“There’s nay need tae bother ye. I’ll see tae mesel’,” Catriona told her kindly, unused to being waited on after so long. Also, she needed time to think. “I’ll bathe now. And after that, I’ll have some supper and then go tae bed. I need tae rest me ankle and get some proper sleep,” she said, eying the comfortable bed with anticipation. It was luxurious in comparison to her narrow cot at the priory. She turned to smile at Isla. “Go on and have yer supper.”
“I’ll come back with supper later, me lady,” Isla promised before departing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was bliss to wallow in the luxurious warmth of the tub, washing her hair with the lavender soap provided. When she finally stepped out of the tub to dry off, she noticed with some shame how grimy the water was and wondered what Isla would make of it.
An hour later, the tub had been cleared away, and she was seated at the table in her chamber, dressed in night attire, her long hair combed out to dry. A feast had been set before her and she was steadily devouring the food with relish. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
However, while she was eating, Catriona’s thoughts returned to the uncertainty of her situation. Clearly, she was going nowhere until her ankle was better, but questions about what might happen to her after that nagged at her.
The thought weighing most heavily on her already troubled conscience was knowing her presence endangered Malcolm andhis clan. But she lacked the power to change the situation. Besides she had come to live with the burden of guilt.
But there was another equally pressing matter to deal with. Living under the same roof as Malcolm would, she knew, be a sort of torture. Incomprehensible as it was, he just seemed to grow more attractive every moment she spent with him. Not just because of his gorgeous looks but also the way he treated her. He was not the Malcolm she remembered. He was much, much more.
Just being around him felt... dangerous.
“We managed tae stay clear of Sinclair’s men until we go tae Craigmoor.”
Malcolm was speaking from behind his desk in the study, his councilmen gathered around in various attitudes, listening while he described the escape from the priory and the journey back to the castle.
Ewan was leaning against the wainscotting, arms folded, listening keenly.
“Did ye see any more of Sinclair’s men after ye left the village?” he asked after Malcolm told them about the saddler’s help.
“Nay, but I’m certain they’re searchin’ all the villages from here tae Elgin for her. I want scouts sent out immediately, tae report back tae me on any move Sinclair and his men make, especially on our land. If any are found, I want them gone.”
“I’ll see tae it as soon as we’re done here,” Ewan assured him with unusual grimness.
“From what ye say, me laird, Sinclair seems every bit as determined tae get his hands on the lass as ever,” said Rory, an experienced guard captain in his forties and valued advisor. “He’s nae a good man tae make an enemy of. If he figures out who helped her escape, he’s bound tae pay us a visit. He has a large force. It could go badly fer us.”
“Thank ye, Rory, I’m well aware of that,” Malcolm said with a respectful nod. “Which is why I gave orders tae double the watch as soon as I got back. On top of that, I want all the men briefed and on alert in case Sinclair comes, and get them checkin’ security all around the castle. Unless he brings his entire army, we can keep him out long enough for the Grants tae get here. I’ve already sent a message tae Laird Grant tae advise him of the situation.”
“’Tis nice tae ken there’s backup if we need it, but ’tis quite a distance tae Grant lands. Sinclair could dae a lot of damage before Laird Grant even gets that message,” clan secretary John Morrow remarked, leaning forward in his chair.
“Aye, ’tis a great risk havin’ the lass under our roof, nay question,” his brother Quentin, an old warrior, agreed from thechair next to him. “But while she’s here, we have an obligation tae protect her whatever comes, the poor lass.”
“I wasnae sayin’ we shouldnae protect her,” John responded a little irritably. “I’m just sayin’ we shouldnae play down the potential dangers of havin’ her here.”
“How long will she be stayin’, me laird?” Rory inquired.
“I cannae tell ye that until I get a reply from Laird Grant,” Malcolm replied truthfully, flexing his hands on the polished surface of the desk. He felt restless and wanted to be done with the meeting. He hated the uncertainty of waiting for Sinclair to work things out. He would much rather have gathered his forces and attacked the bastard in his lair.
But that was impossible. He had no legal grounds for doing so that would stand up in front of the Council of Lairds or the King. All he could do was sit tight and wait, and pray Sinclair’s quest to locate Catriona failed.
“It daesnae matter how long she stays,” Ewan said forcefully, pushing himself away from the wall to stand straight. “She’s our guest, and we’ll keep her safe whatever it takes until her braither comes fer her.”
Malcolm shot his brother an approving look for the sentiment, glad of his support. But inwardly, he was finding Ewan’s unalloyed pleasure at Catriona’s presence slightly disturbing. The pair had gotten on famously in the vestibule, and Malcolm had felt the pinch of something like jealousy when Catriona hadacted so pleased to see Ewan. She had not smiled at him so brightly, even though he had rescued her from Sinclair.
And it had rankled him when Ewan had gaily addressed her by her informal nickname, “Cat.”
Before she had gone away, he had always called her Cat. The use of the more formal Catriona had been a defensive move to establish the distance of formality between them because her mistrust hurt him. It seemed to have suited her too.
I’m bein’ foolish again.If the lad wants tae flirt with her, there’s nay harm in it.He was closer to Ewan than anybody in the world, so how could he possibly be jealous of him over a woman who cared naught for him? It made no sense.
Rory’s voice pulled him from his thoughts when he said, “’Unfortunately, this isnae exactly the ideal time fer all this tae be hangin’ over our heads’, what with the Forbes visit scheduled tae happen.”
Ach, Christ, the Forbes! Rory’s right, this is the worst time fer them tae come here.
