The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) (20 page)

It bothered her to think that Gregor could equate her
with the fawning masses. She wasn’t like them. She bit her lip, recalling her not-so-subtle ploys of the first few days he was home. She hadn’t been trying to trap him; she’d been trying to get him to notice her.

With the handsome laird conspicuously absent from the high table, John appeared to be holding court in his stead, but when he caught sight of her, he waved her over to take a place beside him on the bench.

“Busy morning,” she said with a smile. “I hope I am not interrupting anything?” She lowered her voice. “I don’t think Lizzie was too happy to make space for me on the bench.”

John grinned back at her, glancing at the pretty, blond-haired daughter of the porter who had returned to her place beside her father at one of the other trestle tables. “Aye, well, it wasn’t me she wished to see anyway.”

Cate quirked her brow. With the way the blonde was eyeing him, Cate wasn’t so sure. John didn’t need to be in his brother’s shadow, and one day soon he would realize that and step out of it. Eventually he would tell Gregor that he wanted to fight—not stay here and take care of his holdings for him.

“Where is Gregor?”

John shrugged, looking as if his
cotun
wasn’t sitting on his shoulders comfortably. “He had some business to attend to this morning.”

“More missives? I’ve seen more messengers around here since he arrived than we’ve had in the past year.” Her expression suddenly drew concerned. “You don’t think it’s about the war, do you? Is the king planning something?”

Bruce had better not call him away again, she thought bitterly. Initially, Cate had assumed Gregor was one of the many Highland warriors who had joined Bruce’s army, under their chiefs. But he did not seem to fight often with his uncle Malcolm, Chief of the MacGregors. More often than not, he seemed to be near the king himself. But whenever
she questioned him or John about Gregor’s role in the king’s army, they answered vaguely. As the subject was not one she liked to discuss, she didn’t pursue the matter, but sometimes she wondered if he was closer to the king than he let on.

Not wanting to think about that, she turned back to John.

“I’m sure it has more to do with the feast,” he said.

Cate relaxed. “Ah, you are probably right. Has he invited many of the neighboring clans?”

“I believe so.”

“He’s been so secretive about it. Almost as if he’s planning a surprise of some kind.”

Strangely, John didn’t seem to be avoiding her gaze. “I’m sure it will be quite a surprise.”

“What?”

He shook her off. “Nothing, just …” His voice fell off as if he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say. “There are going to be some changes around here when my brother leaves, and I do not want to see you get hurt.”

The blood drained from her cheeks. “Then he
has
been called back?” Gregor had told her he’d be home until the first week of January.

John shook his head. “Nay. Not yet. But it will come in the new year, and I want you to be prepared.”

Clearly, he was trying to tell her something. “Prepared for what?” Suddenly, her heart dropped. “Has Gregor said something about the children? Does he mean to send them away?”

John immediately put a hand on her arm to calm her. “Gregor has said nothing to me about the children, although I warned you that I do not think he will allow them to stay.”

“You should have more faith in him,” Cate admonished. “He is not as uncaring as he wants everyone to believe.”

John studied her. “Perhaps not, but that does not mean he will be the man you want him to be, Cate. There is such a thing as blind faith, and I do not wish to see you get hurt.”

“I won’t,” she said, believing it. “You don’t need to worry—I know what I am doing.”

John didn’t look convinced. “Promise me you will be careful, Caty.” She stiffened at the endearment, although he didn’t notice. “You deserve someone who will make you happy.”

It was clear he didn’t think Gregor was that man.

She caught the direction of his gaze and frowned. “I wonder what Farquhar is doing here so early this morning? He has been around Dunlyon quite a bit of late.”

Indeed, after he’d escorted her from church that day, he seemed to make a point of exchanging a few words with her before seeking out John. This time, however, he appeared distracted and didn’t even nod in her direction as he passed through the Hall, apparently on the way to the laird’s solar.

“He’s a good man,” John said.

She frowned at the odd way he was looking at her. “He is. Does he have business with Gregor?”

“Aye, I believe he does.”

If his tone was slightly ominous, Cate told herself it had nothing to do with her. It turned out she was wrong.

“I will be able to provide for the lass,” Farquhar said, looking Gregor squarely in the eye from his seat opposite the table. Despite his youth and Gregor’s black stare, the reeve’s son didn’t look nervous or show any sign of backing down. Gregor might have admired that if it wasn’t annoying him so much. “More than provide,” he continued. “I have been offered a position as clerk in the Earl of Lennox’s household with the steward, who is a distant
kinsman of my mother’s. As the steward has no son, he will be training me to take over after him.”

Gregor should be ecstatic. The wife of the future steward of the Earl of Lennox was far beyond anything he might have hoped for Cate. That the reeve’s son had been able to secure such a position was testament in itself to his ambition, acumen, and promise. Even with the family connection, he must have impressed someone greatly to have so distinguished himself. So why wasn’t Gregor impressed? And why did his jaw hurt from being clamped down so hard while the other man presented his offer?

Because the entire time Farquhar was speaking, it was Cate’s voice he was hearing.
“I have nothing to compare it to.”
Would Farquhar be the next man to kiss her? Gregor’s hand closed around the pewter goblet he was holding, until his fingers turned white.
“I’m also rather curious as to what comes next.”

He bit back a curse and slammed back the contents of the cup, barely tasting the fine and expensive claret that he and Hawk had intercepted on its way to Berwick Castle last summer for King Edward. The second English king by that name might not be half the king his “Hammer of the Scots” father was, but he did have outstanding taste in wine.

Realizing that the other man was staring at him, waiting for him to say something, Gregor forced back the instinctive refusal that sprang to his lips. “Why Caitrina?” Gregor said instead. “You can barely know her.”

Farquhar must have heard something in Gregor’s voice. His brows drew together and his gaze intensified. “Everyone in this village knows Caitrina. I have been away a few years, but she has not changed.”

“Some would not consider that a good thing.”

Farquhar’s mouth hardened. “Then some would be fools. Caitrina is everything I admire in a woman—she’s strong, smart, straightforward, loyal, kind, and without an ounce of pretension. Both my parents adore her, and
they do not think there is a lass in all of Perthshire who would make me a better wife. There is something real about her. She’s confident and at ease with all walks of people—laird, merchant, peasant. She will be at home in a cottage or in a castle.”

Gregor’s mouth fell in a thin line. It was all true, although why it bothered him that Farquhar so easily identified her finer points, he didn’t know. “And what of your temperaments?”

Farquhar frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You are serious and scholarly; Cate is …”

“Lively of spirit and passionate?” Farquhar finished for him with a wry smile. “That’s part of what attracts me to her. I admire in her what I do not have in myself. But I do not think it means we are ill-suited, rather the opposite. It would be a very dull life indeed with a wife who was exactly like me. What man wouldn’t want more passion in his life?”

Gregor knew the lad didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but it took everything he had not to reach across the table, grab the pup by the collar of his tunic, and put another dent in his nose. Though a scholar, Farquhar looked as if he’d been in more than one brawl.

His fingers were going to bear the relief pattern of the pewter goblet, but otherwise he did not react. “And Cate’s unusual pursuits?”

He was rewarded with the first uncertainty on the younger man’s face. However, true to his contemplative nature, Farquhar thought a moment before he responded. “I have not been trained as a warrior, but I know how to fight and can protect my wife if the situation arises.”

“And what if your wife
has
been trained as a warrior?”

“I would be glad she could defend herself when I was not around.”

“So you would not object to her continuing her training?”

Farquhar’s jaw hardened. It was clear he didn’t like being forced into a corner. “I would hope that she would not feel the need to continue. I would hope to make her feel safe enough to put her training and weapons aside.” He held Gregor’s stare. “I assume there is a reason she feels compelled to learn to defend herself.”

Astute as well as learned. Gregor nodded.

Farquhar returned the nod. “Then I would hope she would confide in me, and together perhaps we could find a solution that will make us both content.”

The lad’s answers were almost too perfect to believe. Ninety-nine percent of the men Gregor knew would never allow their wife to train at warfare, and the exception had just walked into his solar? How the hell did he get so blasted lucky?

Gregor was running out of excuses.
Bloody hell
. Was that what he was doing, trying to find excuses? “Where would you live?” he asked.

“A cottage near Balloch Castle at first. Later, in the steward’s tower.”
Not too far away, but far enough
. Farquhar paused, obviously wanting to put an end to the interrogation. “So do I have your permission? I would like to have the matter settled before I leave for Balloch in the new year.”

Gregor tapped the stem of his now empty goblet absently.
Think
. But bloody hell, he couldn’t think of any reason to refuse the man. It was the perfect solution to his problem. With Cate taken care of, he could leave his clan in John’s capable hands and return to the Guard without any unwanted responsibilities to distract him. There would be no more worrying about her at inopportune moments, no more guilt for not being there more often, no more fear of disappointing someone. Not Cate and not the king.

That was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t cut out for anything else. Not to be the laird, and sure as hell not to be a husband. He liked being on his
own, doing what he wanted without having to explain himself to anyone. He wanted the freedom of not having anyone rely on him. He liked not having attachments in his bed partners. Hell, he liked variety.

He would only disappoint her, and probably break her heart. He couldn’t do that. Not to Cate. No matter how much the idea of her married to someone else bothered him. No matter how special she was, or how hot she’d made him from a kiss. He would forget all about it when he returned to war.

She didn’t
really
love him. The reeve’s son would be perfect for her. He was near her age at two and twenty, appealing in countenance, smart, and with a future position that would elevate her standing considerably. Clearly, Farquhar admired her and would do his best to make her happy. What more could Gregor ask for?

He took a deep breath, fighting the sudden tightness in his chest. “Aye, you have my permission. I will inform Cate of your offer, and if she agrees, the betrothal can be announced at the feast.”

The lad was watching him carefully—too carefully. “Is there a reason she would not agree? Another suitor, perhaps, whom she favors?”

Aye, definitely astute
. Gregor knew what the other man was asking. “There are other men I have considered, but yours is the offer I will bring to her. I am her guardian; she will accede to my judgment and do her duty.”

Cate was like him in that regard. She might not like doing her duty, but she recognized when she had one. But Gregor sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to telling her of his plans.

Eleven
 

Cate held the plaid around her neck so it wouldn’t slide off her shoulders as she darted through the trees. Though her cheeks were warm from exertion, and the sun was starting to break through the clouds, it was still cold and blustery from the storm that had blanketed the forest and glen with a few inches of snow the night before.

“I hear you, you wee devil. I’m going to get you!”

A startled cry, followed by a fresh peal of excited giggling coming from a tree ahead of her (not to mention the tiny, well-formed, and easily trackable bootprints in the snow), told her that she was closing in on her quarry.

“Where is he?” she said in her best bogeyman voice, creeping closer. “Where is Eddie …?”

Realizing she was closing in, the little boy gave another piglet squeal and shot out from behind the tree in a frantic effort to escape. She lurched forward and wrapped her arms around the nearly three-foot-high wool-covered bundle, lifting him high in the air. “Ha! I’ve got you now, and you’ll never get away!”