Dangerous Pride (46 page)

Catriona closed her eyes in relief, grateful that the room had stopped spinning around her.  When she next opened her eyes, she found Lachlan laying her gently on her bed, his handsome features etched with concern.  “Will you be all right, lass?” he asked kindly as he stood back from the bed.

Catriona slowly sat up and began to reply when she was overcome with another wave of nausea.  Quickly, Lachlan dashed across the room to retrieve the porcelain pot that was tucked discreetly behind a screen.  He had barely placed it in her hands when she began retching uncontrollably.

Gently, Lachlan reached down and held her hair back as she was sick.  After what seemed to her an eternity, the cramping in her stomach eased, and she was able to fall back, weakly, into the bed.  Lachlan discretely disposed of the pot before he reached down and carefully pried the shoes from her feet.  As she shielded her eyes with the back of her arm, he covered her with a blanket he had retrieved from a trunk at the end of the bed.  Exhausted, Catriona could barely trust herself to speak.  “You must think me a fool,” she said weakly as she gratefully accepted the glass of water he placed in her hand.  Once she had rinsed her mouth, he placed a cool towel on her forehead.

“It’s hardly the first time I’ve cared for someone who overestimated their capacity for wine,” he said kindly.  “In fact, you might be relieved to ken yer own brother has found himself in similar straits many times.”

Catriona smiled wanly, grateful for his attempt at humor.  She tried to thank him, but found that the mere thought of speech was enough to send her stomach churning again.  “You rest now.  You’ll be fine in the morning. The worst is past, I promise.”

Catriona heard his footsteps, and then the gently creaking of the door as he left the room.  As she drifted into a troubled sleep, she wondered if it would be possible to feel any more humiliated than she did at that moment.  It wasn’t likely, she decided ruefully, before she was incapable of thinking any more.

His discussion with the Earl had not gone well at all.

Lachlan had patiently waited for several hours after the evening meal before Seafield was ready to see him.  When he finally had his audience, he found the man in a foul temper, irritated at having been forced to curtail his enjoyment of the musicians who were providing the evening’s entertainment.

The man simply would not listen to reason.

It was very much, Lachlan decided, like dealing with the man’s daughter.

No matter how hard Lachlan tried to convince him of the very real threat Calum Gordon presented, the Earl’s loyalty to the man was unwavering.  Citing a distant kinship, Seafield refused to credit any criticism of the man’s character or intentions.  Indeed, he seemed to view Gordon as the answer to his prayers, for he never missed an opportunity to point out the shortcomings of his own son.  It was soon clear to Lachlan that the Earl had convinced himself Leslie would be the one to lead the Ogilvy clan when he was no longer able to do so himself.

Seafield seemed to take perverse pleasure in pushing Lachlan’s patience to the very limit.  When the Earl let it slip that he had released the prisoners the Forbes men had captured, it had taken every ounce of Lachlan’s self control to keep from throttling the dithering old fool.  Yet before he could raise any further evidence to support his case, Seafield had curtly dismissed him from the room, citing exhaustion.

As frustrated as he was by the elderly man’s stubbornness, there was little Lachlan could do but strive to remain patient.

When he finally returned to his chambers, Lachlan was exhausted by the events of the day.  He wanted nothing more than to enjoy a good night’s sleep, but his conscience troubled him.  There was nothing wrong with Catriona that rest wouldn’t cure, but his heart went out to her all the same.  The lass had been through a great deal, and her overindulgence in spirits that evening was further evidence of her emotional state.

Cursing himself for a besotted fool, Lachlan quietly opened the door that joined their chambers.  He’d instructed the staff to check on her throughout the night, but he needed to see for himself that she was fine.  Quietly, he crept into her room, holding a candle he’d removed from the hearth in his chamber.  As he approached her bed, he couldn’t contain his grin.

Catriona was sprawled face down across the bed, her arms spread wide, the sheets bunched about her waist.  Her pale, slender legs were free of the coverings, and her hair was strewn to the side.  One of the serving lasses must have undressed her, for she was clad only in her shift.  Gently, he pulled the sheets free, and carefully shifted her body to the center of the bed.  She slept the sleep of the dead, he thought, for she didn’t so much as stir.  It was probably a blessing, for she was likely to suffer the effects of her overindulgence the moment she wakened.  Once he had her comfortably nestled in the plush mattress, he tucked the covers around her, pausing for a moment to place a chaste kiss on her cheek before he backed away from her bed, settling himself in a chair at the edge of the room.

A million thoughts raced through his mind as he watched his bride sleep, her breathing slow and deep.  He knew she would have a devil of a headache in the morning, and couldn’t suppress a pang of sympathy.  In truth, she had been brave and dignified throughout the difficult encounter with the Earl.  In her frazzled state she had underestimated the impact of the wine she’d consumed, but he could hardly fault her for that.  He was proud of her, he realized, as he recalled the shocked look on her father’s face when she’d stood up to him.

Exhausted from the evening’s events, Lachlan leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he acknowledged the conflicting emotions that surged within him.  It seemed that no matter how hard he fought against it, his life – and Catriona’s – were inexplicably entwined.  They had already shared much, from their childhood memories to the new lives they struggled to create as man and wife.

He had always had an affection for the lass – that much, at least, he was comfortable admitting to himself.  But while he had always convinced himself that it was the affection a lad feels for a sister, he knew that he could no longer deny the truth.  It was in the way his heart soared whenever Catriona entered a room.  The thrill that coursed through his body every time she reached out to touch him.  The desire he felt for her every moment of every day.  The fear that threatened to tear him apart when he thought she might be in danger.  The contentment he felt when she lay in his arms.

Pushing himself to his feet, Lachlan absently pulled his fingers through his hair as he paced across the room, being careful not to wake her.  Regardless of the circumstances under which they had been pushed together, the truth of the matter was that he loved his wife.  The thought of a future with Catriona – a life with bonny children, happiness and contentment – filled him with a sense of peace and satisfaction.  Whatever differences they had between them could be overcome, he was sure, if only she felt as he did.

But Catriona’s feelings for him were a mystery he had yet to solve.  There were many times, intimate times between them, when he was convinced that she shared his feelings.  Yet there was a distance, a reserve to his bride that made him question her feelings for him.  It was troubling, he mused, to be left wondering where one stood with a lass.  In his past, there had been many women, but their feelings for him had never mattered before.  Not until now.

Not until Catriona.

With the strength of his newfound resolve, Lachlan crossed the room and looked down at her, gently wrapping a mahogany curl around his fingers.  He had accepted that he loved her, and he was determined to build a future with her that was based on more than clan loyalties and a sense of obligation.  He knew she had some tender feelings for him, and the warrior in him knew it was time to take advantage of that weakness.

It would only be a matter of time before he broke through the barriers she had built between them.  Then they would start their life together anew.

He couldn’t – wouldn’t – fail in this challenge.  It was quite possibly the most important battle of his life.

###

The light stung her eyes as it filtered through the window and the tiny arrow loops in the wall.  Catriona groaned with the effort it took to roll to her side, blocking the rays of the sun with her back.  Still half-asleep, she could think of little but escaping the pain that throbbed, mercilessly, at her temples.

“Ye canna hide under the covers forever,” Cook drawled moments later as she entered the room.  Catriona attempted to creep further under the sheets, but the older woman was unrelenting.  “I’m sure ye’ve heard the expression ‘pay the piper,’ have ye no’, lass?” The mocking lilt to her voice confirmed that though she was sympathetic, she was not going to allow Catriona to remain mired in self pity for long.

“Please, have some mercy,” Catriona answered weakly, her voice thick with sleep.  “My head throbs, my throat aches, and my mouth tastes as if I have no’ cleaned my teeth for a month.  And my stomach – it does no’ bear talking about.  Have pity on me.”

This time, Cook’s laughter was loud and warm.  “Ye are no’ the first lass tae have too much wine, and ye certainly will no’ be the last.”  The older woman chuckled as she reached down to pick up the blankets that had fallen to the floor during Catriona’s restless sleep.  “Though ye’d think it was the verra end of the world, the way every one is actin’ around the keep.”

“What do you mean?” Catriona asked anxiously, struggling to ignore the stabbing pain in her head as she pushed herself up, bolstered by pillows.

“The way Himself is acting, ye would think no one had ever taken ill from spirits afore.  He’s been a right nuisance.”

“Himself?” Catriona repeated vaguely, struggling to work through the fog that slowed her thoughts to a snail’s pace.

Cooks inelegant snort said more than her words.  “Why, yer husband of course!  I did no’ ken ye had such a way with men,  or I would no’ have been so worried when the pair of ye were out of sorts yesterday.  Since supper, he has been the verra picture of a lovin’ husband.”  Cook’s voice softened as she continued.  “I do no’ ken what magic ye worked with him, but I do hope ye will no’ mind sharin’ the spell with the rest of us.”

It took Catriona a moment to absorb what Cook was saying, and when she did, she felt a surge of disappointment. “You do no’ understand, Cook.  Last night, in the great hall, Lachlan was furious with my da for insulting me.  He was trying to keep the rest of the clan from seeing there is aught wrong between us.  It was all for show.”

This time Cook’s grunt of disapproval was loud enough to initiate a series of shooting pains behind Catriona’s eyes.  “Yer speaking nonsense, my lady.  Perhaps you are no’ yet recovered from the drink.  Himself spent all night in this verra chamber so he could watch o’er ye.  At first, he sent the servin’ lasses tae watch ye, but he did no’ think they were doin’ a good enough job.  Sat in that very chair,” she said, gesturing to a seat by the window “and kept watch over ye the entire night.  And tae think – ye did no’ even have the courtesy tae notice him!”

Catriona fell back into the pillows with a dismayed groan.  Not only had she disgraced herself during dinner by having too much wine, but she had compounded her stupidity by behaving like a spoiled brat in front of her husband.

Whatever would have possessed her husband to spend the night at her side, making sure she was safe?  She knew he was still recovering from his injuries, and needed rest himself.  She’d hardly been sick enough to warrant his attention, of that she was sure.  A small surge of hope began to blossom as she considered his motivations.  Was it possible that he cared for her more than he had admitted?  Having been rejected so many times before, she silently held herself back from reading too much into his actions.

Cook continued to mutter under her breath, offering Catriona water and a cloth so that she could wash her face and clean her teeth, but even as she completed these routine tasks she barely took note.  She was too preoccupied with thoughts of her husband to even notice Cook’s amused departure.  Her cheeks flushed with the memory of how unsteady she had been on her feet when she had finally left the great hall.  Her behavior had been inexcusable, no matter how sorely her father had insulted her.  Yet, despite it all, Lachlan had cared for her.

The sting of the embarrassment she’d felt under the scrutiny of the guests in the great hall wounded her anew as memories of the evening’s events flooded back. Mortified that she would have to face them again, Catriona slunk back into the bed, pulling the covers over her head.  Her mouth felt like cotton, and her temples pounded relentlessly, as if the pain of her embarrassment wasn’t enough for her to manage.

In the distance, Catriona heard a gentle knock, followed by the sound of the heavy wooden door scraping across the stone floor of her chamber.  “Please, Cook, I really canna bear more at the moment,” she called from under the covers, anxious to escape into sleep for a temporary reprieve.  “Can you ask everyone to leave me be for the morning?  I’m sure I will be more myself later in the day.”

“Yer being overly optimistic, I think.”  The deep, masculine voice could belong to only one person, and Catriona slowly sunk even deeper under the covers as she considered facing her husband in her current state.  “If memory serves me correctly – and I’m sure it does – you are no’ likely to feel better until the evening, if even by then.”

Catriona felt the mattress shift as she pictured Lachlan perched on the edge of her bed.  “It has been some time since I myself showed such poor judgment as to overindulge in spirits, but I do have a distant recollection from my misspent youth.”  She could hear the laughter in his voice as he spoke, the sound deep and rich, and somehow comforting.  “At least yer no’ alone, lass.  I checked on yer brother, and he is in worse shape than you are, if you can imagine.”

She couldn’t.  Catriona was searching for the right response when she felt his hand settle, gently, on her leg.  Tenderly, he rubbed the curve of her hip in an intimately comforting gesture.  At a loss for an idea as to was the man up to, she finally gave into her curiosity.  Slowly, she shifted the blankets down to beneath her chin, cautiously peering out at her husband.