Tender Feud

Still steaming himself, his answer was a sharp, “She always has been daft,” tempered by a confident, “Ignore her and she’ll come out when she gets hungry.”

But Katrine had a plentiful supply of food, and a larger supply of determination. She was still there the next morning.

By noon the entire household was aware of the situation. But to Raith’s surprise and disgust, his clan didn’t side with him entirely.

Callum, who’d returned that day, started in first, his usual roguish mockery absent. “Don’t you think, cousin, that you’re being too hard on the lass, incarcerating her like that? The buttery makes as uncomfortable and cold a cell as any tolbooth.”

“I?” Raith retorted. “Why the devil are you making me out to be the villain in this piece? That stubborn she-cat has only herself to blame for having to spend the night in a cold cell instead of her own bed.”

“Some bed—a pallet that only a servant would be accustomed to, not a lady of her class. I think you should at least listen to what she has to say.”

Raith returned a scowl and stalked out of his study, declaring that he would be damned first.

But later that afternoon Lachlan waylaid him in the stables. “She doesna deserve to be treated in such a clarty fashion,” the red-haired MacLean declared. “Not even if she is a Campbell. I would nae have taken her for ransom if I thought she wouldna get fair dealing.”

“For God’s sake,” Raith said through clenched teeth. “A month ago you were as ready to hang her as look at her.”

“Aye, but that was before I kenned the kind o’ lass she is. She’s no’ so bad for a Campbell.”

That was when Raith saddled up his horse and rode out, for no other purpose than to get away from all his kinsmen, who suddenly seemed to have gone as daft as the red-haired hellion in his buttery.

It was Flora who first made Katrine aware that her confinement had positive repercussions she’d never counted on. By nightfall of the second day, she had begun to grow disheartened; Raith hadn’t even acknowledged her existence, let alone her request for negotiations. But the following day the housekeeper made two trips to the buttery, once, astonishingly, to ask if Katrine needed anything—a blanket? food? water?—and once actually to plead with her to end this foolery, for Meggie had no one to supervise her lessons now. The guilt Katrine felt for abandoning her charge gave her perversely the incentive to hold out until she heard from the laird himself. She had to leave Meggie some day in any case, and the sooner it happened, the easier it would be for them both.

Raith didn’t intend to budge from his position, however.

Yet the following day, he found Hector standing in front of the buttery, holding the lamb in his arms, which Meggie hadn’t come out to see. Staring at the barred door, Hector shook his grizzled head.

“Not you, too!” Raith said, lifting his gaze to the heavens.

But it was Meggie with her dark, soulful, accusing eyes that finally got to him. Early that evening the child came to stand silently before him in the library while he worked at his writing desk, fixing her solemn gaze on him, not uttering a word.

Raith swore silently and capitulated with a sigh. “Very well, Meggie. Go find Flora and have her put you to bed. I promise you’ll have your Miss Campbell tomorrow in time for your lessons.”

If I have to beat her to make her come out, he vowed silently as he watched Meggie’s face brighten in a way that tore at his heart.

Raith forced himself to smile reassuringly at the child, then waited for several minutes after she left the room, giving her time to get out of earshot. Then, in a dozen strides, he was out in the stable yar

d in the fading twilight, heading for the buttery. When he reached it, he set up a fierce pounding with his fist.

“Katrine! Open this bloody door!”

Inside, she froze. She had no trouble recognizing Raith’s voice or his anger. “What do you want?” she asked unsteadily.

“What the devil do you think? I want you out of there!” “Certainly. When I can speak with my uncle.” The savage oath he muttered encouraged her. She laid down the book she’d been trying to read in an unsuccessful attempt to stave off boredom, and climbed the steps to the door. “I shall be happy to discuss my departure with my uncle.”

“Katrine,” Raith warned, “I won’t put up with your antics any longer. You’re corrupting my entire clan.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but she thought it must be good if it had finally driven him to recognize her existence.

“I’m willing to negotiate.”

He was silent for so long that she was sure he had left. She had just started to turn away, reluctantly resolved to spend another long cold night in solitary confinement—why had she so stupidly chosen a place as cold as the buttery to make her stand?—when she heard Raith’s voice, much softer now, filter through the wooden paneling. “Katrine, there’s someone out here who wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“You have to open the door.”

“I can listen without doing that.”