Charming the Shrew (16 page)

“Aye, though his seems to have grown quickly since he was at Dun Donell.”

“Dun Don—” Catriona locked eyes with the stranger sitting next to her, and fear skittered over her skin. She ducked her face, praying the wimple would cast a deep shadow over it. “He has traveled far, then,” she said, keeping her voice as light as she could.

“Aye, and ’tis not easy traveling this time of year.” He’d turned his attention back to Tayg.

“Most bards are seeking their winter’s refuge by now, but this one…”

“So you have traveled from MacDonell lands too?” Catriona ventured to ask, fearing the answer almost as much as the not knowing.

“By way of Assynt.” He glanced back at her. “I was to meet my bride there, but she has disappeared.” He studied her profile a moment, then seemed to dismiss her, turning his attention back to the gathering. “I sent a message with yon bard for my bride, but it never arrived. I would know why he did not finish what he set out to do.” The man’s voice was a deep and angry rumble.

Sweat dampened Catriona’s skin, but she could not make herself move. Her gorge rose, and she placed a hand on her stomach, willing it to behave. Her mind raced, but she could not fix it on any thought save that of escape. Yet she dared not leave in any way that would draw the attention of the man sitting beside her.

For though she had not seen him in six or seven years, there was no doubt that man was Dogface MacDonell.

T
AYG KNEW SOMETHING
was wrong just by looking at Cat. The way she held her head, her face cast downward, deep in shadow, wasn’t right. Catriona usually thrust her chin out as if daring anyone to thwart her. Now, though, she sat with her shoulders hunched and that damned veil and wimple covering her perfect skin and ebony hair.

He caught the beat on his drum quickly just as his distraction threatened the rhythm. He began a bawdy song, a bit too bawdy for so early a gathering, but the folk joined in with glee, singing loudly and banging their tankards and goblets on the trestle tables, drowning out his less-than-rich voice.

Tayg would be glad when this bit of mummery was over. It was one thing to skulk around letting folk believe he was a bard when—he winced at his own poor ability to carry the tune—it was so clear he was not. It was something else to maintain the facade with Cat, who was finally beginning to listen to him, soften toward him.

He glanced back at Cat, but she had disappeared from her place at the edge of the circle. He looked about, sure she would be moving closer, ready to take a jab at his singing or put him on the spot again to compose a song to some poor unsuspecting lass. Of course, if ’twas a song about Isobel…his eyes flitted over the crowd until they came to rest on the beautiful, flaxen-haired lass.

Wherever Cat had got to, she could not cause too much trouble with most of the castle folk gathered about him. Perhaps he should take the opportunity and see what he could learn of the chief’s daughter, beyond her penchant for gossip. After all, so far on this misbegotten journey Isobel seemed the most likely candidate if he wished to choose his own bride.

Aye, he would take this opportunity to speak with the lass while Cat-of-the-sharp-tongue was not about. He needed to see if she would make a suitable wife for him. There was plenty of time later to find out what ailed Cat. He drew the bawdy song to a close and smiled at Isobel.

“I would sing a song for Isobel, fairest daughter of your clan,” he said to the gathering.

“Aye, that she is,” Kester, the lad who had shown him around earlier, agreed.

“Tell me about her, then, so that I may choose a fitting song.” He inclined his head in the lass’s direction and graced her with his cockiest grin. She returned the grin, then scooted forward a bit on her bench to look at Kester.

The lad’s face had gone rather pale when he realized that Tayg was serious, and he had to clear his throat several times before he was able to speak.

“Uh, well, she is bonny.”

“Aye, that she is,” Tayg agreed as he watched the boy’s pale face turn a faint pink.

“And her hair is like silk.”

“And how would you know that, lad?” came a booming voice from across the crowd.

Kester seemed to take courage from the teasing tone. He straightened his shoulders.

“Anyone can see ’tis true,” he said, beaming now. “And her skin, ’tis white as new snow.”

“Ah, I can see that for a certainty,” Tayg said, winking at the grinning Isobel. “But what of her disposition? Is she shy and coy? Is she sharp of tongue? Does she mind her da?”

“You ask a lot of questions, bard,” a new voice said quite near to him.

“’Tis necessary if I am to sing her a song in praise of her virtues.” Tayg turned to find the man staring at him—Duff MacDonell—and he wasn’t happy to see Tayg from the stony look in his eyes.

“I have heard you sing before, bard. Any lass with an ounce of pride would not wish for you to sing her praises.”

A hush fell over the gathering.

“My singing troubles you?”

“Aye. You sang at my hall not so long ago, though in truth you have improved since then.”

“What about my song?” Isobel broke through the tension before Tayg could think what story to tell the MacDonell about the undelivered missive. Slowly he turned his attention back to Isobel and grinned.

“You shall have it,” he said, eyeing the MacDonell as he moved around the circle to sit on the bench Cat had vacated. Of course. Cat had noticed Dogface and had left before he realized who she was. At least now he understood why Cat was nowhere in sight. She would be collecting her belongings and getting ready to leave the castle. He cast a glance up at the high windows, but it was too dark to tell if the snow still fell. Would she wait for him or strike out on her own? She’d be daft to leave without food, without someone to watch over her.

Without him.

“Bard?”

Tayg’s attention was quickly pulled back to the moment, and he shoved the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach away. He had to finish up this farce first, escape Dogface, and then find Catriona and see what she planned.

“I think I have it,” he said, as if he had been deep in thought over which song to sing. In truth, he only knew a few well enough to play, so the decision was quick. He launched into a well-known song about a beautiful lass and her ardent lover as Dogface glowered at him.

T
AYG EXCUSED HIMSELF
, promising to return soon. He tucked his drum into its carry sack and laid it next to his belongings, which sat in a corner of the hall. He dared not take his things with him as Dogface watched him carefully. He worked his way toward the end of the hall leading to the privies. He did not think Dogface would follow him there, especially if he thought Tayg was returning immediately.

But he wasn’t, of course.

He had to find Catriona. He needed to know what she was up to. He couldn’t chance her falling into Dogface’s hands. Her future, and the king’s, depended upon it. He didn’t want to think about the order of his concerns at the moment.

He exited the dark confines of the castle into the snowy, deserted bailey. The storm had increased, and the snow whipped about him as it was driven by the wind from the night-dark sky. Tayg shivered. He should have taken the long way through the castle corridors instead of cutting across the open bailey. But he didn’t want to waste the time.

They were going to have to leave now, without his bags, for he could not risk returning to the hall. He had been safe from Dogface’s questions so far, but soon all would seek their beds and he would be left to explain why he was traveling with the man’s intended and taking her and Dogface’s missive to the king.

’Twould be simpler if he could just abandon her here. That would distract Dogface long enough for Tayg to get away. The king would still be warned of the plot against him. Whether or not he had Cat as a hostage wouldn’t matter that much.

But he couldn’t abandon her. There was something about her that pulled at him. Despite her prickly behavior there were moments when he spied the woman underneath. She used her temper like a suit of armor, but every once in a while…he remembered lying atop her after their tumble down the snowy hill that morning, her mouth moist and inviting, her twilight-blue eyes twinkling and her pale skin flushed.

He shook himself and pulled his plaid about him. ’Twould not do to dwell on such things. The king would decide her fate, and he was sure ’twould include marriage to someone who could control the wayward MacLeod clan. He was destined to lead his own small clan, ’twas his duty, and hers. They would see their duty done.

Tayg started toward the tower where Kester had escorted Cat earlier. Just as he reached the middle of the bailey a commotion at the gate made him stop. Five riders erupted from the gatehouse clad so heavily in snow-blanketed skins and woolens they looked like little more than great hulking lumps upon their mounts.

“You there!” one of the lumps shouted at him.

He looked the snowy furs over. Something about these men made him wary. He stood his ground and answered, “Aye?”

“Will you give us leave to bide here until the storm passes?”

The voice was almost familiar.

“’Tis not my place to grant such leave. I am but a traveling bard and a guest myself.” Tayg moved around them, keeping his distance and a veil of snow between them. “’Tis a bad night to be traveling.”

“Aye. Where is the chief?”

“I do not know, but his daughter is there,” he said, pointing at the great hall.

The largest lump dismounted, shaking snow from his mantle. “Are there many guests here this evening?” The hulk moved closer to Tayg.

“Aye.”

“Is there a lass amongst them, dark-haired and evil-tempered?”

The hair on Tayg’s neck rose, and all his senses sharpened. “Nay, none that I have seen.”

“Indeed.”

The way the man said “indeed” reminded him of Cat’s more caustic moments. No doubt these men were her brothers. It wasn’t bad enough that Dogface had found him, but now these great louts had too.

He watched as the hulk came nearer, circling Tayg as if sizing him up. The size of the man and the beady black eyes barely visible in the gloom made Tayg think ’twas probably Broc, based on Cat’s description, though ’twas possible another brother took the lead. Tayg tried to breathe evenly, keeping his stance ready but nonchalant. He must tread very carefully here and pray Cat didn’t choose this moment to make her whereabouts known. Of course she knew Dogface was in the great hall, so she might just do the right thing and stay hidden until he could sort this out.

“Well then,” Tayg said, flashing a false grin at the circling man, “I’ll find my bed then. The chief’s daughter is in the hall.” He pointed the direction. “Isobel is her name, and she’s a bonny lass who will no doubt welcome you to Duchally properly.”

He turned back the way he had been headed when the party entered the bailey. A sharp grunt from the hulk had him turning and reaching for his dirk, but the man crashed into him before he could pull it free of its scabbard. He hit the ground hard. The air whooshed out of his lungs. A fist crashed into his face. The man leaned over him, lifting him by his tunic front until they were nose to nose. Now Tayg could see the temper in the beady eyes.

“Who’s bed will you find, bard?”

Tayg said nothing.

“Do you not know who we are?” the huge man asked.

“Nay,” Tayg lied, holding fast to his feigned ignorance. “But I do not think the chief will take kindly to you attacking a guest to whom he has offered his hospitality.”

Tayg glanced around him at three other large men arranged about his head. He thought there had been five. Snow seeped into his clothes, dragging his thoughts away from counting hulks. The largest man still loomed over him. He would do well to talk his way out of this mess. Despite his battle training, he was out-fisted and outweighed by any two of them.

“You are the bastard who stole our sister away. Where is she, bard?” Now Tayg was certain this man was Broc MacLeod, Cat’s eldest brother, and he drove home his question with another fist to Tayg’s face. The other brothers were silent, though the fury could be plainly felt in the tension surrounding him.