Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(32)

Rolfe was stepping farther away from her, his jaw so tight that the muscles running down his neck were corded.

His agitation slapped her straight across the face, shaming her with just how willing she had been, while he appeared furious to have fallen for her charms. He was gone in another moment, leaving her to battle the guilt that tried to tear her flesh from her bones.

But that wasn’t what sent tears into her eyes. Hot, stinging drops that spilled over and onto her cheeks. What broke her was the way he’d retreated from her.

From the Englishwoman that she was.

*

How could she crave him?

Katherine woke to that question in her mind.

Marcus, Robert, Rolfe… They were correct. She was a woman grown now, and she was far from innocent of what went on between men and women.

In some respects, it was better to know, because that helped her find her balance as she tried to sort her feelings into something that could be managed.

Her newest chamber was high in the top of the tower. It had a curved ceiling with exposed arches. What she enjoyed most were the windows. She walked toward one of them, carefully opening the glass that was set into shutters to seal out the weather. The morning chill came in, but she welcomed it after so many days sealed in the cellar, where the air never stirred and all she did was sit in her own stench until she didn’t notice it any longer.

The chamber was a single one, without a partition between receiving and bed space. She cared not at all about the lack of modern appeal, because the room afforded her windows that overlooked every direction. In the distance, she heard a church bell tolling and the McTavishes beginning to rise and greet the day.

She had been a child. Or, at least, childish.

The thought of what Marcus was thinking now was a burr in her underbelly. One she admitted she deserved full well for riding out without a care for what might become of her. Rolfe had done her a service in forcing her to see that.

Her cheeks burned scarlet as she thought of Rolfe. So many emotions rolled through her, like bubbles beginning in a pot of water as it neared the boiling point. First, there was one or two, then eight, and then the entire contents were boiling.

She enjoyed his kiss.

Craved his touch.

Wanted more.

And yet she’d be damned if she would throw herself at a man who detested her for her blood.

At least being loathed because of her parentage was something she understood well. Oh yes, she recalled that so very well from her childhood. Had tasted a different version of it when she’d encountered the Earl of Morton, and finally, it seemed she must face it again in the form of a man she longed for.

Cursed Fate.

She had been its plaything for too long. Frustration nipped at her as she combed out her hair and straightened her bed.

Well, she’d have to cultivate resolve. Wasn’t that the true difference between adult and child?

*

Boyd listened to his laird chuckle with glee. He’d served William McTavish for a long time and knew the different sorts of laughter that came from him. Today, it was a sound rich in victory, confirmed by the satisfaction brightening his eyes.

“Ye see?” William declared. “The English do have uses!”

Boyd took to stroking his beard. His laird didn’t care for the lack of camaraderie.

“Well, speak yer mind,” William said at last. “I’m growing old waiting.”

Boyd gripped his wide belt before choosing his words. “I do nae think yer son will be happy about taking the lass down to the Earl of Morton. Rolfe was clear when he brought her here that it was to teach her a lesson.”

“I am no’ the chit’s father,” William announced with a wave of his hand.

“Well, now, the earl would likely no’ be interested in her if ye were.”

William scoffed at Boyd. “What matters is that we have her, and the Earl of Morton values her.”

“Perhaps ye should be more concerned about what yer son will say when he learns that ye plan to give the little lass back to a man who tried to have her wed when she was too young.”

“She is a woman grown now,” William argued. “It’s time for her to wed.”

“Wedding too young is no’ the only sort of ill that a bad match can bring to a woman,” Boyd responded. “Yer son will be quick to tell ye so. He feels responsible for the lass, make no mistake.”

William took to drinking. It was a long moment before he lowered his mug and contemplated Boyd. “Ye’re right, and yet I am proud of Rolfe. He’s now a man to be reckoned with, so I’ll not shirk from telling him. I’m doing the best I can for me clan. He’ll have to reconcile himself to it in the end.”

“Ye’re certain of that?”

William lifted his mug but paused with it in the air between them. “Aye. For I’ll tell him in front of the men, at the same time that I inform the English wench of her fate. Rolfe will nae cross me in front of the clan. His honor would no’ allow him to.”

It was a bold strategy, but he was a Highlander. William drank long and deep before he set his empty mug aside and stood. He was going to dress well for the moment, taking care to ensure that he looked every inch the laird of the McTavishes.

*

It was one of Laird McTavish’s captains who knocked on her door next. Katherine turned toward the sound, anticipating supper. All she received was a curt nod and a jerk of the man’s head.