The Arrow by Monica McCarty
She might never have known the truth. Aye, Cate had much for which to thank Helen MacKay. She’d given her her life and her father. The king had been at her side when she woke initially after being shot—before the fever had taken hold—and had told her everything.
She still couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t abandoned them. It had been at her mother’s insistence that he stayed away. She wanted to give her marriage a chance, and her betrothed—the man that would become Cate’s first stepfather—had been deeply jealous of the king. Her mother had thought her former lover’s absence would give them the best chance for a happy future.
She was supposed to tell Cate the truth when she was old enough to understand, but for some reason never had. Maybe she’d thought Cate had forgotten him? Maybe she’d thought it best not to open old wounds? Maybe it had been too hard for her to have Bruce around, she’d loved him so much? Cate would never know.
Her father had never intended to stay away forever, but the war had come and he’d been fighting—and fleeing—for his life. By the time he’d returned to Scotland to re-claim his throne, her village had been attacked, and it had been too late.
At least he thought it had been too late. Despite her insistence that she’d lied to Gregor, her father put the entire blame for their long separation squarely on his archer’s shoulders, and nothing she said would change his mind. Bruce was just as intractable as her mother had accused her of being. Cate, of course, didn’t see the similarities. She was reasonable.
The maidservant had just finished tying the ribbon that bound the bottom of her plait, when her pixieish doctor entered the chamber.
Used to the other woman’s intense scrutiny, Cate gave Helen time to study her from head to the toes that were peeking out from beneath the edge of the fine linen night rail and velvet robe her father had given her.
When she’d finally satisfied herself, Helen’s gaze returned to hers. “You look much improved. The bath was not overtaxing?”
Cate shook her head and smiled. “On the contrary, I feel like a new woman. I can barely feel the soreness in my shoulder.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed, as if she knew she lied. “You are not leaving this room for a few more days—soreness or not. It’s only been a week. You need more time to gain back your strength. You bullied me into letting you take a bath, but that’s as far as I will go.” She sighed, as if she was much put upon. “You are much like your father, you know. He was a horrible patient, too.”
Cate’s mouth quirked in an effort not to smile. The comparison—even an unflattering one—pleased her.
She was surprised that anyone could bully Helen MacKay. Despite her fey appearance, the skilled healer seemed to have a will of steel, and from what Cate had seen, she ordered the king about as if he were a recalcitrant squire.
“I hope I will not need to force-feed you vegetables?” Helen asked dryly.
Cate shook her head, recalling her father’s distaste for almost anything that grew on a tree or out of the ground. “I like vegetables—except for beets.” She wrinkled her nose.
Helen harrumphed. “Let me guess, they taste like dirt? I’ve heard that before. Just last night I caught the king trying to pass the carrots I had made specially for him off to the hounds. To the hounds, if you can believe it!” Shaking her head again, she moved closer to where Cate sat on the edge of a trunk to address Lisbet. “You were careful?”
The maidservant nodded nervously and Cate interjected, “Lisbet was very careful not to let the bandages get wet and followed all of your instructions.”
Helen nodded. “Good. Then let’s see you back into bed. There is someone who wishes to see you.”
Cate stiffened.
As she was holding her by the arm, Helen sensed her reaction. “I refer to your father.”
The tension immediately dissipated. Cate could see the other woman’s unspoken plea but would not heed it. Helen didn’t understand her refusal to see Gregor, and Cate was too proud to enlighten her, but Helen respected her wishes, and that was all that mattered.
Cate knew Helen was married to Magnus MacKay—one of the Phantoms, she suspected, from the glimpse she’d had of him when he’d come to fetch Helen for something—but it was Gregor who’d brought her here. Helen never said anything, but Cate sensed there was something between them. She could see it in the other woman’s eyes every time Cate refused to see him. Helen cared about him.
Knowing Gregor, Cate could guess what had been between them. The prickle of jealousy only reminded her of what she’d seen and the lifetime of jealousy she would have faced had she married him. Still, she was grateful to Helen. Whatever the circumstances, she owed her her life.
Cate allowed the two women to help her back into bed and tried not to wince as they propped the pillows up behind her tender back.
The arrow had struck the bone of her left shoulder blade. As any movement of her arm caused extreme pain, Helen had suggested she use a sling. It helped immeasurably, but the jostling of getting comfortable reminded her that no matter how anxious she was to leave the sickroom, it would be some time before the wound was fully healed.
She’d been lucky she wasn’t taller, Helen had told her. A few inches lower and the arrow would have found her lung or heart.
Cate refrained from correcting her. Gregor’s arrow had found her heart, albeit a couple of weeks before the second had struck. The first had been far more painful.
As it was, Helen assured her that she would be good as new in a few weeks—if she didn’t overtire herself and allow the fever to return.
“Shall I send him in?” Helen asked. “He was pacing rather impatiently in the antechamber when I came in.”
Cate laughed. “Aye, it’s probably best not to keep a king waiting.”
While Helen went to fetch him, Cate arranged the heavy fur bed-covering around her. Though there was a fire in the brazier, the stone walls were lined with fine tapestries, and glazed glass filled the two windows, it was January in the Highlands and the tower chamber in the castle was drafty.
A moment later, the door burst open and the King of Scotland strode through. His gaze scrutinized her almost as intensely as Helen’s before the smile reached his eyes. She thought there might have even been a sheen of dampness when he looked at her. “Ah, Caty, you look so like your mother it brings back so many memories. What a beauty you’ve become.”
Cate blushed. Though she knew he exaggerated, she could not help but be flattered by the comparison. Her mother had been beautiful, and even the slightest resemblance to her was enough.
He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Fifteen years of warfare had aged Robert Bruce. There were lines around his face and a hardness to his visage that hadn’t been there before. The loss of three brothers, countless friends, and the imprisonment of his wife, sister, and daughter no doubt explained much of it. But when he smiled and his eyes twinkled, he didn’t look all that different from the handsome young knight who’d filled their small cottage with such light and laughter. She’d been right about him after all.
“You are feeling better.” He tipped her chin, turning her face to the light streaming through the window. “I think I see some color in your cheeks.”
“I feel vastly better after the bath. As soon as I’m permitted to walk outside, there will be much more color in my cheeks.”
Her father smiled but held up his hand, fending off her not-so-hidden plea. “Don’t look at me. That’s between you and Helen. She’s mad enough at me as it is. Apparently, you became too distressed the last time we spoke.”
Cate’s heart stopped. “Sir William is well?”
His mouth pursed with distaste. “Aye, thanks to you. Without your intervention, the traitor would have been put to the gibbet. Instead, he will be sent to the Isles so I won’t find myself facing him over another castle wall. Consider it repayment for saving my life.”
Relieved to hear that the old knight’s life had been spared, Cate eased back on the pillows. She di
Her father shook his head. “Who would have thought a wee thing like you could learn to move like that.” He grinned. “You always were more like me than your mother.” His expression turned chastising. “Not that I’m not appreciative, but you shouldn’t have done what you did. You could have been killed.”
As this was something they weren’t likely to ever agree upon, Cate switched the subject. They spoke of far more inconsequential matters for a few more minutes, before he finally came to the reason for his visit.
From the way his mouth pulled into an angry frown, she could guess the subject.
“Have you reconsidered your decision?”
As Cate held his gaze, the chill that was centered in her heart permeated through her bones. “No—nor will I. Gregor MacGregor is the last man I wish to marry.”
“But you were betrothed. He said you loved him.”
She turned away; despite her vows to not shed another tear for the scoundrel, she felt the prickle of heat in her eyes. “Please, do not ask me to talk about it. Suffice it to say the betrothal is over. If I ever loved him, I do not any longer.”
Whatever else Cate might have said was cut off as the door burst open and the last man she wanted to see strode into the room. “What the hell do you mean, ‘if’ you ever loved me?”
Cate startled, her eyes widening. Not from the shock of seeing him—she knew she would not be able to put off this conversation forever—but from how he looked. Unkempt was putting it nicely. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair rumpled, his jaw unshaven and dark with the shadow of a week’s stubble, and there were deep lines gouged in his not-so-stunningly-handsome face. The most gorgeous man in Scotland looked like hell. More specifically, like a man who was one step away from entering it.
The king jumped to his feet and turned on him angrily. “I told you to wait outside.”
But Gregor was looking at her. Their eyes locked for an instant. She could see the almost visceral relief, the longing that seemed to pour out of him as he gorged on every facet of her face and figure. But when she turned harshly away, she felt the heat of his frustration and ire.
“I’m done waiting. She’s refused to see me for days. Cate—Catherine,” she heard the sarcasm, “and I need to talk.”
Her father’s fury matched Gregor’s. “You will talk when and if she wants and not before. Need I remind you that you are only here by Helen’s request, and if I had my choice you’d be in the south with the others.”
Gregor’s mouth clamped until his lips were white.
She looked back and forth between the two men, seeing the tension between them where before there must have been mutual respect and admiration.
No matter how strongly she wanted to send Gregor from the room and tell him to go to the devil, she would not. There might be nothing to salvage between them, but she would do what she could to mend the break between the king and his once favored Guardsman. She knew how much her father’s approval meant to Gregor, and no matter what he’d done to her, she would not take that from him. Her father would never hear from her how Gregor had betrayed her. Gregor might not be the kind of man a king might wish his daughter to wed, but he needed him in his army.
She put her hand on her father’s arm. “It’s all right. I will speak to him.”
Her father looked back and forth between them, a hard expression on his face. How much he knew about what had happened between them, she didn’t know. But from that look, she gathered that he suspected most of it.
His gaze met hers with concern. “You don’t have to do this now if you are not up to it. I will not see you overtired.” The last he directed to Gregor.
“I will be fine,” she assured him. Then, turning stonily to the man who’d broke1n her heart, she added, “This will not take long.”
Gregor felt like he was holding on by a thread. Since the moment that arrow had left his bow, he’d experienced every kind of unimaginable torture. My God, he’d almost killed her! Just knowing how close he’d come to killing the woman he loved was enough to send him into a fit of frantic desperation and panic.
He’d been so despondent, so close to losing his mind to grief in those dark hours of her fever, that Helen had drugged him to force him to sleep. Drugged him, damn it. With her husband’s help.
He’d spent days in the chapel praying, and his prayers had been answered when Helen found him and told him the fever had broken. He’d waited for Cate to ask for him and had been stunned—and then angered—when told that she refused to see him.
How could she refuse to see him when she’d lied to him about her identity? He still couldn’t believe his wee “ward” was Bruce’s natural daughter. The king was furious with him, blaming Gregor for the years he thought her dead, even though they both knew it wasn’t Gregor’s fault. But Gregor was guilty of something. He’d taken the king’s daughter’s innocence, and he wasn’t looking forward to confirming what Bruce no doubt already suspected.
Damn it, why hadn’t she told him? Cate had a lot of explaining to do. But if there was one thing of which he was damned certain, it was that they were going to be married.
He kept a tight rein on the emotions whipping around inside him as the king took his sweet time in exiting the chamber—and not before sending a glare of warning in Gregor’s direction. A glare that Gregor was too damned furious to heed.
Helen had taken pity on him and allowed him a few glimpses of Cate when the king wasn’t looking, but this was the first time they’d been in a room together alone for weeks. She looked so lovely—and so wonderfully alive—that for a moment he didn’t know whether to fall on his knees in gratitude or take her in his arms and shake her until she swore to never scare him like that again.
He’d been terrified that he would lose her. Hell, he was still terrified. That was part of what made him so angry. She seemed to have no sense of the torment going on inside him. She looked almost bored. Bored, when he was hanging by his last damned thread.
Her eyes when they looked up at him were perfectly blank. “Is there something you wished to say?”
Her very nonchalance pushed him over the edge. He stormed over to the bed, looking down on her. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but conscious of her injury, he kept his hands at his sides. “Damn right I have something to say. I think there are a few things we need to clear up, Catherine.”
She flushed, apparently not completely unashamed of her lie. “Such as?”
He leaned down so their eyes were level. The scent of lavender that filled his nose was so heart-stoppingly familiar, he almost lost the battle not to take her into his arms. But the cold indifference of her gaze stopped him. “Such as what name you want on the marriage contract. Because despite what you have just told your father, we will be married, whether you like it or not.” He dragged his gaze down her body. “Need I remind you why.”
He sounded like an arse, and he knew it. But she was provoking him by not provoking him. By sitting there as if she didn’t care. As if she didn’t want to be in his arms as badly as he wanted her there.
All she did was quirk a brow. Quirk … a … damned … brow!
“As you of all people should know, that is not necessarily a precursor to marriage.”
God’s blood, the woman knew how to infuriate him. “Damn it, Cate, will you not even apologize for not telling me the truth about your father?”
“Do you mean like you not telling me the name of the man who killed my mother and tried to kill me?”
He winced. Fair enough. They’d both kept secrets.
“You didn’t trust me,” she said calmly—too calmly. “Believe me, I understand. You proved that quite effectively.”
He knew what she meant, and also realized why she was so angry. Hell, he supposed it was deserved. “I’m sorry for not believing you about what happened that morning with John.” He explained how Pip had confessed everything—leaving out how how he’d tried to kill him. “I should have trusted you. I should have known you wouldn’t try to trick me. I did know it, but I was just too proud to listen.”
He paused, waiting for some kind of response. He’d just apologized; shouldn’t she say something? Shouldn’t she be glad that he knew she was innocent of any subterfuge?
Through the confusion of emotions swirling around inside him, he felt a prickle of unease. Somewhat nervously, he continued. “This thing with Bruce is awkward. I wish you’d told me, although I suppose I can understand why you didn’t—given what you thought about why he’d left. I’d like to think it would have made a difference had I known, but it probably wouldn’t have. God knows, I wanted you too badly. I still want you so badly. Once he gets over his initial anger, I do not think he will object. There is no reason we cannot be wed as soon as a priest can be found. Helen said you were not with child, but—”
“How dare you!” He flinched back a little from the venom she shot toward him. “Whether I am with child is none of your business. Nor did you have a right to discuss it with your former …”
Her mouth tightened, not saying the word. But he knew what she was thinking. He stiffened. “Helen is my friend, nothing more. She saved my life a few years back. She is with child, and it made me fear that you might be as well. Do not be upset with her. I was … not in a good state.”
She held his gaze as if trying to decide whether to believe him. “It makes no difference. It would not induce me to marry you. Nothing could induce me to marry you. I would rather my child be called a bastard than have you for a father.”
Gregor drew back. He’d expected anger from her about what had happened. He’d behaved ignobly and should have trusted her. But this level of animosity was completely unexpected.