Tender Feud

“I declare myself astonished,” she prodded. “I expected you to imprison me in the dungeon.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Shame on you, cousin,” Callum chided from behind, “for frightening the lass. You don’t possess a dungeon.”

Katrine felt a measure of relief; she wouldn’t have put it past this MacLean laird to incarcerate her in a cold damp cell and shackle her in chains. But where was he taking her?

Callum asked the question as they reached the first landing. “Just where do you mean to put the lady, cousin? I might remind you that it wouldn’t be proper to keep her in your rooms.”

“You’re gravely mistaken, cousin, if you think I’ve amorous intentions toward her. I’ve no desire to bed any bitch sired by a Campbell.”

Katrine should have been relieved to know her virtue was safe, but the harsh term Raith had used made her bristle. Even Callum must have thought the remark uncalled for, for one eyebrow shot up as he stared at his cousin’s back.

Then the upward arch of his black brow relaxed and he winked at her. “If you don’t want her, she can sleep in my bed,” he offered magnanimously, which

made Katrine blush and reconsider her favorable impression of Callum MacLean.

“Once you get a taste of her viper’s tongue you won’t be so anxious to have her for a bedmate.”

A roguish gleam danced wickedly in the black eyes. “If I were to get a taste of her tongue, cousin, I assure you she would have no interest in using it for any purpose but pleasure.”

Scandalized, Katrine quickly averted her gaze from Callum’s, color flooding her cheeks.

“What do you intend to do with her then?” he asked as they climbed the next flight. “Lock her in the servants’ quarters?”

“No,” was Raith’s terse reply. “When she recovers from her injuries—” he put a cynical inflection on the word “—she’ll help in the kitchens where the servants can keep a close eye on her.”

“I won’t,” Katrine declared adamantly, determined to throw a wrench in any of his plans.

“Would you rather be locked away?” His tone was hard, but not nearly as hard as the blue eyes that were glaring down at her.

Katrine returned a sullen glance, but her protests subsided at his not-so-veiled threat to imprison her. And to her frustration, she was the first to drop her gaze from Raith’s threatening one.

When he reached the third floor, he turned to the left and then halted before a door at the end of the hall. It opened into a small room under the garret, Katrine saw. Inside, she caught sight of a pallet, a washstand and a small coffer for storing clothes.

Not a dungeon, at least, Katrine thought with relief as Raith carried her to the pallet and set her down. And no sign of any chains.

“I presume you mean to clothe her?” Callum said from the doorway. “She’s the same size as Ellen, perhaps a few inches taller…and slightly larger in the bosom.”

Katrine might have been disconcerted by his masculine scrutiny, but she was watching the sudden scowl Raith bent on his cousin. Callum met the fierce gaze casually, with a smile of mischief and affection.

“Who is Ellen?” Katrine asked into the fierce silence.

Ignoring her completely, Raith narrowed his gaze on Callum. “You’ll mind your own business,” he said in soft warning, “and you’ll keep away from her.” Then he shot a contemptuous glance at Katrine. “Flora will find her something to wear.”

“Who is Flora?” Katrine demanded with growing frustration at the way the two men were speaking about her as if she weren’t there.

“Your new jailer,” Raith supplied, getting the last word before ushering his cousin from the room and shutting the door behind him.

Left alone, Katrine looked around the small garret room in dismay. At least it was clean. And as comfortable as any servant had a right to expect. And she hadn’t been locked in. That was some consolation—that Raith meant to treat her as a servant rather than a prisoner.

But only some. Katrine bit her lip as a wave of despair threatened to swamp her. How long would she be kept here until her uncle managed to liberate her? A week? A month? The prospect of remaining even one minute in this den of thieves was daunting.

But then she caught herself and stiffened her spine. She might be Raith MacLean’s captive, but she wasn’t totally at his mercy. There must be a dozen ways she could retaliate for his abduction of her—if she only put her mind to figuring them out. He expected her to submit meekly to her captivity, but she could find subtle ways of defying him, of sabotaging his plans for her until she was ransomed or rescued or managed to escape. Escape. That was what she must focus on. Escape and retaliation.

She would take every opportunity to make Raith MacLean’s life miserable, Katrine thought with recovering defiance, if not actual relish. He would rue the day he had ever laid eyes on her.

Chapter Five