Page 66 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
When Cat had been up on the cliff and seen Duncan for the first time since her revelation, she’d been a cauldron of roiling emotions. To her surprise, after the sorrow and anger had almost strangled her, it was the disappointment that lingered like a bad aftertaste. She’d trusted Duncan, had been so very vulnerable, lost, and alone with no memories—and he’d betrayed her. Deliberately, coldly, cruelly. Yes, he was a man who believed in a good cause—but his methods tarnished his motives. And she’d almost convinced herself she loved him. She shuddered.
As she began to stir one of the cauldrons with a long stick, Cat let her thoughts wander. When she’d first gotten her wild emotions under control, she’d debated stealing a horse and riding away. But it was a long day’s journey, perhaps two, to Castle Kinlochard, and without guards and no supplies, she’d be putting herself at risk.
And she’d be running away, something that seemed too cowardly, and easy on Duncan. He’d deserved to know what she thought of him and his betrayal. And besides, he would have figured out the truth and tracked her down. And then where would she be—tied up?
She’d thought about revenge, too—she could have stayed silent, perhaps found out the secrets of their whisky smuggling and stopped it on behalf of her brother, or led her brother there to set a trap. But what would that have accomplished? These people needed the coin that her father and his cohorts had deprived the Carlyle clan of earning, with their chief a wanted outlaw. She knew these people now, and couldn’t deliberately hurt them. They were as innocent as she was.
But oh, she wanted to leave. Duncan had insisted she needed an escort, as if he only wanted to protect her—ha! she thought bitterly. He wouldn’t be protecting her, but protecting his secrets, making sure she told her brother nothing that would harm his people.
When Owen discovered the depth of their father’s sins, he would feel guilty, as if he should have stopped the crimes he hadn’t known about. She felt the same way, much as her logical self argued against it.
Did Duncan really feel any shame about what he’d done to her? After all they’d shared . . . She turned her head away from the women, as if looking into the distance, so they couldn’t see her face. The redness she could blame on heat from the cauldrons, but if she looked like she was going to cry, she’d have to explain.
She could not forget the intimate things she’d allowed Duncan to do to her; she’d even asked him to sleep with her! She shuddered. At least he’d had some bit of decency inside him, and he’d refused. But maybe he’d forget that after a while. She’d grown up hearing that men could be uncontrollable animals when their passions were high. Not that she’d believed her mother, who looked the other way at whatever their father did, so she could continue her carefree, wealthy life. And Cat didn’t believe a man like her brother Owen, so scholarly and in control of his emotions, would ever be overcome by anything. But then she’d once glimpsed a glance he’d shared with Maggie, and the heat in it—Cat had blushed and quickly looked away. He was her brother, for heaven’s sake.
But if passion could consume a man like Owen, then she didn’t know what might happen with Duncan. And she wasn’t going to risk finding out. She couldn’t stay alone in his chamber for another night. What if he snuck in there and tried—something? He could overpower her, he could—
Or worse, his caresses might overtake her reason and she might very well submit. She hated to admit such a weakness, but she never lied to herself. She despised him for how he’d deceived and used her, preying on her memory loss, watching how much she struggled with it and saying nothing.
And yet when he’d come up to the castle ruins, broad-shouldered and powerful, his dark eyes so intent as if she was the only woman in the world, she’d remembered how he’d brought her body to life, making it hum with pleasure, bringing about a little explosion of passion with just his fingers. Her body remembered, damn him. And lusted. If anyone had ever told her she could be overcome like this, she wouldn’t have believed them.
She was not going to stay in his private chamber any longer. She needed the protection of the women around her—these women she was going to lie to. She swallowed hard.
When they took a midday break to serve a simple meal, Cat pulled Maeve aside while the other women refilled the men’s tankards of ale from pitchers.
Cat wet her lips and looked earnestly into her friend’s concerned eyes. “I’d like to begin sleeping in the great hall, with the rest of the women.”
Maeve blinked at her for a moment. “Is there a problem?”
“I don’t like being treated differently than everyone else.” True enough.
“Himself doesn’t mind ye usin’ his chamber.”
“I know. He’s said it over and over again, but I’m growing more uncomfortable with that. It feels like special treatment, makes it seem like there is . . . an understanding between us.”
She hadn’t meant to say so much, but Maeve had this encouraging, sympathetic way about her.
“And is there?” Maeve asked quietly.
Cat let out a long breath. “There mustn’t be. Because of my . . . situation. And I’m worried that because I’m alone, we’ll both get . . . ideas.”
Maeve nodded. “Very well. Ye’re our guest.”
No, Cat was a captive—but Maeve didn’t know that. What would loyal Maeve, or any of the clan, think of their laird if they knew what he’d done? Cat reminded herself that she was their enemy, and they wouldn’t believe her anyway. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “After dinner I’ll gather my things.”
“I’ll give ye the pallet his lairdship has been usin’, and he can go back to usin’ his own.”
Cat wanted to groan, but held it in. Wonderful. She’d be sleeping in his bed yet again. She wasn’t going to think about it.
During the afternoon’s continuation of the laundry—and after Cat had managed to put Duncan’s saddlebag back in the cave, including the brooch, for where else could she keep it hidden?—the women began to discuss a harvest festival to be celebrated in the village the next day. Cat’s ears pricked up, and she listened carefully as they discussed attending, and the precautions of having to hide where they were coming from. They spoke with adoration of Duncan, who they felt had saved the village with the barley and other seeds he’d been able to purchase in the spring.
Purchase with money from the sale of Duff whisky, Cat realized. She certainly wanted the price lifted off Duncan’s head, so he could help his people by legal methods. Cat wasn’t going to condemn the clan because of their chief’s method of vengeance. She wasn’t going to be like Duncan—or her father.
But a harvest festival would be a chance to escape the cave, even if only briefly. It would remind her of her old life, where she was free to attend parties and balls, where men bowed before her rather than held her captive. But none of those men had been special to her; she had no place to call her own, to nurture. She’d have to build such a life for herself, and she couldn’t do that until she went home.
But for now, the harvest festival would distract her. She had to figure out how to get herself invited, and convince Duncan it was safe to allow her to attend.
Cat used Duncan’s absence to remove her clothing from his chamber, then hung them where Maeve indicated, on pegs driven into the cave wall. Sheena watched her with her mouth agape, before her expression turned triumphant.
