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“You don’t say!” A look of surprise came over her face. But then she smiled at her brother-in-law. “Are you happy?”
“He looks really…relaxed,” Lachlan needled.
Fingal did not strive to answer her intriguing question and let it go. He would not know what to say, anyway.
“I heard you work well together,” Freya commented.
“Those damned stable hands cannot keep their thoughts to themselves,” he answered simply.
Next day, Fingal sat at breakfast when his wife entered. It had rained during the night, but the sun had already appeared this early.
Their eyes clasped, and the lass went all blushing, the simple view igniting his blood once again.
Had the night not been enough for pity’s sake! He could not get his fill of her. It scared the life out of him. Desire, yes, but something else consumed him that trespassed beyond his body. The suspicion he would have married her even if she had been a commoner confounded him like hell. He, who was always so mindful of his clan’s duties, would have thrown everything to the blazes for her.
And he could not give a hoot about it.
“Your father does not seem too happy with the…turn of events,” Fingal broached. He left the conversation for this morning simply because he had been incapable of getting a grip on his lust previously.
A footman served her tea and left.
Her delicate fingers were taking a piece of toast to that maddening mouth of hers. But she stopped midway, dark gaze snapping to his with worry. “Did he come here?”
“No.” He rested his fork on the plate. “He talked to Drostan. Apparently, your mother sent him a letter while we travelled.”
One of her hands lifted to her temple. “Anna must let her know, naturally.”
“It’s done. He cannot do anything about it now,” Fingal dismissed.
“I’ll talk to him. Our family’s manor lay but a half-day’s ride from here. I could overnight there and be back the next day.”
“No, you won’t,” the command rose, unashamed. He would not let her bear the brunt of her father’s vexation alone.
“We have to. We’re risking a clans’ rift,” she pointed out.
“Your father is being unreasonable,” Fingal stated. “He sought an alliance with the McKendrick, and now he has it.”
“He does not deal well with unplanned circumstances,” Catriona revealed. “And one of his daughters disobeyed him.”
A side-smirk drew his lips. “Why am I not surprised?” His wife showed she possessed a mind of her own. “In any case, Drostan will call him here. We’re gathering in a few days.”
“I still think I should talk to him privately.” Her insistence in undertaking responsibility was laudable to be sure.
“We’re doing this together though clans’ issues must be discussed among men.”
At that, she placed both hands on the table and inclined her torso forward, intent stare on him. “Don’t you dare leave me out of this,” she stated firmly, and arousal thrummed through him all over again. This wife of his could turn him on with a flick of her lashes. “I am the one who started it.”
Not that he would say he was too sorry about it. Considering her sister would have made a poor Highlander’s bride, he became certain that, in creating this charade, she made things fall into place. At least, in his point of view.
Especially in his point of view.
“I won’t, Catriona. But now you abide by Clan McKendrick’s decisions.” He imprinted finality in that.
She gave a curt nod, surely understanding that she became a McKendrick by marriage, and as such, she owed loyalty to her husband and his clan.
Catriona led Debranua through the north track after breakfast. She strived to keep her morning rides though she knew her life had gone through alterations with her marriage and moving to Scotland. This, at least, she would preserve.
Fingal’s words in the morning got her mind whirling. She mused about her father’s reaction to the unfolding of her decisions. There was no opportunity to talk to him properly due to the distance. Her new husband had just whisked her to Gretna Green, and the swiftness of the changes in her life had been too high for any other formality.
