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  Hearing a sound outside, she leapt to her feet, but it was only Martha.

  “Well? I’ve come to see what all the fuss is about. Where is he? I haven’t got all night.”

  “Over there, Martha. I did everything you told me. I’ve tended him as best I can.”

  “Oh, my! He’s a braw one isn’t he, Cat? Who is he, child?”

  “He’s my husband, Martha.”

  “Is he now? The Englishman who stole you from the O’Connor? And he came all this way to find you? A hungry man smells meat far, my Ma would say. You’ve done the right thing, girl. ’Tis your duty to protect him. This one will give you fine, strapping sons.”

  “I’ve no intention of having fine strapping sons with him, Martha. He’s… he’s English… and I don’t even know his name! As soon as he’s strong enough I want him gone.”

  “Well, don’t be in a hurry, lass. English, Irish, Scots, or Welsh… under their trousers they’re all the same. No need to throw a perfectly good one away. He may grow on you yet. Let’s take a closer look, shall we?”

  Catherine watched as Martha bustled around, humming to herself as she peeked under bandages, heaved Jamie over onto his back, felt his forehead, and poked and prodded him all over.

  “Happy is the maid that’s married to a mitherless son.”

  “What’s that, Martha?”

  “Eh? What?”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Oh heavens, child! You know me. I’m always blathering on about something, and half the time I dinna know what it is.”

  But it always ends up meaning something, Catherine thought. “Will he be alright?”

  “Hard to tell, girl. You’ve done a good job here, but you’re going to have to find some way to warm him or he’s like to die of shock and cold before the morning,” the older woman said, giving her a meaningful look. “We need to keep his wounds clean and hope there’s no infection, but he’s a strong lad, as tough as any Highlander I’ve ever seen. I would never have guessed he was aught else from the brave show he gave in the courtyard. You must be very proud. If you can get him warm and keep away the fever, he’ll soon be right as rain. He’s a bonny fellow isn’t he, lass? Not as broad as the O’Connor, but quicker I’d wager, and taller, too.” She passed her fingers over his face, feeling the swelling and bones. “Nose is broken. Twice in a short span, I’d say. He’s a belligerent lad, or a clumsy one, but I can set it straight. It won’t spoil his looks, Cat. I promise you.”

  Catherine turned away, hiding a guilty f lush. There was a slight cracking sound and she cringed in sympathy. She was glad he was unconscious. He’d suffered more than enough for one day.

  “There… that should do it! We’ll shift him over on his side now. He’ll breathe easier and it’ll be better for his poor bloody back.”

  As Catherine moved to help her, Martha f lipped back his blanket and grinned. “Will you look at that, lass! Faith, but I was wrong! They’re not all the same under their trousers. I’ll wager he outdoes the O’Connor there, too!”

  “Martha! Leave the poor man alone!” Catherine cried, scandalized.

  “Oh hush, child! Every man has one. Why, I used to wash your father’s when he was a bair—”

  “Martha, please! I don’t want to hear it. That’s quite enough!”

  Martha grinned. “Well lass… I’ll be off now and leave you to it. Take good care of your man, lucky girl! You must keep him warm. I’ll be back to check on him in the morning.”

  Catherine gave her a hug and walked her to the entrance, then returned to her charge. Long lashes and tangled strands of hair framed sculpted cheekbones marred with livid black and purple bruises. His face was drained of color and his full lips were tinged blue. He looked defenseless and forlorn, and her heart stirred with pity. She reached out her fingers and brushed back his hair. He looked like a motherless child. His skin was icy to her touch, and she remembered Martha’s words, ‘You’re going to have to find some way to warm him or he’s like to die of shock and cold.’

  The blazing fire and several layers of furs and blankets had failed to warm him, and she hadn’t brought him here to watch him die. Removing her clothing, she slid in beside him, gasping as she did. He was freezing! She piled on more furs and blankets and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight, trying to share her heat, but he felt like a block of ice and soon she was shivering and her teeth were chattering, too. Desperate to warm him and herself, she began vigorously chafing his arms and legs, continuing for almost an hour, not stopping until she felt life returning to his body. Exhausted, she rested her head against his shoulder and her hand on his hip. Moaning and mumbling something incoherent, he reached for it, grasping it and pulling it down, cupping it over a huge erection. She tried to pull it back, but his grip was determined and strong.

  “Aye, Molly, my love. That’s it! Right there. You do wonders with those fingers, sweetheart.”

  She narrowed her eyes, wondering who Molly was, and indulged herself for a moment, letting her hand close round him. She’d never had a sweetheart. No man but Cormac had been tempted to cut himself on her tongue, sword, and bones. But she’d grown up with the frank talk of the village and castle women; and, accepted as one of their fellows, she’d been privy to the unguarded talk of the men. She’d long been curious—he was her husband, and there was no one to know.

  He was hot and heavy in her hand, and he jumped to her touch. Feeling just a little guilty, she caressed him gingerly, amazed he could feel so hard and solid, yet silky smooth. She’d grown up around men wearing kilts and seen a kit or two in her day, but she’d never touched one. Martha was right! He was certainly—

  He began to grind against her. Mortified, she yanked her hand away, placing it firmly against his chest. He groped for it and found it, gripping it tight, but this time he was content to leave it there. He quieted against her, clutching her hand to his breast, and she relaxed and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of distant water, her restless horse, and her husband’s even breathing close against her cheek. He smelled of camphor, herbs, and whiskey, and it lulled her to sleep.

  She woke several hours later. Years of traveling and adventuring with her father’s men had taught her to sleep anywhere and wake when she needed, completely alert. It was still full dark, but dawn was coming soon. Somehow, in the night, they’d shifted positions and now he was holding her, one hand in her hair, the other clasping her breast. Curse the man, he never stopped, not even unconscious or in his sleep! She batted his hand away, removed his arm from around her waist, and slipped from the bed, shivering and hugging herself in the chill air. He’d warmed up considerably overnight and his color had returned. She dressed quickly, added coals to the fire, checked his bandages, and adjusted his covers, and then hurried back to town, crawling into bed with Mary as the village started to wake.

  ***

  She stood by the river with her father, just past the footbridge, watching closely as he used light green silk to wrap a jay’s and a peacock’s feather around a body of deep green mohair. “There, Cat, like this,” he whispered, handing her the f ly, a delicate work of art and beauty. “Only the finest will do for the brawest of fish.” The sun was high overhead, dappling the water and warming her face despite the cold spray from the salmon leap just yards away. The fish surged through the booming water, powerful, glorious, iridescent in the light, and her father took her shoulder and passed her the rod.

  ***

  She jerked awake, startled from her sleep by a booming at the door. A moment later, it cracked open on its hinges, as Mary shrieked in alarm.

  “Good Christ, you fools! What are you doing? What is wrong with you?” Catherine shouted, leaping from the bed.

  “We’ve been looking for you, lass,” Jerrod said. “The prisoner’s missing and we feared he’d taken you with him.”

  “Who’s going to mend my door, Jerrod Drummond? I’ve lost my man and now you’re pulling my house down about my ears!” Mary cried.
/>   “Hush now, Mary. We were that worried about the lass. I’ll have a couple of the boys set it straight, right away.”

  “What do you mean, he’s missing? And didn’t Alan tell you where I was?”

  “We didn’t think to ask him until just now, Cat. No one knew you were gone until Donald sent for you and you didn’t appear. We thought he might have come to steal you. He wouldn’t have known you were already married, and you’d make a bloody fine prize.”

  “Aye, like a prize heifer or mare, only with lands and money attached.”

  “No need to get your dander up, lass. It is what it is.”

  “So while I was visiting with Mary, you lot were busy boasting and drinking and breaking down poor widow’s doors, while a man who was strung in the air, whipped bloody, and nigh froze, detached himself and went for a stroll?”

  Jerrod blushed red and grunted, shifting uncomfortably. “There’s no call to be cruel, lass. He escaped… one way or another, likely with help. We’re thinking he might have had others with him. A raiding party. Donald wants you back at the castle. Now.”

  “Pah! What nonsense! He was in no shape to be stealing a bride after the harsh treatment you gave him, Jerrod, but if he was, than mayhap I want to meet him and leave you lot behind. He could be the man of my dreams. You all want to sell me to the O’Connor and ship me to Ireland anyway.”

  “You know I didn’t approve it, Cat. And you’ve seen to it for now in any case.”

  “Aye, until one of you can find my husband and make me a widow, then marry me off with blood on my hands. The man kept me safe. He did me no harm, Jerrod.”

  “You’ve too soft a heart, lass. Cruel times call for cruel measures. Like yesterday.”

  “I never saw my father do that to a man.”

  “No, lass, you didn’t. Your father had men to do it for him,” Jerrod said with a hard look. “So you’re not coming, then? What shall I tell Donald?”

  “Tell him I’m a married woman, and as he’s not my husband, I’m free to do as I please.”

  “He’s your chieftain, Cat.”

  “Aye, but these lands were left to me. I’m laird here. Not Donald, and not my brother.”

  “You’re a woman. Have a care not to push things too far.”

  She returned to her solar in her own good time, indulged herself in a warm bath, changed into some warm and comfortable clothes, and lay down to rest. Martha would be watching over their patient in the daytime, and she would do the honors at night.

  Donald himself came to find her later, barging in without knocking.

  “Have you no manners then, Donald?”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, Cat.”

  She grinned, remembering the early years when she used to like him, and motioned gracefully for him to sit down. “How can I help you?”

  He barely managed a stiff smile. They’d been rivals and adversaries too long. “I’ll ask you to listen, Catherine… and think carefully on what I’m about to say. I’m well aware you’ve no liking for the O’Connor, but he would have treated you fairly and it would have been a good match. One your father would have approved of. Your wild behavior in chasing across the country after Alistair has put an end to that. No one outside the clan knows about your English husband and no one can. We’ll find him and make you a widow soon enough.

  “O’Connor was told you wouldn’t accept him. He’s left in a great fury and he’d not have you now if we begged him, but you’re going to have to marry, girl, as soon as your Englishman is dead. You’re the greatest prize in the Highlands right now and that bastard yesterday was only the first of many. The man who claims you, claims this castle, Catherine. And he has to be someone your clan approves.

  “You think the man you captured was here to steal a bride?”

  “I’m certain of it. We’ll head out today, to catch and kill him and whomever he’s with, as a warning to others with the same idea, but they’ll keep coming until someone succeeds or you’re safely married. It would go ill for you, girl, if some backwoods North Country savage carried you off. Now, I’m willing to admit I’ve made some mistakes. I should never have considered sending you from your home. So what say we make a fair deal, lass? You’ll not stray from the castle until the matter of your marriage is settled, and I’ll not force a man on you that you don’t want. I’ll choose three, and then you choose the best of the lot.”

  “So… I’m to stay in the castle, forgo this and any future raids, and once you’ve murdered my husband, I’m to choose one of three men you will provide for me.”

  “Aye, the one you like the best.”

  “Change the boundary from the castle to the river, give me five men from which to choose instead of three, and swear if I marry again I’ll remain here, and we’ll have a deal, Donald.”

  Surprised at how easily she’d agreed, Donald fought to suppress a look of triumph, and held out his hand, clasping hers.

  “Deal!” they said in unison.

  “Thank you, cousin,” Donald said. “I will dare to hope this signals warmer relations between the two of us.” He gave her a formal bow and left.

  Catherine couldn’t believe her luck. They’d be gone for days on a wild goose chase without wondering why she hadn’t offered to go with them, leaving her free to deal with the Englishman without fear of discovery. She was always heading off alone to go fishing or for a walk, and no one would question her comings and goings. It was perfect, and with any luck she’d have her inconvenient husband well on his way before they returned.

  Nine

  Despite Catherine and Martha’s best efforts, their patient developed a fever, and for three days and nights they didn’t know if he’d survive. One of them was with him at all times, changing his dressings, giving him liquids, cooling him down, and making him as comfortable as they could. He was often delirious, and when he wasn’t shouting, laughing, or joking, or muttering sweet nothings to Mary, Molly, or Bess, he was pawing at Catherine’s bosom or trying to kiss her, but by the fourth day, the fever was receding and the worst had past. His back was healing nicely and the swelling around his nose and face was almost gone.

  Catherine sat beside him and brushed back his hair. There was something boyish and appealing about some men when they slept. Martha had been by earlier and shaved him and washed his hair. She seemed to be enjoying Catherine’s husband just a bit too much. There was much to appreciate, though, from a physical standpoint. He was a strikingly handsome man with a beautiful body, as Martha delighted in pointing out. Catherine had admired the statue of David while in Europe, but she liked her husband’s body more. She spread her fingers, absently caressing his shoulder, and squealed when he caught her arm, pulling her down against him.

  “I’ve caught you, minx,” he growled “and now you’ll pay the forfeit or I’ll send you back to your husband.”

  His hands were everywhere, reaching under her shirt and tugging at her clothes. She tried to push him away but he rolled on top of her, trapping her with his chest and leg. He took her lips in a searing kiss, almost devouring her, and his hands wandered to her breast, tweaking its peak through her clothing, between thumb and forefinger. She squealed and struggled to push him off, but as the kiss deepened, she started to respond. She stopped her struggles and relaxed against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, remembering another kiss that had tasted of whiskey and rain, what seemed a lifetime ago. He was her husband. He’d soon be gone, and she might never have a better opportunity to enjoy a man’s kisses. She closed her eyes and felt his lips as they nibbled and caressed hers, and she tried to respond in kind. She groaned when his tongue plunged into her mouth, causing sensations that tingled throughout her body. His fingers still played at her peak and she arched her back like a wanton, inviting more.

  “You love that, don’t you, Molly girl,” he whispered.

  Molly again! “Damn it, get off of me, you oaf!” She shoved him away and sat up straight, clutching at her shirt, red-faced and humilia
ted. She should have known. He was delirious and he was adulterous! Making love to another woman while he was in bed with his wife! “Bastard!” She shoved his shoulder hard and tried to climb from the bed.

  “If you touch her again I’ll kill you. I’ll cut off your balls and shove them down your throat. I should have killed you years ago. Hit me if you want to hit something, you pious fucking hypocrite. But I promise you I’ll hit you ba—”

  “Stop it, English! You’re talking to yourself. You have a fever. There’s no one here but you and me. You’re scaring me!” she said, shaking him by the arm.

  “Eh? Is that you, mouse? Come to sit with me in the dark? Come to play?” He pulled her down into his arms, and tucked her underneath him. “You’re a brave wee mouse. You came to fetch me and now I’ve caught you.”

  He threaded his hands through her hair, cupping her head and seeking her lips again before trailing hot kisses down her throat. She knew he was still delirious and rambling, but at least now, he was kissing the right person. She tried to edge away, but he was sprawled on top of her, pawing at her clothes. She wiggled and squirmed and he pulled and tugged and somehow she was naked. A thrill of anticipation and fear coursed through her, mixed with curiosity and something else. He’s my husband. It’s allowed. This might be my only chance. She ceased her struggles and lay very still, holding her breath.

  He pulled her close and held her tight against him as one hand roamed her body, squeezing, kneading, and petting. It was damp and cold in the cave, and his body was hot on top of hers. She arched into him, drawn to his heat. He muttered something incoherent. His lips brushed her throat, her collarbone, and then trailed wet kisses along the outer curve of her breast and fastened on her nipple. A new sort of thrill, an exquisite aching pulse, traveled from the tip of her breast to the tip of her toes. His hot mouth closed around her and he tasted her with his tongue. She gasped for breath and whimpered. Her thighs were slick from her own moisture and an exquisite heavy throbbing was building between her legs. His tongue swirled lazy patterns across her breasts and she pushed against him, uncertain how to relieve it but yearning for something more. He pressed against her and she held him tight, her back pressed against the wall of the cave, and then she felt it. She peered in the dark to look at her hand, and knew it was sticky with blood.