Farquhar frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You are serious and scholarly; Cate is…”
“Lively of spirit and passionate?” Farquhar finished for him with a wry smile. “That’s part of what attracts me to her. I admire in her what I do not have in myself. But I do not think it means we are ill-suited, rather the opposite. It would be a very dull life indeed with a wife who was exactly like me. What man wouldn’t want more passion in his life?”
Gregor knew the lad didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but it took everything he had not to reach across the table, grab the pup by the collar of his tunic, and put another dent in his nose. Though a scholar, Farquhar looked as if he’d been in more than one brawl.
His fingers were going to bear the relief pattern of the pewter goblet, but otherwise he did not react. “And Cate’s unusual pursuits?”
He was rewarded with the first uncertainty on the younger man’s face. However, true to his contemplative nature, Farquhar thought a moment before he responded. “I have not been trained as a warrior, but I know how to fight and can protect my wife if the situation arises.”
“And what if your wifehasbeen trained as a warrior?”
“I would be glad she could defend herself when I was not around.”
“So you would not object to her continuing her training?”
Farquhar’s jaw hardened. It was clear he didn’t like being forced into a corner. “I would hope that she would not feel the need to continue. I would hope to make her feel safe enough to put her training and weapons aside.” He held Gregor’s stare. “I assume there is a reason she feels compelled to learn to defend herself.”
Astute as well as learned. Gregor nodded.
Farquhar returned the nod. “Then I would hope she would confide in me, and together perhaps we could find a solution that will make us both content.”
The lad’s answers were almost too perfect to believe. Ninety-nine percent of the men Gregor knew would never allow their wife to train at warfare, and the exception had just walked into his solar? How the hell did he get so blasted lucky?
Gregor was running out of excuses.Bloody hell. Was that what he was doing, trying to find excuses? “Where would you live?” he asked.
“A cottage near Balloch Castle at first. Later, in the steward’s tower.”Not too far away, but far enough. Farquhar paused, obviously wanting to put an end to the interrogation. “So do I have your permission? I would like to have the matter settled before I leave for Balloch in the new year.”
Gregor tapped the stem of his now empty goblet absently.Think. But bloody hell, he couldn’t think of any reason to refuse the man. It was the perfect solution to his problem. With Cate taken care of, he could leave his clan in John’s capable hands and return to the Guard without any unwanted responsibilities to distract him. There would be no more worrying about her at inopportune moments, no more guilt for not being there more often, no more fear of disappointing someone. Not Cate and not the king.
That was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
He wasn’t cut out for anything else. Not to be the laird, and sure as hell not to be a husband. He liked being on his own, doing what he wanted without having to explain himself to anyone. He wanted the freedom of not having anyone rely on him. He liked not having attachments in his bed partners. Hell, he liked variety.
He would only disappoint her, and probably break her heart. He couldn’t do that. Not to Cate. No matter how much the idea of her married to someone else bothered him. No matter how special she was, or how hot she’d made him from a kiss. He would forget all about it when he returned to war.
She didn’treallylove him. The reeve’s son would be perfect for her. He was near her age at two and twenty, appealing in countenance, smart, and with a future position that would elevate her standing considerably. Clearly, Farquhar admired her and would do his best to make her happy. What more could Gregor ask for?
He took a deep breath, fighting the sudden tightness in his chest. “Aye, you have my permission. I will inform Cate of your offer, and if she agrees, the betrothal can be announced at the feast.”
The lad was watching him carefully—too carefully. “Is there a reason she would not agree? Another suitor, perhaps, whom she favors?”
Aye, definitely astute. Gregor knew what the other man was asking. “There are other men I have considered, but yours is the offer I will bring to her. I am her guardian; she will accede to my judgment and do her duty.”
Cate was like him in that regard. She might not like doing her duty, but she recognized when she had one. But Gregor sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to telling her of his plans.
Eleven
Cate held the plaid around her neck so it wouldn’t slide off her shoulders as she darted through the trees. Though her cheeks were warm from exertion, and the sun was starting to break through the clouds, it was still cold and blustery from the storm that had blanketed the forest and glen with a few inches of snow the night before.
“I hear you, you wee devil. I’m going to get you!”
A startled cry, followed by a fresh peal of excited giggling coming from a tree ahead of her (not to mention the tiny, well-formed, and easily trackable bootprints in the snow), told her that she was closing in on her quarry.
“Where is he?” she said in her best bogeyman voice, creeping closer. “Where is Eddie…?”
Realizing she was closing in, the little boy gave another piglet squeal and shot out from behind the tree in a frantic effort to escape. She lurched forward and wrapped her arms around the nearly three-foot-high wool-covered bundle, lifting him high in the air. “Ha! I’ve got you now, and you’ll never get away!”
