Page 28 of The Highlander’s Hunted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #2)

28

“ S he said that?” Hector growled, his hand clenched around his quill.

Flynn nodded hesitantly. “Aye, M’Laird. She seemed… fond of him, and he seemed more than fond of her. Ye should’ve seen him boundin’ up the road toward me, blade in hand, ready to protect that hovel with his life.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I could see why a lass would be charmed by that. A lass relishes nothin’ more than a protector.”

The stem of the feather snapped in Hector’s grip, his blood boiling as he pictured the scene—Katie fluttering her eyelashes at that unknown man, her blue eyes soft and grateful, imagining the things that such gratitude might compel her to offer in return.

An old thought slithered back into his head. Nay other man will have ye.

“Send a guard down there,” he ordered brusquely. “Nay sense in others doin’ what I should be takin’ care of.”

He cursed his grandmother for what felt like the hundredth time—not for her meddling, but for allowing Katie to venture out of the castle grounds. Then again, he was partially responsible; he had been occupied in the woods, hunting a stag for the wedding feast. A hunt that had come to nothing, as though he had lost his talent for it.

A smirk flashed across Flynn’s face. “Aye, M’Laird. I imagine yer bride will be grateful for that.” He hesitated, which was never a good sign. “I dinnae suppose ye’ve considered givin’ yer bride a gift, have ye?”

“What for?” Hector shot back, still simmering over the idea of that other man marrying Katie.

“To please her,” Flynn replied with a nonchalant shrug, “or for her to wear to the weddin’. A token of yer affection. As I understand it, she doesnae even have a gown yet.”

Hector frowned. “Does she need one?”

“It wouldnae be seemly for yer bride to wed ye in naught at all, now, would it?” Flynn grinned, his eyes glittering with amusement.

He was enjoying himself, clearly savoring every second of his Laird’s obliviousness.

A spike of anger rushed through Hector, and it must have flared in his eyes, for the smile on Flynn’s face dropped.

“What I mean is, it wouldnae be seemly for her to wed ye in somethin’… inappropriate for the future Lady MacKimmon,” he said in haste.

“Is that nae why she ventured into the village in the first place?” Hector pointed out crossly, impatient with the conversation. Every sentence, every question, tugged on his last nerve.

I dinnae have time for this. I have guests arrivin’, I have me grandmaither to restrain, I have… a thousand things to do.

Flynn nodded. “Aye, but I dinnae think it’s seemly either for the future Lady to be makin’ her own gown. Nor do I ken if she’ll have it made in time—she’s only just started.”

“Two days isnae enough to make a gown?”

“I havenae the faintest notion,” Flynn replied with greater sincerity. “Perhaps Lady Marsden has somethin’ that Miss Blake could borrow?”

Hector set aside the broken quill and set to work, carving another from a new feather. The whiskey on the side table winked at him, tempting him. But he had too much to do, and now, thanks to Flynn, he had too much to think about. Or stop himself from thinking about.

“She likes to make dresses, so let her,” he said curtly. “If it’s nae finished in time, she’ll wear it in whatever state it’s in. That’s her concern, nae mine. And ye should have kenned better than to take her to the village when she has a pile of new fabrics up in me grandmaither’s chambers she could have used. I paid enough for ‘em.”

The order from Inverness had arrived at dawn that very morning. Hector had intercepted it himself on his way out to the armory to fetch more arrows for his failed hunt, and though the price had been steep, he’d paid it without issue, absently wondering why Katie hadn’t ordered more. Enough fabric for his grandmother and her. Since she was the one making Isla’s attire, it only made sense that she should be allowed to make a few things for herself.

And she’ll probably need a lot of new dresses after the weddin’…

Indeed, if she had sent word over the past five days, through Flynn or some other neutral party, he’d have sent a rider immediately to the shop to order whatever she wanted for her wedding gown. The most expensive silk, if that was her desire. She didn’t have to resort to whatever she could find in the village at the last minute.

Flynn grimaced. “Apologies, M’Laird. I didnae ken about the delivery until after we came back. When I asked yer grandmaither for her permission to escort Miss Blake in yer absence, she didnae mention it.”

“ Of course she didnae,” Hector muttered. “It’s done now, anyway.”

He expected that to be the end of it, but Flynn lingered, his arms behind his back, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he needed to relieve himself.

“What is it, Flynn?” Hector barked. “Would ye spit it out so I can get on with me duties? They dinnae stop because there’s a weddin’ happenin’, though everyone else seems to think they do.”

Flynn drew in a shaky breath, his uncharacteristic demeanor making Hector pay more attention than he otherwise would.

“I cannae help the feelin’, M’Laird, that yer bride is havin’ doubts,” Flynn said haltingly. “I might be mistaken, but… she has the look of a startled hare about her. A kind word wouldnae go amiss. Some reassurance, perhaps?”

Hector sat back in troubled thought. It had been five days since he’d last seen Katie, other than from a distance while she went hither and thither with her siblings. She had taken her evening meals in her chambers, and when he came down for breakfast, he was informed that she had already eaten and departed.

Once or twice in the night, he’d gotten out of bed to pay her a visit, only to talk himself out of it. After all, private encounters were what had led them to this situation—facing an imminent wedding that neither of them had asked for.

Would she run?

A thrill prickled through his veins, elicited by the notion of a chase. Was that the real cause of her recent avoidance of him? Did she want him to chase her? Did she crave the pursuit? Did she want him to catch her again, to reassure herself, to pick up where they had left off?

Nay, that’s nae it.

All he had to do was remember the embittered way she had left the room, five days ago, to know that the truth was simpler: she was avoiding him because she didn’t want to be near him.

There was no pleasure in chasing someone who didn’t secretly want to be chased.

“Lady Marsden and me grandmaither can see to any reassurance,” Hector declared. “If that’s all, ye can leave.”

“Aye, M’Laird,” Flynn replied with a sigh, before departing.

As the door closed, Hector pushed back his chair and gave in to the Siren call of the whiskey. He poured himself a modest measure and took it over to the window, pulling aside the shutters to look out into the beautiful gardens just beginning to bloom.

The sun would soon begin its descent, the budding flowers and manicured lawns resembling a heavenly realm beneath the ferocity of the hour’s golden glow.

“Ye were forced into a marriage ye didnae want,” he murmured to the middle white stone beneath the pear tree in the near distance. “This isnae the same as that, I ken, but… I dinnae ken how to proceed with her. I cannae love her, cannae be much of a husband, but I dinnae want her to hate me. What would ye tell me to do if ye were here?”

Although it was to be a ‘fake’ marriage, as Katie had called it, he didn’t want it to be without passion. He’d had a taste of her and craved more. The idea of a lifetime of being married to her while being denied that bliss would be a cruel torment, indeed.

This entire situation has undoubtedly soured her ardor.

It was a pity. A tragedy, in truth, of a kind he doubted she’d come back from—come back to him from, rather, when he was offering so little but taking so much. Her freedom, for one.

“Would this… other man be better for her?” he heard himself rasp, his hand clenching so tightly around the whiskey glass that he feared he might shatter it.

His body reacted viscerally to the mere suggestion of Katie with someone else.

A crow swooped down into the pear tree, cawing loudly.

He frowned at the sleek, dark bird. Was that Lucy’s way of telling him that Katie would be better off with someone else, or some reassurance that he couldn’t understand?

“Ridiculous,” he muttered. “It’s just a bird. Doesnae mean anythin’ at all.”

He sounded like his father.

Agitated, too riled up to bother with correspondence in case his frustration seeped into the pages, Hector downed his whiskey and grabbed his bow. He might not be able to chase his bride the way he wished to, but he would hunt down that evasive stag for the wedding.

A meaningful gift for me bride, I’d say…

“It was around here somewhere,” Katie muttered, pausing to catch her breath.

What had possessed her to wander into the eerie woods so close to sunset was no longer as clear as it had been. The next step reminded her—her back was aching, her thighs were sore, and her hands were stiff with concentrated use.

Flynn had taken pity on her back at the village, allowing her to take the long journey back to the castle. They’d followed the river for a fair stretch while he’d reeled off an endless list of Hector’s merits, as if to persuade her that things wouldn’t be so bad.

A perceptive man, certainly.

But that lengthened excursion had come at the cost of her legs and the small of her back, then exacerbated by the hunched posture she adopted in her sewing work.

“Ye’ll be bent in half by the time ye’re thirty,” Mrs. Shanley had always warned, pointing to the hump on her own back.

Oh, Mrs. Shanley… I wish I could keep ye with me, to guide me here as ye’ve always guided me.

Katie had invited the older woman to the wedding, and Mrs. Shanley had duly accepted with hearty enthusiasm.

“I always kenned ye’d be somethin’ grand, lass! I always kenned ye were destined for more! Och, yer ma will be cheerin’ from the heavens!” Mrs. Shanley had crowed, and Katie hadn’t had the heart to tell her dear friend that all was not as fortuitous as it seemed.

A gruff bark snapped her out of her reverie.

“Aye, I ken ye want me to go back, but ye can cease yer herdin’,” she chided lightly as Pipkin plodded up to her and nosed her hand. “I mean to find those pools, or else I’ll be hobblin’ and hunchin’ down the aisle like a crone.”

Pipkin bumped her in the leg, trying to nudge her back the way they’d come.

“Nay, Pip. I’m nae goin’ back until I’ve bathed the aches out of me bones,” she insisted. “So, if ye’d like to be useful, ye could sniff the pools out for me. I swear I remember passin’ by that tree.”

The dog raised his mournful gaze to her, but there was an undeniably sarcastic quality to his stare, as if to say, Of course ye do. It’s nae like every tree looks the bloody same, and ye’ve been goin’ in circles for half an hour.

She traipsed on through the dense underbrush, willing the sunset to slow down. She had a lantern with her, but she would have preferred to find the pools before it got properly dark. The way back was a—hopefully—more relaxed, more clear-headed Katie’s problem to contend with.

In truth, she just wanted to wash off the discomfort of the entire wedding situation, as far from the castle as she was allowed to be.

It has to be around here somewhere…

Spotting a patch of wild snowdrops that she was certain was familiar, she veered left, winding slowly through the trunks of the crooked, silent trees.

In the last of the burnished light that trickled through the forest canopy, her gaze fell on the faint wisp of steam. She quickened her pace, hurrying closer to see if it was a trick of the light or the pools she’d been seeking.

“I told ye, Pip!” she cheered, whooping into the dense quiet of the woodland, startling a flock of rooks from a nearby oak.

Pipkin barked happily, dipping his enormous head over a rocky lip to sniff the water. He barked again as if to let her know it was safe.

“Pipkin.” Katie pointed to the flattest part of the bordering ledges. “Keep watch.”

The dog padded over to his guarding spot, lying down as Katie approached the steaming pool. She could feel the warmth coming off it, her tired body yearning for the liquid embrace of it.

Glancing around her, just to be certain she was alone, she set her lantern down and hurried to undress, before jumping straight into the pool.

It was everything she’d hoped for, the water blocking out all other sounds and thoughts as she stayed submerged for a moment. She had leaped into a world of pure peace, where none of her worries or doubts could find her.

I should stay here, she mused, a tightness in her chest forcing her upward.

She broke the surface, gulping in the cool air above the pool, and began to swim. It felt good to stretch her limbs, all of the knots in her back loosening with every scull of her arms and kick of her legs, the slow rhythm keeping her mind on an even keel.

“Bliss,” she whispered, thinking she might bring her siblings next time. Rosie, too. Alison, perhaps.

Just because it’s nae what I want, doesnae mean I cannae make the best of it.

Her heart sank a little. It was the rationale of someone who would never see the sun again, trying to convince themselves that the darkness would be good for their skin, their sleep, and their eyes.

She was about to dive down again, hoping that the water would sweep the frustration away once more, when Pipkin lurched up. His body was stiff, his hackles raised, his head pointed forward as he unleashed a booming bark. The kind that showed his menacing teeth.

Katie twisted around in the pool, her eyes frantically scouring the trees for the cause. Pipkin never barked that way unless there was a real threat.

The dog barked a volley, growling between, his lips drawn back to bare his teeth.

She heard the crack of a branch underfoot, the panicked crunch of someone running through the tangled undergrowth, stumbling and lurching back to their feet. Squinting, Katie thought she saw a shape between the trees, but it could have been a trick of the sunset, making shadows move.

Nevertheless, there had been someone there. And Katie had never been more grateful for Pipkin’s presence.

“And I thought he liked me,” a voice startled her for a second time, her heart thundering violently, a cold sweat fighting against the heat of the pool.

Whirling around, she blinked up at the one threat that Pipkin wouldn’t attack. Not without her command.

Fixing the intruder with a hard stare, she was almost tempted.