Chapter Nineteen
When Catherine finally opened her eyes, Duncan felt as if an anvil had been lifted from his chest. The footprint in the ashes had been correct and many clansmen and women had died, but it hadn’t taken his precious Catherine or Meghan. God had graced him with a second chance with them both.
He spent Catherine’s recovery regaling her about the Auld Ways, reveling in her reaction to his lore. When well enough to begin rebuilding her strength, he took her hand and drew her toward the outside doorway. “Our people believe a cloud in the shape of a bull shall cross the sky this morn, the direction it travels foretells our clan’s fortune.”
Catherine laughed. “Recently people were on their knees thanking God for allowing them to survive the malaise, now they scry the sky to see what direction a cloud travels? I misdoubt I shall ever understand the workings of the mind of a Scot.”
Duncan smiled, pleased she felt well enough to jest, the sound of her laughter music to his ears. “Mayhap, woman, but outside with you now so we may see these ancient auguries.” He patted her on her bottom as he moved her gently outside.
“See what?”
“Divinings,” he clarified.
In the bailey, elderly men craned their necks to peer at the heavens. Catherine turned to Duncan. “What do they think they see?”
Duncan drew her close, pressed her back to his chest. “See that cloud? It travels East, so we shall have a verra good year.”
Catherine was in front of him so he couldn’t see her face, but he knew exactly what she’d do—roll her eyes, pull her mouth to the right side and sigh. Och, his bonnie wife was so predictable, so precious.
He took her hand. “Let us walk. You need to rebuild your strength. Candlemas is our Festival of Lights, so I hope you feel well enough to go with me later this eve to our torchlight processional around our fields.”
“Why?” Puzzlement crossed her face.
“Why do I want you with me?”
She pulled her face again. “Why have a procession?”
“To purify the ground for spring planting.”
“Everything is covered with snow,” she said in surprise.
Duncan conceded, “We bless the fields for later. I keep forgetting you were reared in a large town. It seems you have been here forever.” He pressed his lips to the back of her neck. “You belong at Cray Hall, mo chride.”
Hope flared in her eyes, but died just as quickly. She jerked her head away to hide her longing.
But he’d seen.
He pretended he hadn’t. “February second is St. Brìghde’s feast day, the Celtic goddess of fire and hearth. Heard you of her?” The quirk of her brow told him she thought it a daft subject. “The list she’s known for goes on and on, but the main thing is blessings she gives women set to marry. Women bear her name on their wedding day.”
Catherine cocked her head in question.
“They are called brides.”
A bewildered expression crossed her face. “Is that a true story, Duncan MacThomas, or do you spin tales?”
“‘Tis true—and speaking of brides...” His expression sobered as he stared into her beautiful face. “I am late telling you this, but you were a beautiful bride on our wedding day.”
Before Catherine could utter a word, he drew her into his arms. He kissed her in hopes of making her knees go wobbly, kissed her in hopes of reaching her heart.
He didn’t want to be married to his English wife, yet he continually chose to be close to her. Would she ever know his true feelings? When he held her and deepened his kiss, she didn’t care if she understood or not. She wanted to feel his strength.
Duncan brushed the lock of hair from her brow, a gesture he’d made a hundred times, but she pressed back against him, needing that physical bond. Why should a simple kiss overwhelm her, make her feel so much? He made her want—need—him so much, the force was bedeviling.
Duncan reined back, breathing heavily. He grabbed Catherine’s hand and pulled her behind him. “If we see the sun this day, winter is over, but if it stays hidden behind clouds, more winter comes.”
How could he do that? ‘Twas most disconcerting. He continued on with his lore as if naught passed between them. Only his labored breaths belied the fact he’d been as affected as she.
Well, if the blasted man could do it, she could be just as nonchalant. “This is how you decide spring is upon us?”
“‘Tis an honorable way to foretell the weather. You would rather we trust some small animal?” Catherine shivered and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Let us be away to the Hall. I do not want you chilled. Whilst you were fevered, you hallucinated about being in the maze. I do not wish that to happen again.” He hesitated. “I hate mazes. Something bad happened to me in one once, too. I almost...” He stopped, unable to continue.
Catherine looked at him expectantly. “What happened?”
He shook his head. “I do not wish to talk about it. I wish you to set your mind to getting well.” He urged her toward their home, forestalling her questions.
~ * ~
Nearing the end of March, Duncan received a summons to Castle Glenshee. There was nothing to do but go. With foreboding, he told the courier, “I shall be there on the morrow.”
He found himself impatient with these continual interferences. Why did his father desire contact with him now? What did he expect after having ignored him all those years? Did he think Duncan would forget?
The next morn Alexander and he entered Glenshee’s Great Hall unannounced. He wanted the interview over with quickly and had no intention of staying. Now that Meggie was home where she belonged, there was no reason to tarry in the abode that held so many painful memories, so many regrets.
MacThomaidh entered the Hall. He walked slowly, seeming to age every time Duncan saw him.
“Good,” the old man announced without preamble. “Ye came.”
“I had a choice?” Duncan grumbled.
“One always has choices in life, son,” MacThomaidh responded sadly. He turned away and sat at the nearest table. “Longshanks’ forces are headed to Stirling. A messenger arrived with the news yestermorn. I would go myself, but we both know that would be folly. I am too auld. It pains me to admit that. I am a proud man.”
Duncan’s eyes closed as he accepted the inevitable, knowing his father’s request—demand—before he voiced it.
“Ye must lead our clansmen.”
Just when Duncan wanted to remain home, needed to be home, Edward again challenged Scotland. How many summers must they endure his coming?
“You swore fealty to Longshanks, ordered me to a wed a woman he chose, yet now you demand I fight him?”
“Figured ye would ask that.” MacThomaidh’s lips quirked in a half smile but quickly sobered. “Stirling must not fall. The castle’s location is too important to Scotland. Situated as it is between the Highlands and Lowlands, whoever holds Stirling holds the country. We must hold it.”
As much as it irked him, he had to admit his father was right. Stirling must not fall.
Duty would play havoc with the relationship he so tentatively tried to forge with his beautiful wife. On the ride home, he pondered how to break the tides to her. At times she seemed to accept their life, others she stubbornly clung to his foolish actions at their wedding. He’d never considered how deeply those actions would hurt her.
Catherine sat, finishing a new shift for Meghan. The instant she saw his face, she jumped up from her chair, the raiment forgotten at her feet.
“Duncan, what is wrong? You have the pallor of a ghost.”
“Naught is wrong.” He headed to the ale barrel.
Catherine followed. “Do not naysay me. And why must you drink that horrid stuff? Surely God would not…”
Taking a drink, Duncan put down his tankard. As she placed a hand on his upper arm, he admitted, “I have been summoned to fight, lass.”
Catherine barely caught her breath. “Fight?”
“Longshanks plans to lay siege to Stirling. We cannot let it fall to the English. Positioned as it is, if it falls, all of Scotland falls.”
“Why must you fight?” She backed out of his arms and walked to the hearth, wrung her hands. “Please do not go.”
He walked to where she stood by the fire. She tried to turn away, hide tears streaming down her face. He stopped her by putting his finger beneath her chin.
“Do not turn away, Cat. Tell me what is wrong.”
“I cannot. You would think me silly.”
Duncan drew her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing his right hand down her back, waiting for her to tell him what bothered her.
Looking into his eyes, Catherine blurted, “I had a dream.”
When she didn’t elaborate, Duncan urged. “And?”
She threw herself back into his arms and sobbed, “A foreshadowing of the future. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would laugh.”
He nuzzled his nose in her hair. “I am not laughing.”
“A castle falls. Some strange monster, almost as tall as the castle throws boulders at it. I have never seen the likes of it before. Men scream in pain, trying to crawl to safety, trying to flee the stones crashing down around them. Blood...oh, so much blood. Everywhere.” Eyes wide, she met his stare.
She shouldn’t care what he did, shouldn’t care if he left, but neither did she want him injured. She tried to tell herself she only worried for Meggie.
She knew it a lie.
“Worry not. We shall be fine. We fought at Stirling before and won.”
“It matters naught. Edward still comes. Aye, I have heard of the daring battle at Stirling Bridge.”
Duncan quirked a brow. “How?”
“I heard the men talking. And I know Tamara’s husband died there. She mourns him still.”
Duncan frowned. “I dislike you hearing about—”
“War?” Catherine interrupted. “Death and war are reality, Duncan MacThomas. If you will not stay for me...you must stay for Meggie.”
“Faugh, woman, do not put words in my mouth. I must leave. I have to fight for my country.”
Catherine jerked away. She swiped the back of her fingers against her cheek to wipe away the tears.
“I must pack some things. Come with me?”
Catherine shot at him. “Nay! If am not a good enough reason for you to stay, I will not spend this time with you. I want...” She paced the floor, stopped and glared, both angry and hurt. “‘Tis clear what I want matters not.”
Duncan knew she was angry and hurting, knew not how to make it right. He was duty bound to fight for his country. ‘Tis what men did—had to do.
“My heart”—moving a lock of hair from her face he tried to explain—“I am not leaving because I want to.”
“Do not call me my heart. Do not touch me!” Catherine angrily slapped at Duncan’s hand before it could caress her cheek. “You think by calling me some endearment you make everything okay? Well, not this time.”
“Cat...”
“I will hear no more.” She hiccupped, trying to stay her sobs. “I have this horrible feeling. Something shall go terribly wrong. I fear you will not come back this time, Duncan MacThomas. I know it. I told you what I saw in my dream. I saw a castle fall. Men lay all over—on the ground, the boulevard. Blood was everywhere...and someone had a leg almost cut off.”
“Catherine, that is nonsense. Stirling Castle is unassailable. It sits atop a mountain of rock.”
“Blast Stirling Castle! You fight and chase Edward away. He just comes again next spring.” Turning on him, Catherine beat her fists against his chest. “Your daughter needs you.” She sobbed. “We need you.”
“I will be back, my heart,” Duncan promised quietly.
“Nay!” Sobbing, her plea had fallen on deaf ears. She pulled away and ran up the stairs.
Did she truly care about him? Would she care if he was gone? Merciful saints, how he wanted that to be true. Following her, he entered their chamber. He drew a cloth over the arrow loop, darkening the room, then turned and lit a candle, its pale flame casting dancing shadows against the far wall. He wanted it dark, just not so dark he couldn’t see her at all. He wanted to remember this time with her—even if it just meant holding her in his arms.
He watched her shaking her head. Going to her, he trailed his fingertips lightly along her tear streaked cheek. He eased her to the edge of the bed.
Sitting on the bed, he reached out, drawing her to him, but left her standing. Leaning back on his elbows, he watched the play of emotions on her face. How could this one wee woman so twist his heart? She didn’t believe he wanted her and he’d done naught but try to show her how much he cared, how much he wanted her. Catherine was his, and he’d never let her go.
He told her honestly, “I go to fight, Catherine. We won Stirling before. I only hope we shall do the same this time.”
Hesitating mere seconds to consider his answer, the barest hint of a smile crossed her face. She looked like she’d come to some sort of decision.
She knew he was leaving the next day and she’d told him she felt something horrible would happen. She might not admit it to him, but she wanted time with him as much as he did. Duncan knew it to his soul.
She ignored him, bent to pick up her kirtle, and folded it neatly. He had no doubt she could hear his ragged breathing.
The image of her, the curves, how the shadows caressed it, would be burned in his mind the entire time he had to be away. Duncan stirred, Catherine’s hair draped over his chest. She looked so peaceful lying beside him.
~ * ~
The next morn Catherine came down the stairs, her eyes red. She walked out into the courtyard to see him readying his horse. Her lower lip quivered and her eyes pleaded for help.
Duncan glanced up, knowing he looked almost as bad as she. They’d slept little the night before, wanting to make each moment count. He had to leave, but knew he strained the frail bond they’d begun to forge.
He walked over to her and drew her into his arms. He’d already left his daughter crying in the Hall. He’d tried to explain what was happening while they broke their fast. She understood no better than Catherine did.
“Catherine, do not do this. Please stop crying. I must leave, lass. My country needs me.”
Catherine threw her arms around his neck. She mumbled something, but Duncan couldn’t be certain what she’d said. Surely she hadn’t really said, “I need you, too.”
He was just about to ask her to repeat what she said, when Angus called out, “Son, we had best leave. ‘Twill not get easier with time.”
Duncan pulled Catherine close and squeezed her tightly. Dearest God, he didn’t want to leave. He started to pull away, but Catherine held fast, her body shaking with tears.
“Nay! Please do not leave. I...Meggie needs you.”
“I must go. You know that.”
“You are not just using the battle as an excuse to leave again?”
He tilted her head up and lowered his mouth to hers, brushing his lips lightly over hers. “You know better than that. I leave because I must.” He repeated what he’d said the day before. “I shall return, Mo Chride.”
Setting her away, he strode to his horse and mounted, praying his words would be true. That the dream she’d had wouldn’t prove true.
Riding off, Duncan brushed his hand against his face to clear his eyes. He was having trouble seeing. Blast—a man didn’t cry. He had to help save Stirling Castle.
Was he ruining the fragile thread that had just begun to bloom between them? He glanced over his shoulder and drew in a breath. He shouldn’t have looked back. Catherine had run to the edge of the wall. She grasped the wall’s edge, her body heaving with sobs, but she stood tall and proud—his warrior woman. His every instinct was to turn and go back, to hold her in his arms the rest of the day. But he couldn’t do either. If he went back now, he’d never leave.
And his country needed him. Curse Edward Longshanks for interfering again.