It was thoughts of how to save him from himself that kept her occupied during Father Roland’s long “popular” sermon given in Gaelic rather than Latin. Perhaps ironically, the subject was chastity, and the priest, after giving an example of the nun who’d gouged out her own eyes and had them sent to a king rather than be the object of his lust (Cate thought his point would have been stronger had the king gouged his own eyes out), was going onad nauseamwith long passages from the Gospel (these in Latin), which she didn’t understand.
Not surprisingly, Gregor had decided to sit a few benches away from her and the children. He was proving intractable on the subject of being “rid” of them, and she was finding it harder and harder to convince herself that he would change his mind. But as she had no intention of changing her mind either, they were at an impasse.
Patience, she reminded herself. But it was difficult. On all accounts. Not just the children, but waiting for him to acknowledge what was between them—especially with all the other women with whom she had to contend.
Feeling as if a rock were sitting on her chest, she watched as the instant the mass was over, the women descended on him like locusts. It had been the same for the past three mornings at Dunlyon, since news of his arrival had spread throughout the small village and surrounding countryside. His arrivalalwayscaused a sensation, with women arriving at Dunlyon to see the laird under all kinds of ridiculous pretenses.
He took all the attention in stride, smiling, flirting, and charming every one of them. Every one of them but her, and for the first time it bothered her. Cate was jealous. And no matter how many times she told herself the women were nothing to him, she couldn’t stop the little voice from saying that neither was she.
Yet. Lady Marion’s words came back to her.“Be patient, sweeting. Those women don’t mean anything to him. When he gives his heart to the right woman it will be forever.”It was giving it to the wrong woman that had been the problem. Gregor’s mother had guessed Cate’s feelings, and trying to give her hope—nothing would have pleased her more than to see them together—told her what had happened with his brother’s wife. How the woman had used Gregor to make his older brother jealous and elicit a proposal from him.
Cate followed John outside, where the villagers were taking advantage of the sunny winter morning to gather in the churchyard. One of the reeve’s sons—Farquhar, she recalled his name—stopped to talk to John, and Cate took the opportunity to look back at Gregor, who was still in the church trying to make his way outside.
Seeing whom he was talking to, she wished she hadn’t. Cate stiffened, her teeth grinding. Seonaid MacIan, the favored daughter of the wealthiest chieftain in the area, had befriended Cate when she’d first arrived but had turned on her once it became clear their friendship wouldn’t get her any closer to Gregor.
Blond, blue-eyed, and curved in all the places men seemed to like curves, Seonaid was the most beautiful woman in the area. Just ask her. As such, she thought that made her destined for Gregor. That he didn’t seem to agree, Seonaid blamed on Cate—though Cate had never said a word against her (and she would have had plenty of words to choose from).
Turning her gaze from the girl who’d done her best to make her life miserable for years, Cate was pleased to see Pip talking with some of the village lads, including Willy. Ete had Eddie in hand, but Lizzie looked exhausted from holding a squirming Maddy for so long, so Cate offered to spell her for a while. Finding a little space in the back of the churchyard, she let the little girl run for a bit, and then scooped her up in her arms and spun her around until they both were flushed and laughing.
“How sweet.”
Cate stiffened at the sound of the mocking voice. Holding Maddy close to her chest as if to protect her from the venom, she turned to see Seonaid. As always, a couple of her followers were at her side. Alys and Deidre never said much, their purpose simply to echo Seonaid.
“What have you done to yourself, Caitrina?” Seonaid’s big blue eyes scanned her gown. “You actually found a pretty dress to wear? After what you did to Dougal MacNab, I thought to find you in armor with a sword.” She laughed, though there was no humor intended in the scornful tones. On cue, Alys and Deidre’s snickering followed.
Seonaid always had a way of making Cate feel awkward and unfeminine, and she knew it. Seonaid’s rich gowns were always trimmed with rows and rows of ribbon and embroidery, her hair always curled and artfully arranged, her skin looked like she bathed in milk, and there was never a speck of dirt under her nails. She was soft and lush as a pillowy confection, while Cate was hard and strong as a stick of dried beef.
When Cate looked at Seonaid she saw everything she wasn’t and could never be—on the outside. But underneath the pretty picture, Seonaid was selfish, spoiled, and spiteful, and any man who didn’t see that was a fool. Beef might not be flashy, but it had substance.
Cate was done letting the other woman make her feel bad about herself. “What do you want, Seonaid? As you can see, I’m busy.”
Seonaid’s lip curled with distaste as she looked at Maddy. “With one of the bastards? Why you would let them under the roof, I can’t imagine. If I were lady of the keep, I would have sent them away.”
Cate’s temper notched up at the word “bastard” and the familiar disdain. Disdain she’d heard far too many times as a child. “Butyouaren’t lady of the keep and certainly aren’t likely to be in the future, so it really is none of your concern.”
Seonaid’s cheeks flushed with anger, and her expression lost any pretense of equanimity. “Are you so sure of that? That’s not the impression I had a few minutes ago. I’d say the laird seemed very interested in a closer relationship.”
The way she emphasized “closer” made Cate’s chest twist.He wouldn’t. “I sincerely doubt that.”
“Why? You can’t think he’d prefer a boyish lass who plays at warfare to a woman like me—no matter what gown you are wearing.”
Cate clenched her fists. Knowing how to use a sword or defend herself didn’t make her “boyish.” But Seonaid’s barb had pricked what little there was of her feminine vanity. “It isn’t the dress but the character underneath. No matter how fine the linen you bundle it in, rotten fish still stinks.”
Alys and Deidre gasped. Seonaid turned florid, her eyes blazing with hatred. “Character? What a naive fool you are, Caitrina. Beauty and a bosom are what men want.”
Cate pursed her mouth stubbornly. “Not Gregor.”
She knew him. He wasn’t like that. She knew how little importance he put on his own looks, and how much it bothered him when other people did—though he never showed it. When he married, it would be for substance, not for superficial charms.
Seonaid might be cruel and spiteful, but she was also surprisingly astute, and something in Cate’s expression must have given her away. Her gaze pinned on Cate like a predator who’d just picked up the scent of blood. “My God, you are in love with him!” The sharp burst of laughter hurt more than Cate would have thought possible. “You don’t actually think the most handsome man in Scotland would ever marry a woman like you? A foundling he felt sorry for with nothing to recommend her but ‘character,’ a plain face, and a boyish figure?”
She wasn’t plain or boyish. She knew Seonaid was just being cruel, but the words still stung—and made her want to sting back. Gregor did care for her. And one day he would marry her. She knew it deep in her soul.
It shouldn’t matter that no one else knew. But like the taunts of “bastard” that had followed her as a child, Seonaid’s words had hit a tender spot—a defensive spot.“My father is the greatest knight in Christendom.”The old boast rang in her ears, and she felt the same compulsion to make them sorry for teasing her rise inside her.
“He will marry me,” she said fiercely. “And not because of a pretty face or big bosom, but because he loves me. The most handsomest man in Scotland will be my husband—you’ll see.”
The unwavering confidence in her voice seemed to take Seonaid momentarily aback, though she recovered quickly enough. “The only way you will ever get Gregor MacGregor to marry you is if you trap him,” her gaze swept over Cate’s modest bosom, “and you lack the proper enticements for that.”
