Page 30 of The Highlander’s Hunted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #2)

30

T he trail had gone cold, the cover of night concealing any subtle clues that might have led Hector to his prey. His eyes had long adjusted to the gloom, but even he had to admit that there were some feats he couldn’t achieve.

I nearly had the cretin. I ken it.

He’d followed the snapped twigs, disturbed undergrowth, and footprints in the mud for what felt like an eternity, making it all the more annoying that he had to give up for the night.

Come morning, however, he vowed he would return to see what secrets the tracks unveiled. There was a lot to be gleaned from a person’s footprints—age, sex, gait, injury, among others—and if the rain held off, he might be able to trail that vile peeper to wherever they’d scuttled off to.

They were fast, whoever they were. Fast enough to strip away Hector’s advantage of knowing the terrain well.

Grumbling to himself, he took a moment to get his bearings… surprised to find that he was far closer to the castle than he’d expected, for he’d been watching the ground, not his surroundings. Indeed, it appeared that whoever had been watching his wife, whoever had fled retribution, had circled back.

Returnin’ home?

He glared into the gloaming, his rage boiling over. If someone in his ranks had done this, if someone from his own clan had spied on his bride, there would be a head on the feasting table in place of a haunch of venison.

Brimming with fresh vengeance, he stalked forward, heading back to the castle with a dark cloud hanging over him. One that only one person could chase away. But he could not see her until his task was complete. He would not.

I willnae let down someone else. I willnae prove that I cannae protect her.

Least of all to himself.

This was no longer just a matter of restoring his bride’s honor, but of restoring something to himself that he had thought lost— the certainty of knowing that those he cared about were safe with him.

If he couldn’t even find a Peeping Tom, what right did he have to marry Katie at all?

Katie sat alone at the writing desk that had been overtaken by the skeleton of her wedding gown, soothing her anxious heart with the steady, looping up and down of her needle.

She was surrounded by eight lanterns, four of which she’d commandeered from her siblings upon arriving back at the castle. In truth, she could have managed with four, but she’d wanted to check in on Bonnie and Lyall, to ensure nothing bad had happened in her absence. Still unnerved by the events at the pool.

Bonnie had been fast asleep next to Rosie, who must have crept out of her room to join her new friend. The two girls had been holding hands as they dreamed sweet dreams.

Lyall had been in his adjoining study, playing a game of dice with two soldiers he’d become friends with.

“Dinnae stay up too late,” he had warned with a smile. “Ye’re gettin’ married the day after tomorrow, and ye’ll need both nights to nae look like a ghoul.”

“Eeh, ye wee rascal!” Katie had scolded, secretly comforted by the normality of it.

Plus, she’d had the satisfaction of hearing the two soldiers chide him as she left, insisting that she was a “fine lassie, indeed—it’ll be nice havin’ a Lady MacKimmon who isnae hard on the eyes.”

But now she was by herself again, Pipkin absconded to Bonnie’s room to guard the girls.

“What did I want bloody beads for?” she groused to herself, wincing as the needle pricked her finger.

She put her fingertip in her mouth, tasting blood, and hardly dared to look at the pristine white fabric in case she’d gotten a speck of red on it.

Peeking through half-closed eyes, she sighed in relief—there wasn’t a mark on that perfect, snowy wool. The most finely woven wool she’d ever beheld. A tear-inducing gift from Mrs. Shanley, who’d insisted and refused to even consider payment for such an expensive piece of cloth.

It would be a simple dress, but that was exactly what Katie wanted. That was who she was: not a grand lady used to silks and satins and all sorts, just a village girl with a knack for dressmaking.

“I hope ye’re nae too disappointed, Ma,” she murmured, reaching for the pendant of green agate that rested on the shelf above the desk. She held the cold stone in her hand, drawing comfort from it.

Ye didnae have a love match either, but ye… were happy here and there. And ye had us—ye were happy with us.

She frowned, remembering Hector’s opinion on them having bairns of their own. She was to be denied that, too.

“Maybe his mind will change,” she said quietly, putting the pendant around her neck so she could work and keep her mother close at the same time.

Returning to her fiddly beading, she was almost halfway around the waist of the garment when a knock sounded at the chamber door.

Heart leaping into her throat, Katie twisted around, shouting, “Come in!” before she could think.

She hoped it was Hector, but as the door opened, she realized that he wouldn’t have bothered to knock.

“Sorry to bother ye, Miss Blake,” a cheery, feminine voice said as a woman backed into the room with a tray in her hands. “Her Ladyship saw yer lanterns blazin’ and thought ye might want some refreshments. If she’d sent up any more for ye, I’d have needed a barrow.”

Katie blinked, surprised to see the beautiful maid in her room. She had two or three maids who kept trying to do things for her, despite her constant refusal, but Rhona had never been sent to her before.

“Aye, I ken I’m nae one of yer maids,” Rhona said with a bright, white-toothed smile as if reading Katie’s mind. “I do a lot of the night tasks, and with it bein’ so late, the other lasses were asleep. So, ye’re stuck with me, unless ye tell me otherwise.”

Finding her voice, Katie stood up. “Thank ye. Ye didnae have to go to the trouble.”

“Aye, I did. Her Ladyship would’ve had me guts for ribbons if I didnae,” Rhona replied, laughing.

She had such an easy way about her that, despite the little sting of jealousy that Katie had once felt, she couldn’t help but warm up to the woman instantly.

“ Ye might be a Lady soon, but I’ll still be at Her Ladyship’s beck and call, and I like me head on me neck, nae bitten off,” Rhona continued, setting the tray down on a small table by the settee. “Och, is that yer weddin’ gown?”

Katie blushed. “Aye, it is.”

“Might I take a peek?” Rhona was already halfway across the room. “Only if ye dinnae mind. I mean, it’s nae so usual to have the bride make her own weddin’ gown, ye ken?”

“It is where I’m from,” Katie said quietly, feeling suddenly shy about her craftsmanship.

Rhona grimaced. “Forgive me, Miss Blake. I keep forgettin’ that ye’re one of us, nae one of them—if ye understand me meanin’?”

“I… think so.”

Picking the unfinished gown up very carefully, Rhona held it out, her eyes skimming up and down the garment. “Ye’re nae high and mighty. Nae one of those who has been raised with silver spoons in their mouths. Nae someone who’s used to doin’ as they please.” She gave a low whistle. “It’s beautiful, Miss Blake. Ye’re goin’ to make a lovely bride.”

“Thank ye,” Katie mumbled, fidgeting.

“Truth be told, ye couldnae pay me to be in yer position,” Rhona said, setting the dress down as carefully as she’d picked it up.

A gesture that Katie appreciated immensely, charmed by the woman’s delicacy. Although, Rhona’s words gave her pause.

“What do ye mean?” Katie asked.

Rhona hesitated and glanced at the door, as though she wasn’t sure if she should speak or not.

“Go on,” Katie urged. “What do ye mean? I’m… interested.”

Steering Katie away from the dress and over to the food and drink she had brought in, Rhona replied in a low whisper, “Well, ye see, these ladies that ye see every laird gettin’ married to—these daughters of lairds, these lasses who have been raised with silver spoons in their mouths—ken what it is like to be wed to a laird. They’ve been taught what to expect since they were lassies.”

“Taught? Taught what?” Katie’s throat tightened, and when Rhona passed her a steaming cup of something that smelled familiarly of rosehips and blackberries, she took a grateful sip.

“That they’re all beasts with rovin’ eyes, the lot of ‘em,” Rhona whispered. “And I should ken—I’ve been propositioned by enough lairds who’ve visited our Laird.”

And what about our Laird himself?

Katie took another sip of the warm drink, not daring to ask that weighted question, unwilling to suffer another stab to the heart.

“Och, ye couldnae compel me to marry Laird MacKimmon,” Rhona repeated, shaking her head. “Bein’ married to a man who seduces aught that tickles his fancy? That’s every lass’s nightmare for a husband. I should ken that too—I had a husband as loyal as a hound, as all lasses should.”

Katie vaguely recalled the sad tale of Rhona and her beloved blacksmith, feeling a fresh surge of pity for the woman. But Hector wasn’t someone who seduced any woman he liked, was he? That couldn’t be right.

He seduced ye, did he nae? Her mind kicked in with a breath-stealing blow.

“All I’m sayin’ is that ye dinnae have to do this if ye dinnae want to,” Rhona said with a shrug. “Ye dinnae seem like the kind of lass who’d endure a man like that well.”

Taking a gulp of the drink that scorched the roof of her mouth, Katie shot her a defensive look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, ye look like a lass who is deservin’ of love and loyalty. Someone like the husband I once had,” Rhona replied gently. “I meant nay offense at all, Miss Blake. It’s a good quality to have, but ye’ll lose it if ye proceed with Laird MacKimmon.”

The beautiful woman was inadvertently pouring salt into a very raw wound, the sting of it twisting two thoughts around in Katie’s head.

I do deserve a proper marriage based on love and loyalty, and Hector isnae offerin’ that. But is this lass a friend or foe?

“I can get ye out if ye want,” Rhona offered. “I ken all the secret ways in and out of this castle. Say the word, and I can have ye back in yer bed before midnight.”

Katie stared at the woman, suspicion making her eyes narrow. “I dinnae ken ye, Rhona. Why should I trust ye?” She paused. “I saw the way ye were with Hector. Who is to say that ye dinnae want him for yerself, and this is yer ploy to remove me?”

She glanced down at the drink in her hand, suddenly worried that there might be something more than rosehip and blackberry in it.

But Rhona’s laughter disarmed her, confusing her all over again.

“I ken I’m a wicked flirt—I make nay secret of that—but I wasnae lyin’ when I said I’d rather eat me own undergarments than marry a man like that.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “He and I have had our fun here and there, but I neither have nor want any claim to him. I was married once, and never will be again. Me husband will always be me husband. And Laird MacKimmon definitely isnae the kind of man any lass should marry willingly.”

“He and I have had our fun here and there…”

The revelation bounced around in Katie’s head, vicious as a maelstrom, battering the insides of her skull until her temples throbbed.

Of course, she’d known Hector wasn’t like her—a virgin with no experience whatsoever—but hearing it wasn’t the same as knowing it in an abstract way. To be in front of someone who had experienced him intimately… it poured fuel on the embers of her jealousy.

“I’m one of many, Miss Blake,” Rhona added softly, apologetically, resting a hand on her arm. “Ye wouldnae be his last, lass, as a wife ought to be. And if ye think me a wretched liar with bad intentions, that’s yer right, but… I just want to stop a sweet lass who’s nae like them from makin’ a mistake. I might have a reputation, but I’m a strumpet with a heart.”

Patting Katie’s arm gently, the maid headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. “Ye drink that rosehip tea while it’s warm,” she said, looking back with a sad smile. “It’ll help with yer sore hands throughout all that sewin’. And make sure ye get some rest, Miss Blake. Send for me if there’s anythin’ else I can do for ye before the weddin’.”

She gave no gesture or wink or anything of that ilk, but Katie understood her meaning perfectly.