Chapter Eleven

The ride the rest of the afternoon proved to be pleasant. Finlay enjoyed the warm sun brightening everyone’s demeanors and kissing their skin, as if to apologize for its absence the last couple of days. As the inclines of the hills of the lowlands gradually began to decrease, the now dry road became easier terrain to traverse, and they made good time.

He missed having Blair nestled next to him. The way she’d snuggled into him led him to believe she was the woman he thought. How could her gentle caress have any malice behind it? She’d even let her hand drift to his thigh, thrumming her fingers back and forth as if she enjoyed touching him. Thinking she might come to care for him was a balm to his soul.

It was insane that he’d push his fears off on a woman who had given in to his suit in her time of need. He found himself wishing circumstances had been different, that he’d had time to woo her. Hell, he’d thought her magnificent years earlier when she’d barely known who he was.

As they cantered along, his thoughts strayed further toward the problem he’d pushed away before the trip to Edinburgh.

A troubling letter had arrived from his estate in England. Typically, when he received a missive he would read it and then visit his mother to see if he had interpreted it correctly. But anytime she was reminded of his father, Dwight, her expression became distant and sad. He’d not had the heart to tell her that his sire had named the estate the man had given him after her, Catriona House, so he’d stewed in the news without sharing it with anyone.

He’d only been alerted to the problem because the cook reached out to him. According to the missive, the estate was having troubles maintaining funds for upkeep. The staff was forced to keep minimal supplies on hand, because merchants refused to sell to them and creditors were appearing, asking for money that should have been paid to them months earlier.

The estate manager, who was a childhood friend of his youngest brother’s wife, had been keeping the books and had been highly recommended. With the allowance the estate received from the earldom, they should be able to manage upkeep.

Could it cost more to run the place than he had expected? Was someone on his staff stealing? No matter the answer, he wasn’t looking forward to examining the books to determine what he could be doing wrong.

He shouldn’t have left the place unattended as long as he had. He couldn’t let his brothers see that not only could he barely read, he apparently was driving his father’s gift into the ground.

The sky had darkened as the sun descended, and so, too, had his thoughts as disappointment in himself clouded his mood. He had people depending on him now, and he would have to do better for them.

Upon arriving at the next inn, he was pleased to discover they had plenty of rooms.

He doubted the integrity of the owners in the establishments on the next leg of their journey, however. Some had ties to English Parliament, and if it was discovered he traveled to relay news beneficial to the king, they might find their throats slit in the middle of the night. So as much as he hated to put Blair through the trouble and discomfort, they would either be camping beneath the stars or in stables as a group.

With a wife and a bairn on the way, he would have to look for safe places for them to stay in the future, because his family deserved better than sleeping on a tartan out in the elements. A lot of things would be changing now, and he welcomed it.

Once they had the horses settled in the stables and he had discussed the rotation to keep an eye on them with Brodie, they made their way into the inn, settling in at a large table as scents of roasted meats and baking breads drifted in from the kitchens. His stomach growling, while they waited, he ordered a round of ale.

“Brodie, how is it Skye let ye leave? I thought she didnae like ye being away,” Malcolm asked.

“She doesnae.”

Finlay liked the subtle smile that breached Brodie’s lips, as if the recently married man didn’t want to be without his wife as well. He was beginning to understand that feeling. He’d never had a companion to trust with his daily struggles, but he was growing quite fond of his wife, except for the little thing that she might be trying to kill him.

“How did Lachlan convince ye to come?” he asked.

When the other men sank back and shifted gazes between one another, he leaned in. So, they had hidden orders he didn’t know about—probably something his laird only trusted with a few. He was pretty certain the plans centered around Robbie, who had stiffened and stared at Brodie, anxiously waiting his reply.

“Och, my wife said I was smothering her and that she wanted a little time to spend with Donella and her babe while Donella’s husband was seeing to his ill Fraser family.” Brodie was so good at covering his tracks. It was hard to believe that until recently, he’d been considered the Cameron drunk and wastrel.

He didn’t miss Robbie’s tense shoulders relaxing.

Blair took a sip of her ale, studying the men with a contented demeanor. Pleased, he noticed that despite a discussion he’d had with the group while she lay passed out in his arms this morning that she may have been the wielder of the arrow, they appeared vigilant but relaxed in front of her. It delighted him to know his wife was comfortable with his kin.

Brodie turned the conversation to Blair. “Skye’s probably right. I even missed out on all the excitement in Edinburgh because I couldnae bear to leave her side. Did ye like the city, Blair?”

She took another sip of her drink before answering. “’Twas pleasant, but I had Kirstie there with me. All I’ve done since is travel. I’m ready to get settled somewhere.”

“Finlay did tell ye he travels all the time, did he no’?” Tristan asked.

“He did.”

A couple of servers brought out plates filled with roasted venison, mushrooms, and potatoes. Mouth watering, he took a bite as the others started in as well.

“’Tis good, but no’ as good as Skye’s.” Malcom looked up at Brodie and winked.

“Aye. I am one lucky man. Now, if I could just get her to stop inviting half the clan over to dine with us every night.”

“Do ye cook?” Malcolm asked Blair.

“Nae. Mayhap Skye will teach me a little.”

“I can think of nothing more pleasant than coming home to see ye with a babe in yer arms and food on the table,” Finlay said, but Blair stopped chewing and almost choked on her meat.

The table got quiet, all eyes on her as she took a sip of her ale to wash her food down and apparently collect her thoughts. Had he said something wrong?

“Is that all ye think a wife should do?” She glared at him.

Och, he had definitely said something horribly wrong. He’d planned for her to do whatever she desired, and he only wanted to make her comfortable and happy. “I dinnae wish ye to have to do anything overtaxing.”

Her eyes darkened, and she seemed to become angrier.

What the hell was going on? She did look capable of murdering him. He’d have to make sure she didn’t have a knife hidden beneath her pillow tonight.

“Ye dinnae believe a wife can do things a man can do…mayhap even better?” Ice dripped from her.

Of course, he knew she was capable of doing amazing things—he’d seen her manage the Macnab household for years—but he was afraid to say anything, because his well-thought out responses were earning him her angry glares and ire. It was like all those times he’d spoken up at Oxford, only to have the other boys shame him.

“I never questioned yer abilities,” he said with what he thought was a calm, even tone.

“But ye dinnae see me as an equal?”

He couldn’t raise his eyes to meet the gaze of the other Cameron men; for that matter, he could barely meet hers.

What was she doing? He was done with this confrontation in front of his friends. Feeling as if he was under attack, he fought to keep his exasperation from bubbling to the surface, but she’d made him look a fool in front of them all.

“We will discuss this later.” Breaking contact with her sapphire eyes, he glanced over to see the men looked as confused as he felt. And for the moment, he didn’t care if his words came out clipped and sharp.

“Ah, thank ye,” Brodie interrupted as the serving lass brought them another round of ale. He held up his glass. “To the king.”

“To the king,” the others chimed in.

Brodie’s expression became unreadable. “I found this on the ground shortly after ye disappeared today.” He pulled out a bow.

Barely glancing at it, Blair appeared as if she didn’t recognize it or even care Brodie had it in his possession. “Someone just left it abandoned?”

“Aye. Have ye ever seen one like it?” Brodie smiled, pretending to admire the workmanship. The man seemed to have a way of interrogating someone without their knowledge. He now saw the value in Lachlan’s choice to send his cousin along with them.

“Nae, but I’ve used one before. It looks well made.”

He was inclined to believe her. No one was that good at lying, but she might yet have an accomplice. Could they have been followed all the way from Macnab lands without notice? It seemed unlikely with the crew of trained men he had with him, but Blair’s furtive glances kept bringing the idea to the forefront.

Brodie placed it on the ground, seeming satisfied with her response as well.

Malcolm chimed in, “Maggie kens how to use a bow, and ’tis rare for a woman. Why did ye learn?”

“Because my father thought I couldn’t.”

“Do ye do everything yer father says ye cannae?” Tristan was laughing, but the answer was important to Finlay. Why had Blair married him so easily? Did she have an ulterior motive?

“I make it a point to show him that I am capable of doing whatever is needed.”

Hell, would she try to bring down King Charles to prove to her father that she was somehow worthy of his attentions?

…

Up in their stuffy, overheated room after dinner, Blair flung open the window and inhaled the fresh air then moved to the tub. Still, the confines of the small space with the hulking Highlander who was her husband left her lungs struggling to fill.

She skirted around a screen that had been set up in the room and disrobed to wash herself. As she bathed with the water that had been brought to the room, she wondered, How little did he think of her?

And what if she had her mother’s affliction and had trouble giving him heirs? Would he turn her out?

Once done bathing, she climbed from the tub and donned her cleanest shift. When she moved from behind the barrier, her husband was glaring at her.

“What?” If anyone should be annoyed, it was her.

“If ye had an issue with me, ye shouldnae have brought it up in front of the others.”

Och, he was right. Men, well, anyone, didn’t like to be confronted in public. Why had she not held her tongue?

“Ye do seem to have too much of an interest in wanting to please yer father.”

He was right, but she’d never been called out on it. No one had ever noticed before, and she didn’t want to admit how much of a role her father played in who she’d become. “Is it wrong to want to make yer father proud?”

“Nae, it only matters when ye lose who ye are to do it.” His accusation poked her like a needle, and her skin prickled.

“And what does that mean?” Fisting her hands on her hips, she glared at him.

“Would ye support the Covenanters to please him?”

“Have ye gone mad?” Didn’t he know how loyal she was to the king and her religion? Och, she couldn’t hold her tongue, but damn if he’d just accused her of the one thing she would never agree on with her father. “How dare ye accuse me of such a thing?”

His face reddened. “What am I supposed to believe if ye wish so hard for his approval? He hasnae shown any kind of loyalty.”

“Are ye questioning my loyalty?” She was shaking, and her fury came to a boil. The only person who had ever made her this angry was her father, and now, she was being accused of being just like him.

Finlay took a step toward her.

She held up her hand and backed toward the bed. “Dinnae come near me.”

He looked for a moment like he wouldn’t listen, like he wanted to shake her or pull her in for an embrace. She wasn’t certain of which. “Did ye put that rock under my saddle?”

“What?” The accusations just kept getting worse.

“Ye were the only one near Hedwynn before we left. Tristan returned to the inn and asked. They saw no one near my horse but ye. And every time ye go near him he acts as if ye are the devil.”

Did he just call her the devil? Did he just accuse her of trying to kill him?

She was certain her mouth fell open, and she didn’t even have the energy to snap it shut. Dropping down on the bed, she shook her head. “If I wanted to harm ye, I wouldnae do it through an innocent animal.” She let her hurt and disbelief pour into the words. “Ye think me capable of harming yer horse in order to try to hurt ye?”

“’Twas just a theory.” He tried to move closer, but she held up a hand up. She had no words. His horse’s opinion rated higher than hers.

“Why did ye marry me if ye dinnae trust me?” She found the strength to hold up her hand. “Nae, wait. Dinnae tell me. I dinnae think I want to ken.”

Tears stung at the back of her eyes, but she was not going to let him see what he’d done to her. Turning away, she fought the rise and fall of her breath.

“Why did ye accept my offer?” He looked as if he already knew her answer, just like he’d expected her to admit to treachery.

Instead of telling him she thought him kind and admired the way he made her feel protected, even cherished, or that they had been a good match because of their beliefs, she gave him the ugly part of the truth. “I married ye because I was being blackmailed.”

His face drained of color.

Out of anger, she’d only given him the most hideous part of her reason for marrying him. He deserved to know she would have chosen him had she never met Bruce Graham. She trusted Finlay and wanted to be his partner; she knew no better man to call husband, but she’d just destroyed his faith in her. She rose and reached out to tell him she was sorry, but his lips thinned, and he pulled away. Her breath seized.

“Sit,” he instructed in a ragged voice she didn’t recognize, pointing to the bed.

Plopping down on the soft mattress, she studied Finlay as he crossed the room. He focused on something in front of him as his shoulders expanded then contracted, then he took hold of the chair situated at a small dressing table. Picking it up, he pivoted back toward her like a solider about to interrogate a criminal.

After placing the seat in front of her, he sat, muscles tense and hard. His jaw ticked. Reclining, he crossed his arms, and his breathing slowed.

“Tell me everything.” His voice was steady, but not harsh. It didn’t appear to be anger staring back at her, but determination, like a commander on a field taking charge. He’d also somehow pushed away his hurt. She could tell it still lingered, but he didn’t want her to know he had been so affected.

She told him about Bruce’s demands and claims. The whole time, Finlay remained silent. She finished the story with Bruce in the village and how he’d glared at them as they’d passed.

He stood and returned the chair to the table, leaving her wondering what he was thinking. He glanced her way briefly then said, “Ye need some rest.”

Heart heavy, remorse eating at her, she nodded. Moisture stung at the back of her eyes, but she held the tears at bay. She didn’t want to cry in front of Finlay, and in all their moving about, she’d lost her favorite Macnab kerchief. Maybe, when they returned to Kentillie, she would have Kirstie work with her on embroidering a new cloth. Blair thought she would like one with an emblem from the Cameron clan.

The rest of the evening was torture as they moved about the room to prepare for the night ahead. Neither spoke.

She unbound her hair, thinking it might help the headache that had come on, then undressed down to her shift without asking for assistance.

Finlay did the same, but she kept her eyes turned away and climbed into the bed. He slid into bed and stretched out on his back, not moving to gather her in his arms as he had the other nights. She pretended to fall to sleep.

…

The next day they rode on in silence. Her husband set a pace as if the devil were chasing them. Blair kept up without complaint. Several times, she caught him eyeing her, but when she met his gaze, he would look away. Finlay obviously had something he wanted to say to her but either didn’t want to start an argument in front of his men or couldn’t get past his anger to let the words out.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun started to dip behind the trees, her arms became heavy, and her shoulders sagged. She shook herself to alleviate fatigue. Finlay inched closer to her and called, “Halt.”

The men stopped in unison.

Before she could figure out why they’d stopped, he jumped to the ground and reached for her hand. “Come, wife. Ye’ll ride the rest of the day with me.”

Too tired to protest, and still feeling guilt over her confession, she slid down into his waiting arms. A burst of security ran through her as his arms lingered around her waist, and she found comfort in the small gesture. Shortly thereafter, they were mounted again on his horse and moving.

“How are ye feeling?” His mouth was close to her ear so only she could hear.

“I’m well, husband.”

“I need ye to tell me if we are moving too fast. I dinnae wish to cause ye any discomfort.” His voice was smooth, reassuring, giving her hope he could forgive her deception.

“I will,” she said as she rested her head into his chest. He nuzzled close, and the hand wrapped around her waist held her a little tighter, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms as her body warmed to his touch.

“I am no’ angry with ye. Ye were right to no’ give in to Bruce’s commands. I was angry ye didnae have faith in me and hadnae told me sooner.”

“I am sorry. I should have trusted ye.” She remembered Bruce’s twisted face as he’d given her the ultimatum. The fear threatened to return, but locked in her husband’s arms, she felt as if they could weather anything.

“When I saw Bruce in the village, I became afraid I had made a mistake, and that I had put ye and yer clan at risk of the wrath of the Grahams.” A shiver ran through her before she could hide it.

“Nae. ’Twill no’ be a problem. Montrose will hold the Grahams back. He willnae be willing to lose the Camerons or my connection with the king.”

“I’ve been so worried. I thought Bruce was following us.” A small laugh sounding like a hiccup escaped her lips. Maybe now that she was free of the knowledge of her misdeed, her mind would stop playing tricks on her.

Hugging her, he said, “’Twill be all right. Let yer worries go. I cannae blame ye for yer actions. I had not proven myself to ye yet, but I want ye to ken from here on out that I will do whatever is necessary to protect ye. Ye have nothing to fear from me.”

Her lungs filled for the first time since imagining she’d seen Bruce in the village.

He laughed in her ear. “I’ll even protect ye from the wee kittens if need be.”

She melted into him.

That night, they camped beneath the stars. The skies were clear and calm, but a slight breeze kept them huddled together under the blankets. Brodie sat at the fringes of the group keeping watch, but she felt at peace as Finlay’s breath evened out, and she soon followed.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Anytime they met another group or passerby on the road, the rest of the men flanked Robbie in a protective position. She wondered what it was that had the men so rattled.

The silence was starting to weigh on her nerves, so she pulled up next to the lad. “Do ye go to England often?”

“Nae. I’ve spent most of my life in Scotland.”

“What takes ye there now? My husband said he normally travels alone.”

“I have some business at the chapel near Finlay’s home.” He did have the bearing and reserve of a priest, but also the build and steady eyes of a battle-hardened Highlander.

“I heard ye were raised by a priest. Do ye seek to one day join their ranks?”

“If I must.” Despite his devotion to the symbol around his neck, an elaborate cross, he didn’t sound too eager.

“Mayhap ye can serve the king one day.”

Nodding, Robbie changed the subject. “He didnae mean to offend ye.”

Confused, she wondered what he was talking about until Robbie tilted his head toward her husband.

She remembered her outburst from dinner at the inn.

“I believe he wants ye to do what makes ye happy, and as with most men, he just assumes that raising a family and doing the typical wifely duties are what ye want. If ’tis different, ye must tell him.”

Biting the inside of her lip, she considered his words. The boy, no, almost a man, was insightful. “How do ye ken so much for being so young?”

“I’m good at watching and assessing.” He smiled.

“Ye will make someone a fine husband one day.”

“Nae. I wouldnae do that to anyone.” Suddenly, he appeared sad.

“Och, a lass would be lucky to catch ye in her web.”

“If I were the only spider in it, ’twould nae be a problem.”