“Ye need not repay it. Yer company is enough. I shall enjoy yer time here until we hear word from Laird Gillean”
Finn coughed, drawing their attention and Catriona twisted to view him. “Aye, I suppose ye ladies shall be busy preparing for the wedding.”
“I… I suppose so.” Aye, a wedding that should not be hers. “I confess I am ill prepared for it. With the fighting, the marriage arrangements became of little importance.”
“I can understand that,” Finn agreed. “What gown the bride should wear is hardly something a father should be thinking on at a time of war.”
Catriona scowled at his odd tone. “There is more to marriage than a gown,” she insisted quietly and Lorna gave her a look of respect.
Finn’s brows shot up and he took a long drink before responding, “Well, ye will find that out soon enough, I suppose.”
Frustrated by his sulky tone, Catriona turned her attention to her meal. Why did the subject of her marriage rile the man? She jabbed the meat with her eating knife, appetite gone. If only she knew more of Laird Gillean. Katelyn had been told very little of the man and shared even less with her—only boasting on occasion of his wealth. The contract had been signed and sent by messenger over two months ago but none expected Katelyn to become ill or for the island to come under siege. Catriona certainly never anticipated taking Katelyn’s place as Laird Gillean’s bride. She might have listened more carefully otherwise.
Suddenly the hall seemed too crowded, too noisy. Everyone was watching her and waiting for her to slip up. Looking for cracks in her disguise. Catriona clenched the knife in her hand and saw the tremble of her fingers. The steel tip of the blade turned red before her eyes and the room spun. Dropping the blade as the scent of blood invaded her imagination, she thrust back her chair and hurried out of the hall.
***
Finn threw down his knife and shared a look with Lorna. Damnation. Had it been what he’d said? He’d been behaving like a boar. The mere mention of her marriage to a man she barely knew set him on edge.
Lorna went to follow after her but Finn put his hand on hers and shook his head. “I shall go to her. ‘Twas my fault and ye are still yet a stranger to her.”
Lorna nodded. “As ye will.”
Scraping a hand through his hair, he stomped across the hall and pushed through the half open door. He took a moment to glance around and spotted her on top of the ramparts, black hair fluttering lightly in the breeze, her pale blue gown billowing behind her. With her arms wrapped around her waist she looked small and vulnerable. The need to add his strength to hers created an ache in his chest.
He would have to apologise though he did not relish such a duty. Still, he had not meant to hurt her. Since their arrival at Kilcree she had become strained and quiet. Her words came out at no more than a whisper, if at all. What had happened to the determined woman he’d met on Bute? Finn shook his head. And he had added to her worries, whatever those were, with his uncouth words.
He pressed his lips together and studied her, considering what he would say. In truth, he did not know, but he longed to heal her hurts. He shook his head at himself. What was he thinking?
Regardless, he walked up the inner steps, all impatience and heavy legs. Torn between fleeing the hold she had over him and simply clamping her to him and taking her then and there.
Either she was lost in thought or she did not hear him approach as she remained looking out at the hills on the horizon. He paused to observe the slight tilt of her upper lip, the smoothness of her cheeks. This was dangerous. Already he felt more than he should for such a woman.
“Katie?”
She spun and released a tiny sound of surprise. “F-forgive me, I didnae mean to—”
Tears shimmered in her gaze and Finn cut her off by dragging her to him. One hand to the base of her spine, the other on her neck, he trapped her against his chest. She did not crumble as he thought she might. He recognised this woman. The one who insisted on walking barefoot across the Highlands. The one who declared she would keep watch. Her rigid spine and the hold on her emotions assured him that the lass he’d first met was not completely gone.
But eventually she softened into him, like liquid forming to the shape of a bottle. She fit him perfectly. Warm breaths teased his skin at the open collar of his shirt, round breasts crushed against him, and the soft, soft flesh of her neck sent heat curling through him. Desire gathered between his thighs, making him hard.
Could she feel his arousal? Ach, of course she could. Would she think him a blackguard? She made no moves to draw away so he concluded it did not bother her… or mayhap she even welcomed his need for her.