Page 10 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
“I am trying to be at peace. I will admit I’m surprised I don’t feel hysterical. To know nothing about myself, I should feel panicked. But . . . in some ways, it’s a challenge, like figuring out a child’s puzzle. I know things I might have learned or heard as a young girl, history for instance.” She gestured toward her plate. “But every time Maeve has given me something to eat, I’ve had no idea if I’ll like it or not, whether it might be a favorite I have no memory of.”
He had to admire her fortitude. Many in her situation would be reduced to cowering, afraid to face the world. “Do ye remember faces of people ye might know?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I feel alone in the world, but for your clan’s kindness. I imagine I should be grateful that I know how to talk or even dress myself.”
And that made him glance again at her cleavage, obscured by the fichu. He looked back down at his plate. He was noticing too frequently that she was a beautiful woman, with sincere eyes that could make a man feel as if he could lose himself. But if there was a plan against him by her father, that would have been part of it. It was difficult not to notice a woman as striking as Catriona.
Maeve approached. “Mistress Catherine, I think ye should rest now.”
Catriona sighed. “Very well. I do feel tired.” She gave Duncan a faint smile. “You’ve allowed me to use your chamber while I recover, Laird Carlyle. I am grateful.”
“I was being practical.”
Maeve rolled her eyes.
He added, “But I should retrieve some items before ye go to sleep.”
“Of course, please do,” Catriona said.
He followed the two women through the great hall and into the passageway. Catriona sat down heavily in the single chair, on top of several feminine garments, and let out a sigh.
He almost asked if she was in pain, then stopped himself. It wouldn’t do to seem too curious about everything she did. Maeve excused herself to fetch hot water, leaving Duncan alone with Catriona—and the mess. He was surprised to see items of women’s clothing scattered about, her ruined shoes where they could trip her, a hairbrush and pins spread out on the table, garments on the chair instead of hung on pegs, forcing her to sit on them. It was none of his business how she wanted to live. Under her curious gaze, he found a fresh shirt in his trunk and gathered his shaving items.
“There is room in the trunk if ye wish to put any clothing away,” he offered.
“Thank you,” Catriona said, then looked around with a rueful smile. “I’m sorry your chamber isn’t more tidy. I confess I don’t even realize there’s a problem until I see it through someone else’s eyes.”
The amusement with which she regarded her flaws should have bothered him, but he found himself impressed that she didn’t try to blame Maeve or use her illness as an excuse.
“I asked Maeve why you all live in this cave,” she continued, “and she said it was your place to tell me, not hers.”
He straightened and regarded her warily.
“You said most of your clan lives elsewhere.”
“In their own homes, aye.”
“But a select group lives here, because . . .” She trailed off expectantly.
“I cannot be answering all your questions, mistress.”
She blinked up at him, before nodding. “Of course not. I was simply curious.”
“Were ye? How can I know that?” When she flinched, he held up a hand and spoke with quiet determination. “I am responsible for everyone here, and we live in this cave for a reason. There are people looking for us. How am I to know if ye’re not lying to me about your lost memory?”
“You think I’m lying?” she said in a cooler voice. “Why would I do that?”
“I’ve heard of men addled from a blow to the head, but never this complete loss of memory. Ye seem to function well in every other way, which makes me curious. I know nothing about ye, do I?”
“And I know nothing about you,” she retorted. “Of course I would ask questions—I am at your mercy, after all. You could want . . . anything from me.”
White with strain, she was all prickly and stiff, and he admired her defiance, especially considering he held the upper hand. It felt strange to admire the daughter of Aberfoyle.
“I brought ye here because ye needed help,” he said. “And now I’m offering ye as much honesty as I can. I hope ye offer the same.”
Maeve entered the chamber carrying a steaming basin and towels, eyes downcast as if she’d heard every word,
Duncan sighed. “Please show Mistress Catherine where we bathe.”
