Tender Feud

“Your uncle is no different from the rest of your clan.”

Katrine felt her hackles rising, but Raith forestalled her heated reply by holding up a hand. “I don’t want to argue with you. It would serve no purpose.”

Katrine swallowed the hot words that were on her tongue. She didn’t want to argue with him, either. Turning her head slightly, she surveyed Raith quizzically. She was certain he had a genuine concern for his people, but he was going about solving this problem in precisely the wrong way. “Will you answer just one question? Why don’t you simply talk to the duke? If you presented your case to him, he might listen. You might be able to reason with him, to bargain.”

Raith sighed. “Are you acquainted with the present Duke of Argyll, Miss Campbell?”

“No, not personally, but I know—”

“He p

ossesses in full measure the qualities for which you Campbells are famous—duplicity, cunning, cowardice, avarice. General John Campbell…he fought with the bloody Butcher Cumberland against his own countrymen.”

Katrine didn’t need to have Raith’s reasoning explained further. To a Highlander like him, anyone who hadn’t supported the Jacobite cause was considered a traitor to Scotland, even fifteen years after the last rebellion had been tragically suppressed. And the Dukes of Argyll in particular were mortal enemies of the MacLeans, their two clans having been at bitter odds for centuries.

“Even so,” she pressed, “it makes more sense to discuss this like civilized people than to continue a feud that could lead to bloodshed.”

Slowly Raith shook his head. “Some things,” he declared softly, “are worth the shedding of blood. I intend to protect my clan by any means at my disposal. Which doesn’t—” he turned his intent gaze on Katrine “—include talking peaceably with Argyll.”

Her expression became pleading. “But don’t you see, if you remain so vengeful and unyielding, you’ll only make the situation worse. I think you should at least consider a less violent alternative to this reckless, dangerous enterprise you’ve embarked on.”

“You’ve made your opinion quite clear, Miss Campbell. Frequently. But you’re dreaming if you think an issue like this can be settled over a bargaining table.”

“Perhaps so, but how will you know unless you at least try?”

Raith didn’t answer. In frustration Katrine turned away, lifting her gaze to the mountains of Ardgour. The slopes had suddenly turned lavender during the past few days of rain; the bell heather had bloomed without her even knowing it.

Beside her, Raith clenched his fist around the handkerchief. It irritated him that she’d spoiled the momentary accord they had shared just now—by bringing up the issue of her captivity, and by making another passionate attack on his logic. There was no way what she was proposing would work. The Duke of Argyll could never be depended on to act with anything but treachery toward Clan MacLean, Raith was certain. And he didn’t enjoy continually having to defend himself against a flame-haired, hot-tempered termagant who set his blood to boiling—in more ways than one.

Raith’s gaze found Katrine, settling on the tresses that had escaped their pins to curl in sinuous disorder at her nape. She wanted taming, needed someone to dull the cutting edge of her rapier tongue, but he wasn’t the man to do it. Still, he couldn’t help fantasizing what it would be like to turn her passionate anger into passionate pleasure....

His fingers tightened as he swore silently. Katrine Campbell was fast becoming his own private affliction. Yet he couldn’t dismiss her. He couldn’t even force himself to look away now. His attention was caught by the smooth expanse of bare shoulders above the neckline of her bodice, by the radiant glow of her skin in the sunlight. Her skin was creamy white and free of the freckles so many redheads possessed; absently Raith wondered if her body was similarly free.

His probing gaze dropped to her trim waist, and lower to her hip, traveling along the length of her thigh, to the hands she had clasped in her lap. They were red and raw....

Something dangerous and threatening tugged at his heart. Hers were a lady’s hands, slender and white…genteel. For the first time he allowed himself to admit how harshly he’d treated her since her abduction. She was unaccustomed to the menial work of a servant. Unaccustomed and undeserving. After a moment he broke the uncomfortable silence between them.

“I’ve been thinking about Meggie.”

Katrine turned a questioning gaze on him.

“You were right. She needs someone to care for her and teach her the things normal children learn, to give her personal attention. I’ve decided to hire a governess for her.”

A frown gathered between her brows. “Not just anyone will do,” she replied cautiously. “Meggie is special. It would be cruel to subject her to someone who didn’t understand her situation.”

Raith nodded. “I realize that. I was hoping you might fill the post until I can find someone suitable. You would be relieved of your kitchen duties, of course, so that you could spend whatever time was needed with her.”

Katrine stared at him, taken aback by his totally unexpected offer. Act as Meggie’s governess?

A wry smile curved Raith’s lips. “What is this, Miss Campbell? Have you mislaid your agile tongue?”

“No…of course not, but…I didn’t think you trusted me enough to be near her.”

“Meggie trusts you. That’s good enough.”

Katrine felt a confusing rush of feelings at his answer. It would be a joy to work with Meggie, certainly, but the fact that Raith MacLean was willing to trust her with his ward was somehow a greater joy. Not that she would tell him that.

“So, will you do it?” he prodded when she remained silent.