Tender Feud

The flash of fury in the gray eyes reminded Katrine that the Campbell chief was a dangerous man, too. “Don’t presume too much, Ardgour,” he warned softly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, your grace,” Raith professed, as if confident that he knew just how far to push. “It is a simple matter of feu-duties, as I made clear in my ransom note. Direct your factor to lower the rents on the Duart MacLeans to their previous amounts, and you will have no more trouble from my clan.”

The smoldering gray eyes impaled Raith, but frustration was evident in the duke’s rigid frame. “It seems you leave me no choice.”

A faint smile curved Raith’s mouth. “That was indeed my intention.”

“And for this your MacLeans will cease harrying my people?”

Raith executed another mocking bow, sweeping his arm out in a wide flourish. “You have my word. The Campbells will be safe from further cattle raids and the scourge of false receipts that have been plaguing you recently…as well as one or two other afflictions that you haven’t yet seen.”

Argyll made a scoffing sound. “You ask me to trust the word of a knave?”

“I find myself in the same awkward position as you, your grace, having to accept the word of a Campbell chief. I expect neither of us will be comfortable according trust where we don’t consider it due.” Raith glanced at Katrine then, his gaze softening. “But I am prepared to honor a truce with my wife’s clan. Indeed, for me to do otherwise would be a price higher than I am willing to pay.”

Katrine wanted to retort that she was not his wife, but she was caught by the look of tenderness in Raith’s blue eyes. It almost made her forget her pique. Then she stiffened her spine. Now that Raith’s life was no longer in jeopardy—if it ever had been—there was absolutely no reason for her to marry him. And she would tell him so as soon as they were alone.

Tearing her gaze away, she glanced at the duke. Argyll was surveying her coldly, giving her a look that said very plainly she had betrayed her clan by choosing to marry the Laird of Ardgour. His silent condemnation only raised her ire. She hadn’t chosen, she wanted to protest. Raith had presumed to make the decision for her. But she wouldn’t stand for his highhandedness any longer. Nor would she continue to hold her tongue.

“I thank you for your kind offer,” Katrine ground out, giving Raith a freezing glare that was every bit as stabbing as the duke’s had been, “but you needn’t condescend to marry me.”

Raith’s brows rose, but he didn’t take up her challenge. Instead he pushed himself away from the wall and addressed the duke. “Then we have a bargain, your grace?”

“Raith, I mean it,” Katrine fumed. “I am not your intended wife.”

“I think perhaps we should discuss this later, my love.”

“No, we will discuss this now! I won’t marry you. You can make all the bargains you care to with his grace, but leave me out of it.”

“Katrine, we have been through all this before—”

“We have not been through this. You decided on your own that I was going to be your wife, but I never agreed. And I never shall. I do

n’t need you or the respectability of marriage. My uncle won’t throw me out of his house, and even if he did, I can provide for my child on my own—even if my dowry isn’t large enough for the purpose you had intended it.”

Raith’s gaze narrowed at her momentarily. “If you won’t marry me for yourself, then think of our child.”

“I am thinking of him! I’m thinking of all the hostile glares and hateful words I’ve endured from you and your clan. I won’t raise a child with a man who hates me and mine.”

“Katrine…I don’t hate you.” His hands splayed palm upward in supplication. “Consider it, would you? I must love you. Nothing else would induce me to treat with the Duke of Argyll or to marry a Campbell.”

His tone held a teasing note that made Katrine’s teeth gnash. “Perhaps,” she replied in a tone that would have been lethal if she could have made it so, “I should remind you that my child will be half Campbell.”

Quickly Raith shook his head. “No, that isn’t so. Our child will only be a quarter Campbell, and a quarter English, which may be worse. But I have every faith that my MacLean blood will be strong enough to overcome the disadvantage of the other two.”

“Oh, you—you…” Her hands curled into fists as she sputtered at him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve run out of names had enough to call me, my love?”

“No, I haven’t, you brigand! I’ve only begun!”

“I suspected as much.” Raith sighed, and shot an apologetic look at the duke. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to excuse us, your grace?”

For the first time since entering the room, the simmering anger that had permeated the duke’s countenance abated a degree. Argyll glanced from one to the other of them, a narroweyed expression of speculation on his face. “I think perhaps Miss Campbell may succeed where I failed,” he observed mockingly.

“In doling out my punishment, you mean?” Raith murmured. He suddenly, reluctantly, grinned. “I believe this is the point, your grace, where you wish us happy and say we deserve each other.”

“Indeed,” said the duke sardonically as he turned toward the door. “I shall let you know my decision, Ardgour,” he added before quitting the room.