Page 62 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
Ivor was no longer speaking as his war chief, but as a friend.
Duncan hesitated, then admitted softly, “Nay, I’m not certain I ken anything anymore.”
“She’s a gentle one, but . . .” Ivor trailed off, and rocked once on the balls of his feet. “But made of steel when she wants her way. And perhaps . . . she wants you.”
Duncan sighed.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” Ivor added quickly.
“Ye’re not intruding. I appreciate your concern. And I’m too susceptible by far to the lass’s charms. Don’t blame her for my inability to keep away from her.”
“I understand that your sister has offered to take her in.”
“Muriel told ye that, did she?”
Ivor only cleared his throat.
“Catherine is my responsibility,” Duncan said. “If I order her to Muriel’s, I think I’d have to tie her up to keep her there. I’ll keep better watch on her here from now on.”
“I vow we all will,” Ivor said.
“Have ye seen her?” Duncan asked.
“Before we spoke, I thought she was with you. Maeve said she began doing laundry with the other women, but now they don’t know where she went.”
“I’ll find out.”
“And keep her tied up in the cave?” Ivor asked, wearing a lopsided smile.
“God, no.” Duncan grimaced, forcing away the erotic images that evoked.
Outside the cave, he saw Maeve, Janet, and Sheena stirring cauldrons full of soapy wet clothing. The hair curled on their damp foreheads and their faces were flushed with the heat.
“Ladies,” Duncan said, to get their attention.
They all paused in unison to stare up at him.
“Where can I find Mistress Catherine?”
“She was supposed to help us, your lairdship,” Sheena said, “but she’s disappeared. Sometimes she’s no a very hard worker.”
Maeve frowned at Sheena before saying to Duncan, “This is the first time she’s ever missed work she volunteered to do.”
It was Duncan’s turn to frown. He went back into the cave, across the little footbridge, and into his own chamber. It was messy, as she always left it, but quite empty. He followed the passageway to the pool cave, but it was inky black.
“Catherine?” he called, just in case.
His voice only echoed.
In the great hall, several men sharpening dirks at the table looked up as he strode past them. Whatever they saw on his face, they only swallowed and went back to their tasks. At the paddock, Catriona wasn’t there, but at least the horse she usually rode was.
When he returned to the cauldrons, Maeve held up a shirt. “I believe this is yours, my laird.”
He frowned. “Aye, and what of it?”
“I found it on the ground, and none of us brought it out, so we assume Mistress Catherine did.”
His faint feeling of unease was growing stronger. Catriona might leave his chamber a mess, but her work on behalf of the clan was always precise. “Was she feeling well this morn?”
