Tender Feud

t her into hiding. He could never allow her to be discovered.

Even more dismaying, unless she were actually found in Raith’s power, she would have difficulty proving the charges of abduction. It would be her word against his—and this was still Scotland, with Scottish laws and a Scottish judicial system that would no doubt be sympathetic to one of their own kind. Even Argyll, as powerful as he was, would not be able to move without proof. And Raith was too clever to make that proof available. When he finally presented his demands, he was likely to do so anonymously; he had implied as much the other day.

“Well, I wish something would happen soon,” she said with ill-concealed resentment. “You have no right to keep me here.”

“Perhaps it won’t be too much longer. I rather suspect my dear cousin is as anxious to be rid of you as you are to be gone.”

“That would be impossible,” Katrine said curtly. “If he’s so anxious to see me gone, all he has to do is present his demands to my uncle.”

“Raith is still deliberating what demands to make,” Callum said mildly.

“No doubt that brigand is entertaining thoughts of collecting the reward for my return himself.”

Callum gave her an amiable grin as he turned to leave. “I don’t think the idea has occurred to him. I’ll suggest it.”

When Callum was gone, Katrine continued to brood about her situation. The thought was distasteful, but it was becoming obvious that she might be a prisoner for a long while. Yet she’d never been one to repine about a situation she couldn’t control. As long as she was there, she might as well make the best of her predicament. She might even do some good—by making herself useful to little Meggie. She had scarcely seen Meggie recently, but she desperately wanted to help the child, Raith’s harsh injunction to keep away from her notwithstanding.

That night Katrine waited till the household was asleep before lighting a candle and stealing downstairs. She had never been allowed in the front part of the house before, except for the dining room, so it took a while for her to discover the library.

Seeing the rows of leather-bound tomes, she set her candle on a table and began to take the books down, one by one, thumbing through the pages, searching for what she needed.

That was how Raith found her, standing on tiptoe, reaching for a book above her head, wearing a nightdress of filmy white batiste that was a few inches too short and bared her slender ankles and slippered feet.

“Perhaps,” he said in a tight voice, “you might tell me what the devil you’re up to.”

The suddenness of his appearance out of the darkness startled Katrine out of her wits. With a gasp of alarm, she whirled to face him, her hand flying to her throat, the book she’d been holding spilling to the carpet.

He must have just returned, she decided staring at him as he stood in the doorway, for he was still dressed in dark riding clothes. “What…are you doing here?” she demanded breathlessly, unable to still the hammering of her heart.

“I live here, if I’m not mistaken.” His sardonic tone matched his grim expression.

“I know…I mean…I didn’t expect you to return just now.”

“That’s rather obvious.” He bent his stony laird-of-the-manor stare on her as he strode into the room. “I asked you what you’re about. I don’t recall giving you permission to make free of my library.”

Katrine took a frightened step backward as he advanced on her, coming up against the wall of shelves. “I—I was fetching a book to read.”

He stopped a scant foot away, towering over her. Katrine watched him warily, her lips parted, her breath erratic.

Raith, scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes, suddenly became aware of how radiant her uplifted face appeared in the amber glow of the candlelight, of how provocatively virginal her body looked swathed in the yards of feminine fabric.

Without conscious thought, he glanced downward. The nightdress she was wearing had belonged to Ellen, he supposed, but Katrine Campbell had little in common with his late wife, with her fiery red hair falling over her shoulder in a thick braid and her swelling breasts pressing against the wispy fabric. He could make out the impression of her taut nipples with little effort.

The sight made desire rise in his loins. Forcibly, though, Raith turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “Why,” he remarked with threatening calm, “do I get the feeling you aren’t telling me the truth?”

When she didn’t reply, Raith stooped to pick up the book she had dropped. “Medicinal Herbs?” he read, his sharp blue gaze slicing back to her. “I suppose you intended to make good your threat to poison me?”

“No…of course not.” Seeing the skeptical lift of his black eyebrow, Katrine raised her chin defiantly. Yet she knew it would be better to confess. She would need his permission in any case to accomplish what she planned. “Very well, if you must know, I was looking for a picture book.”

He stared at her.

“I hoped…to find some sketches for Meggie to copy. I want to teach her how to draw.”

“You want to teach Meggie to draw.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Katrine snapped, not liking the way he managed to intimidate her with a mere look. “She hasn’t much artistic talent, but technique can be learned. I thought it might allow her to express her thoughts…to ease some of the torment she feels. It would be good for her…since she cannot talk…” Katrine’s voice trailed off lamely while Raith continued to stare down at her.

He was taken aback by her announcement, both because she’d made it in the teeth of his warning to stay away from his ward, defying his express orders, and because the idea made perfect sense. It would be good for Meggie to have a means of communicating—and to have a woman to teach her such things. He should have thought of it himself. And he shouldn’t have been so quick to judge this Campbell lass, he acknowledged. His concern that she might use Meggie to her own advantage, he realized now, had little foundation; her interest in Meggie stemmed from genuine compassion. Odd, Raith reflected. Ellen had been afraid of the solemn child.