Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(76)

“Rolfe does not accept me as I am.” She opened her hands. “I wish it were otherwise, but I do not know how to be anything else.”

Marcus smiled at her, but it was the way a father would look at a child being sent to do a duty expected of her.

“It’s me fault ye are more fearful of this day than need be,” he said. “For that, I am sorry.”

“Yet you will leave me with a man who wishes to crush my spirit?”

Marcus inhaled sharply. “Helen charged me with the same thing more than once.”

That brought Katherine up short. “You and Helen are so very happy.”

“Aye.” Marcus nodded. “We had to learn how to be, Katherine. To many, it might seem Helen settled in, but I will tell ye bluntly, it took both of us to make our union what it is. Think on that, lass, for ye can be certain I’d no’ leave ye here if I had not already said as much and more to yer husband.”

A little tingle of warmth filled her. Marcus was more of a father to her than any other.

“I am not the one who is digging his heels in,” she groused, feeling the point well and truly lost.

Marcus slowly smiled, flashing his teeth at her. “Well, now, Helen had to get through to me, through me stubborn pride, and it was no’ a simple matter. There were times she needed things to help her bring me around to sensible thinking.”

“Such as what things?”

Marcus chuckled, the sound dark and ominous. “Such as pitchers.”

He looked past her, and she turned to see Rolfe coming toward them. The expression on his face drew her attention. At first, it seemed to be anger, but at second glance, she realized he was determined. Deeply so. He’d heard the last part and raised an eyebrow.

“Pitchers?” he asked. “What do ye need a pitcher for, Kat?”

Marcus snorted, nearly choking on his amusement. He slapped Rolfe on the shoulder. “Pray she does nae ever answer that, lad. It leaves a hell of a ringing in a man’s ears when he gets walloped with one because he is behaving like a fool.”

*

Laird William McTavish was happy to see his son return. So much so that he made his way onto the steps as the McTavishes flooded out of the hall to greet the returning men. His joy faded when he caught sight of Katherine.

She tried not to let it bother her, sliding from the back of her mare and keeping her chin level.

The McTavish laird was not the only one glaring at her. Rolfe reached up and tugged on his bonnet before he turned and gestured her forward.

I do nae accept cowards in me yard.

Marcus’s words rose from her memory but she would have moved forward anyway, because there was no way she would be ashamed of who she was.

“Best we go inside, Father.”

William McTavish frowned, clearly not caring for his son’s words. His captains sent Katherine looks that made it clear they thought her the cause of trouble. What surprised them was the way Adwin came up beside her, taking a stance a half pace back and off to her right.

Laird McTavish stared for a long moment at Adwin and the retainers who had joined him. Those on the steps quieted, sensing the tension in the air.

“Aye,” William replied. He turned and began to make his way back into the hall. His wooden leg made a pounding noise on the stone floor as he went.

He suddenly stopped and turned to look at Rolfe. “I should introduce ye to Anne Grahan.” There was a movement off to the side as a woman stood up. “Yer bride.”

The girl came forward and lowered herself. She didn’t look up, not even when she straightened.

“It’s time ye were wed, and I have taken care of the contracts while ye were away.” He waved away Anne, who went happily.

“Father.”

William was settling himself in his seat at the high table. “Ye may express yer gratitude.”

“I am already wed,” Rolfe spoke clearly. “To Katherine.”

She expected outrage, but instead William McTavish merely cast her a rather uninterested look before returning his attention to Rolfe. “I agreed to no such match.”

“It is done,” Rolfe insisted. The hall was so quiet that she heard the wind whistling in the open windows.

“I am yer laird.” William’s tone became harder. “And I say I have contracted ye to Anne Grahan.”

“The vows were consummated and witnessed,” Rolfe told his father. “By Duncan Lindsey.”

William leaned forward, his pallor increasing. “I sent ye down to give this English chit to Morton.”

“Katherine was me prize,” Rolfe informed his father. “So mine to keep.”

William shook his head. “Nae if yer laird disagrees.” He shifted his attention to her. “Perhaps the rumors of ye being a witch are true. It seems ye have somehow turned me son against me.”

There was more than one gasp. Katherine felt her insides knotting. Just the mention of the word witch drew her back to the moment when she had watched the stake being raised and readied for her.

But it was Anne’s horrified face that Katherine ended up staring at. The girl was terrified of William now.

“Hate me for being English.” Katherine spoke up.

“Oh, I assure ye I do,” Laird McTavish answered her loudly. “And ye will no’ speak to me unless spoken to.”