To Dream of a Highlander(49)

“Catriona, ye are wanton,” she told herself. She wasn’t sure when that had happened. When had she become so needy?

She slipped into her chemise and fought with her gown. She managed to do it up though probably not tightly enough. Presumably Mae had not wished to disturb her. The thoughtfulness of the maid made her smile, reminding her of her friends at home. She ran a comb through her hair and used a red ribbon to tie it into a simple braid. Picking up the polished metal mirror, she grimaced. Attractive enough, aye, but not nearly as elegant compared to the previous day. But without Mae’s help she could do no better and she did not need to attract more attention from Gillean.

She shuddered, recalling stony grey eyes and lingering touches—wildly inappropriate even if they were to be married. If her father were here he would never allow such behaviour. Catriona recalled Gillean’s cold lips on her hands and the times he’d managed to touch her, even accidentally grazing her breasts or thighs. She snorted inwardly. No doubt those accidental touches were deliberate. She’d seen that look many times and it was so very far removed from one of genuine desire and… and love?

Shaking the thought of blue eyes that did hold such a look—no matter how much she told herself it meant nothing—she drew up her chin and slid her feet into her dainty silk slippers. Today she needed to find a way to delay the wedding, and maintain her resolve. With a good night’s sleep behind her she felt better able to deal with whatever Gillean threw at her. Mayhap she could also persuade Lorna to send a messenger to Bute or the coast to find out what was happening.

Aye. She allowed herself a smile. It would take a messenger four days or so to get to the shoreline if he were fast. If she delayed things a wee while longer, she could send word to her father and beg for his rescue. Surely he had never intended for her to be gone this long?

A few sprigs of lavender remained on her side table so she snatched them and rubbed them against her wrists and neck before straightening her skirts. Inwardly, she steeled herself. Mayhap she shouldn’t have given into her needs the previous evening but it had given her much courage. Her bold actions had cracked through some of her fear and muted the memories. No longer did she remember filthy Viking hands. They were replaced with Finn’s knowing fingers.

The morning meal was under way by the time she came out of her chambers and descended the stairs. Gillean sat in Finn’s usual seat, with Finn perched on the end, shoulders slumped, hair slightly rumpled, as were his garments.

Catriona came around behind him, barely resisting the urge to stroke her hand over his back, and seated herself next to Gillean. The laird watched her—she felt his gaze even as she tried to avoid it.

“Good morrow, my lady.”

“Good morrow, my laird.”

“Ye must call me Gillean.”

He wanted to call her Katelyn—that was what he was hinting at—but she couldn’t bring herself to give him permission. She assumed he would take the liberty soon enough. Why it mattered, she knew not. It was not even her name, but it kept one small barrier erected between them.

“Did ye sleep well?” he persisted as she poured a cup of ale and a servant piled her platter with fruit, cheese and sliced pork.

“Aye, well, thank ye.”

“Good. We have much to arrange this day. Lorna tells me yer gown is nearly ready and I have summoned a priest.”

This was her chance. She licked her lips. “I… I was hoping my father could be present before we said our vows.” She kept her gaze on the pewter plate in front of her.

“I see,” he said tightly. A hand grazed her thigh and then boldly curled around it. She gasped and met his gaze, eyes wide. “I imagine yer father is taken up with the attack on Bute, is he not?”

“I… I dinnae know.” Something malicious sat in his eyes. Did he know? Iciness seeped into her, chilling to the core. “He said he wished to be here for such a joyous union      ,” she lied.

He pursed his lips, as if considering her words. Deciding if they were the truth?

“We have a few days yet. If he is not here by then, then we can delay no longer. My lands have been untended for too long. And, of course, I am most keen to make ye my wife.” He gave her leg another squeeze, a hard one this time and she bit down on her lip.

Had that been a threat? A warning? She could not make the man out. She nodded slowly. A few days would not be long enough. She needed to find another way to delay. Or else… or else she could run, but what of Bute? She would be better marrying him and hoping her father came to her rescue. If he even bothered. Mayhap he had decided to leave her to her fate. She’d assumed his ambitions for her sister would be transferred over to her upon her death but mayhap he thought her a lost cause by now.