MacThomaidh didn’t hide the smirk on his face. “I didnae think ye’d dally this long. Guards have watched fer yer return fer nigh unto a sennight. Next time I order ye to do something, mayhap ye willnae argue.” Not waiting for Duncan to answer, he turned and strode out into the bailey, the light of triumph glittering in his eyes.
Stunned by the belittling words, Catherine turned to Duncan. His face mottled with fury, he followed his father.
She reached out her arm to stop him, but he shook off her hand.
“Halt, auld man,” Duncan shouted as he reached the door and his father mounted a chestnut brown mare. His father turned the horse, but Duncan moved forward, reached out and grabbed the reins.
“Do not come here again and fash me or my people. As to that woman”—he pointed back toward the hall—“you selected her, but you erred. You picked one with heart. ‘Tis something you would know naught about, not having one yourself.”
“And ye learned this from the journey home?” MacThomaidh taunted. “Tangling with someone betwixt the sheets doesnae recommend them fer sainthood.”
“If you think so little of women, why choose this one?”
“I told ye afore. We need her family’s money. Ye need a wife. She is trained to run a large household, so she will do well at Castle Glenshee. Now that ye are wed, ye needs must fetch her there rather than staying in this hovel.”
“My home is not a hovel, ‘tis just sma—”
“Ye saw where living in a wee home got ye with Helen,” MacThomaidh interrupted. “Dinna drive another wife away. Ye need an heir. This woman comes from a fine family, her bloodlines are impeccable.”
“I have an heir—Meghan,” Duncan argued.
“Ye need a son, and considering how long it took ye to get home, the woman may already be breeding. Dinnae do anything to make her leave. Ye dinnae want a repeat o’ Helen.”
His father jerked the reins from Duncan’s hands and twisted the horse around, causing its huge body to knock Duncan backward.
Irritated over his father’s words and actions, Duncan stormed back into the Hall. How dare his father come here and chide him in his own home?
~ * ~
Catherine stood alone in the center of the Hall while Duncan spoke with his clansmen, particularly Angus MacCombe, his Captain of the Guard. The man’s weathered, craggy features were creased with disapproval. Duncan hadn’t looked pleased when he’d returned from the bailey. Pleased? Nay, he’d been furious. Had his father’s words been as crude in private as what he’d said in the Hall? She’d recognized him the instant he spoke. His tone had been as condescending as it had been at her home the night before her wedding.
She glanced around the Hall. Though smaller than the house she’d grown up in, it looked clean and neat, lovely in its simplicity—except for the floor. Catherine grimaced. Rather than the shining stone floors she’d been raised with, this had a covering of rushes. She’d seen them in some homes in London, but hadn’t expected to find them where she’d live. Then again, she’d thought to live in the Duke’s castle, with intricately woven fabrics on the floor.
Duncan stormed toward her. She raised her chin to meet his frown. This doesn’t bode well. She wanted to shake him out of his anger, wanted their homecoming pleasant. It was awkward enough without him being in a snit.
He grabbed her arm and wound his way up the narrow stone staircase, flinging a door open, causing it to crash into the wall. Seeing the sturdy four-poster bed, Catherine assumed it was his bedchamber. He’d told her on the journey here she’d be sharing his bed rather than having a separate room of her own as her parents did. Her belongings had already been placed there.
“You must be tired after our journey,” Duncan stated matter-of-factly. “I shall leave you to lie down.”
Catherine frowned at his clipped voice.
How could she get him out of his dark mood? Looking around the room, her eyes landed on the bed. She smiled. She knew one way to get his attention. Might be just what the big oaf needed to dash away his dark mood.
Sitting on the bed’s edge, Catherine beckoned with her finger. He’d done that to her. She blushed, remembering the night vividly.
Duncan approached her in two long strides. “You tempt me, wife?”
She wanted to take the pain from his eyes.
Wrapping her arms around his neck to bring his face to hers, she leaned close, nibbled his lower lip, and feathered them with her own. A smile crossed her face when she stepped back to look at him. Oh my, when had she started to think of him as hers? Was she falling for her Highland rogue?
Duncan groaned in pleasure. With her he’d found contentment. Why did happiness have to be so fleeting? Why did life have a way of twisting happy times into bad?
“Duncan...”
He cradled her in his arms.
He’d not thought about his father on the journey home and actually enjoyed this woman’s company. Had he made the mistake of caring for her? How had he allowed that to happen? As his father so callously reminded him, she had been chosen for him. And, Duncan acknowledged, the woman his father selected seemed perfect. Too perfect.
Unless… No. God wouldn’t intervene and send him the perfect lady to wife. Far too often Duncan forgot all about God—only calling upon Him in times of need instead of thanking Him daily like his mother had taught him. Why would God do something so spectacular for a person who tended to ignore Him?
No, the woman’s flaws would reveal themselves soon enough.
The time he’d chosen a wife on his own had blown up in his face. She left him for another man—men actually—turning quite the tramp when she left. She abandoned him just like his father had. Eventually everyone left. Would this woman leave, too?
Or has she begun to care for me as I have for her? His new wife scared him, having never loved a woman before. Lust and sex, aye. Love, never. And after Helen, he’d made it a point to distance himself emotionally. His father taught him never to trust anyone. Helen had reinforced those feelings.
But what if...I could make this work. We could bring Meghan home, ignore my father, and live happily. Duncan smiled, his arms wrapped around Catherine’s waist. He rested his head atop hers, inhaling her subtle scent of lavender. For the first time, all was right with his world.
~ * ~
Catherine stirred and stretched like a satisfied cat. Her body now snuggled firmly against Duncan’s back. She trailed her fingers lightly over it, felt the muscles bunch beneath her fingertips, wondered at the scars. She’d noticed them on their wedding night, but had been too afraid to ask about them. She’d decided to wait, let him mention them. That hadn’t happened.
Duncan turned his head to smile at her. He turned so he held her in his arms.
“I see my plan worked,” she teased.
“Plan?”
“Aye, to make you forget your anger.”
“I was angry with The MacThomaidh.” Duncan admitted, “He brings out the worst in me.”
“He matters not. We shall ignore him.” Catherine thought that would be easy. During their journey home, she’d learned there were numerous secrets from Duncan’s past that haunted him.
Determined she’d not let anything interfere with her newfound happiness, Catherine trailed her fingers down his chest.
“You didn’t know you released the wanton in me, did you husband?” Catherine felt him tense.
Duncan moved away and rose from the bed, began pacing restlessly. Did you enjoy the temptress you turned me into? Helen had said those very words.
Tarnation, have I done it again? Turned my new wife into someone that will look at any man? Mayhap it was my fault Helen became a harlot. Mayhap I’m not meant to ever be happy.
It matters not. He bent to pick up his plaide. He’d been right from the beginning. He’d not stay with someone his father forced on him. His father and Helen left him, betrayed him—and no one would ever hurt him like that again. He’d intended to leave right away, just as he planned before wedding her.
Was Catherine no better than Helen, even though she’d seemed so perfect? No better than his father? He’d been such a fool to think this time would be different.
Catherine rose and stood in front of him, her long brown hair cascading gracefully over her shoulders.
He realized his hands were squeezing her arms when she spoke. “Duncan, that hurts.”
He hadn’t been aware of grabbing her, quickly loosened his hold. He might not be able to love her, but he’d not meant to hurt her.
She’d tried to bend him to her ways, just as Helen had. When it hadn’t worked, Helen left. Just as this woman would.
Duncan vowed he’d leave first. No one would ever leave him again.
Foolish enough to think she cared, he’d just been cruelly reminded that would never happen.
If wishes could come true, he’d wish to stay forever. But she’d come from a large, beautiful home. Did he actually believe she’d be happy here? Helen turned against him within a fortnight of arriving at Cray Hall. He’d seen the way Catherine looked around his home—the surprise on her face when she’d seen rushes on the floor. If he stayed, how long would it take before she returned to her fancy home? He wished... Nay, it mattered not. No sense dreaming about what he could never have.
Right now he needed to leave. Aye, he’d do that. After he held her one last time.
If things had been different, he would have... Nay, I cannot think of what I cannot have. Ah, but he’d remember her. He’d remember what they’d shared for the rest of his life.