“So all of this fervor today is because you think I may be in danger?”
He swore. “I probably overreacted, but I don’t want to take any chances. If I thought it would have kept you completely safe, I would have sent you off with Farquhar, no matter how badly I wanted you. But wife or ‘ward,’ it wouldn’t have made a difference. You, John, and Padraig are all at risk.”
She was still too stunned by what he’d revealed to argue about Farquhar. “Do John and Padraig know?”
He shook his head. “I think John suspects. But they will both have to be told.”
Cate just stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. She’d imagined a lot of things, but not this. “A Phantom? I can’t believe it. They say you are supermen who can move through walls and disappear into the mist. They say you can’t be killed. That you are all giants and—” She stopped a memory from returning. “The men with you that day when you found me. You were all wearing those ghastly helms and the blackcotunsand plaids. I thought you were demons at first. They are Phantoms, too, aren’t they?”
He nodded grimly. “If I asked you to forget their names, would you?”
“I would try, but I’m afraid I have a very good memory.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I figured as much. But I suspect I will not be able to keep the others’ identities from you for long.”
“I would never betray your friends, Gregor.”
“Aye, well, I don’t intend for you ever to be in a position to have to do that. What would you think about moving to the Western Isles until the war is over?”
She looked at him incredulously. “You are jesting, aren’t you?”
“Partly.” He reached out and swept a lock of dark hair from her cheek, tucking it behind an ear. “The thought of leaving you alone when Bruce sends for me makes my stomach turn.”
Cate didn’t want to think about that either, knowing he would be leaving soon—maybe even days after their wedding. “I won’t be alone,” she said. “I have John and the other warriors of yourmeinie. I will take care to not wander anywhere on my own. And I might not have the superhuman strength and skill of a Phantom, but I am not unable to defend myself if need be.”
He nodded. “I never thought it would be a relief to have a wife who is trained in warfare.”
Her mouth quirked. “And I never thought I would marry a ghost.”
“Phantom,” he corrected dryly. “Well, now you know all my secrets.” She paled, but he didn’t notice as he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Perhaps we can resume your practice with the dagger?”
She nodded, her shock at his news fading with the realization of what it meant. She might know all his secrets, but Gregor didn’t know all of hers. And with his place in Bruce’s army now revealed—although she still had dozens more questions—it was becoming a foregone conclusion that she was going to have to tell him. She could no longer delude herself that the name of her father wouldn’t matter to him. It would. The question—and what she feared—was his reaction when he learned the truth.
Gregor had his arm around her neck from behind, the sharp blade of his dagger pressed to her throat. He’d showed her two ways of escaping. She’d mastered the first, of pulling down on his arm with both hands, as if she were going down to the ground, before driving him back suddenly against a hard surface—in this case, the wall of the barracks—but she was having a more difficult time with the second.
“Tuck your chin to protect your throat,” he instructed. “And you still need to pull on my arm to lower the blade so it’s more at your shoulder than at your neck. The pivot has to be faster. You can’t give me time to react and get the blade back into position.”
“I’m trying,” she groaned, frustrated. “But I’m having trouble positioning my hands as I turn.”
“You’re thinking too much. Keep your hands in the same place as you are when pulling down on my arm, and just use your elbow and lean your head into my body as you pivot.” She had that fierce, determined, obstinate, pursed-mouth look on her face again that made him want to laugh. God, if she were a man, she could inspire legions with that look. “Ready to try again?”
She nodded.
He’d just gotten the blade into position when he sensed a movement behind him. He turned, but it was too late. His inattention cost him. Cate pulled, pivoted, and twisted the arm holding the blade behind him, forcing him to the ground by pressing against the back of that twisted arm.
He swore. But it wasn’t due to the fact that he was eating dirt, her foot was now on his back, and his torquing arm was in pain; it was due to their witnesses. One whose laugh he’d recognize anywhere.
“Watch that face, laddie,” MacSorley said, the laughter still heavy in his voice. He’d obviously mistaken Cate for a boy, which wasn’t surprising, as Gregor had forced her to wear a mail coif as they practiced with the blade at her throat. “Wouldn’t want those ticket holders to be disappointed.”
Cate frowned and released him, shooting him a questioning look.
Bloody hell. “I’ll explain later,” Gregor said, getting to his feet. Despite the fact that he was going to have to tell Cate about the ridiculous tickets, he grinned at the big West Highland chieftain, who looked more like a Norse raider than an elite warrior. It was damned good to see him. “Nothing to worry about, Hawk. If something happens to me, we can always have them come see you and charge two for the price of one.”
The two other men with him—Lachlan MacRuairi and Arthur Campbell—snickered. The men had obviously left their horses in the stables and come straight to the practice yard to find him.
“You might have to offer three for one,” MacRuairi said dryly. “My cousin has been married for so long, he’s out of practice at pleasing lasses.”
MacSorley smiled smugly. “There is only one lass I care about pleasing and believe me, cousin, she doesn’t have any complaints.”
