The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) (47 page)

For a while. But as it was clear from the number of times she’d told him to leave her alone that he wasn’t going to listen, she did the only thing she could do and ignored him.

It wasn’t working very well. Despite the firm resolve in her head, she was too blasted aware of him everywhere else. If he would just leave her alone, she could get on with her life. Forget about him and move on.

He’d broken her heart, hadn’t he?

But she couldn’t help noticing that the charming rogue wasn’t so charming anymore. She hadn’t seen him talk to any woman except Helen or Lady Anna since they’d arrived. He didn’t have time. He was too busy staring at her and trying to intimidate anyone who came near her.

Day after day, he was there. Her own personal sentinel.
Dark, forbidding, and maybe a little rough around the edges with the unkempt brigand look he seemed to have adopted, but still undeniably the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

And sometimes at night (very well,
many
times at night), she would think of everything else. How it had felt to be in his arms. The way her heart had jumped when he surged inside her. The warmth and possessiveness of his hands covering her body. How much she’d liked to touch him, to feel the granite-hard muscles of his chest and arms under her fingertips. She remembered the heat of his mouth, the lash of his tongue, the heady taste of mint. She remembered how the bottom had fallen out of her stomach every time he’d kissed her.

She still felt ill when she thought of what she’d seen at the alehouse, but she’d been more relieved by what he’d told her than she wanted to admit. He
had
stopped. Maybe not soon enough, but he hadn’t been able to go through with it. Did it mean something?

Good God, just listen to her! She was a fool. She couldn’t soften. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness.

Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

She redoubled her efforts to forget about him. A distraction was what she needed. Surely she could find one in the bevy of young knights and lords her father brought before her?

That night she danced with every unattached young man she could find and whittled it down to a few possibilities. But inexplicably the next day, at what was to be her belated saint’s day celebration, two of the men were nowhere to be found, and the third—one of her father’s most vaunted knights, Sir David Lindsay—appeared to be nursing a very ugly-looking black eye, among other cuts and bruises.

Suspecting who was responsible, Cate’s gaze slid to the dark corner where her sentinel stood watch. He wasn’t
alone but talking to her father, who’d just returned from Galloway. Although “talking” was putting it nicely. From the look on her father’s face, Gregor was getting an earful.

It wasn’t hard to guess why. Her eyes narrowed, even from across the room she could see that Gregor’s nose was about twice the size of normal and had a new crook at the bridge.

She might have been amused at the irony of his sabotaging her flirtations as she had done to him previously, if she weren’t so angry and exhausted from the effort to ignore him. This had gone on long enough. She and her surly, overbearing sentinel were going to have a little talk.

Squaring her shoulders, Cate marched across the room ready to do battle.

There was a reason they called it penance. It wasn’t supposed to be easy; it was supposed to hurt. And God’s blood, it did.

For Gregor, standing to the side while Cate blossomed like a rose in the sun, watching her shine and captivate everyone around her—not just because she was the king’s daughter, or because she was about the most adorable thing he’d ever seen all dressed up like a princess, but by the sheer force of her personality—was self-flagellation, a hair shirt, and whatever else monks used to torture themselves all rolled into one.

For God’s sake, did she have to smile so much? She was too damned pretty when she smiled.

Not interfering, not putting his fist through the teeth of every one of the men who’d vied for her attention or dared—
dared
—to even think about touching her was the hardest thing Gregor had ever done.

But she deserved the attention, and by God, if he had to chain himself in a room to see that she got it, he would.

Apparently Bruce had reached a similar conclusion.
“You are fortunate I do not toss you in a pit prison for attacking Lindsay like that.”

Gregor clamped his jaw down tight. “The bastard deserved it.”

“The ‘bastard’ is one of my best knights and did nothing more than dance with her.”

Gregor gritted his teeth. Lindsay had done far more than dance—the young knight had let his gaze drop down to her chest and lingered for a full three seconds.
Three!
Gregor had counted every blasted one of them.

He wouldn’t apologize. Hell, no. Lindsay was lucky Gregor hadn’t blackened both his eyes and had left him with a few unbroken ribs.

Bruce studied him. “At least he seems to have given as much as he got. You aren’t looking so pretty. How are you planning to win my daughter looking like that?”

Gregor turned from his view of Cate across the room to shoot him a glare. “Cate doesn’t care about things like that.”

She loved him for who she thought him to be. He just had to prove to her that he was that man.

“You’d better hope so. Do it again and I’ll banish you to the Isles. You can be the most handsome man on the Isle of St. Kilda.” The king laughed at his own jest, but then took a look at his broken nose and grimaced. “I knew this was a bad idea. I never should have agreed to let you stay here. You were needed with us in the south.”

Gregor felt a twinge of guilt but pushed it aside. He was the only member of the Guard who hadn’t been in Galloway to watch the MacDowells fall. “I needed to be here.” With Cate.

“Your brother is skilled,” the king said in a more even voice. “But he is not you.”

Gregor wasn’t sure
he
was himself anymore. He hadn’t picked up a bow since the day he’d shot Cate, and he didn’t
know if he would ever want to again. He wasn’t sure he had the stomach for it anymore. Any of it.

“John will improve,” he said. His brother deserved a chance to fight. For too long he’d been doing Gregor’s duty for him. Gregor was laird, and it was time he started acting like it.

The king gave him a long look. “I hope you know what you are doing. I’m not convinced she’ll have you back—or that you deserve to be forgiven after what you told me.” Gregor clamped his mouth closed. To get the king to agree, he’d been forced to confess the basics of what had happened. It had been a risk, but he’d escaped with his body parts intact—all of them. Bruce might not have been faithful to the women in his life himself, but he wouldn’t tolerate anything else for his daughter. Illogical or not, for Gregor it wasn’t an issue. Cate had his loyalty and fidelity for life, if she wanted it. “Be assured that if you hurt her again, I’ll run you through myself.”

Catching a glance of the expression on the face of the woman who’d just started toward them, Gregor said wryly, “You won’t need to.”

It seemed the princess was finally deigning to speak to him.

A slow smile turned the king’s mouth as he saw his daughter. There was undeniable pride in his face when he spoke. “If she weren’t so cute as she is, I would almost wish she’d been born a lad. I’d have made her one of the best knights in Christendom.”

Gregor didn’t doubt it. But he was rather glad she was a lass.
His
lass. For if it was the last thing he did, he would win her heart back.

He could see the outrage on her face as she stopped before them, sent an angry glare in his direction, and turned to lift on her tiptoes to give her father a kiss on the cheek.

“Are you having fun, Caty?” Bruce asked. “I wasn’t here
to celebrate your actual saint’s day with you, but I hope today will make up for it.”

“It’s perfect, Father, thank you.” She glared at Gregor again for good measure. Putting a hand on her head, she said, “And thank you for the circlet as well—it is beautiful.”

Gregor shot a warning glance to the king not to say anything.

Surprisingly, he heeded it. “I instructed the piper to play nothing but reels tonight after the feast.” With a sly look to Gregor, he added, “I have a special guest who just arrived and has requested to sit next to you for the meal. I don’t believe you’ve ever met my half-sister Isabel’s son, Sir Thomas Randolph?”

Gregor had to bite back a curse, but Bruce must have seen his balled fists—the sadistic bastard grinned. He was making Gregor pay, all right.

Cate shook her head. “I’ve heard of him, of course.”

“Aye, I’m not surprised,” Bruce added. “He’s become quite renowned for his prowess on the battlefield. And off as well—he’s a great favorite among the ladies of court, isn’t that so, MacGregor?”

Gregor smiled through teeth that were grinding together. “I believe I’ve heard something to that effect.”

Bloody hell, Randolph?
He was a bigger rogue than Gregor had ever been. Gregor didn’t understand the fascination with the pompous bastard, whose knightly armor was so shiny you could clean your damned teeth in the reflection, but who could account for taste? The fact that Cate was a cousin of sorts wouldn’t stop the young knight from flirting outrageously—and driving Gregor half-crazed in the process.

It was going to be a long night.

“If you don’t mind, Father, there is something I would like to discuss with my
old
guardian.”

Gregor didn’t miss the jab at his age. His mouth tightened.
Christ, he was one and thirty, not one and eighty. He’d be more than happy to prove just how spry he was, if she would let him.

The king’s smile suggested he was taking far too much pleasure in this, blast him. “Aye, but don’t take too long. There’s Randolph now. Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

The sweet smile she gave her father turned frosty when it fell on him. “Don’t worry, I only need a few minutes.”

As soon as Bruce walked away, she wasted no time. “I won’t have any more of this, Gregor. It has to stop. All those menacing looks were bad enough, but how dare you strike Sir David for dancing with me!”

His mouth fell in a hard line. “It wasn’t for dancing.”

She put her hands on her hips, waiting.

He shrugged. “I didn’t like where he was looking at you.”

She made a sound of outrage and looked very much like she wanted to poke him in the chest. If there weren’t people milling around, he suspected she’d be doing just that.

“Are you crazed?” she seethed in a low voice. Aye, he was. But she was obviously not expecting an answer. “You have no right,” she continued, eyes blazing. “I will be the one to object if I don’t like the way a man is looking at me, not you. I don’t need a protector, a guardian, or a bad-tempered, sotted, unkempt, grizzled ruffian with a broken nose who is acting like a spoiled child who didn’t get what he wanted. What do you expect me to do, throw myself at you in gratitude for saying you love me?”

Maybe not gratitude, but acknowledgment would have been nice. He’d never uttered those words to anyone, and having them ignored had stung. Realizing she might not appreciate that honest of an answer, however, he said, “Maybe not, but you don’t need to take so much pleasure in torturing me.”

The flush that rose to her cheeks suggested she wasn’t
unaware of how much her flirting bothered him. But she lifted her chin and looked regally down her nose at him. Christ, she was a natural. It must be in the blood.

“What makes you think what I do has anything to do with you at all?”

“Because you love me,” he said simply.

Cate was loyal and steadfast and true. When she gave her heart to someone it would be forever. He’d hurt her deeply—unconscionably—but not irreparably. She was a fighter. He was counting on it. He had faith in them, even if she no longer did.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. What he wanted to do was push her into the laird’s solar behind her and kiss her, but she had a few more days. “One month, sweetheart. That’s all I can take. Enjoy what you have left.”

She blinked in confusion as he started to walk away.

After a few steps, he turned back. “You might be right about everything else, but I’m not sotted. I haven’t had more than a glass of wine or watered-down ale to drink in weeks.”

The arrogant beast! How dare he walk away and leave her standing there after saying something so outrageous! Cate was tempted to drag him back and tell him every reason she most certainly did
not
love him. He’d broken her heart, and even if it admittedly didn’t feel quite as broken right now, she wasn’t going to let him hurt her again.

How could she trust him? Just because he said he loved her and was doing his best impersonation of a stalwart, only-have-eyes-for-you swain, how could she be sure it would last? One month wasn’t a lifetime.

But it is a start
.

Telling the little voice in the back of her head to be quiet, Cate concentrated on all the things she didn’t like about him. The crooked nose, to start. God knows, it would
probably only make the blighter more handsome—as if that were what he needed!

She stormed over to the dais to join her father and Sir Thomas. But her mind was still on the conversation with Gregor. What did he mean by one month, anyway? It was just like him to be purposefully vague in order to make her curious. Which she was, blast him.

She did, however, manage to have a thoroughly delightful time with her “cousin.” Sir Thomas truly was an outrageous flirt, and undeniably handsome with his refined features, dark hair, and blue eyes. Had she not vowed to not think about the man who’d resumed his post as her forbidding watchdog, she might have speculated that this was probably how Gregor had been when he was younger.

When she caught Sir Thomas’s gaze dropping down to her bosom during one of the reels (the tight bodice did rather demand attention), she let it linger a full ten seconds before drawing his gaze back up to hers with a question. The whiteness around Gregor’s mouth when she cast a surreptitious glance in his direction proved surprisingly satisfying given his curious “one month” comment.