Charming the Shrew (20 page)

“Why would you sing that drivel for him?” Her voice was sharp.

“You do not like my song?”

“’Tis no song, that. ’Tis worthy of a drunken fool, no more.”

“Ah, but if you were to sing along as you were a moment ago, ’twould elevate it above a mere tavern song. How else am I to tell the king of the lovely lasses I have met?”

Catriona sat up and laughed. “What makes you think any of these lassies wish for the king to give them to his warriors? I suspect even the famed Tayg of Culrain is like any other man anxious to take up the reins of power: cocky, arrogant, unaware of the needs and feelings of those around him. Why would a woman wish to be given to any of them?”

Tayg winced inwardly at her description of him and felt a moment of kinship with her. To be described in such a way to one’s face, as he had done to her, was not an elevating experience.

“That is not Tayg of Culrain you describe,” he said, making sure his wry grin was in place, “well, except perhaps the cocky part, but then he has reason to be.” After all, he was pulling off this bit of mummery, wasn’t he?

“If he is cocky, he is all the other. In my experience they come all of one.”

“And your experience of men is so vast?”

She glared at him. “Vast enough. I have lived in a household full to the rafters of men my whole life. I think I understand them as well as any woman may.”

“’Tis sure you do.” He beat a slow rhythm on the drum, then looked back at her across the crackling fire. “You would judge all men against your brothers.”

“They provide plenty of experience for me. Each is different, each a blight on society in his own way.”

“All of them?”

“Sometimes Ailig is fine—on his own—but when the others are around, he does not stand up to them. He does not speak his mind.”

“As you do.”

“Aye. As I do.”

“And you hold Ailig in contempt because he does not behave as you do?”

“Nay. I do not hold him in contempt, though that is an apt description of my feelings for the rest of my brothers. With Ailig I feel…pity.”

Tayg’s hand stilled on the drum. “Pity? Why that?”

Catriona pulled at the edge of the plaid she had wrapped about her and shrugged. “It isn’t as if he lets the others tell him what to do, he just does nothing to stop them. Ailig is quiet and keeps to himself more than the three sheep do. He doesn’t seem to care.”

“About what?”

“About his pride, about the thoughts of others. He is willing to be ridiculed, derided, mocked without calling the offender out, without defending himself in any way. He has this funny little almost-smile he gives as if he finds it all slightly amusing. Just once—”

“You’d like him to stand up to them.”

“Aye. Just once.”

“Why?”

She looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “So they will stop, of course.”

“Ah, and that has worked so well for you.”

Did she not see that Broc still played her as well as the finest harpist in the land played his instrument? It seemed that Ailig had discovered the secret to coping with her family. Too bad the hardheaded Catriona couldn’t let go of her pride long enough to see what was really happening.

“Once I was made a fool of because I was too enamored of my brothers to think for myself. I will never put myself in such a situation again.”

Something in her tone told Tayg they were not speaking of the same thing. The lost look on her face tore at Tayg, and he sensed he was finally seeing the true woman beneath the shrewish exterior she held up to the world. That tough, prickly persona protected the softer side of the lass that he glimpsed too rarely. He stayed quiet, not wanting to break her mood. He was intrigued by the hurt lass in front of him. Never would he have guessed that such lay hidden beneath the surface.

“If I tell you something, will you promise never to make a song of it?” Now she did look directly at him, apparently gauging his sincerity before she decided to continue.

It was an easy promise to make, so he readily agreed, his curiosity piqued by her change in manner and her sudden willingness to reveal something of herself. She seemed convinced of his promise, and she looked away again, absently braiding her hair.

“When I was but ten and two we were constantly struggling with the MacDonells. They would steal our cows. We’d steal them back, plus a few of theirs for good measure. Jamie and Ailig would go along, but Broc, Callum, and Gowan were the instigators of much of the mayhem that took place. One time their prank went wrong and a cottage was burned. I do not think anyone was hurt, but the MacDonells did not take it well. One thing led to another, and before long my da and the chief of the MacDonells exchanged messages calling for a halt to the nonsense of the young men before it escalated beyond the stopping place.”

“Why would they care?”

“We had long been neighbors, friends even.”

Tayg nodded, understanding instantly the way of these things. “What happened?”

“When the two chiefs demanded their sons cease the raiding and the fighting, my da left it to Broc, as the eldest, to make amends with the MacDonell lads.”

Tayg shifted, sensing that what came next was the real heart of her story.

“I did not know any of this at the time, you understand. I was but a lassie, just showing signs of…of womanhood.” She ducked her head.

“And a fine woman you’ve grown into.” Tayg couldn’t stop the whispered words, and they earned him a shy smile. Another conundrum. Shyness from Catriona? “Go on,” he encouraged.

“Broc told me he had an important job for me. I did not understand him yet. He was my eldest brother and I idolized him. He was quite used to telling me to do things and having me jump to his command, as I did this time.

“He sent me with a message for the MacDonells. He had it written on a piece of parchment. I wondered at the time why he had done that, and how, for Broc can neither read nor write, but as I said, I idolized him and did as he bade me, thinking to make him proud of me.

“I rode a pony out to the place I was told to meet the MacDonells, and I awaited them. When they arrived ’twas only a few lads Broc’s age. I did not know them, but their leader was Dogface. He was ugly even then.”

Every nerve in Tayg’s body tingled, but he sat, still and silent, letting her continue if she would.

“I was nervous,” she said, twisting her braid in her hands. “I had never acted the messenger for my brothers before. I handed the message to the first one who approached, and he handed it back to Dogface. It took a while for them to figure out the words, but finally they did.”

“What did it say?”

“It bade them hand over their weapons to me and all would be forgiven.”

“What!?”

“Aye, ’twas the same reaction the MacDonell lads had. They laughed, then said ’twas fitting that the witless MacLeods would send a lass to do a man’s job.”

“They did not—”

She looked up at him, her eyes big and full of old hurts. “They tried. They grabbed me, stripping my clothing from me until I wore naught but my undershift. But I managed to club one in the head with a rock and kicked the other…Dogface…in the groin. He could not move, so in pain was he, but he bade the rest throw me in a nearby bog to rot. They said…insulting things about me and about my family while I struggled to escape the muck. They took my pony and left me there.”

“Your brothers did not follow you out there?”

“Nay. You see, I was supposed to be a humiliating messenger for the MacDonells to receive, the task not deserving of the time of a man.”

“Instead the MacDonells humiliated the messenger.”

She nodded.

“What happened when you returned home?”

“’Twas late that night when I shouted at the gate to be admitted. My brothers, all but Ailig who was away in Edinburgh, were summoned, and when they saw me…” She shook her head.

“They were not kind. I caught the ague because of that night spent in cold, muddy clothes. If it were not for my nursemaid, I probably would have died. I have never trusted my brothers since.”

Tayg did not know what to say. The story explained much about Cat’s relationship with her family and everything about her hatred of Dogface. Neill of Assynt was daft to allow his sons to treat her so. How could the man allow a betrothal between them…unless he did not know of the event?

“They were the fools, Cat,” he said softly, wanting to comfort her, to thank her for sharing this with him, for he was certain she had shared it with no one before him. But he didn’t know how. If she were another lass he’d take her in his arms and comfort her, but she had forbade that, and he knew his own control was tenuous at best where she was concerned.

“We shall have to leave here tomorrow,” he said at last, not knowing what else to say. “This storm has raged long enough, and we dare tarry no longer.”

Catriona nodded but did not look at him. Her eyes were trained on the fire between them.

Tayg turned his attention back to his drumming.

After a little while she turned her back to him and the fire, pulling the plaid tightly about her, accentuating the curves of her waist and buttocks. Tayg tried to concentrate on his drumming, keeping it light when he wanted to fling the thing across the room and gather her into his arms. Pride was important to Cat, and loyalty. ’Twas why she was so prickly—her pride had been stolen and her loyalty betrayed by those closest to her. He doubted she had let anyone close enough since to hurt her more—except for him. She had let him in, close, though she had not wanted to. And he would not betray that hard-won trust. He would not see her hurt again.

Perhaps now he could avoid the little traps Broc and the others had set in her personality. She had a pride as large as his, but he now knew it to be a fragile thing.

C
ATRIONA LAY STILL
, trying to ignore the quiet tapping of Tayg’s playing. He was improving, which made her think again that he was no bard, else he would have been a better player to begin with. It did not matter, though. ’Twas not a problem she need bother herself with. As long as he got her to the king, she cared not what he was.

And to that end she must reconsider her plan. Trying to be nice to him had resulted in an increase in the intimacy growing between them. The flare of passion that had ignited between them when they argued was nothing compared to the far more disturbing events this quiet mood between them had led to. What had come over her?

She knew better than to trust a male like that, to give up control for the intoxicating feelings he roused in her. She could only hope that there was no opportunity for him to use her behavior, or her tale of woe, against her. Why she had told him she wasn’t sure, though the sense of shared pain at her brothers’ hands had perhaps lulled her into confiding in him. Broc repeated the tale regularly still. It seemed to be his favorite memory of her childhood days, and only by severe measures had she convinced him on occasion to keep his gob shut.

But Tayg was different, or maybe ’twas only that he made her feel different, precious, cherished. Nay, ’twas only his way of muddling her mind. She would have to watch him carefully. There was no reason to believe he would be any different from her brothers, whether it was to use his knowledge against her, or to let others use it, did not matter. Nothing but grief would come from her behavior here in this travelers’ hut.

But she was having trouble convincing herself of that.

This man, this Tayg the Bard, was having a bad effect upon her, unsettling her with his drugging kisses and his cocky smile, then berating her for mistreating Dolag, then trying to help her escape discovery by her brothers. Just when she thought she knew what he would do next, he surprised her by doing something completely unexpected, as he had last night. The memory of the intoxicating feelings washed through her, making her itchy to experience them again. But she wouldn’t. Ever.

She wasn’t going to fall for his particular brand of manipulating her. He was keeping her off balance with his unpredictability, and she wasn’t going to let him win. She would just have to keep her guard up all the time, as if he were one of her brothers or Dogface.

Aye. That was what she’d have to do. Protect herself before his soft lips and sweet kisses prompted her to more foolishness—no matter how wonderful those moments had been.

The only question was: how?

E
ARLY THE NEXT
morning, before the sun had done more than lighten the sky from black to a heavy gray, Catriona and Tayg set out from the hut and ventured into the waning storm. They shared the horse despite the heavy snow, leaving Catriona free to peer into the gloom about her. The storm had left behind bent trees, broken branches, and a deep blanket of white that seemed to glow in the early morning twilight. Those trees that remained standing tall appeared to wear beautiful white gowns with long, trailing hems where the wind had driven the snow into high drifts against their towering trunks. Catriona smiled and turned her face up to the gentle snow that now floated lazily down to add a lacy edging to the trees’ dresses.

The horse slipped and slid down the hill back to the trail, clearly as anxious to escape the confines of their temporary home as she and Tayg had been. Riding double had not been Catriona’s choice, but the snow was so deep that Tayg had convinced her ’twas necessary if she did not wish to start the day cold and wet. She tried to keep herself away from his back, tried not to let her thighs touch his, tried not to notice the way his warmth beckoned to her. When the animal stopped abruptly and shifted its weight, Catriona would have slid from her precarious spot behind the saddle if Tayg hadn’t reached back and caught her.

“You’d best hang on to me if you don’t want to land in the snow,” he said.

The grin on his face told Cat that he knew exactly why she didn’t want to do that. Touching him was dangerous. When she touched him her mind went blank of everything except his heat, his smell, and the tantalizing tingling that his fingers left wherever he touched her.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Does something vex you?”

Cat glared at him and wrapped her arms loosely about his waist.

“You’ll have to hold on a wee bit tighter than that if you do not wish to continue your fall.”

She huffed out her breath and tightened her grip. She did her best to ignore the way his back fit just perfectly to her front, inviting her to rest her cheek against him, the way her thighs hugged tight behind his, the way her legs spread, cradling his backside against her growing heat. Her mind tried to spiral down to that place where all thought vanished and feelings reigned supreme, but she struggled to keep her wits about her.

“Do you think Dogface and my brothers were traveling together?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the sensuous fog that threatened to overtake her.

“They did not arrive together…nay, I think Dogface was looking for me, and your brothers, quite obviously, were looking for you. I expect there was some surprise when they discovered they had been led on a merry chase to the same place.”

Catriona considered that for a moment. “Did Dogface ask for his missive back? Did he ask you why you hadn’t delivered it to Broc?”

“He did not have the chance, but I do not think he cared overmuch whether I still had it or no. I think he planned much the same for me as your brothers delivered.”

“Then there is more to this chase than a simple undelivered missive.”

“Perhaps it is because I have taken you away from him.”

“You have not taken me anywhere.” Good. An argument would suit her fine.

He looked back over his shoulder, a question in his eyes.

“You have not. I made you bring me with you. ’Tis different.”

“If you say so,” he said, turning away again.

“Besides, you said he did not ken I was with you.”

“Ah, so I did.”

“Then why is he after you when he kens nothing about me being here?”

A clump of snow fell from a nearby tree, spooking the horse enough to make him dance sideways. Cat was forced to tighten her grip about Tayg’s waist. When he had the horse under control again, she resumed the conversation.

“You did not answer my question,” she said.

“I did not.”

“Was there a lass at Dun Donell? Did you take another lass from Dogface?”

Tayg laughed. “I thought I did not take you.”

“You ken what I mean.”

“Aye, but you are the only woman between us, whether he knows you are or not.”

“Then what?”

“Why do you wish to know?”

“Why do you wish to keep me from knowing?”

Tayg was silent for a moment. “’Tis for your own safety.”

“Ignorance will not keep me safe if he catches up with us. He will assume I know whatever it is you have against him.”

“Leave it be, Cat.”

“I do not wish to leave it be. I wish to know what it is you hold between you that Dogface would follow you through the wintry Highlands for.” She thought for a moment. “Not a woman; then wealth or knowledge perhaps? Nay, Dogface is too stupid to have knowledge of any sort, useful or otherwise.”

“You underestimate him. He may be ugly and all you do not wish for in a husband, but he is not stupid. If he was he would be less dangerous.”

“Ha, then it is knowledge you have.”

Tayg shook his head and urged the horse through a deep drift. “You do not know what you are talking about, Cat. Leave it be.”

Catriona smiled to herself and snuggled closer to Tayg’s back. “I must be getting close.”

“Aye,” Tayg said, a strangely tight sound to his voice as he shifted in the saddle. “What do you wish for in a husband?”

“You are changing the subject.”

“Aye, but still I should like to know.”

“Other than that he not be Dogface MacDonell?”

“Other than that.”

Catriona closed her eyes and tried to imagine the perfect husband. “He would be kind. Thoughtful. He would not vex me constantly as every other man I’ve ever known has done.”

Tayg snorted. “What would he look like?”

“He would be tall, but not so much taller than I am. He would have dark hair and twinkling eyes and a mouth with dimples on either side. He would laugh a lot and make me laugh.”

“Is that all he would do?”

Catriona’s breath caught in her throat at the quiet question that seemed to roll over her skin like hot water, leaving an almost painful awareness behind. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“What about bairns? What about cherishing you? Do you not want that too?”

“Aye, a perfect husband would give me bairns too.”

“And the other?”

Catriona felt her cheeks heat and the spiral tighten. “And the other, but that will not be.”

“You do not think you can find such a man?”

“I never will. Not one who will wed with me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because such a man does not exist. ’Tis but a silly dream.”

“Then why do you wish to marry at all?”

Catriona was quiet for a while. Why indeed? To keep from marrying Dogface, certainly. To keep her clan safe from an alliance with the MacDonells. But ’twould do little to keep Broc from doing something else equally as stupid. If she could convince the king that Ailig was the best man to lead the clan, then she would have accomplished something good for the clan.

Perhaps there was also a desire to prove to her brothers that she could guide her own life, that she could do better than the lot of them? But how was it guiding her own life to pick a man for a husband without ever knowing his character, his substance? How would any man solve the problems she had with her brothers?

In a moment of blinding clarity she realized nothing she could do would solve her problem with her brothers, and her chances of convincing the king to set the last son before the first was ludicrous.

Perhaps what she really needed to find was someone who would help her balance out her brothers’ unreasoned behavior, someone they would listen to and respect enough to allow him to have a say in the running of the clan. Someone who would listen to her too. Someone who would make her feel cherished and wanted, who would make her blood sing as Tayg—

Nay, her brothers would never accept the counsel of a lowly traveling bard who could not even sing well. They would ridicule her for her selfishness in choosing such a man for a husband, bringing nothing of value to the clan and ruining the alliance Broc deemed so important with the MacDonells.

She took a deep breath to still the rushing of her heart. She must continue on to the king, and perhaps she could entreat him to find her someone her brothers would count as worthy, who might also be acceptable to her as a counselor. It did not matter whether he would suit her, fulfill her dream or not. She must not think of herself. The clan was important, but her own desires…

“Well?” Tayg asked.

“What?”

“Why do you wish to marry?”

“I have told you before. Why do you think my answer will be different now?” she snapped, angry that he had forced her thoughts in this direction.

Tayg shook his head and sighed as if he truly had expected another answer from her.

But there could be no other answer.

T
HE SNOW FINALLY
ceased while they ate a midday meal. Tayg handed Cat the usual oatcake and dried venison then pulled a stoppered bottle out of the bottom of the bag.

“What’s this?” He held the bottle up for Cat to see.

She shrugged. “Why would I know? ’Twas in your pack. Perhaps ’tis another of your secrets.”

Tayg’s eyebrows lowered over his dark eyes as if he was studying something small and ugly. Cat clamped her teeth together to keep from sticking her tongue out at him. She’d been angry since the end of their conversation hours earlier. How dare he get her thinking about what she couldn’t have, would never have. A perfect husband. Hah! Life was too complicated for such a thing to exist.

Tayg pulled the leather stopper out and sniffed. A huge grin spread over his face, making his eyes twinkle amid the fading bruises and bracketing his tantalizing mouth with deep dimples just before he leaned his head back and took a swig.

“Ah. Aqua vitae,” he said, then took another pull from the bottle. Cat could only stare at him, all her words about a perfect husband crashing around her like a stormy sea. She had described Tayg. Described each of the things about him she had come to admire both physically and for his character. Except for the vexing part. But she had described the perfect husband.

Cat gasped.

“’Tis only whiskey, Cat, nothing to be gasping over.”

He passed her the bottle. She took it, being careful not to touch his fingers. She lifted it to her mouth only to realize that the heavy glass was warm from his lips. She drank, then nearly choked as fire poured down her throat and burst to life in her gut. Painful coughing burst from her. Tayg moved to sit beside her, lifting the bottle from her hand and handing her a water skin.

“Drink this,” he said, brushing a stray hair away from her lips.

She managed to soothe her throat with the cool water, then jabbed her elbow in his ribs.

“Oof!”

“Do not touch me again.”

“’Tis a good thing you do not have Broc’s fists.”

Catriona froze. His ribs! She’d been so vexed with him she’d forgotten all about his ribs.

“Are you well enough to be traveling like this?” She didn’t regret the sharp edge to her voice. She
was
still angry with him.

“I am well enough, and we have no choice. I think the ribs are not broken, just battered. The binding helps, though your elbow does not.”

“’Tis a shame we cannot bind your mouth too.”

He shook his head. “Do you know you retreat into the shrew whenever you are afraid or threatened?”

“I do not.”

“Aye, sweet Cat, you do, though you should be neither with me. Are you afraid of me?”

Cat stared at him, at the face that had become so familiar to her that she could describe him with her eyes closed…

But ’twas not him she was afraid of, ’twas herself and the way she reacted when he was near. She rose to her feet and moved to the far side of the clearing they had found.

“I am afraid of nothing, bard. Surely you know at least that much about me by now.” She turned away from him and the disappointment she saw in his eyes, surprised at how much that disappointment was mirrored in her own heart. ’Twas not his fault her heart was misbehaving. But she’d not act on its promptings. For once she would use her head. She must. Her future—and that of her clan—depended upon it.