Yield to the Highlander. Terri Brisbin
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her before she could stop it. Gowan’s son had opposed their marriage from the day he learned of his father’s plans. That it was one of convenience mattered not to the young man, for his mother’s recent passing and without the presence of young bairns who needed Catriona’s care convinced him it was unseemly. From Munro’s occasional, intense stares, she almost wondered if there was something more there.
Shaking off her disquiet, she decided to take advantage of what looked to be a break in the unsettled weather of late winter and spend the morning clearing away brush and fallen branches from the small patch of land next to the cottage that would be her garden. When the weather finally warmed, she hoped to expand the area from what she had worked last summer to something larger. Laughing with Gowan over her pitiful crop of vegetables and herbs from last season, she’d vowed to improve this year.
Kind man that he was, Gowan suggested she speak to Lady Jocelyn, for the gardens at the keep thrived under the lady’s guidance. New to Lairig Dubh and not significant enough to warrant wasting the lady’s attentions, she’d declined the suggestion and, instead, took advice from some of the village women who had successful gardens.
She would prove herself a worthy wife in whatever way she could. Gowan’s actions had saved her very life and she could never be able to repay him for doing so. Not that she could explain that to Munro or anyone else without revealing her shame. So, she looked for ways to make his life comfortable and ways in which she could cause him no regret for taking her as his wife. The garden would be one of those ways to make him proud.
* * *
The morning passed quickly as she pulled and tugged at weeds firmly entrenched in the hard ground. Her shoulders and back ached at the honest labour, but her spirit was lifted by the amount she’d accomplished. Cat washed up and had a plain meal of soup and bread before going to help one of the women in the village who’d just given birth. Her attempts to keep feelings of emptiness at bay faltered each time she laid eyes on her friend’s newborn bairn. Even knowing it was never meant for her to be the one bearing children did not ease the tightness in her chest when she held the babe. She relied on keeping busy and filling her days to fight off the deep sadness of her barrenness.
As she was walking towards Muireall’s cottage, a chill trickled down her spine as though she was being watched. Glancing along the path ahead and behind her, she saw no one paying any attention to her. Gathering the sack of mended clothing in her arms, she continued along the way. Only as she passed the last cottage on the lane and turned on to a smaller one did she see him.
Aidan MacLerie.
The earl’s son stood watching her, frank desire in his gaze. He did not approach or speak to her, but he did not look away either. She nodded as she passed him, meeting his gaze for a brief moment and continuing on. The nervousness in her stomach, the tightness in her chest as she tried to breathe and the sweat that trickled down her neck and back were all signs to her that she was not unaffected by his attentions.
Cat forced one foot to glide smoothly after the other, torn between trying not to put more meaning into his presence than she should and ignoring the hope that he would speak to her. She turned to follow the smaller path—Muireall’s cottage was the third one—when he spoke.
‘Good day to you.’
She paused and nodded her head. ‘And good day to you, my lord.’ Daring a glance, Cat found him still watching her from his place. The skin on her wrist where he’d pressed his lips tingled now, reminding her of the inappropriate gesture.
‘Aidan,’ he said as he took one step and another towards her now. ‘You must call me Aidan.’
She shook her head and dipped into a shallow curtsy. ‘I could not do that, my lord. We do not know each other and you are the earl’s son.’
His eyes brightened and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth then. Why did she suspect she’d just issued some sort of challenge to him—one he was pleased to rise and accept? He reached her side and she glanced about to see if any other villagers were about. Seeing none did not ease her sense of nervousness. Cat thought the earl’s son might be even bolder if he knew they were unobserved.
‘So,’ he said as he lifted her chin to meet her gaze, ‘are you saying that if we were more familiar with each other, you could use my name with ease?’ Then he did not so much release her chin as he did instead caress the edge of her jaw until his fingers slid away down her neck. ‘I think we should become more acquainted, then.’
His touch ignited all sorts of feelings in her, but she understood they were the wrong ones. His position as the earl’s son and heir gave him much power over people like her—and she knew he had a stream of women eager to share his bed. But it could not be her. It could never be her. She would honour her word, her oath, to her husband. Her debt to Gowan cleared her mind, so she stepped back from him and shook her head.
‘I think our acquaintance is what it should be, my lord. I live in your father’s village and know my place. I know I cannot naysay anything you demand, but I beg you to leave me be.’
His gaze moved from her eyes down and she followed the path. During her plea, her hand had taken hold of his wrist. Shocked by the intimacy of such a thing and shocked more that she had touched him, a man other than her husband, Cat released her grip and stumbled back. Waiting those next few moments for his reprimand or retribution, she dared a look at his expression. It was not so much desire now as surprise.
‘I beg your pardon, mistress,’ he said, stepping off the path and clearing the way for her to walk on. ‘I meant only to make your acquaintance, having not known you before. I would never demand something that you are unwilling to give.’
Had she misunderstood? Had she just accused him of something he had not done? Her experience with men was very limited and any experience with teasing as this seemed to be was worse than that.
‘And I beg your pardon, my lord, if I offended you. My friend is waiting for me.’ She held up her sack as proof and could not help it if it felt like protection to keep him from getting so close again. ‘If I have your leave to attend her?’
‘Good day, Catriona MacKenzie,’ he said.
‘Good day,’ she replied, walking faster then. ‘My lord.’ That slipped out before she could stop it and it was met with his deep, masculine laughter.
What devil had made her tease him once more? Cat dared a peek once she’d reached Muireall’s cottage door and found him still watching her. She knocked and entered with a call to the woman inside. Hoping that the needs within the cottage would distract her from the man outside, she walked in and greeted Muireall, who sat on a pallet feeding her newly born son.
‘You look flushed, Catriona,’ Muireall said. ‘Are you well?’
‘Oh, aye, well enough.’ She put the sack of clothing on the table and began to separate the clothes according to size. When she noticed the silence, she met Muireall’s amused gaze. ‘Do you have any other mending to be done? Errands to run?’ she asked.
‘You are trying to make certain I do not take notice of the colour in your cheeks and your breathlessness.’ Muireall lifted the bairn and placed him on her shoulder. Rubbing his back, she rose from the pallet and walked to Cat’s side. ‘Something or someone brought the colour to your cheeks.’
‘Muireall, I am a married woman! I would never...’
‘Enjoy a bit of fun?’ Her friend laughed and reached out to touch Cat’s cheek. ‘You are a good wife to Gowan, but that does not mean you should never laugh or enjoy yourself.’
‘I owe him so much,’ Cat began before falling silent.
‘I know you believe that, but you brought joy back to Gowan’s life. That would pay whatever debt you think you owe him.’
Muireall was one of very few people who knew the truth of Cat’s life and how Gowan had saved it. But even she did not know all the details.
‘So, who brought that blush to your cheeks?’