Tender Feud

“Because he doesn’t love me, that’s why!”

“Humph, what does love have to say to anything?”

“Raith is only offering for me in order to claim his child,” she added rather lamely.

“As well he should!”

Raith grinned at the expression of rebellious frustration on Katrine’s face before he addressed her uncle once more. “I should prefer to avoid any delay, if possible. I am quite willing to marry Katrine immediately, if you wish, even before you throw me in prison.”

Colin Campbell’s gaze narrowed on Raith then, a fierce look of suspicion crossing his features. “I don’t suppose you think to wed my niece simply in order to avoid punishment for your crimes?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Raith said blandly. “I doubt my marrying your niece would sway Argyll, in any case. But I should like to prepare for any eventuality. If you hang me, Katrine will still have a name for our child. I should rather he not enter into this world a bastard.”

“So indeed should I,” Campbell agreed sternly, appearing somewhat mollified. The next moment he raised the pistol again, aiming it at Raith. “Very well, Ardgour. In the name of the Duke of Argyll, I hereby arrest you and charge you with the abduction of my niece and the violent possession of his grace’s property.”

Katrine couldn’t believe it. “No! Uncle, what are you doing? You can’t arrest him! The duke will hang him.”

“It may not come to that,” Campbell muttered. “Ardgour is a laird, after all. But I intend to let his grace decide what is to be done with him.”

Raith smiled again, not a pleasant smile, though. “Very wise. In fact, I should like to speak with the duke with all possible speed, and should count it a favor if you would be kind enough to arrange it.”

“You can be assured I shall.”

“And as a token of my goodwill, I should like to return this to you.” Fishing in his belt, Raith presented the Argyll seal ring to the duke’s factor.

“Oh, the devil!” Katrine flared, her exclamation one of total exasperation. A confession of guilt could hardly have been more damning to Raith’s case.

Washing her hands of him entirely, she whirled and marched down the corridor to her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her with enough violence to shake the rafters. Yet once the vibrations had settled, she strained to listen as the murmur of male voices passed outside her door.

When they were gone, Katrine edged her fingers to her lips, still swollen with the passion of Raith’s kisses. Dear God, what would happen to him? Argyll was sure to make him pay for his crimes. And if all she had heard about the duke was true, his grace was unlikely to show mercy to so formidable an enemy of his clan.

Briefly she considered the suspicions her Uncle Colin had voiced—that Raith was offering to marry her in order to prevent his being hanged. But even Raith had thought Argyll’s leniency in the event of their marriage was unlikely.

Katrine shivered violently, but it had nothing to do with the cold night air sweeping in through the open window. It was entirely the fault of the chill seeping into her soul.

If Raith were hanged, her child would never have a father. And she would never again have a heart.

Chapter Eighteen

The following afternoon Katrine stood outside the cell where Raith was being held, her heart pounding. The past eighteen hours ha

d been the most wretched of her life, and the next could prove to be worse yet if she failed in her mission.

During the long sleepless night and succeeding morning, she’d agonized over what to do about Raith. Her uncle had only been concerned with providing a name for her child. Upon waking, he’d immediately renewed his demand that she marry the Laird of Ardgour, but Katrine didn’t believe that would help Raith’s case. Uncle Colin had interrupted his ranting then, saying he would talk to the duke and plead for leniency, but she didn’t believe that would do any good, either.

She had to help Raith escape, she knew, but how? Kilchurn Castle where he’d been imprisoned was a formidable pile of stone, swarming with English troops. Moreover, the duke of Argyll had been summoned from his family seat at Inveraray, some dozen miles away, and his grace was expected to arrive sometime before nightfall. She had to act quickly.

After innumerable desperate hours of racking her brain, Katrine had finally hit upon an idea that, with luck, might just succeed. Dismissing her misgivings, she’d hastily put her plan into motion, gathering up the articles of clothing she would need and taking a pistol from her uncle’s study. Afraid for Raith’s life, she was prepared to lie or steal or possibly even kill to save him if necessary—although the later prospect made her shudder.

She’d thought she would have to bribe her way into the castle, but amazingly she was admitted with little difficulty. When she pleaded to be allowed to see the prisoner, claiming Raith was her sweetheart and that she needed to assure herself that he wasn’t faring too poorly, the English officer, whom she’d seen frequently at her uncle’s house during the past two months, had taken pity on her.

The hinges of the heavy oaken portal squealed in protest as the officer drew open the door to allow her entrance to the chamber. Katrine gave the young man a grateful smile, then stepped inside.

As the heavy door clanged shut behind her, she stood letting her vision adjust to the dappled shadows. A shaft of late afternoon sunlight speared through the high, barred window to illuminate dancing dust motes and give an illusion of warmth to the cold stone cell. In one corner was a straw pallet, upon which reclined the familiar form of a man. The dear sight made Katrine’s heart contract. Raith seemed to be asleep, apparently unconcerned that these might be his last few hours on earth.

Katrine heard the key grating in the lock, but waited until the officer’s retreating footsteps echoed along the passage before she pushed back the concealing hood of her woolen cloak. “Raith?”

When he didn’t stir, she spoke more urgently. “Raith, please wake up! There is no time to waste. You have to leave here this instant.”