Page 91 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
“We were so worried, Catherine,” she said, taking both of Cat’s hands in her own and squeezing them. “But we realized ye’d taken yer favorite horse, and since none of the patrols had seen ye, we hoped that meant ye were well.”
“I went after Himself to ride with him, and never thought to let anyone know. Forgive me.”
Maeve waved a hand. “’Tis good ye got away from this damp old cave. Come, I’ve saved ye some supper.”
Duncan had Cat precede him to a table. After Sheena studied the two of them, her shoulders drooped, and she turned away. Much as he knew Cat would never make it obvious that they’d been intimate, it was better that Sheena understood that he was not drawn to her.
Their homecoming obviously made Cat nervous. She sat on the opposite side of a table, down a bit from him, though they were the only two people there. She didn’t meet his gaze, and talked pointedly to Maeve as she brought them roasted plovers, carrots, and cheese. Duncan didn’t want to make Cat feel uneasy—didn’t want her to have any regrets. He had enough for them both.
Ivor proved a good distraction as he updated Duncan about the patrols searching the southwestern Highlands. Another child had gone missing, and his every instinct told him that the sheriff was going to try another run to the coast, with less children this time, in hopes of slipping through the web of Duncan’s men. One by one Duncan had incapacitated the sheriff’s men, leaving less to do his bidding. The people of the countryside had risen as well, searching high and low for the children. He felt like he was so close to ending this scourge on his people, to proving he could keep them safe at last—to catching the sheriff at his evil deeds.
He retreated to his chamber after the meal, not so much for Cat’s benefit as his own. Looking at her made him feel a mixture of pleasure and pain, all of which had to remain hidden behind his usual somber façade. He’d never thought it was difficult to project strength, command, and certainty to his people; he was their chief, and confidence was a duty he owed them. He’d learned to hide his more conflicted feelings since childhood.
But not Cat. From the moment she’d arrived, her sweet face projected her every emotion, at first fear, then gratitude and contentment, then even the happiness of helping the lost children. And this day, when she’d lain beneath him in bed, her face had been a reflection of wonder and desire, urgency and fulfillment.
But not love. She would never love him. And he didn’t think it fair to her to make her suffer through this evening struggling to hide whatever she felt: shame, guilt, or perhaps even regret. Much as she’d insisted the choice had been hers, she could be regretting it now.
Duncan ran a hand through his hair, uncertain what he should do. He’d thought making love to her might have cured him of his desperate need, but it only seemed worse now that he knew what he’d miss for the rest of his days. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the wild way she’d thrown her head back in exultation, her dark hair cascading across the bedding. He relived the eager and unashamed way she’d touched him, and the feel of her soft, sweet skin beneath his mouth, the hard little nipples, the sensitive, wet folds of her womanhood.
With a groan, he stumbled away from his pallet, the one she’d spent so many nights in—and saw his trunk. Cat had reminded him of his father’s letters, and he pounced on the distraction with relief. He’d read the first few before, had seen only a chief dealing with rent and taxes and farming. Duncan hadn’t gone further, for he thought his father had buried himself in the mundane details of his lands, rather than overcome the shame of his sins to be the leader his clan needed.
This time Duncan kept reading, saw with disbelief that his father had known of the kidnappings. The man had never been a warrior, had not hoped to defeat this evil with sword and pistol, so he’d tried to use his pen and his intellect—neither of which had worked against the sheriff and the hidden support of the Earl of Aberfoyle.
But he’d tried.
For the first time in his life, Duncan could see through his bitterness and find a kernel of strength in his father. The man had been more than what Duncan, in his youth, had thought of him. Like his father, Duncan had done things he wasn’t proud of, but he wouldn’t abandon his people—and neither had his father, until an explosion of temper, and then guilt and shame, had worn him down.
Duncan had let revenge wear him down, cloud his thinking, until he’d believed that holding an injured, innocent woman captive was something necessary, imperative even. He’d been such a fool. Much as he was a chief, he wasn’t God, sitting in judgment over all the world. If he wanted the respect of his clan, he had to deserve it. Cat was right—the whisky smuggling, much as it helped his clan now, would only lead to further problems. He would stop it as soon as he could.
He couldn’t imagine a day when he would be a normal man, overseeing his clan, searching for a wife. That woman could never be Cat; she’d made that clear. Though he didn’t deserve her, he wanted to be worthy of her, wanted to earn her respect.
But would the ache of regret and lost love ever ease enough that he could court another woman?
“Laird Carlyle?”
Duncan stiffened at the sound of his name. He slid open the curtain to find young Finn standing there, hands twisted in his coat, eyes wide, then quickly downcast.
“Aye, Finn?”
“Might I speak with ye, Laird Carlyle?”
“Of course.” Duncan stepped back, and when he felt like he dominated the chamber by towering over the nervous boy, he sat down and regarded him. “What might I do for ye?”
Finn took a deep breath, then spoke quickly, “Mistress Catherine thought I should tell ye all the truth, so I’m here to do that.”
Duncan’s own lies felt a sword to the gut when looking at this boy’s innocent, smudged face. He frowned. “And why did ye feel the need to withhold something from me?”
“There’s only been me to protect meself since me mum died. And if those on the streets knew the truth . . . it wouldn’t go well for me.”
“I’m glad to have your trust then, Finn. I won’t betray it.”
“Hope not, sir. The thing is . . .” The words trailed off, Finn closed his eyes, then said in a rush, “I’m a girl, not a boy.” Finn peered at him worriedly through narrowed, frightened eyes.
Duncan blinked for a moment, as everything he thought about the lad—lass—rearranged itself. “I can see why ye kept that a secret on the streets of Glasgow.”
Finn’s thin shoulders sagged. “Mistress Catherine . . . she said ye knew the truth about her, and ’twould be all right if I told ye about me. Is it, sir?”
Duncan briefly touched the girl’s arm. “I am honored that ye shared your secret with me, Finn. What did Mistress Catherine say about her secret?”
