Page 51 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
She glanced up and over her shoulder to find him staring down at her in surprise.
“Ye know something about whisky, do ye?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I—don’t know. Perhaps I simply assumed.”
“These casks aren’t marked, which means his lordship is smuggling his own whisky.”
“Well, he deserves whatever he gets,” Catherine said firmly, then turned around within his arms and faced him. “What can I do to help?”
He seemed to search her gaze. “Catherine—”
“I, too, want to fight against the man who’d condone selling children. It’s not fair how you’ve been treated just for caring deeply about your people.”
He briefly closed his eyes, before saying tiredly, “By helping my men, ye’re helping our cause. ’Tis enough.”
She wanted to disagree, but couldn’t after he’d been so honest with her. “Thank you for trusting me,” she whispered. “I never thought anyone would risk telling me the truth after my memory loss.”
“Catherine—”
She put a hand to his lips to silence him. “At night, when I try to fall asleep, the enormity of what I’ve lost stretches before me. But to have your clan accept me, to have you trust me—I am content.”
She went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then hurried back inside the cave before she could embarrass herself by crying. Most of the men had found their pallets and were rolled up on the floor in snoring lumps. Maeve was the only one who gave her a worried look, but Catherine offered a shaky smile and crossed the footbridge over the burn and ducked into the passageway. Only when she had drawn the curtain and closed herself into her chamber, lit thoughtfully with a candle by Maeve no doubt, did Catherine sink to the floor and cover her mouth, stifling a sob. She might not have her memories, but she no longer felt alone. The relief was overwhelming.
Chapter 12
Dazed, his chest tight with pain, Duncan stumbled away from the cave, uncaring of where he might go. The darkness wrapped around him, and the night sky wheeled overhead like a thousand pairs of bright eyes, watching him.
What was he doing? Catriona was a lost innocent and he continued to take advantage of her. It wasn’t enough that he’d kidnapped her, but now he was making her depend upon him—hell, he’d told her he wanted her. He was letting her think she had a home with them, and a place in his own life. He might even have taken things further if they hadn’t been interrupted. He leaned against the rock cliff and shuddered. As if he could ever offer a woman—especially the daughter of his enemy—any kind of life with a price on his head.
But that didn’t seem to matter when he held her in his arms. She was eager and loving; perhaps that let him delude himself for those brief moments. She knew he hadn’t told her everything about the smuggling, and he hadn’t been able to lie to her anymore, when he was lying about so much else. He’d told her what her father had done, without mentioning the earl’s actual name. He hadn’t wanted it to spark her memory. But if she got her memories back, she’d damn well put the clues together, and could betray him. And how could he blame her?
And to make things worse, she’d asked how she could help—against her own father. After everything the earl had done, how he’d encouraged the stealing of children, Duncan should be glad to turn Catriona against him. It would be the ultimate revenge.
But it only made Duncan ill to contemplate it. He couldn’t—wouldn’t do that to her.
But apparently he was willing to hurt her in other ways, and he had to stop himself. And the only way to do that was to find out why no one had been looking for her. Waiting around was making him risk everything to be with her, and he had to get back to being objective, to understanding and accepting that she wasn’t for him.
It was time to find out the truth.
Though she’d fallen asleep with eyes wet from weeping, Catherine woke up feeling at peace. She’d cried from relief, and the knowledge that she was not alone in the world, that Duncan would never allow her to be. She didn’t know what her future held, but she was content to let it happen, and to cease her constant worrying, to accept that she could be like other women.
As she helped to serve the men breakfast, she didn’t see Duncan, and after a while, she quietly asked Ivor where he’d gone.
The war chief eyed her for a long moment. “He had business to attend to, mistress. He has no need to clear his plans with anyone.”
Catherine blinked at the prick of embarrassment his words caused. “I know that, sir. I was simply curious.”
Several men chuckled, and worse, Sheena didn’t bother to hide a superior grin. Catherine stiffened, annoyed with herself for feeling defensive toward Sheena. She felt a tug on her elbow, and turned to find Finn watching her earnestly.
“Come to the horses with me, mistress,” the boy said, tugging her hand.
She had to smile at him—did he see that she needed to be distracted? He was a clever boy, quiet most of the time, but it was obvious he noticed and evaluated everything.
She spent much of the day with him, either at the paddock, or teaching him his letters. She heard nothing about Duncan, and didn’t ask any more questions, knowing it wasn’t her place.
But that night after supper a rider came with news. Catherine felt a sick twist of fear that something had happened to Duncan. It wasn’t her place to stand beside Ivor waiting for the news—she wasn’t the lady of the clan, after all. So she stood with the women, hands on Finn’s shoulders, and watched with apprehension as Ivor spoke quietly to the rider. All around her, the men muttered and waited.
At last Ivor faced the gathering. “We have word of a shipment tonight.”
