Disclaimers: See Chapter One
Chapter Two
Lady Catherine Lindsay sat looking out the window, watching the busy courtyard. Clangs of steel on steel, shouts and the wolfhound's howl filled the morning air with the bustling sounds of life. Her cup of coffee sat untouched, growing cooler as the minutes went by. It was something that never had happened before. Not from the moment her father had discovered the rich brew on his travels and brought some home to tempt his family with its heady taste.
She sighed deeply, tapping her long delicate fingers along the open windowsill. Everything had been finalized and all that was left before the marriage was the reading of the bans. All, except her, had made the promises and even though her heart was set against it, she would endure and honour her parent's wishes. If only she felt something for Patrick, then perhaps this decision wouldn't feel so foreign and wrong to her.
"Catherine?" Belle called out, laughing aloud at her cousin's startled look. She sat beside her and tugged on a lock of hair, as they had done when they were young lasses and played with each other. "Have you been listening to a word I've said in the last few minutes?"
Catherine looked back, a sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry, Belle. My mind is unsettled with everything that has occurred recently."
"Oh, Cath, things will work out. All brides are nervous and Patrick isn't a bad man. A touch arrogant and set in his ways but what man isn't?" Belle teased, trying to lighten Catherine's spirit and ease her mind. "Even Thomas has his moments before I remind him of his place."
"Does it work? He still seems a little cheeky to me," Catherine joshed.
"We're talking about your situation not mine," Belle muttered, flushing under Catherine's laughing blue eyes. She clasped Catherine's hand and held it tight. "What's worrying you? It can't just be the coming marriage."
Catherine stood up and paced agitatedly, "I know that he is the catch of the season so why do I fear this so much? Does he truly love me or does he only desire a woman that he can mold into his vision of a proper Lady Wife?" Her voice became more ragged with each word uttered. Desperation was overtaking her normally melodic tone. "Will he smother me until I'm nothing more than a pale imitation of myself? Someone who is meek, timid and afraid to speak her mind."
"Catherine, you must have felt something for Laird McNeill to have accepted his proposal," Belle stated, searching for the cause of her distress.
"Duty," Catherine whispered, glancing away. "I'm doing my duty to my family and my clan."
Belle watched Catherine, her heart aching at the sorrow and anguish her cousin was trying so hard to conceal. Anger began to flow at the needless suffering before her.
"Look at me. I'm two and twenty, by the court's standards I am an old maid. Everywhere we go, I see the looks that I'm given and I see my mother's face as she is looked down upon by the ton for my spinster status. I'm tired of seeing her look upon me with eyes filled with shame and hurt, as each snide comment is spoken loudly enough for us to overhear."
"You shouldn't pay the gossipmongers any mind," Belle replied, hostile ire flashed in her rich brown eyes. "The court must always have a victim in order to play their vicious games. They are nothing more than a bunch of old, bitter biddies."
Catherine burst out laughing. "Only you can reduce the most powerful women in society to nothing more than a mere nuisance. Belle, you constantly make the most horrible of days seem better. I could care less what they say about me but my family does. So, I must play the games and win to make them happy."
"Our families need a swift kick in the arse and a knock over their hard heads," Belle muttered, crossing her arms and glaring at the closed door.
"Are you up to the task alone or should we both do it together?" Catherine suggested.
Belle grinned at her and replied with a small giggle, "Together."
Catherine ran back to her side and talked earnestly, her hands moving rapidly, stirring the air in the closed room. "I'm sure that things will work out between the Laird and myself. In time we'll adjust to our marriage of convenience, perhaps a friendship will develop to make things tolerable. What more can someone desire?"
She looked at Belle, pleading for guidance and understanding. Her royal blue eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
"Love, Catherine." Belle replied gently. "You should desire love."
"Love is for the commoners, not an heiress," she retorted cynically.
"That isn't true. Thomas and I – "
"Were blessed with a marriage filled with love, passion and respect," Catherine interrupted, smiling happily at Belle.
Her cousin had found bliss with the one man that saw her as more than an ornament. In Thomas' eyes, Belle was the only woman on earth and he treated her as if she was the most delicate porcelain, but could argue with her from dusk to dawn. He cherished their time together and refused to part from her side, ignoring all ribbing from his peers and friends, eager to have her within his embrace. A rare husband but the perfect one for Belle. She sighed deeply, yearning for that special someone.
"Now, enough talk of marriage. Mother will be driving me mad soon enough with all the arrangements." Catherine decreed, rolling her eyes at the coming onslaught.
"Fine, will you be going to the ball tonight?"
"The masked ball at the Duncan's?" Catherine asked, her brow furrowed in thought.
"Yes! It's supposed to be the ball of the season. Let's go together and enjoy an evening away from all responsibilities, decisions and arrangements."
"I'm not sure if-"
"I won't accept any other answer except for yes, Catherine," Belle announced firmly. "Are you coming or do I have to drag you there by your hair?"
"I'd like to see you try," Catherine retorted, reaching for her cup. She sipped and sighed in delight. Even cold, the brew still tasted divine.
Belle shuddered as she watched Catherine consume the bitter brew an expression of bliss crossing her features. "I don't know how you can drink that, Catherine. It's fit only to clean rust off metals."
Catherine looked up, arching an eyebrow at Belle's disgusted look. "This is the most wondrous elixir ever created by man. Bold, rich and powerful."
"Which goes to show you how stupid men are, this is only a passing mode. Coffee will never last through the centuries." Belle said with a sniff.
"Bite your tongue. I pray that it never goes away!" Catherine gasped, collapsing backwards in a near faint at the thought.
"Catherine!" Belle scolded.
"What?"
"What are you going to wear tonight?" Belle asked, smiling at Catherine's antics.
Iain's POV
Iain strode into the brightly lit, garishly decorated ballroom, a room filled with the Ton's crème de crème. A maddening affair with bodies being crushed together, barely leaving any room for one to breathe.
He wasn't there to enjoy the evening, no, he had come to complete his vow. Tonight was the first step in avenging his family's murder. Weeks had passed as he gathered information on his foe. Inwardly he raged at the delay but a cool head prevailed and now a ripe plum had landed within his grasp. The final nail in McNeill's coffin.
His dark eyes swept over the crowd. He ignored the come-hither glances behind the masked faces, and disregarded the insipid vacant stares, false smiles and heaving bosoms of the ton's many trollops. Tonight he wasn't searching for a nameless body to lose himself in, tonight his prey would be nearby. The thrill of the hunt heated his blood and helped to dull the bitterness within. In this world of false blondes, mousey brunettes, cool raven beauties, he searched for hair the colour of the rising sun, bold and fiery.
She was to be the last piece in the game to destroy McNeill. Iain would take her from him. The only thing that McNeill desired. And he would do it by any means, fair or foul. An easy task, if the rumours were true. According to the gossip in Court, she was a docile, easily manageable lass, ripe for the picking. He'd sweep in, awe her and seduce her to his side. If she could marry McNeill without love, then passion would be the incentive for her to come to him.
Iain leaned back against the wall, his stance warning all away, a cynical smile twisting his lips and a dark look shadowing his handsome features. 'Let the games begin, and to the victor the spoils.' He thought.
Behind him, a delighted laugh broke through the contrived titters and breathy murmurs, a pure sound without pretence. He turned sharply, his gaze transfixed upon the goddess before him. She was more beautiful than he could have pictured. She stood proudly in a gown made of rich satin in the deepest shade of burgundy. A heart shaped bodice was edged with cream coloured lace with perfectly formed pearls sown into the delicate material. The lace modestly covered her ample charms from hungry eyes. The gown clinched snuggly over her slender waist and draped gracefully over her lush hips. A full skirt fell becomingly to the floor, swaying with each step she took, allowing the slightest glimpse of her trim ankles and jewel encrusted burgundy slippers.
Hiding her angelic face was a demi-mask, made of the purest white peregrine's feathers. Tiny teardrop diamonds and opals were held in place by thinly twisted gold twine. Her beautiful auburn hair had been swept up into an intricate cornet, leaving her slim, pale neck and shoulders bare to the night air. Adorned only with a simply made necklace of blood red rubies, opals and diamonds, it rested just above the dip of her cleavage.
Her lips drew his gaze, rosy and plump, just begging for a lover's kiss to awaken them to great pleasures. He knew then that this was more than just vengeance. His instant desire for her warned him that he hungered for more from her. He wanted her surrender but for different reasons. His soul urged him to move forward and claim her as his in front of everyone.
Lady Catherine, the McNeill's bride to be, soon to be his if the fates were merciful. Nothing would stop him from succeeding and making her his.
Iain walked slowly towards her, his onyx eyes caught and held hers. Desire flared between the two as he came closer, he saw her blue eyes dance with anticipation. The crowd parted out of his way, acknowledging his powerful charisma as he walked towards his prey, his gaze locked upon the petite figure. Reaching her, he bowed and brushed his lips over her soft, rose scented hand. He smiled as she shivered from the gentle caress.
"My Lady," he murmured, his voice deep and seductive.
Catherine's POV
Upon arriving at the ball, Belle, Thomas and Catherine had immediately been swallowed up by a swarm of people. They curtsied and bowed their way through the room. Sighing, Catherine drifted off to the side, needing a break from fighting her way through the crowded room. Though she had protested about coming, the ball would give her a chance to be at ease, carefree and avoid any further wedding plans.
Belle had spent all day helping her choose her dress before deciding on the rich burgundy gown. It was a bold colour and she wasn't sure that the colour suited her but Belle had waved aside her worries and declared her a ravishing beauty, not willing to see Catherine in any other gown but this one.
Belle stood beside her wearing a lush green gown that molded to her curves and showed off her lush body. A demi-mask of peacock feathers hid her features from all but nothing could hide the mischievous winks or pouty lips when she glanced at Thomas. Emerald earrings and an emerald necklace complimented her attire.
"Catherine, you look absolutely stunning this evening," Thomas said, glaring away potential rakes and cads from the two beauties on his arms. "I'll have to keep a close eye on you this eve."
"Thomas, you should know by now that I won't be easily swept off my feet by a handsome face or a glib tongue." Catherine replied, not impressed with his over protective demeanor. "Besides, shouldn't you be telling Belle that?"
"Not if he wishes to see the next dawn," Belle threatened, daring her husband to act like an uncouth male. "Thomas knows better than to play the over protective male with me, Catherine."
"Hush, love, you'll ruin my reputation with the lads." Thomas quipped, wrapping his arms gently around her waist.
"Which reputation is that, dear?" Belle asked, batting her long lashes at him. "Your witty charms or perhaps your jokester habits?"
"My prowess with the lasses, of cour-" he started to tease, grinning deviously down at her irate face. "Omp!"
"My Lord Pig," she snapped, elbowing him swiftly in the ribs and wrenching free of his embrace. "I pray that you enjoy sleeping outside of our bed chamber for the next little while."
Thomas knelt in front of her, his hands lightly over his heart. "Belle, they were the mere trinkets of a long ago, young and foolish lad. You are the sun, moon and stars. A shining beacon for my love to follow whenever the world makes my soul weary and weak from pain." Thomas said, his voice a whispered at her tenderly, "Within our chambers, you give me life and mph-"
Belle slapped a hand over his mouth, flushing bright red. A nervous giggle emerged from her parted lips and her eyes were wide with disbelief. "Thomas, hush!"
"Thomas, you'd best beware, one day your tomfoolery will land you in trouble with your commanding officer." Catherine chided.
He leapt up and tugged Belle close to him, his green eyes twinkled with mirth as he struggled to hold onto a wriggling angry vixen.
"Let go, husband, if you wish to keep your lying tongue," Belle hissed, smiling evilly at him.
"You wouldn't do that, Belle. I know how much you enjoy my tongue," Thomas growled, stealing a kiss from his shocked wife.
She gasped and blushed brighter than a pomegranate. She pushed against his shoulder but fell swiftly under the spell of his kiss.
Catherine watched the two lovers, aching for the happiness and love that she saw before her. She yearned for that special someone with whom she would be able to share all of her dreams, fears and desires. She hungered for someone that would tease and love her as much as Thomas loved Belle. A love that could brighten the room and spirits of those all around. She could only hope that Laird McNeill was the right choice.
Belle broke free of the heated embrace and lightly slapped his shoulder, scolding him for his madcap behaviour in front of so many people. It was a half hearted effort and didn't fool anyone watching, especially with Thomas's pleased smile shining brightly for all to see.
"Honestly, you act more like a caveman than a gentleman at times," Belle scolded, patting her mask and gown into their proper place.
"Not a gentleman," Thomas gasped, looking wounded at her harsh words, "but a highlander. Come here, wench!"
Catherine's laughter rang out at his crazed antics.
She froze as the sensation of being watched swept over her, turning slightly her curious blue eyes met dark, rich onyx eyes. She shivered under the heated stare and quickly looked away, but found her gaze drawn back towards his. Hunger shone from his eyes as they looked upon her, and a dangerous gleam of seductive promise emanated from them.
Under lowered lids, she watched as the crowd parted, providing a clear path to her. He moved with a panther's grace, slow and with purpose but ready to attack for the kill at the slightest sign of weakness. The world faded away, as she watched his movements from across the room.
His skin was a rich golden hue, no doubt from long hours spent sparring and training with the troops. His hair was a lush raven's mane that fell to his shoulders. He had tied it back with a thin leather strip, pulling it away from his chiseled jaw and brushing it back from his dark eyes. He wore a simple white dress shirt and a black pair of breeches that clung to his muscular frame, outlining every muscle and hard angle of his body. With each powerful stride that he took, his muscles rippled under the cloth. All around him, the sighs and lusty murmurs in lilting, high-pitched voices echoed their appreciation for his form.
'Stop it, Catherine,' she chided herself, her eyes widening and filling with desire as he got closer and closer to her position. 'He's simply a man dressed like all the others, there's nothing different about him.'
'Oh, but there is!' Her treacherous mind taunted her, playing back the image of his approach. 'Look at the fops and compare them to his masculine beauty. Even Patrick doesn't exude this raw, earthy sensuality that just begs a woman to explore further and deeper into his psyche.'
She shivered and blushed as her mind sent image after image at her, his arms wrapped around her, his hands on her body and his lips pressed against hers in a searing kiss.
As her mind and heart battled, her eyes feasted on his as he stood before her. Her lips parted and she licked her suddenly dry lips. The earthy scent of his cologne captured her senses and pulled her deeper into his thrall.
With a rakish smile, he bowed and grasped her hand tenderly within his, lightly brushing his lips over her silky skin. She was ready to melt at his feet and he hadn't even spoken a word to her.
"My Lady."