"Lamont isn't really a relative, though," she said quietly, gazing at the verdant hills that rose before them.
"Then that leaves us with your brother."
"Aye." Her face darkened. "It does."
T
he road followed the River Nith
into a dense conifer forest before ascending the high moor. Three days later, they reached the rugged red-sandstone castle that stood alone in the green foothills of Roxshire. Knight watched his wife as she dismounted and knelt in a patch of golden gorse, suddenly subdued and hesitant to continue.
"What is it? This is your brother's home?"
She nodded, putting her arms around the dog Fergan, who seemed reluctant also to plunge ahead into the quiet that was disturbed only by the gurgling of a small burn.
Knight looked more closely at the castle. The mortar needed repair; the west tower had been damaged during a religious war two centuries ago, she'd explained earlier. But what had happened to his wife's enthusiasm, her eagerness to reconcile with her brother?
"What is it?" he asked again, sliding from the saddle behind her.
She shook her head. "I just thought, what if he refuses to see me? What if he won't forgive me for running away?"
"I'll be there to talk to him."
"She lifted her face to his. "What if something has happened to him?"
"Let's hope that Thomas made it back here to prevent such a thing." He glanced past her to the castle. "Is it always this quiet?"
"No." She frowned and buried her face in the hound's fur. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "The dairy cattle are gone. I think we may have come too late."
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, his voice firm. "We'll find out. At least he's not shooting at us from the parapets."
"I know," she said with a troubled frown. "That's what has me worried."
They rode through the arched iron gateway into a deserted yard, startling a flock of jackdaws from the rusty pump. A thin plume of smoke rose from the kitchen, but no one came to stable their horses or to escort them into the keep. Catriona took so long brushing down her rented mare that Knight practically had to drag her along the dank, abandoned passageway to the great hall. The air smelled of mildew and burned pitch oil.
It was late afternoon, and no candles had been lit to break the oppressive gloom of the cavernous hall where banquets had once been held and fierce border raids planned. Knight grimaced as the odor of stale salmon and unswept ashes assaulted him. Cobwebs dangled in thick swatches from every corner of the barrel-vaulted ceiling. For a moment, he almost overlooked the tall, blond-haired figure slumped in the carved chair at the head of the table. He seemed as worn and lifeless as the castle itself.
The man slept, a pistol and a bottle in his lap, his lithe frame clad in a filthy hunting shirt and nankeen trousers. Knight glanced away from the fireplace just in time to see Catriona press her forefinger to her lips and creep toward the chair. Before he could stop her, she had grabbed the pistol from the sleeping man's lap to hide it under the table. And none too soon.
The instant she stepped back from the chair, the man awakened, his hand reaching for the gun.
"Hell's bloody bells!" he roared at the top of his voice, half springing from the chair in reaction. "I'm going to rip your head off—"
Knight pulled Catriona back toward the door, his face furious. "Sit down, you damned fool. In your current state, I doubt you are capable of beheading even a fly."
James fell back into his chair, his bewildered gaze swinging from Catriona's downcast face to the angry man who towered over him. "Who—" His voice sounded as raw as a crow's, hoarse from drink. "Catriona, my God, is that you, then? I thought you were—I was afraid you were dead."
"She would have been if you'd gotten your hands on that gun," Knight said coldly.
She took a hesitant step toward the chair. "Did Thomas not tell you that I was safe?"
James shook his head, looking wan and shaken. "The old bastard told me nothing, and I knew he was lying. I'll skin—" He glanced up at Knight and subsided into a brief silence. "Who the bloody blazes is your knight in shining armor?" he asked sourly.
She glanced up at her husband, that infectious grin breaking across her face. "He
is
my Knight. My Knight errant. Oh, James—"
And as Knight watched her with his heart in his throat, she launched herself at her half brother, who hesitated for only a moment before catching her in his lean arms with a sob of emotion.
Knight watched another moment before he turned and walked toward the door, to allow them privacy. James was holding Cat like a lifeline, and she was consoling him, offering comfort as she had probably done on countless past occasions. She was saying something about the daughter who had been stolen from James, and he was absorbing every word like raindrops taken into parched soil.
Family, Knight thought with a sigh as he wandered back out into the shadowy coldness of the connecting hallways. Who but the good Lord could forgive such a multitude of sins? Less than five minutes ago, James had been threatening his sister's life, and now, look at him, a grown man, weeping in her arms.
He turned abruptly in the passageway. On second thought, perhaps it wasn't a good idea to leave his wife alone with the unstable young earl. He quickened his steps, only to find another man obstructing the doorway, watching brother and sister make amends.
At first, he did not recognize Thomas, trim and tidy in a clean white shirt, jacket, and velvet trousers. He glanced at Knight, not in surprise but with admonition. "Ye brought her back."
Knight frowned. "Wasn't I supposed to?"
"I thought ye were going to take care of her," Thomas said.
"I have." He glanced past the man, distracted by the sound of Catriona's laughter. "Damn it, I married her. I intend to spend my entire life taking care of her."
If Thomas was surprised by this announcement, he did not show it. His leathery face reflected only concern as he looked into the hall at Cat and her brother. "Ye might begin by takin' her home, then, if I may speak bluntly."
"Are you capable of anything else?"
Thomas's throaty laughter echoed in the drafty corridor. "So my wee Cat worked her charm on ye, did she?"
"You don't seem surprised," Knight said wryly. "Was that your plan all along?"
"Hell, no," the older man said. "I was hopin' she'd land herself that duke."
"He never had a chance," Knight said quietly, staring at his wife's animated face. "I would have fought a king for her."
Thomas's eyes softened at the affection on the Englishman's austere face, where before there had been only arrogance and anger. "Aye," he said, "love is a power like none other. Yer life is renewed because of it, and my poor laird is drinkin' himself into the grave for the lack of it."
Knight remembered Catriona telling him that James grieved for his young wife and the child she carried who was taken from him. He hadn't given it much thought at the time, but now that he was married himself, the pain was more easily imaginable. Never before had he felt so vulnerable to heartache, so compelled to protect.
He glanced sharply at Thomas. "Is she truly in danger here? Would her brother really hurt her?"
"Och, no. Nae on purpose. But the longer she stays, the less inclined he is to stand on his own feet and meet his obligations. There are people who depend on him for their verra existence. The estate is in ruins."
"I'll help however I can. That's why I'm here."
Thomas nodded approvingly. "Still, the help he truly needs must come from within him, and I dinna ken whether he has the mettle for it or not."
Knight thought of Olivia, of her battle with her own grief, and wondered why he had felt any hesitation at all over her relationship with Wendell. He ought to be only relieved she had found happiness. It took inner strength to survive the loss of love.
At supper that night, James was subdued; he did not drink once during the meal as he and Knight discussed the problems of maintaining an impoverished estate. But several times, he asked Catriona how long she would stay and if she could remember any more details about the image she'd had of his daughter. It was clear to Knight that James craved her company; she was a glimmer of light in the castle's stagnant gloom.
Knight awakened in bed much later that same night to find her lying on her stomach, staring across their spacious bedchamber at the embers of the dying fire. He touched her shoulder.
"What's the matter?"
She turned, burying herself in his powerful body. "I feel strange," she whispered. "All my life, I wanted to live in this castle, to call it my home. And James brought me here after our father died, but I've never belonged. Do you ken what I mean?"
"Perhaps it's because you belong with me and no one else." He pulled her closer, his voice low and reassuring. "Is there anything else to understand? You won't ever be alone again."
"Not as long as I have you."
"And Olivia."
She gave a quiet laugh. "Don't forget Aunt Marigold. Or Mrs. Evans. Our supernatural adviser."
"And Howard," he said. "Our overly scented, overly amorous, overly annoying footman. You belong with all of us, Cat."
"I have a family." The realization made her heart ache with joy; that was all she had ever wanted. "I have a home."
James stared at the bottle on the table, his gaze remote. For the first time in months, he did not wish to numb his emotions. Was it possible that Catriona had made some kind of supernatural contact with his missing daughter? Dare he allow himself to hope on such evidence? To be honest, Cat's abilities had once both intrigued and embarrassed him, but over time he had come to believe in her powers. And if wee Gaela were in trouble—
He rubbed his face. He needed to find her. She belonged with him, and yet she had vanished from the face of the earth. Without thinking, he reached across the table, then stopped at the shadow in the doorway.
"'Tis late, my lord," Thomas said. "Ye promised to take Rutleigh shootin' tomorrow."
He cursed under his breath, falling back into the chair. ''Cat thinks Gaela might be in Sutherland, of all places."
"Sutherland?"
James gave a grim smile. "Unlikely, isn't it?"
"Her mother Ailis had an uncle in Sutherland," Thomas said slowly. "A minister of the kirk."
James leaned forward. "Why did you never tell me?"
"I didna remember until now. I met him decades ago, a fierce, unpleasant man."
"I must go there." James was out of his chair, pacing like a lion. "I'll need men, and the sheriff's depute. As soon as Cat and her husband leave, I will go after Gaela." He came to an abrupt stop, his voice low with fear. "What if she isn't there? What if I travel all the way to Sutherland for nothing? What if I don't find her? A vision is hardly evidence, for Christ's sake."
"It seems to me 'tis a chance ye have to take, my lord. Ye're dyin' day by day in this castle, anyway."
I'm pregnant,
Catriona thought sometime during that same night; she was hovering in that hazy state halfway between dreams and awakening. But suddenly, she knew, she
felt,
that Knight's son or daughter was taking form deep inside her. She laced her arms around his strong neck and listened to the rhythm of his breathing. They had fallen asleep after making love, with his leg thrust between hers, her head on his arm, and she'd drifted off, dreaming of children and christenings.
A woman's angry shout awakened her several hours later. Catriona sat up in the curtained bed and stared around the room. Knight had already arisen, dressed, and left her, presumably to find his breakfast. She was starving herself.
"Where did these damn crows come from?" the woman, a servant by the sound of her, shouted from the bailey below. "Be gone, ye ugly things! Go to the devil where ye belong!" Then, "Och, look at the fruit. Pecked to pieces. Nasty creatures."
Catriona frowned, a dark thought crystallizing at the back of her mind only to dissolve as the door opened, and Knight appeared, looking more handsome than ever—and, better yet, bringing her food.
"Oatcakes, early strawberries, and fresh cream," he announced, sitting down beside her on the bed. "James said they were your favorite."
"Are you trying to spoil me?" she asked in delight.
A shadowed form moved across the doorway from the hall. "Your husband," James said cheerfully, "is a very generous man."
"Besides being the most wonderful lover in the world," Knight said in an undertone as he popped a ripe strawberry into her mouth.
"Modest, too," she said.
"Madam, those were your exact words to me only three hours ago."
"What were her exact words?" James asked, poking his head into the intimate atmosphere of the room. "Tell me. There are to be no secrets in my castle."
Catriona and Knight looked at each other, grinning like guilty children.
"The strawberries," Catriona mumbled, her cheeks bright pink.
Knight nodded unconvincingly. "She said they were the most wonderful color in the world."
James stared at the bowl on the tray. "They're red," he said. "Strawberries are always red."
Knight and Catriona looked at each other again. "He's right," Knight said.
She bit her lip. "No. Sometimes they're green, or almost red."
"A red-green," he elaborated, making the situation worse.
James gave them an indulgent smile. "Share your joke. Enjoy each other. God knows that happiness does not always last."
"Oh, James," Catriona said, another berry almost to her mouth. "That is so tragic, I cannot stand it." She thrust her feet through the covers. "I feel a sisterly compulsion to comfort you."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not with your nightclothes half undone and strawberry juice on your chin. Gracious, Cat, you are a viscountess now. You could try to behave a little like one."
She stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, and looked at her husband. "Did I say I wanted to comfort the monster? Murder him is more like."
Knight grinned at the other man. "I do my best. She doesn't even wear shoes to dance."
"I tried to civilize her," James said, shaking his head. "It's the fairy blood on the other side of the family."