“To seek a governess for Meggie, no doot,” came a speculative answer.
Lachlan looked at Katrine in bewilderment. “I dinna ken what happened,” he said plaintively. “Are ye married or no’?”
“I don’t think so,” she murmured.
“Aweel.” Lachlan shook his shaggy red head. “I kenned it was a good idea. The bloody duke would no’ fect with the MacLeans if ye were wed to our clan.”
Another argument ensued then, about whether or not a marriage between Raith and Katrine would be enough to prevent the Duke of Argyll from feuding with the MacLeans. Hector staunchly denied it, while Lachlan continued to insist that Raith needed an heir. That point seemed to garner the most agreement with Raith’s kinsmen, but no consensus was reached.
Callum interjected an idle comment from time to time, lending Katrine his support, but she listened to them discussing the advantages and disadvantages of her marriage with half an ear. while she fought despondency.
All things considered, she tried to reason, she needn’t despair just yet. The odds had been long that Raith would consent to marrying her. And she hadn’t truly expected him to allow her to force his hand. But at least now he had to realize she was serious about becoming his wife. And despite the adamancy of his public rejection of her, she wouldn’t give up hope.
It was a decision she sensed Callum would applaud. Feeling him watching her, Katrine lifted her gaze and met his dancing eyes.
The roguish wink he gave her brought a bleak smile to her lips.
The rain brought a scowl to Raith’s lips as he rode home from Fort William three days later. The rain and a treacherous, scheming redheaded spitfire. He had no woolen plaid to protect him from the storm that lashed at him on the long, solitary journey. And he had no companionable conversation to protect him from the images that tormented his thoughts. Images of Katrine stealing out barefoot to watch the sunrise. Of her running childlike across a summer meadow with his young ward. Of her trembling with passion in his arms. Of her claiming to love him and announcing to all the world that he was her husband.
Never in his life had he felt so beleaguered.
The feeling had grown worse the longer he was away from her. It amazed him how badly he wanted to see her again, to touch her. For no image could truly capture the spirit of the flesh-and-blood woman, the fire and hunger for living that she managed to transmit to everyone around her. Not even her abduction by an enemy clan had suppressed her keen enjoyment of life. She had made the most of her difficult situation—and at the same time had somehow wormed her way into the hearts of his kinsmen…Meggie, Flora, Lachlan, Callum…even Hector to some extent. Every heart but his. Never his. He refused, Raith vowed for the hundredth time, to let that troublesome wench destroy his plans.
Yet he wasn’t sure how he would manage it. Staying away from Katrine obviously did no good, for when he was gone, she proceeded to turn his own clan against him. And when he was near, he alternated between wanting to throttle her and make love to her till one of them begged for mercy.
This couldn’t go on, Raith thought wearily. He was losing control of his life and his destiny.
Yet he couldn’t quell the sha
rp anticipation he felt when he finally arrived home after two and a half days of interviewing governesses. It was the same gut-churning, skin-tingling, heartwarming anticipation a husband might feel for a beloved wife after a long absence—and for that very reason Raith fought to ignore it. He told himself he wanted nothing more than to go upstairs, wash away his travel dirt, enjoy a good meal and the company of his ward. But all his good intentions were shattered when he entered the house and heard feminine laughter coming from the drawing room.
He found Meggie and Katrine standing in the middle of the room, close together, in what was nearly an embrace. Curiously, Katrine held a fan in her slim graceful hand.
“But of course I ken your Highland dances,” she was saying with laughter in her eyes as she mimicked a Scotch burr. “Was not my papa a Scotsman, a Highlander true? Now, shall we try it again, little lamb?”
Her voice was slightly breathless from exertion. That and her hand at Meggie’s waist gave Raith the impression she was teaching the child a reel.
It was a fetching sight, he thought, watching them from the doorway as Katrine began to hum a lively tune. She had seldom looked lovelier, with fresh color in her cheeks and tendrils of flame-colored hair escaping confinement to spill around her face. And he had never seen Meggie so happy. There was no trace of fear in the huge dark eyes, only love and delight as she bit her lip in avid concentration.
Despite her efforts, however, and those of Katrine to teach her, there was little precision to their dance steps. They whirled around the drawing room, sidestepping furniture, stumbling frequently and laughing at their mistakes. Raith thought their merry spontaneity only added to the charm of their performance. For a moment he even found himself envying his young ward for being the recipient of Katrine’s warmth.
She would have made a good mother for Meggie, he realized suddenly, watching her. Indeed, simply her presence here was good for the child. But it wasn’t possible, Raith reminded himself fiercely. Katrine was a Campbell, and his hostage. Besides, she would be gone shortly. As soon as Argyll acceded to his demands, he would return Katrine to her uncle, exactly as he’d planned.
Raith shoved the unpleasant thought aside just as his presence was noted. Meggie spied him first, but it was Katrine who came to an abrupt halt, clutching the fan tightly in her hand. He couldn’t miss the eagerness that brightened her green eyes as her gaze locked with his across the width of the room.
He forced himself to look away, fixing his attention on his ward, whose small mouth rounded in an O. It pleased him when Meggie broke into a brilliant smile and flew into his arms. And relieved him, as well, for greeting his ward allowed him to hide his struggle with himself. The need to pull Katrine into his embrace was nearly overpowering.
Katrine, too, was grateful for the time to compose her features and mask her disappointment at Raith’s indifference. Striving for poise, she smoothed her skirts and reached up to make certain her fiery red curls were still pinned in as sedate a knot as possible.
But there was only so much smoothing and arranging she could do. When Raith had finished questioning his ward about how she had fared during his absence, receiving only mute nods or negative shakes in reply, the silence drew out into awkwardness.
“Did you have any luck engaging a governess?” Katrine asked finally as Raith lowered Meggie to the floor. She didn’t really want to know, but during the past few days, the suspense of wondering what Raith had decided had worn on her nerves.
The blue eyes that met Katrine’s were enigmatic. “Yes. An older woman who has reared five children of her own. She’ll arrive next week.”
Katrine’s heart sank. Raith didn’t want her here, even as a governess, let alone his wife.
Both of them had momentarily forgotten his ward, but Meggie was a clever child, and she understood quite well the import of bringing a governess into the house. The resultant dismay on her face affected both adults when they finally noticed. Raith clenched his jaw, while Katrine moved quickly across the salon to lay a consoling hand on the young girl’s arm.