thoughtful of her! How she managed to anticipate his every need before he did was damned disconcerting.
The boy took a step back. “Did I do something wrong? Should I check with your brother next time first?”
Gregor gritted his teeth. “They aren’t John’s boots, damn it, they’re mine.”
Hewas the laird.
The boy’s eyes widened, and Gregor swore, realizing what an arse he sounded like. This was what she’d reduced him to. Churlishness. He’d never been churlish in his life—until now. But it seemed that every time he turned around he was hearing “Cate sees to that,” or “John already did that,” or worse, “John and Cate took care of it.”Together.
Clearly, John was proving a capable laird in Gregor’s absence and Cate had taken over his mother’s household duties with nary a misstep. Actually, if anything, the lass was doing an even better job. The place was spotless, the food was improved, and efficiencies had reduced the monies spent in the household accounts. According to the seneschal, Cate could barter a deal from the most tightfisted of merchants and suppliers. She probably bullied them until they gave up—something he was intimately familiar with. She was like a one-woman siege engine when she wanted something.
Gregor should be pleased that things were running so smoothly. Being laird was a job he’d never wanted or been destined for. He was glad he could focus on the war with the knowledge that his clan would be well looked after. He was. But being superfluous in his own tower took some getting used to.
“I’m sorry,” Seamus repeated anxiously.
Gregor swore. He shouldn’t take his irritation with Cate out on the lad. “Nay, ’tis I who am sorry, lad. I am ill-tempered this morning. You did a fine job—thank you.”
The boy beamed and was about to run off when the door next to his opened and out walked the source of Gregor’s ill-temper, looking fresh and sweet and too damned lovely for his not-so-peaceful state of mind in yet another snug-fitting gown—this one dusky blue.
She turned her bright-eyed gaze to his. Did she have to look so damnedcheery? “Is something wrong? I thought I heard raised voices.”
“It’s nothing,” Gregor said at the same time the lad offered, “I was just returning the laird’s boots.”
She dimpled. Since when did she have dimples, damn it? “We’d hoped to surprise you.”
“You did,” Gregor said. Turning to Seamus, he added, “You can return to your other duties, lad. Tell my brother we’ll be leaving soon.”
Cate was studying his face with concern. “Are you sure you are all right? You were tossing and turning rather restlessly when I came in to bring your clothes—”
“When youwhat?” Gregor exploded furiously, taking a step toward her before he remembered how foolish that was. Christ, she smelled good. Plenty of women used heather to scent their soap, but none had ever smelled like this. None had ever made him want to bury his nose in her neck and inhale.
