Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(71)

*

She heard someone venture near her just before first light. A soft step on the ground, just a shifting of gravel beneath a boot heel. It brought her awake in an instant, because Marcus had bedded his training troops down in the yard more than once to sharpen their skills.

Waking up blurry-eyed and slow-witted was an invitation to get kicked in the backside by one of the captains.

Rolfe bent his knees and hunched down near her. The sky was just starting to lighten. It wasn’t day yet, just that hazy time when it was no longer night and the first birds had yet to sing in welcome to the dawn.

“Ye do nae care to wear me colors?”

The length of McTavish wool was lying a couple of feet from where she’d slept. She’d used the hip roll as a pillow and slept in the skirt of the dress. Rolfe didn’t care for what he saw, but there was only one way to appease him, and that was with submission.

“You do not care for my ways.” She’d sat all the way up and was perched on her feet, crouching low, as secure in the lunge as he was. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a moment.

“I never deceived you as to what I am,” she stated clearly.

“Nor did I hide from ye what I felt ye needed to learn,” Rolfe answered her, his expression becoming stern. “Ye still wed me, Katherine, of yer own free will. Get dressed. We can come to agreement once we’re out of Morton’s reach.”

“You mean to say that I can accept my lot.”

He’d pushed to his feet but looked back at her. She watched him grip his belt and set his jaw. He left it unsaid between them, turning his wide shoulders on her and walking back toward where the horses were starting to stir.

Refusing to put the dress on would have been childish and foolish, considering she started to shiver now that she was clothed only in the thin court clothing. Silk might be very pretty, but it was completely ill-suited to nights spent outdoors in Scotland.

The cold was cutting through the fabric, making her clench her teeth to keep them from chattering.

She gave a little huff and gathered up the parts of the dress before moving behind some bushes to dress. Stubbornness wouldn’t keep her warm. When she emerged, one of the younger retainers was standing there. He’d turned his back on her position, nodding when he heard her come around. He offered her the length of McTavish plaid, having plucked it from the ground where she’d left it.

Confusion flickered in his eyes when she didn’t reach for it. He didn’t seem to think it worthy of a question, but followed her down to where the horses were waiting and tossed the wool across the back of a mare.

Her will meant nothing.

And the knowledge of that was like salt water flowing into a garden. Her happiness strangled on it, poisoned by harsh facts and blunt reality.

*

“Still being stubborn?”

Rolfe looked up and found Adwin contemplating him.

“She did ye a service.”

Rolf finished his business and dropped his kilt. “Ye should never have allowed her to show herself. Christ, Adwin, Morton might have wed her to a bastard who would have been happy to have her.”

Adwin looked straight back at him. “Life is no’ fair. I taught ye that lesson a long time ago, and do nae forget it was me. For all that yer father is laird, he was no’ the one riding beside ye, taking the same risks ye were, willing to stand in front of ye to shield ye from harm. I’ve had plenty of experience protecting ye, so do nae start suggesting I will be changing me ways. I’d have done anything to get ye out of that dungeon. If that makes me a bastard, so be it, but I’m one who watched yer back.”

Rolfe rocked back on his heels. “I’d do the same for ye, Adwin, but hiding behind a woman?”

“Morton was nae going to hang her,” Adwin responded. “I’d no’ have allowed her near the man if I’d thought her life was in danger. And before ye argue with me further, yer bloody life was in jeopardy. Morton is a mad bastard. He’d have chopped off yer head as an example, and ye’re a fool if ye do nae believe so. He’d been bested already by Marcus over Katherine, so he had a great deal to lose if he was duped again.”

“So I am to just accept that me wife might have been called upon to prostitute herself on me behalf?”

Adwin stepped toward him and lowered his voice so it didn’t carry. “Ye recognize she does nae put herself above ye. That’s a rare thing, lad. I’ve lived more years than ye have, and I’m warning ye, do nae let her affection be strangled by yer pride.”

“It’s more than me pride to want to keep her from being bedded by another. A man she did no’ choose. That’s rape, Adwin. Something I’m sworn to shield her from.”

Adwin closed his eyes, and when he lifted his eyelids, there was a hard glint in the dark depths. “Better some fucking than yer head rotting on a pike. Hate me for saying it, but at least ye’re alive to do it.”

Adwin turned and left. Rolfe watched him go, feeling as though he’d been smashed in the jaw.

“I can kick ye in the balls if ye do nae see the wisdom in what yer man said.”

Rolfe turned to discover Marcus MacPherson standing behind him. The war chief had stopped in his favorite pose, feet braced shoulder-width apart as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yer turn to have a go at me?”

Marcus only curled his lips back and gave Rolfe a flash of his teeth.