Tender Feud

Raith felt her pain. Without meaning to, he found himself leaning forward, every muscle rigid, every nerve straining with tension. His own lips parted in an unconscious effort to supply the words she was trying so desperately to say.

“K-k,” she grunted.

The strident sound was something between a groan and a rasp, forced past vocal cords so long unused.

Raith silently voiced a prayer. “What is it, Meggie?” he urged hoarsely, his every thought focused in a wordless plea for her to succeed.

“K-k-k-k…”

The pitch was higher this time, more like a soft wail.

“Yes, sweetheart? What is it?”

“K-k-k…tie…”

Barely a whimper, but he heard it. The slight, tormented sound was a name.

Katie.

Moisture stung Raith’s eyes. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Come here, love.” He reached for Meggie again, the tightness in his throat a burning ache.

“W-want Ka…tie,” Meggie quavered as, with a broken sob, she stumbled into his arms. Raith caught her up, hugging her so fiercely that he threatened to crush her small ribs.

But Meggie seemed to need this fervent assurance of his love. She buried her face in his shoulder, clutching him just as desperately, sobbing as Raith wanted to do.

It was a long moment before he realized his grip was too tight. He loosened his hold fractionally, and with one hand reached up to stroke his ward’s hair. “Meggie, don’t cry, love, don’t.”

But even as he murmured the soothing words, he knew they weren’t enough. He knew what Meggie longed to hear. Her first word had been Katie.

Katie. Katrine. She wanted Katrine.

It was in that moment, as he held the grieving child, his own cheeks wet with tears, that Raith knew he had no choice. He had to go after Katrine. And not just for Meggie’s sake. For his own as well. For the sake of all the long, lonely days ahead; for the future that yawned wide and unbearable without the flamehaired termagant who had turned his life upside down.

Comfortingly, he pressed his cheek against his ward’s dark hair. “Don’t cry, lassie,” he whispered. “Cease your greeting. I’ll find your Katie. She’ll come back, I promise.”

The rightness of his words echoed in his heart. He would bring her back. So Meggie would have some peace of mind. So he would have peace of soul.

Apparently Meggie trusted him to keep his promise, for her weeping soon subsided and so did her trembles. She fell asleep in his arms as she had so many times in the past after suffering her terrible nightmares.

As he sat there holding the child, the wonder of the miracle that had just occurred slowly faded from Raith’s consciousness, to be replaced by thoughts of Katrine. He ached with the simple burning need to be close to her, a need as fierce and bright as the fire of her hair.

He needed and wanted her.

He wanted her defiance and her laughter…wanted her shapely legs parting at his touch…wanted to hear his name a broken cry on her lips…wanted to lose himself in her sweet passion until the world became nothing more than the shadow of her smile.... He wanted her as his wife.

The thought stole so naturally into his consciousness that he didn’t even try to fight it. His lips twisted in a wry semblance of a smile. Katrine had tried to marry him. She had tried to tell him they were meant for each other, but he hadn’t listened.

But he had been wrong. So wrong. He needed all that she was. She had filled his life with joy and sunlight, had made his world flame-bright. With her he had laughed and quarreled and been gloriously alive.

Alive.

The twisted smile spread into a grimace. Had he ever been truly alive before a bonny spitfire had challenged him to face his bitterness? After Ellen’s death he had shut off every emotion but bitterness and hatred, closing his heart to anything but duty and responsibility.

Katrine. He needed the vibrant flame of her spirit to burn away the poisonous hatred, to teach him to open his heart. His ability to love was only a slight flicker compared to hers, a flicker that had been sorely tested by ruthless Sassenachs and treacherous Campbells, and nearly quenched by the death of his wife and child.

Katrine. Bonny Katie. He needed the flame of her spirit, the hunger of her soul. Katrine made him feel the sharp poignant joy of being alive. Her deep hunger for living, her ability to find beauty in the smallest things, her sharp-tongued concern prodding him to feel again, to care.

Katrine. He would rather be sparring and exchanging sharp words with her than enduring the joyless peace of her absence.