Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(2)

“My reputation is already ruined because I am here,” Katherine protested.

“That is no’ the same thing at all,” Marcus informed her in a steely voice. “And I hope to Christ ye never discover the truth of the matter. For tonight, ye’ll take yerself back inside, and I will deal with ye when I return.”

Marcus’s word was law on MacPherson land. Only his father and his brother, Bhaic, might argue with him, and Katherine wasn’t dense enough to think either of them would disagree. So she lowered her chin and bit her lip. It earned her a soft grunt from Marcus before he moved back toward his horse.

Then the muttering started.

“English chit…”

“More trouble than we need…”

“Damned English always think themselves better than Scots…”

Men she’d thought of as friends suddenly turned traitor, calling her “English” as though she had only recently arrived on their land.

She’d truly thought her feelings dead when it came to the subject of her blood. The rush of hurt flooding her proved her wrong.

Well, that was foolish.

And she would have none of it.

Her father’s blue, noble blood was a curse, and she’d learned the burden of it by the time she was five. His legitimate wife detested her because of the cost of the tutors needed to educate her and the dowry she’d require. She’d been abducted because of that dowry and nearly wed at fourteen.

Marcus MacPherson had taken her into the Highlands instead. It had seemed to be the perfect solution. So far removed from England and her family, there was no one to tell her what she must be. She had been free.

Even from her gender.

Katherine lifted her chin because even after mounting, the MacPherson retainers were still considering her. She refused to crumble. Training among them as a lad, she’d learned to keep her tears hidden, and she’d be damned if she’d show them any now. A stable lad suddenly came up and tried to take her horse.

“I’ll tend to my own mount,” she informed him, making sure her voice carried. “As I always have.”

Katherine didn’t wait to see what those watching made of her words. She reached up and ran a confident hand along the muzzle of her horse before she turned and started to lead it toward the stable.

Indeed, she took care of herself, and that brought her much-needed relief from the sting of her bruised emotions.

*

“What do ye mean by that?” Helen Grant demanded.

Marcus eyed his wife, crossing his arms over his chest and facing her down, as was his fashion. Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Ye heard me clearly, Wife.”

Helen scoffed and settled her newest babe into its cradle before she turned on him while pulling the laces on her dress tight. “What I heard was that ye seem to think what a woman does with her day is easier to learn than a man’s lot.”

Marcus frowned. “Do nae go twisting me words.”

“I should have had charge of her years ago if ye wanted her trained properly in the running of a house,” Helen continued. “Ye are the one who allowed her to be a lad.”

“And for good reason,” Marcus answered back. “She’s English. Ye know how often ye have heard curses against her kin, and I assure ye, I have heard three times as much because the men do tend to mind their tongues around the women in the hall.”

Helen had finished closing her dress and settled her hands on her hips. “As I said, I do nae know what ye expect me to do with her now that ye’ve let her run wild for the past six years. She’s twenty now.”

“I know.” Marcus’s control slipped, allowing his exasperation to bleed through into his tone. “She’s a woman, and yet she was intent on riding out with us last evening.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Helen replied. “Why is it a concern now?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, and his wife read his expression like a book. There was no point in trying to keep the matter to himself. He let out a soft word of Gaelic.

“We went out and lifted some of the Gordons’ cattle.”

His wife stiffened. The Gordons hated the MacPhersons and would spill blood if they could. Old Laird Colum Gordon wanted vengeance for the death of his son, Lye Rob, and the old man didn’t seem to care that Bhaic MacPherson had killed Lye Rob with good reason. Lye Rob had stolen Bhaic’s new wife, Ailis, and no Highlander worth his name was going to let a man get away with that. Nothing seemed to matter to the old laird of the Gordons except vengeance.

Marcus knew he was playing with fire by going anywhere near Gordon land. Needling the local clans was one matter; going onto Gordon land was another altogether because it might get him killed. His wife was going to tear a strip off his back for chancing it.

“Damn ye, Marcus,” Helen berated him. “So, ye are still acting like a child?” She pointed at their son. “And what will become of the children I bear ye if ye get yer throat slit?”

Marcus only lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Ye know it will nae come to that. The Grants took some of ours last month. It’s just a bit of fun.”

Helen made a soft sound. “With the Gordons, it is very different. Which is why ye do nae want Katherine along. Do nae think to pull the wool over me eyes.”

Marcus opened his arms in exasperation. “Aye!” He snorted. “There, I’ve agreed with ye. And ye would have a place if I were to pay for me choices in blood, so do nae insult me by asking such a question. Now tell me ye will take her in hand.” He made a motion with his hand. “And teach her…what a woman should be doing with her time.”