CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The following day, deeply unsettled by the implications of Malcolm’s shocking admission of the previous afternoon, Catriona sought distraction. In the morning before luncheon, she busied herself with helping Mairead and then visited some of the sick villagers in nearby Fochabers with supplies.
In the afternoon, since it was not raining, she put on her cloak and set off for her usual stroll about the castle grounds. She was restless and wished she could take out a horse and ride out through the gates, loose herself in a fast gallop across the meadows. But she knew Malcolm would never allow her to go alone, and considering their strained relationship, did not even think of asking.
As she approached a particular section of the castle, she heard the sharp clash of hammers and chisels on stone echoing ahead of her. Rounding a corner, she was surprised to come across Malcolm overseeing a team of masons, who were repairing a section of the inside of the outer wall.
She stopped in her tracks, observing him as he supervised the men, unable to help admiring the easy authority that oozed from him without ever raising his voice. She started when he noticed her, fearing his anger somewhat after the debacle in the armory corridor. But he merely paused what he was doing and met her gaze. Somewhat encouraged, she approached him.
He did not smile, but his tone was not unfriendly either when he asked, “Has the trainin’ left ye feelin’ sore?”
“Aye, a wee bit,” she admitted, watching his expression carefully for clues as to his inner mood, for his eyes were as unreadable as ever. She lifted her chin, adding, “But I still intend tae continue and improve.”
Malcolm gave a sharp nod that hinted at approval. She despised herself for letting it please her.
“Yer stubbornness will serve ye well if ye mean tae continue,” he said.
“That’s funny. Because Duncan always said the same thing about ye.”
He gave a brief smile, which she once again found annoyingly gratifying. They stared each other for a few long moments, the air full of unspoken words, until one of the men called for his attention.
“Excuse me,” he murmured and turned away from her, returning to his task.
Catriona walked on, her thoughts and emotions churning afresh in confusion.
At supper that evening Catriona dressed with care. Though she told herself it had nothing to do with wanting to impress Malcolm, she knew deep down it was a lie. The pull towards him was strong and staying away from supper and dining alone in her room would, she felt, be an admission of her confusion, and she was not about to let him see it.
At the table, though seated opposite him as always, they exchanged only a few brief words over the meal. He was perfectly polite and filled her cup whenever it ran dry, but she directed most of her attention to Ewan.
She learned that he had only returned a few weeks ago from an expedition to France on Malcolm’s behalf.
“Gordon whisky is in demand, but Malcolm has ideas about importing French wine as well, another of his schemes tae swell the clan’s coffers,” he explained when she asked about it.
Intrigued, Catriona risked a quick glance at Malcolm, only to find him watching her. He gave her brief, unconcerned smile before looking away. Nevertheless, the fact he had beenobserving her further unsettled her. She turned her gaze back to Ewan.
“Ye make him sound like quite the clever business man,” she said, trying not to show how much she wanted to hear more.
“Aye, he is. When faither died, our finances were in a bad way and the coffers had almost run dry. But he’s got a knack fer seeing opportunities and making the best of them. It was his idea tae build the distillery intae a commercial venture, and now we sell it all across Scotland and England too. He’s thinking about producin’ gin as well, if we can get a license from the Crown.”
“Is that so?” she asked, fascinated as well as impressed. She knew that gin, or Jenever, was immensely popular but expensive. “I never kenned he had so much business acumen.”
Ewan chuckled. “Aye, he’s surprised a lot of people, but I always kenned he’d make a good laird. He’s very steady and capable and works hard tae improve the lives of out folk. That’s why they love him.”
“It would seem so,” she agreed, thinking they were two adjectives she would not formerly have associated with him. They were polar opposites to “reckless” and “unreliable,” which was how she had thought of him until very recently. This new information only made her admire him the more. Yet at the same time, it made his hot and cold changes in mood all the more confusing.
“Aye, he’s pretty much turned around our fortunes,” Ewan went on cheerfully, touchingly proud of his elder brother. “The clan coffers are full tae burstin’ now.”
“Well, he’s certainly changed since we all used tae play taegether,” was all she said, tempted to ask Ewan if he knew what was going on in his brother’s mind. But she dismissed the idea just as quickly, uncertain whether it would get back to Malcolm. She feared he might see it as her prying into his business and get angry, which would be very embarrassing.
Ewan leaned his elbows on the table and asked, “So, Cat, what about ye? Now ye’ve left the priory, have ye any thoughts of marryin’? Is there some lucky suitor ye’re promised tae waitin’ fer yer return tae Castle Grant?”
She was taken aback by the unexpected enquiry and suddenly felt burningly aware of Malcolm seated nearby. Surely, he must have heard. She glanced at him. His expression was pleasantly bland, yet the telltale tightness of his jaw gave him away. He had heard every word.
Quickly, she looked away, hoping that if anyone—meaning Malcolm—noticed her flushed cheeks, they would attribute it to the wine. She was about to tell Ewan that there was no suitor and that she had no intention of marrying anyone when Malcolm suddenly set his cup down. Instantly, her attention was captured.
After a brief pause, he rose and politely excused himself to the company.
“I regret that I have important matters tae attend tae,” he told them, offering Catriona a somewhat cursory smile before taking his leave.
