Disclaimers: See Chapter One
Chapter Four
Thomas knelt beside Iain, cringing in sympathy as he glanced upon his friend's tense, greenish appearance and heard his ragged breaths filled the night air. He lay curled up in a tight ball, a hand protecting him from further assaults on his manhood.
"Are you alright, Iain?" He asked hesitantly.
"What? Are you daft, Thomas?" Iain snarled, his voice almost in a falsetto. "She may as well have torn it off. It probably would have hurt less. What happened to the sweet, docile lass you spoke of? She behaved more like a temperamental shrew."
"You must have gotten on her bad side. Don't forget that she is kin to Belle and is likely to have a touch of temper," Thomas murmured, holding out a helping hand. "What the bloody hell did you say to her? I've never seen Catherine act in this manner."
"Never you mind. 'Tis between Catherine and I," Iain retorted, a wolfish smile spreading across his face as he stood with Thomas' aid. "Lady Catherine has just met her match."
A concerned look passed over Thomas' face and he glared at Iain, "If you hurt her, I'll skewer you with your own sword and boast you upon your own battlements."
"Hurt her?" Iain mused, an imp's gleam in his eyes and a devilish smile for all to see. "Nay, the last thing I wish is to hurt her unless it's breathless pleas for me to stop."
"You bastard!" Thomas spat, stepping forward, his fist swinging towards Iain.
Iain caught it easily and held onto it firmly, his muscles tensing under the strain of restraining Thomas' fist. "How long have you known me, Thomas?"
"Ten years now," Thomas replied through clenched teeth, his voice icy with anger.
"You know I don't mess with the innocent lasses." Iain said quietly. "If anything were to happen between the two of us, it would be because we are betrothed or married. My honour is not something that I would compromise."
Thomas nodded at him and relaxed his stance. Iain released his hand and watched as Thomas clenched and unclenched his fist to return blood to the freed flesh.
"What about your family?"
"I haven't forgotten my vow to them but what better revenge against McNeill than to take from him his desired bride before I make him pay for his crime."
"You don't know what he's capable of doing. When an animal trapped and in fear of its very survival, it will fight with whatever weapons they have at their grasp, be it fair or foul. Don't drag Catherine into the middle of your battle." Thomas urged, a feeling of dread sweeping over him.
Iain walked away from him and looked up at the shooting star that sped across the night sky. "I can't."
"You have to," Thomas inserted.
"No, Thomas. I mean I cannot. Something about her pulls me toward her side. It's an urge more powerful than fear, caution or vengeance." He replied, ruefully shaking his head. "For the first time in weeks, I felt peace as I stood by her side, a sense of coming home. Her embrace sheltered and held the pain at bay and I saw the world as a place where deceit and betrayal are not the norm, even after that painful blow that was so swiftly dealt to me by her."
Understanding washed over Thomas. It was exactly how he felt for Belle. Her softest embrace that was more powerful than whatever the world could throw his way. A welcome haven for a weary warrior.
"You care for her," Thomas stated.
"I don't know what I feel for her," Iain lied, recognizing instantly the falsehood that he had uttered. He froze as an unfamiliar feeling overtook him and he looked into Thomas knowing eyes. "I… perhaps, I do feel something…"
"Hold off, Iain. I know that everything inside is demanding that you claim your mate but first you must get your house in order. Rid yourself of the infection destroying you from within your walls before proceeding any further," Thomas said, trying to cut through Iain' desires and make him see reason. "Any news about who your traitor is?"
Iain glanced back, his face grim. "I have a few leads but I hesitate to act without proof of their treachery. The evidence is pointing towards a key member of my guard. Someone who is desperate and wants control of the clan."
"The usual reasons for their betrayal? Greed, money and power," Thomas spat. "How can they think the clan would side with them after they resort to killing the innocent to gain the leadership? And what role does McNeill play in this plot?"
Iain let out a harsh laugh. "What does McNeill want, would be the better question. The destruction of the clans joining in peace. Think of it, Thomas. Without the petty quarrels and feuds among us, Scotia would once again prosper and grow, no longer would the ground be saturated with the blood of our kinsmen."
"Why try to stop it then? All this useless death harms all the clans," Thomas said exasperated.
"Sometimes I wonder if you pay attention to any of the meetings we've attended in preparation for the merger." Iain answered, shooting him a disgruntled look. "What do the McNeill's trade in?"
"They hire out as army… I'm a complete idiot," Thomas sighed, "Without all the inbred fighting, they stand to lose a great deal. But who in your clan would side with the devil to gain their way?"
"With your help, I'll trap him," Iain stated, his eyes burning with barely suppressed rage. "I have a plan but the time is not yet right to launch it."
"You have only to say the word and all of my men will stand behind you." Thomas promised. "And Catherine?"
"I'm sorry but I can't let her go," Iain answered, walking away from Thomas' pensive form.
"May the Almighty watch over you and have mercy on you both," Thomas pleaded, watching his friend stride into the crowded ballroom. Shaking his head, he followed Iain' path, eager to find Belle and return to her side.
"He is a disgusting, crude beast!" Catherine vented, pacing madly in front of Belle. Her sky blue morning dress, swayed rapidly with each step she took. As she ran her fingers mindlessly through her upswept curls, small tendrils of auburn hair fell to frame her heart shape face. Her mouth was pursed in a small moue of discontent and a fierce frown graced her normally calm features.
Belle choked back a chuckle at the figure of her normally tranquil cousin twirling about the room in frustration. She picked up her cup and took a sip, watching Catherine waving her hands about her distractedly.
" 'The cat has claws.' " She mimicked. "He's lucky that I didn't claw out his ebony eyes for his forwardness."
"What else did he say to vex you so?" Belle asked, interrupting the tirade.
Belle struggled to maintain her stern appearance but inwardly she rejoiced. Never had she seen Catherine so vividly irate. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy blush, her blue eyes were glittering with anger and the hint of something more, if one was to look closely upon her. In her anger towards Iain, she was blossoming and for the first time, releasing her emotions. Her pride had been affronted but desire was waging a war with it.
"How dare he?" She muttered, stamping a tiny slipper clad foot hard on the wooden floorboards. She pictured that it was his toes, which she was crushing beneath her foot. Before she sat down on the almond coloured brocade loveseat, her fingers tapped at the arm in a rapid beat.
"Catherine, you're ranting," Belle chortled, no longer able to hold in her mirth. "You're flailing about, ranting and raving over a man that you've just met."
"I am not!" Catherine denied, "I'm fuming."
"Same thing," Belle retorted, "You remind me so much of myself right now."
"Really," Catherine asked, "How so?"
Belle chuckled at Catherine's mulish look and continued, "Yes." She stressed. "I was throwing things and yelling loud enough to raise the dead the day I met Thomas."
Belle paused but Catherine urged her on, eager to hear the full story.
"He approached me at one of those balls that we were constantly being dragged to. I didn't want to be there and I had already fought off the advances of two lecherous noblemen." Belle reflected, remembering the moment as if it had only occurred minutes ago, her ire once again rising as the scene came to life within her mind. "There he stood before me, two buxom blondes hanging from his arms, the scent of their perfume overwhelming all those around them and leaving a trail of the disgusting stench in the air."
"And?"
"He asked me if I'd like to stroll with him!" Belle muttered.
"He didn't," Catherine gasped, her eyes wide at Thomas' audacity.
"He did. There he was, surrounded by two women and not satisfied with what he had. I looked at him and turned up my nose at him, sniffing loudly enough that he'd understand my distaste for him and his entourage. As if I would want anything to do with a rake like him. He asked again and I responded with a firm no, thinking that would be the end to his ways. But no, he followed around the room not willing to accept my answer."
Catherine snickered as she thought of her hot-tempered cousin's walking around with a persistent suitor upon her heels. "What happened next?"
"Well, as I moved about the room, Thomas echoed my movements, following me about the room, with those two simpleton maids following docilely behind him."
"What did you do?"
"I turned around and demanded in a loud voice that if he truly wished to have anything to do with me, he'd be wise to remove the clinging vines from his arms and not to approach me until he no longer reeked of a cheap trollop's cologne." Belle replied, her voice filled with satisfaction remembering the scandalized looks for the people that were around them.
"Belle, you didn't!" Catherine choked out, her laughter ringing a loud.
Belle smiled serenely, "I did. He called the next day, the picture of a perfect gentleman."
Catherine watched her thoughtfully, "A perfect gentleman? Did you not return to the house with his love mark upon your neck? With crumbled leaves within your disheveled brown locks and your dress mussed and hemline torn?"
"Enough about Thomas and I," Belle mumbled, her face bright red. She had forgotten that Catherine had been present for that incident.
"What are you going to do?" She asked, eager to turn the conversation back onto Catherine's plight.
"Me? Nothing. I doubt that I'll ever see him again." Catherine replied, rolling her eyes at Belle's attempt to change the subject. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."
"Catherine, if he's anything like Thomas, I don't think that you've seen the last of him."
"I left the man crumpled on the floor, moaning in pain. My intentions towards him could not have been any clearer."
"Precisely, you challenged him. Even though in your eyes it was a dismissal, to him it was like waving a red flag." Belle said gently. "I'd delay the reading of the bans."
"I can't," Catherine said, shaking her head. "I gave my word."
"Catherine, what colour are Patrick's eyes?" Belle asked, determined to prove her point.
"Blue… no brown… I think," she muttered, brow furrowed in thought.
"His hair."
"Brown." Catherine replied, unsure where Belle was heading with her questions.
"What colour are Iain' hair and eyes?"
"His eyes are like deep pools. A mesmerizing onyx hue that tugs one to become lost within his gaze, framed by the longest lashes. His hair is the colour of a black bird's wing, tempting one to run their fingers through the thick locks." She sighed dreamily, lost in the memory of the pervious night.
"Not that you noticed," Belle remarked dryly.
"No," Catherine echoed, flushing. "Not that I noticed."
They sat in silence. Belle sipping her tea and Catherine contemplating.
"I can't go through with it without knowing. If I truly loved Patrick, I would have no doubts about the wedding." Catherine stood up, and frowned in thought for a moment. She turned to Belle. "I'm going to delay until I know what my heart wants. I'll just have to come up with a good reason to tell Patrick."
Belle put her cup down and hugged Catherine, "It was the same for Thomas and me. A bolt out of the blue that filled the air with excitement, passion and moments of extreme ire at his foolish ways."
"We could be wrong," Catherine whispered, needing to say it a loud and keep everything from running away with her. "He may not even have given me a second thought."
Belle snorted and held Catherine at arms length, shaking her slightly. "You kneed the man in the groin. I doubt that he's forgotten you so quickly," Belle teased, giggling at Catherine's embarrassed look.
A soft knock drew their attention away from each others teasing to the door.
"Come in," Catherine called out.
"My Lady, Laird MacLachlan has come to call and your mother requests your presence in the formal sitting room," the maid announced, bobbing a small curtsy.
"Please inform my mother that I will be right down, Mary." Catherine answered, turning to look at Belle in confusion as Mary silently exited the room.
"Father's mentioned Laird MacLachlan and his role in the unity efforts. According to father and everyone who's been involved from the start of this movement, he has been a pillar of strength, not allowing the clans bickering to ruin the new accord." Catherine informed Belle, her voice filled with admiration. "It was thought that all was lost when his family were brutally murdered, and that he'd lose interest in uniting the clans, but his resolve only strengthened. The Laird had made a promise upon the graves of his family to go forth with their wishes for peace."
"He sounds like a strong, loyal ally who will rise above tragedy for the good of others," Belle stated. "Have you met him before?"
"Laird MacLachlan? No, I've not had that honour, but father says that we have a lot in common."
'Or so you think, Catherine.' Belle thought with a small grin.
"Really, what exactly do you have in common?" Belle teased.
"Stubbornness and a contrary manner," Catherine remarked with a cheeky grin.
"A match made in heaven," Belle replied seriously, her brown eyes dancing with laughter.
"Hush! Two men are more than enough of a handful for a woman to deal with without you adding a paragon of virtue to the mix," Catherine scolded playfully. She stood and made her way towards the door, she opened it and glanced back, having noted that Belle had not followed her and she was gazing upon her with a calculating expression. "What?"
"Nothing," Belle answered innocently, looking like the cat that ate the canary.
"You're not fooling me for a second but I don't have time to delve deeper into this right now," Catherine announced. "Well, are you coming?"
"Go ahead, I just need a moment," Belle answered, waving her out the door. "I'll be right down."
Shaking her head at Belle antics, Catherine walked out the door and was half way down the hall when Belle's gleeful laughter filled the hallway.
'What's wrong with her?' Catherine mused as she walked quickly towards the sitting room.
As she walked, she brushed a hand over her hair straightening any loose strands before reaching down and tugging upon her dress to remove any creases in the material. She rustled it until it settled serenely about her petite frame.
The closer she came to the closed door, the louder the murmurs of conversation became. Her mother's soft lilting voice mixed with the deep rich tones of the visiting Laird. Catherine slowed, subconsciously recognizing the deep voice. A feeling of déjà vu spread across her and she hesitated briefly, her brow furrowed in thought. Her hand reached forward slowly before swinging open the door and gliding into the room, dropping into a perfect curtsey.
"Laird MacLachlan," she murmured respectively.
"Hello Lady Catherine. Please, there's no need for such formalities among friends." A familiar voice mocked her.
Her head snapped up and she looked into his amused onyx eyes.
"You!"