Page 80 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
It made her feel uncomfortable that her opinion could sway him. Suddenly, she felt strange knowing that she’d seen his father’s papers, that she’d committed her own indiscretion. She wanted to ask if he knew the contents—if he knew he might have some evidence against her father, vague though it was. But it wasn’t her place to talk to him about something so personal. They weren’t going to have that kind of relationship anymore. Awkward and unsure, she left him alone.
She was still lost in thought when she wandered back into the great hall. As if she’d been waiting for Cat, Maeve met her when she crossed the footbridge.
“Well?” Maeve asked anxiously. “Did ye convince him to stay?”
Cat blinked at her. “I don’t think I had the power to do that. He realized the truth himself.”
Maeve let out her breath. “’Tis good that ye’re here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve never seen him react to anyone the way he’s done with you.”
Cat felt herself flushing with heat. “I think that’s overstating things.”
“Nay, ’tis not. Just promise me that if your memory returns, or if ye think ye have to go, try to spare him if ye can.”
The woman was uncomfortably close to the truth, and Cat couldn’t even meet her always direct gaze. Again, she felt the sting of guilt, knowing she was lying to this kind woman, even if it was for the clan’s benefit. But she could get one thing off her chest.
Cat looked past her, to see if they were alone. “I must confess something, Maeve, and I need your advice.”
“Confess?” Maeve echoed, her frown distorted by a scar snaking up from her cheek.
“When I was storing my clothing in his lairdship’s trunk, I found letters to his father.”
The woman’s wrinkled forehead smoothed out. “Ah, yes. Himself had a . . . complicated relationship with his father. It often brings him pain to remember. I urged him to throw those letters out—”
“But it’s good he didn’t. Maeve, they might be proof that the Earl of Aberfoyle was involved. And they also show that his father had known about the missing children, and had been pursuing justice in his own way. He’d died before it could happen, but . . . perhaps Duncan should know that his father wasn’t as weak as he’d thought he was.”
Maeve studied her closely. “Ye care much for our laird.”
Cat wanted to deny that outright, but it would make her friend suspicious. And that was the only reason she stayed silent.
“Why did ye not tell him yerself?” Maeve continued, with a teasing edge to her voice. “Ye were just alone with him.”
Cat hoped she was suppressing a blush. “We’ve both agreed not to pursue this attraction we feel. And to tell him something so personal—not to mention admit I read them . . .”
“Very well,” Maeve said kindly. “I’ll pick a good time to tell him. I’ll even say me own curiosity made me ask ye to read me the letters. I cannot read, ye know,” she admitted matter-of-factly.
“No, I will not let you lie for me.” Cat was aghast.
“‘Twill not be much of a lie. I’ve always been curious. Just let me take care of it.”
“Maeve—”
But with a wave, the other woman walked away.
And Cat let her, because she was far too confused about her own motives.
Chapter 18
Taking comfort from a woman—a woman he’d wronged, no less—only confused and irritated Duncan. Aye, it had been necessary to hear the words of truth about Winifred’s situation, and his own responsibilities, but he didn’t like how easily he wanted to revert to the youth he’d once been, the one who acted first and worried about the consequences later. He thought he’d left that fool behind, but apparently, one threat to his sister and he lost himself again.
Catriona had come to him, offered advice, listened to the worst of his fears, and calmed him. Was it such a weakness that a woman he loved could do such a thing? Especially when he knew she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. But he couldn’t let himself grow accustomed to her counsel. He’d be taking her home, and her family would make certain Duncan never had anything to do with her again.
Walking through the great hall, he saw more than one of his men watching him with wary sympathy, though none bothered him. Finn wasn’t within the cave, and he found the boy at the paddock, brooding as he watched the horses graze.
Though Finn stiffened, Duncan leaned on the fence beside him and said nothing. It was a cold, misty wet day, and even the ruins towering on the cliffs over their heads were hidden within a dreary fog.
