The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) (23 page)

Right
. She didn’t get to finish her question.

As soon as she was in reach, he swung one of his legs around her ankles, taking her legs out from behind. An instant later, she was on the ground with him on top of her, her hands were pinned atop her head, and the knife was lying harmlessly beside them.

“That was a dirty trick, Caty.” He smiled. “I like it. But you forgot one thing. Once I’m down, you are supposed to run away.”

She glared at him. “I was worried. I thought I’d hurt you.”

He lifted a brow. “Is that so? I think I know the feeling.” She bit her lip, realizing he’d used her distraction against her. “And if it’s any consolation, it hurt like hell. That was the most solid shot someone has landed on me in a long time.”

She burst out into a wide smile. “Really?”

“You needn’t look so pleased about it.”

But she was. She wriggled a little to try to free herself, but it felt like she was pinned down by a ton of rocks.

His eyes darkened. “Now what are you going to do? I’ll not be so easily distracted this time.”

She struggled against him, using all the tricks that John had taught her. But she couldn’t knee him, couldn’t use her head to strike his, couldn’t lift her hips—she couldn’t move her limbs or body enough to do anything.

He was solid and heavy on top of her, crushing. At least he should be crushing her, but he wasn’t. Somewhere in the midst of her struggles a different kind of awareness had taken hold.

He must be feeling it, too, because when their eyes met,
the heat in his gaze made her feel as though she’d just stepped too close to an inferno.

Her breath caught.

His eyes dropped to her parted lips. She could feel the tension radiating through him. He wanted to kiss her, but something was holding him back.

Twelve
 

Gregor had been wrong. She could distract him again—easily. All she had to do was gasp and part those soft, red lips of hers, and all he could think about was kissing her. Of course, there was also the fact that she was under him, and it wasn’t very hard to imagine what it would be like to be inside her.

It would be incredible. He didn’t need an imagination to know that—he could feel it. Desire swelled hard and heavy inside him, threatening to drag him under. He wanted to kiss her so intensely, he could practically taste her on his lips.

She wanted it, too. He could see it in her eyes. Eyes that held his with anticipation, arousal, too much damned trust, and an emotion that he was beginning to think might actually be real.

Fuck
.

He pulled back and rolled off her, not realizing he’d uttered the curse aloud until her eyes widened.

“I can’t do this,” he said, getting to his feet.

He turned to help her, but she had already done the same. She stood there staring at him, confusion and hurt replacing the anticipation and arousal—though unfortunately the trust and that
other
emotion were still there.

“Why not?”

There was nothing accusatory in her tone, but he felt it
all the same. Or maybe it was his guilt at work. His mouth hardened. “It isn’t right.”

“Because you still think of yourself as my guardian? I told you, I’m a twenty-year-old woman; I’m capable of making my own decisions. You aren’t taking advantage of me.”

“That’s not it, damn it,” he snapped. Or not all of it.

“Then what is it?”

He dreaded telling her and wished it hadn’t happened like this, but she needed to know what he planned for her. He couldn’t avoid the discussion any longer. He told himself to stop being such a damned coward. As her guardian, or stand-in father, or whatever the hell he was, it was well within his duty to do what he’d done. “I’ve made arrangements.”

She eyed him hesitantly. “What kind of arrangements?”

“For your future.” She stiffened, but he continued. “I’ve been remiss in my duty. Had I been aware of your true age, I would have begun discussions years ago. But perhaps it is better that I waited, as the perfect suitor has come forward.”

“The perfect
what
?”

Her shock and outrage were not limited to her tone—nay, they shook from every part of her body, from the combative stance, to the fists tightly balled at her sides, to the dark fury blaring at him from her eyes.

“The reeve’s son, Farquhar, has asked for your hand in marriage; I have given him my permission.”

She took a step back, her face white. The look of stark betrayal made him wish for a return of the shock and outrage.

She continued to stare at him for a long time. It wasn’t easy, but he restrained himself from turning away or shuffling his feet. Why that minor feat felt like a major victory, he didn’t know.

“You have it all arranged, then?”

The dull stoniness of her tone turned that urge to shuffle into an urge to squirm. Damn it, he knew she wasn’t going to like it. But he hadn’t anticipated being made to feel like an ogre—and a traitorous one, to boot.

He raked his hair with his fingers. Christ, this was exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. He was doing this for her own good. She might not see it now, but she would.

“I told Farquhar that if you agreed, he could announce the betrothal after the Hogmanay feast.”

He filled her in on the position awaiting Farquhar at Ballock Castle, and his future prospects as steward. She listened expressionlessly, as his enthusiastic presentation of the lad took on the characteristics of a farmer presenting his prized bull at market.

“If I agree?” she repeated. “Do you mean I am to have some say in the matter? How very considerate of you.”

She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm; it dripped coldly from her voice like droplets of ice. “Of course, you have a say, damn it. I want you to be happy.”

Those big brown eyes turned on him as if he were crazed—which was exactly what she made him. “Yet you arranged all this without letting me know what you intended. I assume that is what all the messengers have been for?”

He acknowledged it with a nod. “There will be other men at the feast. If there is someone else you would rather wed …?”

“There is no one,” she said flatly. “As I told you, I have no wish to marry anyone else, but apparently my wishes—my feelings—mean nothing to you. Have you been planning this since you returned?” He must have done a piss-poor job of masking his guilt because she said, “Of course you have. How eager you must have been to finally have the chance to be rid of me.”

He muttered a curse. “Damn it, Cate. It isn’t like that.”

“Isn’t it? You took me in, but you never wanted the responsibility. I knew that, but I thought … I thought …” Her voice caught. “I thought this was my
home
, but you were just waiting for me to be old enough to marry off.”

The way she was looking at him made his chest burn, but he couldn’t turn away. He almost reached for her. Almost. But he feared what would happen if he touched her again. How easily comfort could lead to something else.

“It is your home,” he said gently. He just couldn’t give her the family she wanted to replace her lost one. “But now that my mother is gone, with you and John alone … it wouldn’t be right for you to stay here.”

For one moment he thought she might slap him. “How dare you insinuate … I told you, John is like a brother to me.”

“But he is not your brother, and others will start to realize that as well.” Especially if John kept looking at her like he might kiss her all the time. “You had to know that you couldn’t stay here forever. Don’t you want to marry and have a family?”

“Don’t you?”

It was his turn to stiffen. “This isn’t about me.”

“Why not? I’ll marry when you do.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Cate, and you know it. I have the luxury of waiting; you do not.”

“Then you
will
force me?” Her eyes were too bright and shiny.
God, please don’t cry
. If she cried, he didn’t know what he’d do. “Do you wish to be rid of me so badly? My feelings mean so little to you?”

“Of course not.”

“If you planned to marry me off, why did you kiss me?”

Because he was a damned fool. “You looked so upset.” He shrugged helplessly, unable to explain himself. “I told you, it didn’t mean anything.”

He felt sorry for me. That is why he kissed me
.

Cate wanted to collapse in a wounded heap and bawl her eyes out like a baby. But her pride wouldn’t let her.

She didn’t know what was worse: discovering that the man she’d given her heart to had been trying to find a way to be rid of her since he’d arrived, or that he’d kissed her because he felt sorry for her. Both were worse. Both felt like a betrayal.

“It meant something to me,” she said softly.

His expression looked truly pained, not that it helped ease hers any. “I’m sorry, Cate. Truly. I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you don’t love me, have no intention of marrying me, and would see me wed to a man I barely know just so you don’t have to worry about me? I understand.”

But she didn’t. How could he have been planning this and said nothing? John must have known about Gregor’s plans for her betrothal—that was what he’d been trying to warn her about. She was such a fool.

Oh God, the children. What about them?
They’d needed her, and she’d let them down.

“Cate …”

He reached for her, but she stepped away to avoid his grasp. She straightened her spine, hurt turning to anger. “You don’t need to explain. It is my fault for falling in love with the wrong man. Of course you’ve no wish to marry me. You’re the most handsome man in Scotland, with your choice of brides. You could have a kingdom. I’m a bastard.” Seeing his shock, she added, “Aye, a bastard, some nobleman’s by-blow. Kirkpatrick was my stepfather.”

He was clearly taken aback. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Because I was tired of being ashamed of the ‘noble’ father who deserted me when I was five.”

“Who is he?”

“What difference does it make? He’s dead to me.
Dead
.
Bastard or orphan, I have little
to
recommend me and much
not
to recommend me. I’m surprised you managed to find someone to marry me at all.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. He was angry now.
Good
. If the man known for breaking hearts managed to feel one-tenth of the emotion she felt right now it would be enough.

“If you want to know, there were plenty of men eager to marry you.”

He didn’t sound happy about it—not that she believed him anyway. “But not the only one who matters. Would it be so horrible to let yourself love me, Gregor?”

He looked pained—uncomfortable—as if he would rather be anywhere than here, having this discussion. “I’ve no wish to marry anyone right now. But if I did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be for a ‘kingdom’ or to a woman who wanted to marry ‘the handsomest man in Scotland.’ And if you don’t know that, you don’t know me at all.”

Was he mad? “Know you? I know you like your beef rare, your pork lightly pink, your sauces savory, and your vegetables firm. I know you prefer plums to pears and oranges to apples. I know you like oysters raw and eggs from salmon spread on crusty bread—which is disgusting by the way. I know you can tell where a wine is from from the first sip, and would rather go thirsty than drink the sweet wernage your mother loved. I know you drink more when you are unhappy, which I suspect has been a lot of late.”

Taking advantage of his shock, she continued. “I know you hate accepting anything unless you’ve earned it. I know your father was an arse and made you think you would never amount to anything, but that you’ve proved him wrong. I know you think you need to be perfect but that you never will be. I know that a man who is the best archer in Scotland, and who has fought loyally beside Robert the Bruce for years—even in the lowest part of his reign—is not irresponsible but a man to count on. I know
you don’t want to be a protector but you are. I know you let John do your duty as chieftain because you don’t think you deserve it. I know that the enemies you kill in battle mean something to you, and that’s why the stack of stones on your father’s grave and the coin in Father Roland’s offertory basket grow higher every time you come home.”