Tender Feud

“Aye, but Raith wouldna like it if ye were to seek her out,” Lachlan replied.

“Why not? He didn’t say I couldn’t go to the glen, only Meggie.”

But Lachlan shook his red head vigorously. “I’ll no’ be the one to tell ye.”

“Oh, very well,” Katrine said irritably. “I’ll discover her location for myself. It can’t be so very hard to find.”

Giving him a dismissing glance that managed to convey her disappointment in him, she followed the path Hector had taken home. When she reached the shieling where a dozen sheep grazed peacefully, though, she paused to drink in the scene. In the distance she could hear the mournful notes of outlawed bagpipes being played, and the somehow jubilant, wailing sound sent a tingle running along her skin. This was Scotland at its most magnificent. A lavender sea of heather, the savage peaks of mountains rising to touch the blue Highland sky, the skirl of the pipes, the smell of peat fires…

A fire was evident in the hut that belonged to Hector, but there was no sign of the shepherd. She passed his house and the whisky still she had once wanted to explore, then made her way across the meadow, through a copse of trees, before she spied the thatch-roofed, stone-constructed but and ben that she thought must be Morag’s. It was small—no more than two rooms—and tidy, with an herb garden that spread over at least half an acre, and with an adjacent byre for livestock. The blue smoke of a peat fire curled from an opening in the low roof, suggesting that the owner was home.

Yet Katrine’s footsteps slowed as she walked up the trim path that was flanked with neat beds of lavender and thyme. What in heaven’s name would she say to Morag? I’ve fallen in love with the laird, so tell me what you can about his late wife. How much did he love Ellen? Could he ever find affection in his heart for another woman? Do you think he could love me?

Of course she couldn’t ask the woman such questions. But at least she could meet Morag and try to get her side of the story about Ellen’s death.

Feeling her palms sweating, Katrine knocked hesitantly at the wooden door. There was no answer. She waited a long moment before knocking again, but no one came to the door. Wondering if she had missed seeing Morag working in the garden, Katrine walked around the side of the cottage. But there was no sign of the old woman.

Disappointment and frustration added to Katrine’s store of restless energy as she realized the midwife was away from home. Evidently she would have to return some other time if she intended to speak to her.

She turned back, then came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the horseman at the edge of the copse. Raith was sitting quite still, watching her. How long he had been there, she didn’t know, but his expression was as grim as she had ever seen it.

“What were you about this time?” he asked. “Looking for herbs to draw?”

His sarcasm grated across her nerves, yet Katrine felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she wondered what answer to give him. “What if I was?” she asked warily.

A muscle in his jaw clenched, she could see it. A long moment passed before Raith ordered, “Come here.”

Katrine’s expression became even more guarded. The last time he had followed her like this, he had ranted at her, then kissed her. She didn’t think she could withstand another of his savage-tender assaults on her lips, not without doing or saying something very foolish, such as surrendering herself totally in his arms or confessing the powerful feelings for him that were waging a war in her heart. “Why?” she queried, taking a step backward rather than toward him.

“I’m taking you back to the house. Now come here.”

“I suppose Lachlan told you where to find me. What a low thing to do, bearing tales.”

“You forget, all my clan are under orders to watch you.”

“Your spies, you mean,” Katrine retorted, her annoyance flaring. “How efficient they are!”

“I won’t tell you again, come here.”

It was said with such soft savagery that Katrine thought better of refusing. She had visions of Raith coming after her on his horse and throwing her across his saddle the way Lachlan had during her abduction. It was far more dignified to accede gracefully, albeit under protest.

Clamping her lips shut over her retort, Katrine marched up to him and accepted the hand he reached down to her. Her fingers burned at the contact, for she couldn’t help remembering the gentleness of that strong hand the last time he had touched her. Yet none of that gentleness was in evidence now as Raith grasped her hand tightly and dragged her up onto his horse. Settled in front of him, Katrine could feel the angry tension in his body. She didn’t think she needed to worry about his kissing her at the moment, not in the mood he was in. And she certainly didn’t need to be concerned about responding to him. She herself was seething now.

The hostilities that had resumed between them showed no signs of slackening as Raith wheeled his horse around and headed for the meadow. “I warned you, Miss Campbell,” he said through gritted teeth, “not to come here. You deliberately disobeyed me.”

“I didn’t!” Katrine replied through her own gritted teeth. “You said you didn’t want me bringing Meggie here.”

“I don’t want you here, either.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer.

“Why not?” she demanded in a tight voice, her fury rising, making her reckless. “Do you think Morag will murder me the way she did your wife? I should think you’d be pleased to be rid of me that way. Then you wouldn’t have my blood on your hands.”

She sensed his fresh rage even before she’d finished speaking. Every muscle in Raith’s body had grown taut, as if he were forcibly restraining himself from throttling her.

Katrine cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The white lines about his mouth showed the amount of effort it was taking him; his eyes were closed, in the attitude of a man praying for patience or control.