Page 70 of Highland Fire

Rand didn’t waste time on argument. Taking care not to hurt her, he hoisted her over one shoulder and brought the flat of his hand down smartly on the softest part of her posterior. Caitlin struggled wildly, and Rand gave her more of the same until she went limp against him.

Through the great hall he carried her, stopping to chat amiably with various acquaintances on the way, up the great staircase to their bedchamber. On the gallery, he halted and looked down at the sea of faces that were turned up to watch the spectacle.

“Well, what did you expect?” he said. “I’m a Randal, she’s a Gordon; I’m English bred, she’s a Highlander; I’m male, she’s female.

” He turned away but had only taken a step when something seemed to occur to him, and he returned to the balustrade.

A wicked grin spread across this face. “I won, and she lost. That’s the most important thing,” he said.

The laughter was spontaneous, as were Caitlin’s shrieks of outrage.

Hardly had the couple disappeared from view when men began to ponder the significance of the Randal’s remarks.

There was more at stake here than a squabble between husband and wife.

Pride of clan came rushing to the fore and Gordons and Randals began to glare at each other with smoldering eyes.

The Earl of Aboyne was the first to make a move.

Leaping onto one of the trestle tables, he looked around the great hall with a challenging posture.

Swaying alarmingly, he said, “There isn’t the Randal born who can best a Gordon in any contest of skill or strength ye care to name. ”

At these fighting words, all the Gordons present let out a mighty yell. The Randals folded their arms across their broad chests and glowered.

“Oh no!” said the dowager faintly. “What about Scotland’s honor?” No one listened to her.

Robert Randal swaggered to the table and sneered up at the earl. “I accept your challenge, ye cocky wee Gordon!” he said. His speech was slurred. “Let it be a wrestling match! And the loser”—he had to think for minute—“…and the loser must kiss the winner’s sporran.”

To hoots and howls, they went at it, overturning chairs, smashing crockery and fine porcelain ornaments that got in their way. The spectators could not contain themselves. Before long, it had degenerated into a free-for-all.

Upstairs, in their bedchamber, when Rand set Caitlin on her feet, she stomped to the window and wheeled to face him, her arms crossed over her breasts. Her eyes were wary.

He had adopted much the same pose as she, except his eyes were smiling. “A Highlander,” he said, “has more pride than a flock of peacocks. All these months, you’ve given me the words I longed to hear, and I never knew it. Why?”

“Because you are an English Randal. If you had put yourself to the trouble of learning our language, you would have known what the words meant.” Her heart was pounding, but it wasn’t with temper. Every nerve was vibrating with hope.

He moved in closer. “That’s not the reason.

If you had thought, for one minute, that I had known the language, you would never have said those words to me.

” He held up one hand to silence the rush of words as they began to tumble from her lips.

“For God’s sake, let go of your false pride!

There’s been too much of that around here already. ”

Her eyes faltered beneath his hard, unsmiling stare, then steadied.

“How could I tell you? Ours was a forced marriage. You didn’t love me.

Why should I love you?” She cried out passionately, “I never wanted to love you, because I knew it was hopeless. Don’t you think I knew the sort of women you preferred?

Beautiful, cultured sophisticates who moved in your own circles.

You told me so. I knew you could never love me. ”

“Beautiful, cultured sophisticates bore me to tears.” He paused, giving her time to absorb his meaning. “And it’s been a long time now since I’ve come to think of you as the most beautiful and fascinating woman of my acquaintance.”

Her eyes were very wide, and she swallowed audibly. “Why did you never say anything?” she whispered.

He let out a sound that was not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“Because of David. Can you imagine what I have been made to suffer, thinking that you still loved him? I have been so gentle with you, so restrained, so forbearing.” He brought his hand down sharply on top of the dresser, and Caitlin jumped.

“It’s enough to make any sane man sick to his stomach!

I’ve been lovesick, that’s what I’ve been!

And the cure was beyond my reach, or so I thought. ”

She was shaking her head, smiling through tears. “I told you there was never anything between David and me. We were friends, nothing more.”

He made a furious notion with his hands. “Don’t lie to me! Not now! I read your letter to him. I know! ”

“What do you know?”

“That you quarreled! That he believed his passion for you was hopeless, but you relented and begged him to come back to you. Yes, I know. It wasn’t very gentlemanly of me to read your letter. But I was consumed with jealousy. I had to know.”

Tears flooded her eyes. “You misunderstood. It was never me David loved. It was someone else. You were jealous for no reason.’

“But…at the end, at Waterloo, it was you he spoke of. If he had loved someone else, wouldn’t he have mentioned her name?”

“What did he say? You never told me this.”

Rand touched one hand to his forehead, smoothing away his frown. “He asked me to go to you. ‘She’s a Randal of Glenshiel,’ he told me.”

“And that’s all?”

“No. When I asked him why he had turned back to save me, he said he had done it for Randal and for Scotland.”

She gazed at him mutely for a long time. “What can I say?” she asked finally. “All I can repeat is that David never loved me in the way you mean, and I never loved him. We were friends, nothing more.”

“Soul mates?” His smile was twisted.

“That was David’s word, not mine.”

His eyes were passionate upon her face. “I don’t know if I have it in me to be the friend to you that David was, but I aim to try.”

She had to swallow before she could find her voice. “Friend, husband, lover—you are more than I ever thought to find in any man.”

He looked into her eyes and knew that she spoke the truth. “Say the words to me!” he said roughly. “Say the words to me!”

She smiled. “ Mo gaol orist . What time is it?”

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Caitlin!” he warned.

“I love you,” she cried out. “At last I can say it. Mo gaol orist . I love you.” And she threw herself into Rand’s arms.

Crashing her to him, kissing her feverishly, he then spoke the only words she wanted to hear.

She awakened at dawn with the feeling that someone had just walked over her grave.

It wasn’t an eerie feeling, but more the brush of a friend’s fingertips on her shoulder.

Unclasping Rand’s arm from around her waist, she slipped out of bed and moved like a shadow to the window.

She was thinking of David and of his hopeless passion for Rand.

She stood there staring out blindly for a long time.

Though there were tears in her eyes, her lips were curved in a smile.

“Caitlin?” Rand moved restlessly, then hauled himself up. “What are you doing?”

She padded back to the bed. “I was remembering old times and old friends.”

“David?”

She didn’t try to deny it. “Yes. I was thanking him for saving your life and for sending you to me.”

He hugged her fiercely. “I’ve been thinking. If our first child is a boy, I’d like to name him for David.” He pulled back and tried to make out her features in the dim light. “It’s only a suggestion. Perhaps you have already decided to name the child for your father?”

She kissed him lingeringly. “No. My mind is the same as yours. I think we should call our first son after David. David Randal. That’s a good name.”

“Our first son?” He cocked one eyebrow. “How many sons are you planning on giving me?”

She laughed. “I have a premonition,” she said, “that by the time we are finished, we’ll have run out of names for all our boys.”

He smiled and pulled her closer. “Careful! Those sound like prophetic words,” he said. And they were.