Page 7 of The Cursed Highland Bride

The castle steward eyed Katarina in shrewd examination. “Ye are afraid.” It was a statement of observation, not a question or even a sympathetic response.

“I am,” Katarina admitted.

Had the laird made the same observation, Katarina would have denied it with her last breath, but she had no need for such rebellion with the steward. Most of her instructors had treated her with nothing but kindness. She had expected cruelty to match that of their master, but they had treated her with the respect the lady they were training her to become deserved, not as the prisoner that she was. She shuddered at the thought of the eventual destiny awaiting Idalia and Leonor should she fail. There was no room for mistakes.

“Ye will do well, lass,” the castle steward reassured her. “Dinnae worry much about it. Yer instincts are good. Ye will survive this. Perhaps ye will even flourish.”

Katarina sincerely doubted it but did not argue. There was no point. “Have ye been tae Orkney?” she asked in curiosity.

The steward, whose name she didn’t remember, shook his head. “I have nae. I was born here, and here I have remained. I am a part o’ the land itself,” he said with pride.

“I have been told it is quite beautiful, but that is all anyone will tell me. They speak of my future husband as a beast of a man, a Viking in form and manner.”

“He is a formidable foe.” The steward nodded his head in agreement. “I would nae wish tae cross him on the field o’ battle unprepared.” He raised his brow as if saying that should she not return to her lessons, she would suffer such a fate.

Returning her focus to the matter at hand, she continued her instructions on what the lady of a castle must do and what she must allow her steward to do for her. Katarina did not understand why she could not just do it all herself, but then again, she had never been raised in a castle. She had been free to travel from place to place as she and her family wished without the constraints of stone walls and armed fortresses filled with soldiers.

The men of her family had only fought to protect that which was theirs. They did not seek out war unless wronged by another. Her thoughts briefly turned to August Raymond, her sister’s former betrothed. She wondered if Idalia regretted running away. Perhaps they all would have been safer if they had stayed. Shaking her head, she cleared it of any such thoughts. Violent men were violent men. It did little good to wonder which was the lesser of two evils now. What was done could not be undone.

The door to the storeroom, where the steward had been instructing her on castle provisions, opened and they both turned to find Agnes standing in the corridor beyond. “It is time.” The look on her face was filled with sympathy.

“But it has nae been a full fortnight,” Katarina exclaimed in dismay.

“And yet, yer betrothed has arrived. There is nothing that can be done about it now, lass.”

Katarina fought the urge to cry. She knew that if she let herself succumb to such emotions, she would never be strong enough to save her sisters. Her entire body trembled at the sheer force of will it took to hide her fear and anger. “I am nae ready.”

“Ye must be.” Agnes stepped into the room and took her by the hand. “Let us make ye presentable for yer husband.”

The word “husband” traveled through Katarina’s body like a fissure of white-hot lightning burning a path of destruction to her soul. “Husband,” she whispered the word in fear and disgust. This was not at all how she had imagined her wedding day to be.

“Aye, lass, yer husband.”

Agnes led her out of the storeroom and up the stairs to an empty bedchamber. A bath had been drawn by the fire’s blazing hearth. Agnes helped her disrobe, and she sank beneath the tepid waters. It was clear that there had been no time to decently heat it. Katarina shivered but dutifully washed her body free of dust and dirt from her labors. Agnes washed her hair, then toweled and combed it dry in front of the fire. The dress Katarina was to wear was made of the Morgan blue, bright and beautiful. Agnes slipped it over her head and let it fall around Katarina’s curves like a waterfall.

“Ye are bonnie,” the woman praised, holding a piece of polished metal up for her to see herself.

“I dinnae look like myself,” Katarina breathed tightly. She felt as if she might pass out. The dress made it all too real.

“Och, lass. Ye are nae yerself. Ye are the Lady Katherine, and from this moment on, ye cannae forget that.”

Katarina swallowed hard. “For if I do, my sisters will surely perish.”

Agnes looked away, unable to meet Katarina’s eyes. “Aye, it is the laird’s way.”

“And the true Lady Katherine, is she worth all o’ this?” Katarina spread her arms to encompass the room as if everything bad that had happened lay within.

Agnes did meet her eyes then. “Aye, she is.”

The love and devotion in the woman’s eyes gave Katarina some assurance that the woman she was to replace was not as evil as her father. The thought occurred to her that she would have to pretend that Alistair Morgan, the man who had ordered her family’s deaths, was her father. She felt her stomach swirl, and turning away, she vomited into the waste bucket in the corner. Agnes brought her a wet cloth to bathe her face with, then poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the table, her brow furrowed in worry.

“Drink this and rinse yer mouth out. Nae man wishes for his bride tae smell o’ sick on their wedding day.”

“I dinnae care what he wants.” In spite of her protest, Katarina did as bidden.

“Ye should,” Agnes warned. “Dinnae forget what is at stake.”

Katarina shook her head. “I will nae forget. My sisters are all that I have left in this world. I will do whatever it takes tae save them, even unto my own death.”