Dangerous Pride (54 page)

Hold on, Catriona,
Lachlan prayed, wishing he could have a glimpse into how she was fairing.  As long as she didn’t do anything to anger the men, it was unlikely they would harm her, for she was worth more to them alive.  It was most likely that Leslie was using her as a means of drawing Lachlan and his men into some kind of trap.  If that was the case, so be it, Lachlan decided, anxious for a chance to confront the bastard and finish the job he should have done long ago.  If Catriona was unharmed, he would meet the man honorably.  But if he had done her any ill, he would slaughter the bastard, and enjoy every minute of it.

###

The cold from the ground had quickly seeped through Catriona’s thin dress and cloak, chilling her to the very bone.  Her captors had retied her hands and feet tightly, and had then tossed her to the ground.  She’d managed to make her way to the shelter of a tall tree, and sat with her back pressed against it for support.  Their only concession to her comfort had been to grudgingly toss her a foul-smelling, tattered blanket she was sure was infested with all kinds of vermin.

In the two days since they’d captured her, the men had never lingered long in any one location.  They road the entire day, stopping only for food, or to rest the horses.  Catriona had tried to get a sense of where they were going, or what direction they were headed, but the route they chose was too random and erratic for her to be able to make any sense of it.

On the second day, they had been joined by a larger group of men.  Catriona had been permitted to ride astride her horse, but she was watched closely the entire time.  None of the men were willing to speak with her.  Any questions she asked were ignored, and few even bothered to meet her gaze when she spoke.  Though she did her best to eavesdrop on their conversations, she had uncovered nothing that would aid in her escape.

Catriona knew by now that Lachlan’s men would be in pursuit.  Whether her husband was among them or not she had no idea.  It was possible he still had not been told of her capture, or that he and his uncle were still involved in the conflict at Dunnotar.  The thought that he might be engaged in battle there was far more discomforting than her own perilous situation.

Though the men had offered her food and shelter only grudgingly, they had not done her any harm.  That evening her captors had not troubled themselves with a fire, a fact Catriona interpreted as sign they feared smoke might lead her kinsmen to their location.  Dinner had been a meal of stale, cold oatcakes, washed down with a few sips of brackish water.  Though Catriona longed to refuse what little food they offered her, she knew she needed to maintain her strength.

Shortly after they finished their sparse meal, the men settled down for the night, rolling themselves in their plaids and blankets as protection against the cold before they fell asleep.  The evening was cool, but free of clouds, and Catriona could clearly see the stars that shone brightly in the sky.  The moon, full and luminous, gave much more visibility than usual for the dead of night.

As she studied the small grove in which they had made camp, Catriona was able to see two of the men who stood guard nearby, though she knew others guarded the campsite from a greater distance.  They would be relieved by other men later in the evening, but despite the lack of sleep, and the boredom of the work, they never seemed to relax their guard.

Exhaustion finally calmed her racing mind as she settled into a light sleep.  Some time later, Catriona awoke with a start, the sound of voices carrying across the grove in the cool, still night air.  She could make out the noise of men arguing heatedly, then the sound of a woman’s voice, shrill and furious.  Shaking her head to clear the fog of sleep that had settled over her, Catriona closed her eyes and concentrated on listening to the argument.  Despite her best efforts, she caught only small, meaningless snatches of the conversation.  As abruptly as it had begun, the discussion ended, and Catriona heard the sound of footsteps on the pebbled path as several people made their way toward the center of the small camp.

Alert to the movement around her, Catriona watched as a handful of new men walked into the camp, pausing to toss their weapons to the ground before they lay down to sleep.  None spared her a glance as they set about grasping what little rest was offered them.  It was a few moments more before the woman made her way toward the camp.  She wore a heavy cloak, with a hood pulled low over her face, and in the darkness it was impossible for Catriona to make out her features.  Ignoring the men in the camp, the woman made her way directly to Catriona, leaning over her until they were separated by only a few scant inches.  She could smell the musky scent of horses and sweat clinging to the woman’s filthy clothes, and Catriona wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Ye canna possibly ken how happy I am tae see ye thusly,” the woman said coldly, her tone threatening.  “It is long past time that ye be put in yer place.”

As Catriona struggled to place the woman’s voice, she reached up, casually pushing back the hood that had disguised her features.  As the moonlight illuminated Fiona’s smug, angry face, Catriona could not contain the sharp intake of breath that betrayed her surprise.  “It looks like the lads have been a mite kinder tae ye than ye deserve,” Fiona hissed, reaching out to snatch the blanket that had been settled around Catriona’s shoulders.  As Fiona stood to adjust the filthy garment over her own frame, Catriona struggled not to show her shock at the woman’s sudden appearance in the camp.

“What brings you here, Fiona?” she asked blandly despite the fear that coursed through her, making her suddenly alert and cautious.  Until she knew the reasons behind Fiona’s appearance, she dared not do anything to antagonize her.

“I’m here tae meet my lover,
my lady
,” Fiona replied haughtily as she gingerly lowered herself to the ground opposite Catriona.  They were close enough that Catriona could see the hungry, angry glint in the other woman’s eyes.  “But then, I need no’ address ye thusly any longer, for it will no’ be any time a’tall afore yer naught more than the camp whore.”

“What are you doing here, Fiona?” Catriona repeated calmly, struggling not to betray her impatience and rising anger.

Fiona’s thin, roughened hand flew out from the blanket as she struck Catriona across her cheek, leaving a huge red welt against the paleness of her skin.  “I will decide what we talk aboot, ye miserable slut.  If ye have no’ realized it yet, ye no longer have any say o’er me.  Now ye will do my biding – or suffer the consequences.”

Catriona nodded her understanding, never taking her eyes from the other woman’s intent, enraged gaze.  “That’s better.  It does no’ surprise me overmuch that ye need things explained to ye simple-like.  All this time in yer husband’s keep an’ ye still do no’ ken what is happenin’ around ye.”

Reaching down, Fiona straightened her skirts about her as she continued.  “Ye did no’ ken how many people ye angered when ye came tae Tolquhon tae marry our laird.  That was no’ supposed to happen.  We were verra happy until ye came and managed tae ruin everything.”

“We?” Catriona asked, giving leave to her curiosity.

“Yer husband and me, ye fool.  Or did he no’ tell ye we was together afore ye threw yerself upon him?”

Catriona felt a jolt of fear deep in the pit of her stomach as she forced herself to appear disinterested.  Was it possible Fiona had enjoyed some kind of relationship with Lachlan?  And if she had, why hadn’t Lachlan told her before they had married?  Would he have left her to appear so foolish and naive before his kin, while his mistress paraded herself around the castle?  “Are you telling me…” Catriona began, struggling to find the right words.

“What I’m sayin’, ye wee simpleton, is that yer husband and I were lovers long afore ye were wedded – and after, as well, if ye must ken the truth of it.”  The look of shock and pain that Catriona could no longer conceal only served to add fuel to the fire of Fiona’s tirade.  She leaned closer to watch Catriona’s wounded expression as her barbed words found their target.  “Ye’ve spent much time with my lad in the school room.  How is it that ye ne’er noticed Niall’s resemblance to his da?  Those dark grey eyes are none too common, ye ken.”

Catriona’s shocked eyes widened with recognition of the truth in Fiona’s words.  How could she have failed to notice it before?  Niall did indeed share Lachlan’s eyes – and there were other similarities between the two she had been too foolish to see before.  Their hair, dark as midnight, their strong, straight noses, even their dimples when they smiled – the signs were all there, only she had been too blind and besotted to take note.  All the time she had thought her husband was falling in love with her, he was in fact showering his time and affection upon another woman.

And the child they shared.

As Catriona stared into the bitter features of the woman who sat before her, her pride stopped her from giving Fiona the satisfaction of seeing how deeply she was wounded. “You must no’ be verra well versed in the ways of nobility, Fiona,” Catriona replied in a disinterested tone.  “Men in Scotland marry well-bred lasses for money and land.  Doxies like you are as common as the heather that blankets the hillside.  Niall is certainly no’ the first lad to be born on the wrong side of the blanket, nor will he be the last.  But I am surprised at you.  Surely you kent  you would ne’er be more than the laird’s whore.”

Catriona kept her features bland, refusing to show any of the pain that threatened to overwhelm her.  She was rewarded with a threatening glare before Fiona reached forward, again striking her across the face.  The new pain fueled Catriona’s resolve, and helped her focus as she swept Fiona with a look of disdain and disinterest.  “If you have naught else to say, Fiona, I really would like to get some sleep tonight.  It has been a long, tedious day.”

Her eyes flashing, Fiona clumsily pushed herself to her feet, glaring down at Catriona as she pulled the blanket more tightly around her narrow shoulders.  “Ye would do well tae remember yer place here.  When Calum arrives, he’ll decide what tae do with ye, but until then, ye’ll follow my orders.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Take my advice, Catriona.  Yer husband will no’ be in any hurry tae come after ye.  I ken what it takes to make that man’s blood boil, and ye do no’ have that hold over him.  Ye’d do best tae forget that life, for it is well behind ye.  Concentrate on the future instead. Make friends with the men in the camp.  Ye’ll earn some favors and better food if ye lay with them.  And if yer verra, verra lucky, Calum might agree to allow ye to serve as my maid.”

As Fiona dashed away, her skirts swirling in her wake, Catriona felt all her bravado flee her trembling, exhausted body.  As the tears poured down her pale, grimy cheeks, Catriona could no longer contain her overwhelming sense of loss.

Leaving Boyne and her family had been nowhere near as painful as learning about her husband’s dishonesty and infidelities.  To think that she had believed that he had grown to love her as she loved him.  The memory of what they had shared stained her cheeks a bright red.  All the more fool she for having given herself to him so shamelessly.

As the tears soaked into her cloak, she could only pray she had the strength she needed to take care of herself.  No matter what Calum Leslie had in store for her, she knew now that she would face it alone.

###

Catriona and her captors rode hard the next day, breaking camp at sunrise and rarely slowing their pace.  There was a sense of urgency amongst the riders that hadn’t been there before. The ranks of the group grew steadily as the day progressed, until the party reached almost thirty men.  Catriona rode surrounded by heavily armed guards who refused to loosen the ties that bound her hands to the pommel of the saddle.  Fiona did her best to avoid the woman who had once been her mistress, flaunting her newfound freedom and flirting with the men whenever they slowed their pace or stopped to tend to the horses.  Catriona was so exhausted she found herself dozing throughout much of the ride, despite her efforts to track their progress.

The sun was low in the sky when the party finally pulled out of the forest and into a clearing.  From the high vantage point, Catriona could see an imposing fortress in a glen below.  The horses carefully picked their way around a narrow, winding path that took them to the entrance of the holding.

The fortress had been built at the edge of the valley, with a series of tall peaks protecting it from one side.  Surrounded by water, it had been designed with defense foremost in mind, with tall stone walls that encased the holding on all sides.  Even from a distance, the castle was impressive, and as they drew nearer, Catriona could see that it was well fortified.  Men staffed the battlements, watching the party approach.  Eventually, the group was recognized, for the drawbridge was lowered, and they were allowed to pass over the bridge and into the inner bailey.

The people of the keep paid little heed to the riders as they slowly wound their way through the courtyard.  They were a sad, fearful lot, Catriona thought, as she took in their worn, dirty clothing and their vacant expressions.  Clearly, this was not a well managed nor joyful holding, and like as not the tenants suffered at the hands of their laird.

Lads were quickly dispatched from the stables to see to the horses, and Catriona was roughly pulled from her mount, then half-dragged, half-carried into the castle.  The man who led her into the building showed no patience with her questions, his rough handling of her person reflecting his frustration with being forced to see to her.

Stale air assaulted Catriona the moment she entered the castle.  The man who escorted her moved too quickly for her to see much, but her nose assured her the keep was filthy.  They had taken a only few short steps down the cold, dark hall before the man threw open a door that she assumed  must have adjoined the great hall, given the noise and the oppressive smell of rotting food.  With a grunt, he pushed her into the room, and then stepped back and closed the door behind him without a word.  Catriona whirled around, pounding the door with her bound fists, but there was no response save the sound of a key turning in the lock.  Though she threw her weight against the door several times, it would not budge.  When her voice grew hoarse from shouting, she was forced to admit defeat as she drew in deep, gulping breaths, willing herself to stave off her panic.  In all likelihood, no one had even heard her cry, so great was the noise emanating from the hall.