Page 16 of Scot of Deception (The Mackintosh Clan #6)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I t had been a long while since Kathleen had stepped foot in Castle Stalker. The last time she had been there, the occasion had been a festive one—a ball for Fenella’s birthday two years prior, when neither of them was concerned about marriage. The notion had seemed so distant back then. Years were meant to pass before they would even have to consider it, but fate had had other plans for Fenella.

As the elder of the two, Kathleen had surrendered herself to the possibility—almost certainty—that she would marry first. There were only three years between them, but plenty could happen in three years. And yet it was Fenella who was thrust down that path before her, forced to wed for a good alliance.

In the two years since Kathleen had last been in Castle Stalker, not much had changed. The structure was just as she had left it, with its towering keep that seemed to reach the heavens, the imposing portraits of people who had once been important clan members, the verdant land beneath the water which only revealed itself when the tide was low. The first time Kathleen had seen it, she had been mesmerized by the sight.

The only difference in the castle was Fenella. Where once she had been a young girl bursting with joy, offering a smile to everyone who passed by, now Kathleen found her sitting by the window in the drawing room and staring at the world outside with a blank, lifeless gaze. Even as she entered the room, Fenella didn’t stir. She only sat there, still as a statue, with her head resting on the palm of her hand.

“Fenella?” Kathleen asked softly. It was only at the sound of her voice that Fenella reacted, as though it had snapped her out of a trance in which she didn’t even know she had fallen. For a moment, she only stared at Kathleen with wide eyes, her lips hanging open ever so slightly. Then, she sprung up to her feet and ran over to Kathleen, throwing her arms around her neck to pull her into a crushing embrace.

Kathleen returned it, holding onto Fenella with all her might, hoping that her presence could alleviate some of her sorrow, though nothing would be enough to save her from her fate.

“Kathleen, when did ye get here?” Fenella asked, pulling back suddenly to look at her. Kathleen couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her without her hair in elaborate braids, the cascading strands woven together and pinned around her crown with glittering hairpins. Now it fell in unruly waves down her shoulders, as if she hardly bothered to brush it.

“Just now,” said Kathleen, taking a step back to properly look at her. She seemed thinner, too, and pale, like the sun hadn’t touched her skin in weeks. “Ach, Fenella, ye look?—”

Kathleen cut herself short. She didn’t know how to express her concern without risking it sounding like an insult. Before she could say more, though, Fenella only smiled—a big, bright grin that never reached her eyes.

“Did ye ken there is a feast tonight?” she asked. “Come, we must prepare! We cannae attend lookin’ like this.”

It’s just like her tae pretend everythin’ is fine.

Fenella had been the one to write to her in the first place, confessing just how frightened she was about the marriage and her future. And yet, now she was once again doing her best to appear invincible.

Kathleen desperately wanted to tell her she didn’t have to pretend, at least not with her. Fenella had a strength about her that not may people possessed and her fear didn’t make her any weaker. But by the time Kathleen found the words, Fenella was already tugging her along down the corridors to her chambers, never once stopping on the way.

Blaine leaned against the side of a towering column, its capital blooming into an arch and disappearing into the great heights of the ceiling. His gaze swept the room every few minutes, taking in the faces in the crowd. The great hall was a swirl of color, the nobles donning their best garments and gleaming jewels for the feast. Their smiles were just as bright, their dances dizzying, their appetites insatiable. The entire room was laid with tables upon which rested a variety of meats unlike anything Blaine had ever seen—venison and boar, rabbit and grouse, capercaillie and deer. The feasts he had the chance to attend as a hired sword hadn’t been half as grand. Laird Stewart had spared no expense for his daughter.

Perhaps he’s tryin’ tae make her feel better.

The girl looked out of place among the guests. Dressed like a doll in her soft pink gown, with her hair plaited and pinned around her head, she smiled and curtsied and politely declined dances in favor of her betrothed.

And yet, Blaine knew when someone was putting on a facade. He was doing the same, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. It was like looking into a mirror.

He couldn’t help but remember what Kathleen had told him when he had asked her if she wanted to marry— If I can have it me way, it’ll be a long, long time afore I wed. But how much time did she have? Sooner rather than later, she would be forced into a similar arrangement.

Blaine could imagine her in Moy Hall, in a room much like this, with people much like these. Would she be as good at hiding her grief, her wrath as her friend? Would she suffer in obedient silence like Fenella?

He dragged his gaze to Kathleen, where she sat next to the bride to be—surely at Fenella’s own insistence. Never before had Blaine seen such beauty. Kathleen was dressed in a deep emerald green that seemed to make her auburn hair and pale skin glow. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her blue eyes glinting as her gaze danced around the room. Blaine could stare at her forever—and that was precisely why he was forcing himself to look away more often than not, every time he caught himself.

She’s nae fer me. She’s too… pure.

It went deeper than the issues of their different backgrounds and the decade between them. Blaine was a killer; he had taken countless lives without mercy, without a second thought. His hands were tainted with blood.

When a young man approached the table and headed straight for Kathleen, Blaine pushed himself off the column and took a few faltering steps forward, uncertain of what to do. He watched as the man—handsome, with blonde hair tied neatly at the back of his neck and a smile full of promise—bowed to Kathleen and stretched out his hand as an invitation to dance. He took one breath, then another. And then, before he even knew it, he was pushing his way through the crowd, his feet carrying him over to the sprawling table at the far end of the room and his hands jostling those around him who inadvertently blocked his way.

Something coiled deep in his stomach, an ugly, vile thing, like a venomous serpent waiting to strike. It took Blaine a moment to identify it as jealousy, bubbling up inside him and threatening to spill over. He was not usually a jealous man. He had ambitions, like anyone else, but he didn’t resent those around him for having what he lacked—only for their ignorance of the world’s suffering. Now, though, his jealousy was like a vice around his chest, squeezing until he could hardly draw in a breath.

“Excuse me,” he said, placing a friendly, yet firm hand on the man’s shoulder. The man jumped at the unexpected touch, but then only gave a faint smile and took a step back when he saw the chill in Blaine’s gaze. “Miss Mackintosh, may I have a word?”

“I was actually just about tae ask her tae dance,” the man said.

Blaine turned to face him fully, standing up to his full height. There wasn’t much difference between them—the man was only an inch or so shorter than him, but Blaine took full advantage of it. To his credit, the man stood his ground but his gaze never sought out Kathleen again.

“Och aye,” he said. “I ken.”

A moment passed when the two of them were caught in a staring match, neither of them willing to back down. Blaine counted the beats of his heart— one, two, three —and then smiled to himself when the other bowed to Kathleen as he retreated.

“Perhaps later, Miss Mackintosh,” he said. “I’ll make sure tae return once ye are… unengaged.”

“Aye, ye dae just that,” Blaine said, his smile turning into a show of teeth.

The other man glanced between him and Kathleen as if waiting for her to call him back, but when she didn’t, he accepted his defeat. Blaine waited until he was gone, lost into the crowd, but before he could leave, she called to him.

“What was it that ye wanted?”

Blaine faltered, not knowing what to say. His only objective had been to get the man away from her and he hadn’t thought any further than that .

I should tell her tae mind the risks o’ bein’ around so many people.

“May I have this dance?” his mouth decided to say instead.

Instantly, he regretted the words but it was too late now to take them back. Kathleen’s surprise was evident in the widening of her eyes, the slight parting of her lips, but it was only momentary. Once she recovered from the surprise of it, she stood and rounded the table, taking Blaine’s hand before he could even offer it to her.

“O’ course ye may,” she said with a soft smile, and Blaine was overtaken by the simplicity of her tone.

She spoke as if the two of them dancing together was the most natural thing in the world.

Kathleen’s hand was soft in Blaine’s own. His fingers curled lightly around her palm, holding it like a precious, fragile thing—like fine porcelain, which he had never held before. As he led her through the crowd to the middle of the room, where the other nobles twirled and hopped along to the music, his heart beat like a war drum and his lungs refused to fill up with air. There were too many people around. The band was too loud and he feared his palms would be damp with sweat soon. Even the smell of food and wine seemed oppressive as it hung heavy in the air around him .

It was the same heightening of senses he experienced right before battle. And just like before a battle, he took a moment to breathe and center himself.

This is only a dance. It doesnae have tae be anything more than this.

He couldn’t make it any more than this.

As he and Kathleen took their place among the other dancers, Blaine placed a gentle hand on her waist and pulled her close. Kathleen looked up at him with those blue eyes that reminded Blaine of the deepest ocean, her breath ghosting over his neck like the gentlest breeze, and it took him a second to remember why they were standing there in the first place.

Thankfully, he knew how to dance. It was a skill he had picked up along the way, knowing it would come in handy—and it had, more times than he could count. Whenever he needed to blend in among the nobles, dancing and table manners were the first things he minded. And now, with Kathleen in his arms, swaying with her to the rhythm of the music, he was glad he had put in the effort.

In that moment, it seemed to him that there was no one else in the room but them. As they took their first steps around the dance floor, reality slowly melted away until there was nothing but Kathleen’s gaze, the sound of her laughter, the soft curve of her lips as she smiled at him. The thought of sharing such intimate moments with her had scared him half to death only earlier that day, but now being so close to her felt natural, like it was always meant to be.

Was it the same for her, he wondered? Did she feel this unnamed thing between them as much as he did, as palpably?

As good as he was at reading people, desire clouded Blaine’s judgement. Concern gripped him at the thought that his attraction was so great, it led him to erroneously assume Kathleen felt the same thing, vice-like and maddening. He wished he could ask her; he wished he could approach her as he approached any other woman.

As he led Kathleen around the dance floor, she followed his steps with grace, like a swan gliding over the water. No words were exchanged between them—none were needed. Blaine surrendered to the enjoyment of the moment, even if it was only brief, ephemeral. If this was all he could have of her, then he would engrave every moment in his mind so that he would never forget.

And he would make sure Kathleen never forgot it, either.

Livening up his steps, Blaine twirled Kathleen around the other dancers, drawing bubbling laughter out of her. Despite himself, Blaine found his lips stretching into a smile, his feet sliding over the floor with more energy than ever before. Every step that brought their bodies close was another beat his heart skipped; and every brush of their bodies reminded him of the moments they had spent together, with Kathleen at the mercy of the pleasure he gave her.

His fingers itched to peel all those layers of silky fabric off her body, to trace the contours of her waist, her hips, her breasts. Instead, they curled tightly around her, sinking into her flesh, and Kathleen gasped in response. Her plump lips fell open, her gaze turning heated as it locked in on him, and the next breath she took was a shuddering one, as though a shiver had run through her at the possessive touch. She leaned closer, and then closer still, and Blaine felt her soft exhale on his lips as he lowered his head, meeting her halfway.

And then the song was over and the nobles around them erupted in applause, the sudden, harsh sound echoing off the stone walls of the great hall. As if released by a spell, Blaine jerked back from Kathleen, an apology trying to stumble its way past his lip, but before he could say a single thing, another man stepped in, asking for the next dance.

Blaine hardly heard what the man told Kathleen. His ears buzzed with the rush of blood to his head and for a moment, he was too dazed to do anything other than stare blankly at her, the shock of what he had almost done weighing heavily on his shoulders. When she glanced at him at the other man’s request, he couldn’t find the words to send this one away, too .

And so, Kathleen had no other choice but to agree to the dance. Blaine watched as she took the man’s hand and he led her away just as the next song began. By the time he came back to his senses, the other dancers moved around him as if he was just another column in the room—nothing more than an obstacle to be avoided.

Anger bubbled up inside him—anger and jealousy, the two mixing together in a volatile blend of emotions. The part of his mind that still clung onto logic reminded him he had no good reason to be upset; anyone could ask Kathleen to dance. If anything, she could even find a good husband that way. Someone whom she desired; someone she could love. And yet, the mere thought of her with another man was enough to drive him mad with jealousy, to the point where he considered marching up to that man and demanding a duel.

He didn’t do such a thing, of course; he was no fool. Instead, he gave one last look at them over his shoulder, his eyes falling on the grip he had on her, on the satisfied smile on his face.

And then, Blaine was gone, disappearing into the crowd once again.