Tender Feud

“Very well, I suppose I could do that.” He glanced beyond her, toward a crevice in the rocks. “Ah, here comes a friend of yours, Katie. Lachlan was so concerned for you, he came to check on you in person.”

Surprised and pleased, Katrine glanced over her shoulder to see the burly Scotsman shaking his head as he trudged up to her. “Ye shouldna be out on this blutherie day, Mistress Campbell. ‘Tis a sian brewing up for certain.”

Sian was Gaelic for storm, Katrine knew, but she had been out in worse weather. Torn between protesting his concern and the urge to give the Highlander a fierce hug, she merely gave him a welcome smile.

Lachlan didn’t look as pleased to see her, though. He eyed her Campbell greens and blues with disapproval and disappointment. “Ye should no’ be wearing the Campbell plaid, either, not if ye’re to become a MacLean. I didna think ye would stoop so low.”

Katrine decided right then not to favor him with the hug. “My choice of tartan is beside the point,” she replied stiffly, “since I don’t imagine I will ever become a MacLean.”

“I don’t know about that,” Callum broke in. “Lachlan, lad, it seems congratulations are in order. Shortly Miss Campbell will present us with a new cousin and the laird of Ardgour with an heir.”

“An heir?” Lachlan exclaimed. A gleeful expression lit his freckled face. “You dinna say!”

Incensed at Callum’s lack of discretion, Katrine shot him a furious glare.

His answering grin was totally unapologetic. “I didn’t promise not to tell Lachlan, now did I?”

“Aweel,” the older Scotsman declared, “then ye should coom with us, right noo.”

“No!” Katrine yelped. “I”m not going anywhere with you.”

Alarmed, she watched him warily. Lachlan was staring at her in awe, looking as if he might abduct her again simply to ensure that the laird got his heir. Callum forestalled him by holding up a hand, but just to be safe, Katrine jumped to her feet and began backing away.

“I’m not going with you,” she repeated adamantly.

The look Lachlan gave her was one of hurt and confusion. “But why, if ye’re to have the laird’s bairn? Dinna ye want us?”

Not want them? The question taunted Katrine, lashing at her suppressed emotions and shattering her hard-won control. To her complete dismay, she suddenly burst into tears. “Oh, why won’t you leave me alone? You MacLeans have caused me enough grief to last a lifetime!”

She whirled then, and ran blindly down the slope, seeking the shelter of her uncle’s house just as the pelting drops began to fall.

Behind her she left Lachlan scratching his red head in bewilderment and Callum staring after her in bemused speculation.

* * *

The shadows lengthening with the coming dusk, Raith sat alone in his library, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. The glass of malt whisky at his elbow remained untouched, for he knew from experience the potent liquor would have no effect on the bitter malaise of his soul. As darkness began to fall, he made no effort to light a lamp, for it made no difference. Waking or sleeping, he couldn’t escape the tormenting memories of Katrine, of their last few hours together…her sorrow, the desperation in her eyes, the final anguish of their lovemaking.

Restlessly he stirred in the cushioned armchair, trying unsuccessfully to find a more comfortable position as unbidden thoughts returned to haunt him. Where was the resolve he had possessed in such great measure before he sent Katrine away? How had he managed to convince himself it would be better this way? He hadn’t felt such utter wretchedness since his young wife had died, only this was far worse. This was like living a nightmare, where the only feelings

were grief and pain and throbbing numbness.

He had thought the pain would diminish with time. He had thought that once Katrine was out of his life, he would be able to forget her, to dismiss her claim to his heart. He had prided himself on his ability to make such a rational decision in the face of her obvious emotional confusion, her delusion that he was her destined mate. God knows, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. His primary thought in sending her home had been to keep her safe, to protect her from the cross fire of their clans’ feuding and the risk of getting her with child.

Yet the nagging notion persisted: had he been protecting himself instead? Had he been so afraid to admit his captivation for a Sassenach Campbell that he had denied himself even the possibility of a future with her? Except for her blood, Katrine would have made him an exemplary wife....

The plaguing thought faded as Raith sensed another presence in the room. Slowly he opened his eyes. Meggie. Standing a few paces from him. Garbed in her white nightdress, she looked as lost and alone as he felt. She had been crying, he could tell by the tears that streaked her cheeks.

Raith’s heart twisted at the sight. The look of misery on her small face made the empty places inside him ache.

Silently he held out his arms, offering comfort. They would comfort each other, providing solace for the loss of the young woman they both yearned for.

But Meggie didn’t come to him as he expected. She simply stood there, watching him in silent despair. Then slowly her lips parted, moving in a soundless utterance. She wanted to tell him something, he could see.

Raith went very still, his very breathing arrested. Meggie hadn’t spoken a word since the traumatic experience she had suffered several years ago, but now it seemed, incredibly, that she wanted to make the attempt. Wanted, yet couldn’t.

Her face contorted in frustration at her failure, her distress palpable. Raith waited in rigid silence, afraid to move, afraid to make the least sound for fear of destroying her concentration. Yet he could hardly bear to watch the child’s tortured expression as she tried again, her mouth working in silent agony as she struggled to make the words come out.

She couldn’t do it. Her young chest heaved in a sob at the effort.