The Arrow by Monica McCarty
“More like prudent,” Campbell interjected dryly. “Even the smartest lass can be a little blinded and act silly around you. Believe me, MacSorley here isn’t the only one to be relieved to hear you’ve finally been snared.”
“Aye, so where is the lass who finally got her claws in you, Slick?” MacSorley added. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Cate, who’d been standing at his side as he welcomed his brethren, had finally exceeded her patience. She drew off her coif, poked him in the chest with her finger, blew a wisp of hair away from her adorably dirt-smudged face, and glared at him. “Aye, Slick”—she shot a glance to a stunned MacSorley—“a fitting nickname, by the way. Aren’t you forgetting someone when you are discussing all these ‘lasses’?”
“Bloody hell, MacGregor,” MacRuairi said, “it’s a lass!”
“A lass pinned you down?” MacSorley said. He looked up as if the gods were smiling on him (which they usually were). “Thank you!”
No doubt the seafarer was thanking them for the future fodder. But Gregor would cure his friend of that belief soon enough, when he let MacSorley be the first one to practice with his soon-to-be bride. The unsuspecting Viking would be on his back in seconds. He couldn’t wait.
But introductions had to come first. Once made, not even the normally expressionless MacRuairi could hide his surprise. He could read their minds. This cute, wee lass in a simple tunic, hose, and mail was the woman he’d chosen for his bride? Damned right! He eyed them all challengingly, almost daring one of them to say—or think—anything.
Campbell came forward first and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. You’ll have to excuse our jesting. We meant no offense. It’s just that we don’t often see MacGregor here bested by anyone, let alone a squire—or a lass,” he added with smile.
Cate looked up at his partner warmly. “I am not easily offended, my lord … Campbell?” she added, with a confused look to Gregor.
Gregor smiled wryly, guessing the source of that confusion. The Campbells and MacGregors had been locked in a vicious feud before the war broke out, and probably would be again once it was over. Indeed, it was their enmity in the early days of the Highland Guard that had given Tor MacLeod the idea to make him and Campbell partners.
God knew, it wasn’t the only unlikely pairing. But it had worked. He and Campbell were like brothers now. Too bad all the pairings could not have worked out so well, he mused, thinking of Seton and Boyd. The Guard was still reeling from the defection of “Sir” Alex Seton. The England-born, Scotland-raised knight had been an ill pairing with the fierce patriot Robbie Boyd from the start. But no one had ever imagined he would betray them.
Turning from this troubling thought, Gregor smiled at Cate. “Aye, you heard that right: Campbell. It turns out this one has a few redeeming qualities. He’s a quiet bastard, though, so don’t let him surprise you.”
Cate looked up at him and said in a low voice, “Are they …?”
He quirked his mouth. He wasn’t surprised that she’d guessed.
Giving in to the inevitable, he nodded. He’d known it was going to be impossible to keep the others’ identities a secret from her once she knew the truth about him. Although this was certainly faster than he anticipated, as he hadn’t known his brethren were coming.
Discovering why they were here, however, would have to wait. Nothing was going to make him miss the opportunity to see MacSorley on his arse.
Hours later, the four men were gathered around the large table in the solar. Gregor sipped his wine, trying not to grin as the seafarer shifted on the wooden bench.
MacSorley’s sore backside hadn’t been Gregor’s only reward. He was also nursing a nice black eye that he’d earned when Cate’s elbow jabbed harder than she’d intended. Cate had been horrified, MacSorley had been silenced, and Gregor and the others had laughed until they cried.
“Hell, Arrow,” MacSorley said, grabbing a nearby cushion to slide onto the seat. “I can’t believe you taught your wee ward all our secrets. I never imagined a lass could learn to fight like that.”
“It was John mostly.” He grinned. “She’s good, isn’t she? I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it myself.”
“Just don’t let my wife see it,” MacRuairi said dryly. “I have a hard enough time keeping her away from the battlefield. God knows what she’d do if she got it in her mind that women could fight.”
He shuddered reflexively, and Gregor tried not to smile. Talk about unlikely pairings. MacRuairi, the mercenary without loyalties, had wed one of Scotland’s fiercest patriots, Bella MacDuff, the former Countess of Buchan.
“Your betrothed is small, but surprisingly quick and agile,” Campbell said. “She moves like …”
His voice dropped off. They all guessed what he had been about to say, and sobered. Like Seton.
“Has there been any word?” Gregor asked quietly.
Campbell shook his head. “So far he’s kept his vow.”
“Kept one vow, you mean,” MacRuairi interjected darkly. “He may not have shared our names with the English, but he betrayed us in every other way that matters. ‘Sir’ Alex had better stay in London and pray he never finds himself face-to-face with one of us on the battlefield. I would enjoy sticking my blade in his back to repay the favor.”
No one responded, but MacRuairi was only echoing—albeit in harsher, MacRuairi-like terms—what they’d all thought at one time or another. The man who’d been one of their brethren was now an enemy—and a threat to them all.
Except maybe to Gregor. “Is there any news?” he asked.
“The rumors are spreading,” Campbell said. “It’s only a matter of time before your name is being bandied about like MacRuairi’s and Gordon’s. You will need to take precautions.” He looked at him. “Has the lass been told?”
Gregor nodded. “Just today, before you arrived.” He filled them in on the men who’d been in the forest.
MacSorley nodded. “Maybe Hunter will be able to find something when he arrives.”
“I thought he and Striker were in the south with Edward Bruce?”
“They are, but you don’t think they’d miss your wedding? Hell, Arrow, there is no man in Scotland any of us are more eager to see wed,” MacSorley added with a grin. “They and Raider are bringing your dispensation from the good bishop on their way north.” The Bishop of St. Andrews, William Lamberton, was well known to them all. His support had been a huge factor in Bruce’s success thus far.
“I’m surprised Raider can tear himself away from the babe.”
Boyd’s wife—his new English wife—had just given birth to their son a couple of months ago.
“He’s been in the south with Striker and Hunter, but I suspect he’s been making the journey to Kilmarnock often,” Campbell said with a wry smile. “Ice and Saint will arrive with Chief in a few days.”
“And Angel?” Gregor asked. Helen MacKay née Sutherland—Magnus “Saint” MacKay’s wife and Kenneth “Ice” Sutherland’s sister—was a gifted healer and had become the personal physician of the Guard. Unconsciously, he fingered the scar at his neck where he’d been shot with an arrow that should have killed him. It would have killed him had it not been for Helen. He owed her his life, and it had created a special bond between them—much to her husband’s continued annoyance.
Cate would love her. They were actually quite a bit alike. They were both pursuing interests that had been the preserve of men—Cate with her training in warfare, and Helen as a physician.
“Saint left to fetch her as soon as the king received your message. He knew she’d have his bollocks if he let you wed without her being there to see it. The king, Douglas, and Randolph would be here as well, but they are readying the army to Perth to begin the siege.”
Gregor nodded. It was what he’d expected. “When?”
“A week,” Campbell answered with a sympathetic grimace. “I’m afraid you will only have one night with your bride before we must leave t
Gregor cursed under his breath. He’d hoped to have at least a few days. Cate would be disappointed. Hell, he was disappointed.
But at least he’d be ready. It wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned to clear his head, but being with Cate had worked. The past week had relaxed him and reinvigorated him for the battle ahead. It wasn’t just Bruce now; there was Cate as well. He wanted her to be proud of him—to be the kind of man she could count on—and he wouldn’t let either of them down. He hadn’t lost his edge. If anything, the time with Cate had sharpened it. He was eager to pick up his bow and prove it.
“I don’t know,” MacRuairi drawled, giving him a long, knowing look over his tankard of ale. “If the way Arrow was looking at his wee bride tonight was any indication, I’d say he’s already had quite a few wedding nights.”
The black-hearted mercenary who was meaner than a snake and gave true meaning to his bastardy had obviously been around his needling cousin for too long. He was beginning to sound like him.
Gregor shot him a warning glare and told him to go do something that was physically impossible. The bastard only smiled.
Of course, MacSorley—the needling cousin—couldn’t let the matter rest. “Anticipated the wedding night, did you? Is that what happened? We wondered how the lass had gotten those manacles on you so quickly. Although now that I’ve met your wee ward, I understand. That sweet face hides a crafty mind—and I have the bruises to prove it.”
Gregor’s eyes narrowed, the muscles at the back of his shoulders flaring. He leaned forward. “What the hell are you insinuating, Hawk?”
He wasn’t going to let anyone cast any aspersions on Cate or speculate on his motives for marrying her.
MacSorley held up his hand. “Back down, Arrow. No reason to get all prickly. I wasn’t insinuating anything. I’d wager you aren’t the only one seated at this table who has been unable to wait for a priest. We all have our breaking point—I met mine five years ago. We just despaired that you’d ever meet yours, that’s all.” He leaned back, crossed his arms, and grinned. “There’s no shame in being trapped by the right woman. And from what I see, you’ve been good and trapped.”
Gregor relaxed and eased back in his chair. “Go to hell, Hawk. It’s not like that.”
The famed seafarer’s grin turned smug. “I’d say it’s exactly like that.” MacSorley put his hand up to his ear, as if he were listening. “What’s that crashing sound I hear? Must be the sound of all those thousands of hearts breaking across the Highlands. The most handsome shark in the sea has been good and hooked.”
Gregor shook his head. “Hell, Hawk. I’m saying my vows, not taking them.”
MacSorley waved off the protest. “I’ve experienced the lass’s unusual skills firsthand. If I were you, I wouldn’t give her a reason to put a knife to my throat—or anywhere else, for that matter.”
Gregor’s mouth quirked, remembering Cate’s words to the same effect.
“He won’t,” Campbell interjected.
Gregor lifted a brow at the note of confidence in his friend’s voice, but he didn’t question him. Campbell had an eerie way of seeing things that other people didn’t. Maybe that Gregor didn’t even see himself.
His partner frowned. “It’s funny. She reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who.”
Gregor felt a cold shiver race down his back. He looked at his friend. “Aye, I’ve thought the same thing.”
They exchanged a glance, and Gregor tried not to be bothered by the troubled look in Campbell’s eyes. But it stayed with him. And he would recall it later.
But by then it would be too late.
Nineteen
Cate was pleased when Gregor rode out with the three other Phantoms on the morning of the Hogmanay feast.
She was surprised that they’d managed to keep their identities hidden for this long. All anyone had to do was look for the most terrifying, intimidating, fierce-looking men around, and the search would be over. Had she not been about to marry the most handsome man in Scotland, she also might have noticed that they were all uncommonly attractive. And tall. And muscular. It made sense, given their reputed prowess on the battlefield, but it was rather awe-inspiring all the same seeing them together.
What made Cate happy, however, was not this discovery, but that Gregor had taken his bow with him and intended to use it this time. She’d been more worried by its absence across his back than she’d realized. She couldn’t recall a time when Gregor had gone weeks without practicing. But it seemed the unusual break was at an end. Probably because he would be going back to the war soon. Her chest squeezed, recalling what he’d told her last night after the evening meal.
The day after their wedding? It wasn’t fair!
Not for the first time, she cursed the man who’d fathered her, albeit this time not for leaving her, but for taking the man she loved away from her.
You have to tell him. She knew she could not keep it from him forever. It might not have made a difference were he just another soldier in the king’s army, but he was more than that. Far more.
She would tell him. As soon as she had the opportunity. With all the guests and festivities, it had been difficult—almost impossible—to find time alone. But before Gregor had left, he’d leaned over and whispered “tonight” in her ear. That one word, that one taunting word filled with husky promise, had sent a shiver of anticipation racing through her.
A shiver of anticipation that had tormented her all day. The wretch! Did he know what he did to her? Probably. Definitely.
She found herself flushing at the oddest moments throughout the day. Such as when she was in the kitchens with Ete overseeing the roasting of the pig, and one of the kitchen maids had mentioned how excited she was for tonight. When the girl had asked Cate if she was, too, it wasn’t the feast Cate had been thinking about that caused her cheeks to turn red.
Cate’s torment had only increased when the long-awaited feast finally began. Though Gregor’s hosting duties as laird left little time for conversation between them, she was seated next to him on the dais, and more than once, his hand had “accidentally” brushed hers, his arm had grazed her breast, and his thigh had pressed up against hers, the contact making her jump. His uncle Malcolm, Chief of the MacGregors, who was seated on her other side, had given her more than one odd look and finally asked her if something was wrong. With a chastising look in Gregor’s direction, she’d scooted a few inches away from him on the bench.
But putting distance between them didn’t help. Every time their eyes met, she’d see that knowing look in his and flush to her roots. She’d lost her train of thought more than once, which left her stumbling embarrassingly through her conversations with the steady stream of people who came forward to offer their congratulations.
The dancing after the meal was even worse. Gregor didn’t miss any excuse to touch her. A hand held too long … a touch on the waist as he guided her through the steps. By the end of the first reel she was flushed, breathless, and so aroused, she was sure everyone could see how eager she was to strip off that fine dark blue velvet tunic he was wearing and swive the tormenting blighter senseless. The scary-looking pirate Lachlan MacRuairi had caught her eye once and lifted one very dark eyebrow at her with what she swore was almost amusement. She’d been so mortified, she’d wanted to crawl under the table and hide.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one looking at her betrothed as if he were a sweet she couldn’t wait to gobble up. The usual gaggle of women had dropped around his feet. But Gregor gave her no reason for jealousy. Though he was his usual effortlessly charming self, and polite to all the ladies with whom he danced, the flirtatious glances and touches were reserved for her. Only when she saw him dance with Seonaid did she feel a prickle of something resembling jealousy. Maybe she hadn’t forgotten about that kiss as much as she thought she had.
But she quickly realized she had no cause. The shield of untouchability that separated him from the rest of the world
By the time the candelabra were lit, she couldn’t wait for the feast to be over and the night to begin. She intended to make him pay for his teasing.
But Gregor didn’t make her wait. Not long after she’d seen him dancing with Seonaid, he came up behind her when she was talking to John and murmured “wine” in her ear.
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slip past the partition to the corridor that led to the small room where the wine was stored.
Her pulse raced with anticipation. She could almost smell the pungent, musty smell of the casks now. She could practically feel his lips on her neck, his skin against hers, the heat and hardness of his body …
They would have to be quick if they didn’t want anyone to miss them. But somehow the hurriedness only heightened the anticipation.
She waited what she hoped was a sufficient amount of time before slipping out after him.
She’d gone only a few feet, however, before she heard someone behind her and turned. She tensed, her body instinctively bracing her for what was sure to be an unpleasant confrontation.
“There you are, Caitrina,” Seonaid said innocently, as if the meeting were by chance.
Cate looked behind her, surprised to see that she was without her trusty handmaidens. “Were you looking for me, Seonaid?” She smiled sweetly. “I’m surprised you did not see me. I was seated at the head table next to the laird.”
Cate had to admit, seeing the flush of anger on the face of the woman whose jeers and cruel barbs had tormented her over the years gave her a distinct moment of girlish satisfaction. But it was soon replaced by regret. She couldn’t let Seonaid get to her like this. Cate wasn’t mean-spirited and petty.
At least not usually. But something about the other woman brought out the worst in her. Seonaid’s taunts, her verbal jabs, her condescension and disdain, reminded Cate of her childhood and the nameless bastard she’d been—the girl who’d been so desperate to find a place in a world that looked down on her. A place that had been so much worse when the man she’d idolized left her.