Yield to the Highlander Page 2

  ‘Rurik, what think you of Aidan’s choices?’ his father asked.

  Rurik crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. A good sign or bad, Rurik gave no sign of his opinion for several moments. Then, with a nod, he confirmed them.

  ‘Give the orders and make the arrangements,’ his father said, putting down his cup and nodding to several of the men there.

  Aidan held his breath, not daring to believe his luck in this. Within a day, two at the most, Gowan would be gone from Lairig Dubh and he could pursue the fair and lovely Catriona without interference. He watched as the men left and his father remained with Duncan and Rurik. A discussion about several upcoming visits by various noblemen in Scotland who wanted to be in the good graces of the Earl of Douran. It was nothing new for his father or for him—people who valued them only for their name, their connections or the power and influence they wielded.

  A short time passed and Aidan listened without interest to who was coming or going, caring not as long as Gowan was gone from Lairig Dubh. Then his father nodded at his closest advisors and they left.

  ‘Send for Jocelyn, Rurik,’ he called out as the men walked to the steps leading down from this tower chamber.

  Aidan took a deep swallow from his cup, now puzzled over what was to come. His father alone would not be of concern, but calling his mother here meant trouble was coming his way. They passed the minute or so of time waiting for her arrival in silence with Aidan fighting the urge to ask the reason. Soon, he could hear his mother’s footsteps approaching the top of the stairs and he rose to greet her.

  Being forced to marry the Beast of the Highlands to save her family had brought Jocelyn MacCallum to Lairig Dubh. Capturing the heart of a man most thought did not have one had turned that marriage into a long and happy one. No matter whatever else happened, Aidan knew his father loved his mother with every bit of his heart and soul. It was there every time one glanced at the other, through good times and contentious ones.

  Not that he ever expected to find such a thing as they’d found—he was more practical than that. But he did understand that his parents’ marriage and relationship was not the customary one in this time or place.

  ‘So, why did you summon Mother?’ he finally asked, wanting some kind of hint about the probably discussion ahead.

  His father put his cup down and stood, walking over to the door, awaiting his mother’s arrival there.

  ‘To discuss your upcoming marriage.’

  * * *

  Connor watched his son as he spoke of the reason they waited for Jocelyn to arrive. It could not be a surprise to him, for the boy had reached marriageable age a few years ago. Any delay in finalising arrangements had been Connor’s weakness when faced with the pleas from his beloved wife to delay. So many of their kin had been married off recently, including their own daughter, that Connor gave in to Jocelyn’s request. Many offers and expressions of interest had been coming in since Aidan had reached ten years of age. A few bold noblemen had offered even sooner.

  But it was time for his eldest and heir to marry and begin to take up more responsibility within the clan and to become an integral part of overseeing the MacLerie estates, businesses and armies. Watching as he slept his way through a never-ending, never-slowing stream of women, Connor knew his son was not going to slow down or take on more responsibility unless he married.

  And mayhap not even then.

  So, he could not, they could not, ignore it any longer. His son needed to settle down and focus his attentions on clan matters instead of those of the flesh only. Asking for Aidan’s suggestions on which men were best to send on the training mission was one way. Connor had already made his choices, but giving his son a chance to give his opinion had been his way of testing Aidan’s knowledge and wisdom.

  Connor turned and watched as his wife reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the chamber door, smiling at their eldest as she caught sight of him there. Then her gaze met his own and the warmth of her love shot through him. As it always did.

  ‘So, have you told him yet?’ she asked as she passed Aidan and came to stand before him. Her tone of voice was even, but that did not fool him for a moment—she was still not accepting that this was the time for their son to marry.

  ‘I awaited your arrival, love.’

  Aidan glanced from him to his mother. His son should be accustomed to the endearments that crept in when they were alone, but from his expression, he seemed surprised by it.

  ‘And you have what to tell me?’ his son asked.

  ‘Based on our preliminary discussions, there are three prospective marriages.’

  ‘Our?’ Aidan asked. Connor would have laughed at how his son mirrored his own posture—arms crossed over his chest, feet planted in a warrior’s stance—if he had not worn his mother’s stubborn expression on his face.

  ‘The clan elders, Duncan, Rurik. Your mother,’ Connor replied, nodding to Jocelyn, ‘who would not be kept out of any talks that involved your future bride.’

  ‘And? Who are the three women?’ he asked.

  ‘The first is Margaret Sinclair of Caithness,’ Jocelyn explained.

  ‘The earl’s grandniece?’ Aidan asked.

  Rurik’s father was Earl of Orkney, whose claim was through a marriage that had not resulted in a legitimate heir to inherit the title. Well, there had been a son, Rurik’s half-brother, but his unlamented death some years ago ended their father’s ability to keep the earldom in the family. The Sinclair family would be next in line once Erengisl Sunesson passed. And a marriage between Aidan and Margaret would link the MacLeries to one of the most powerful families of the north. ‘Aye.’

  ‘And the second?’

  Connor met Jocelyn’s puzzled gaze. Aidan’s disinterest in his choices for a wife was stronger than either of them had expected. He nodded at her to continue as he watched their son’s reactions.

  ‘Alys MacKenzie,’ Jocelyn said. With the MacLeries’ recent ties to the Mathesons and their powerful Highland allies, the MacKenzies, it made sense to consider a direct link with them.

  ‘Nay,’ Aidan said, shaking his head. ‘Not a MacKenzie.’

  Jocelyn threw a glance in his direction, both of them surprised by his opposition at the mere mention of the lass.

  ‘’Tis early in negotiations, Aidan. Let all three names stand for now.’ Connor nodded to Jocelyn to announce the third name.

  ‘And Elizabeth Maxwell is the last.’ Elizabeth was the eldest daughter of the Border lord and their family had strong ties to the Berkeley family in England. A good way to extend the MacLerie reach into the other kingdom.

  Silence filled the room and Aidan’s expression remained blank. Uninterested? Resigned? Which one Connor knew not. Then their son let out a long sigh and nodded.

  ‘So how do you plan to do this? Will I have any say in the matter?’ he asked them.

  ‘Your mother has convinced me that, since all three are acceptable matches to us, you should have the final choice.’ Connor walked to Jocelyn’s side. ‘Each of the three have been invited to visit Lairig Dubh, so that you might meet them and take measure of whether they suit you.’

  ‘When will these visits begin?’

  ‘I am not certain. After we attend your uncle’s wedding, I think.’ His uncle Athdar had claimed Rurik’s daughter when she boldly hid away in his keep last winter. Handfasted when he discovered her, for honour’s sake, the church wedding would solemnify the joining that was already proving fruitful.

  Aidan felt the tension leave his body. He had some time yet. No matter that he knew it was his duty to marry, and marry well, for the best interests of his kith and kin, he really had not wanted to do it yet. He was enjoying his life and a wife married for alliances and treaties would make it difficult to pursue his own pleasures. And he’d become accustomed to doing what, and
who, he wished.

  But in this moment, Aidan gave an honest appraisal of his opposition to seeking a wife now. It was the same reason he wanted no MacKenzie on that list of brides—and her name was Catriona MacKenzie. Finding her at the well was a lucky chance, but he wanted time, and the opportunity, to discover what lay beneath that smile and behind those eyes. He wanted time, undistracted by the demands of his family, to seduce her.

  ‘After the wedding, then,’ he said, looking from his father to his mother. Aidan tried not to look too hopeful as he waited for his parents to decide.

  ‘I will have Duncan begin approaching the families now,’ his father declared, staring at him as though trying to search his thoughts. ‘The roads are clear now all across the land.’

  Aidan let out the breath he did not realise he’d been holding. ‘If there’s nothing else?’

  His father nodded. Aidan walked to his mother and kissed her cheek. As was her custom, and in disregard for his age, she ran her fingers through his hair and touched his face as she had when he was a wee bairn. ‘Will you be at supper?’

  ‘Aye, I will be there,’ he said.

  With nothing else to say and other tasks to see finished this day, Aidan strode from their chambers and returned to where his friends trained in the yard. His body hummed with restlessness now and he needed to work it out. Since he would not approach Catriona until her husband left, that left the other physical release of a good fight.

  Aidan laughed aloud as he reached the yard and called out his challenges. With the way his blood burned for her, it would be a long afternoon in the training yard.

  Chapter Three

  It had been two days since Gowan departed for this new assignment and Cat’s life returned to the normal one she lived when alone. Other than Munro’s presence at supper several nights a week, she would be on her own to both accomplish her chores and tasks and for any plans she wished to make. She could even be lazy and remain abed when the sun rose, if she chose to.

  Stretching out on her pallet, her hands extending into the chilled air of the cottage, she remembered that unless she stirred the fire in the small hearth there would be no warmth for her. Now fully awake with no hope of claiming another hour or so of sleep, she pushed back the blankets and shivered as the cool morning air of the cottage surrounded her. With some haste, she lit a fire, threw in some peat after the kindling caught and tossed her shawl over her shoulders to warm her in the meantime as she went about her tasks.

  Though he’d come for supper last evening, Munro never slept here or spent any amount of time here unless his father was present. The sigh escaped her before she could stop it. Gowan’s son had opposed their marriage from the day he learned of his father’s plans. That it was one of convenience mattered not to the young man, for his mother’s recent passing and without the presence of young bairns who needed Catriona’s care convinced him it was unseemly. From Munro’s occasional, intense stares, she almost wondered if there was something more there.

  Shaking off her disquiet, she decided to take advantage of what looked to be a break in the unsettled weather of late winter and spend the morning clearing away brush and fallen branches from the small patch of land next to the cottage that would be her garden. When the weather finally warmed, she hoped to expand the area from what she had worked last summer to something larger. Laughing with Gowan over her pitiful crop of vegetables and herbs from last season, she’d vowed to improve this year.

  Kind man that he was, Gowan suggested she speak to Lady Jocelyn, for the gardens at the keep thrived under the lady’s guidance. New to Lairig Dubh and not significant enough to warrant wasting the lady’s attentions, she’d declined the suggestion and, instead, took advice from some of the village women who had successful gardens.

  She would prove herself a worthy wife in whatever way she could. Gowan’s actions had saved her very life and she could never be able to repay him for doing so. Not that she could explain that to Munro or anyone else without revealing her shame. So, she looked for ways to make his life comfortable and ways in which she could cause him no regret for taking her as his wife. The garden would be one of those ways to make him proud.

  * * *

  The morning passed quickly as she pulled and tugged at weeds firmly entrenched in the hard ground. Her shoulders and back ached at the honest labour, but her spirit was lifted by the amount she’d accomplished. Cat washed up and had a plain meal of soup and bread before going to help one of the women in the village who’d just given birth. Her attempts to keep feelings of emptiness at bay faltered each time she laid eyes on her friend’s newborn bairn. Even knowing it was never meant for her to be the one bearing children did not ease the tightness in her chest when she held the babe. She relied on keeping busy and filling her days to fight off the deep sadness of her barrenness.

  As she was walking towards Muireall’s cottage, a chill trickled down her spine as though she was being watched. Glancing along the path ahead and behind her, she saw no one paying any attention to her. Gathering the sack of mended clothing in her arms, she continued along the way. Only as she passed the last cottage on the lane and turned on to a smaller one did she see him.

  Aidan MacLerie.

  The earl’s son stood watching her, frank desire in his gaze. He did not approach or speak to her, but he did not look away either. She nodded as she passed him, meeting his gaze for a brief moment and continuing on. The nervousness in her stomach, the tightness in her chest as she tried to breathe and the sweat that trickled down her neck and back were all signs to her that she was not unaffected by his attentions.

  Cat forced one foot to glide smoothly after the other, torn between trying not to put more meaning into his presence than she should and ignoring the hope that he would speak to her. She turned to follow the smaller path—Muireall’s cottage was the third one—when he spoke.

  ‘Good day to you.’

  She paused and nodded her head. ‘And good day to you, my lord.’ Daring a glance, Cat found him still watching her from his place. The skin on her wrist where he’d pressed his lips tingled now, reminding her of the inappropriate gesture.

  ‘Aidan,’ he said as he took one step and another towards her now. ‘You must call me Aidan.’

  She shook her head and dipped into a shallow curtsy. ‘I could not do that, my lord. We do not know each other and you are the earl’s son.’

  His eyes brightened and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth then. Why did she suspect she’d just issued some sort of challenge to him—one he was pleased to rise and accept? He reached her side and she glanced about to see if any other villagers were about. Seeing none did not ease her sense of nervousness. Cat thought the earl’s son might be even bolder if he knew they were unobserved.

  ‘So,’ he said as he lifted her chin to meet her gaze, ‘are you saying that if we were more familiar with each other, you could use my name with ease?’ Then he did not so much release her chin as he did instead caress the edge of her jaw until his fingers slid away down her neck. ‘I think we should become more acquainted, then.’

  His touch ignited all sorts of feelings in her, but she understood they were the wrong ones. His position as the earl’s son and heir gave him much power over people like her—and she knew he had a stream of women eager to share his bed. But it could not be her. It could never be her. She would honour her word, her oath, to her husband. Her debt to Gowan cleared her mind, so she stepped back from him and shook her head.

  ‘I think our acquaintance is what it should be, my lord. I live in your father’s village and know my place. I know I cannot naysay anything you demand, but I beg you to leave me be.’

  His gaze moved from her eyes down and she followed the path. During her plea, her hand had taken hold of his wrist. Shocked by the intimacy of such a thing and shocked more that she had touched him, a man other than her husband, Ca
t released her grip and stumbled back. Waiting those next few moments for his reprimand or retribution, she dared a look at his expression. It was not so much desire now as surprise.

  ‘I beg your pardon, mistress,’ he said, stepping off the path and clearing the way for her to walk on. ‘I meant only to make your acquaintance, having not known you before. I would never demand something that you are unwilling to give.’

  Had she misunderstood? Had she just accused him of something he had not done? Her experience with men was very limited and any experience with teasing as this seemed to be was worse than that.

  ‘And I beg your pardon, my lord, if I offended you. My friend is waiting for me.’ She held up her sack as proof and could not help it if it felt like protection to keep him from getting so close again. ‘If I have your leave to attend her?’

  ‘Good day, Catriona MacKenzie,’ he said.

  ‘Good day,’ she replied, walking faster then. ‘My lord.’ That slipped out before she could stop it and it was met with his deep, masculine laughter.

  What devil had made her tease him once more? Cat dared a peek once she’d reached Muireall’s cottage door and found him still watching her. She knocked and entered with a call to the woman inside. Hoping that the needs within the cottage would distract her from the man outside, she walked in and greeted Muireall, who sat on a pallet feeding her newly born son.

  ‘You look flushed, Catriona,’ Muireall said. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Oh, aye, well enough.’ She put the sack of clothing on the table and began to separate the clothes according to size. When she noticed the silence, she met Muireall’s amused gaze. ‘Do you have any other mending to be done? Errands to run?’ she asked.

  ‘You are trying to make certain I do not take notice of the colour in your cheeks and your breathlessness.’ Muireall lifted the bairn and placed him on her shoulder. Rubbing his back, she rose from the pallet and walked to Cat’s side. ‘Something or someone brought the colour to your cheeks.’