Disclaimers: See Chapter One
Chapter Seven
Upon Iain's departure, after their tête-à-tête, Catherine turned to her mother. She was eager to confide in her regarding her decision to call off her nuptials to Patrick, but instead was presented with a piece of parchment and gently nudged in the direction of the antique oak writing table in the family parlor.
Catherine glanced at her mother, her eyes filled with unspoken questions before comprehending her mother's silent approval. Catherine's delighted laughter echoed through the hall and she pulled her mother close for an enthusiastic embrace. Her heart beat wildly in her chest at this chance to realize her dreams with Iain. It felt like her head was in the clouds as she imagined belonging completely to him, not just in thoughts but in body, heart and witnessed before all of their peers.
"What about Father?" Catherine asked, pulling away from her mother. She knew her father had given his word of honor to Patrick that she would accept his proposal, and her father would never break his word, no matter what the reasons. In his mind, a man was only as good as his word. Her heart plunged at the thought of her father forbidding her from seeing Iain again and forcing her to go through with the engagement.
Catherine had always looked up to her father and strived to meet his standards. At his knee, she had learned that a person must always honor their promises, treat everyone, regardless of their station in life, as equals. To always continue to grow in their pursuit of knowledge and search for answers to their questions. He had challenged her to break through the chains that held her back in society, forcing those around her to see her as more then a decorative accessory and helped her become a person that refused to submit meekly to anyone.
Catherine knew that if he forbade their union, she would not be able to honor his wishes. Her heart ached at the thought of betraying her father's promise to Patrick.
"Don't fash, Catherine." Lady Glenda murmured, recognizing the look of panic that spread across her daughter's face before it was suppressed behind a stoic mask. "Leave speaking with your father to me. You know how gruff and stubborn he can be at times. Especially when things start to go awry."
"Aye," Catherine whispered, lowering her head to stare at the ground.
"But, I know that both he and I only wish for you to be happy," Glenda stated calmly, raising her Catherine's face and staring into her beloved child's worried blue eyes.
Glenda's mind harked back to the memory of Catherine when she was but a lass of six summers. The image superimposed itself over the form of Catherine as she stood before her now. The years melted away and for a brief moment Glenda saw not a fully-grown woman about to start her life with the man she loved, but the image of her wee lass in one of her most cherished memories. Catherine's fiery red hair in tiny ringlets cascaded down her back, reaching to her knees, and dressed in swirling gown of white cotton that was marred with patches of grass stains, she danced without a care around the still figure of her father. He stood tall, pretending to be a mighty elm tree as Catherine had declared him to be, and each circle she made caused the gown flare into a bell shape, showing off the embroidered flowers upon the hem. The lilac bow around her waist quickly came undone and its strings dragged along the grass. Her small face smiled widely, and her baby teeth gleamed pearly white in the bright sun. Her grin showed the gap of a recently lost tooth and her childish giggles filled the air. The remembered picture of innocent joy warmed her mother's heart.
With a sharp breath, Glenda focused on the future and her daughter's distressed visage. She wished that Catherine was once again that innocent child whom she could shelter against the world but knew she would never deny Catherine her chance for true love.
"Catherine, if you feel that Iain is the one with whom you can have a fulfilling life, and the only man you can trust with your heart, soul and well being, then we give you our blessing." Glenda replied, her voice husky with emotion at the thought of soon losing her daughter. "Now, write your letter to Patrick, so you can end that and start your new future."
With her mother's words, a weight lifted from Catherine, leaving in its wake a delightful giddiness. She knew that there were no promises between Iain and herself, but now they would have a chance to explore what their feelings were for each other. 'Even if it was under the watchful eye of her mother.' Catherine thought ruefully.
A week had passed since Iain and Catherine's conversation in the garden. Only seven days, but it had left the Lindsay household filled with joy and happiness as they watched the whirlwind courtship between their Lady and Laird MacLachlan. From the servants to the family, an air of anticipation swept them along and they waited with bated breaths for the next step in the romance.
Catherine woke slowly and spent the first few minutes of the new dawn remembering the dreams she'd had during the night. She flushed at the memories of the previous night.
The dream had begun with her and Iain going for an innocent carriage drive along the country road. They barely paid any mind to the passing beauty of the country side. Instead their gazes were firmly fixed upon each other, finding that a more pleasant pastime than staring at the endless hills of green.
Iain had pulled her close, sharing his warmth and protecting her from the crisp morning breeze. She had burrowed close to him as she was feeling a bit chilled and breathed deep his masculine scent mixed with the sharp scent of pine. Catherine sighed in contentment, at peace by his side. Shyly, she had looked up and her eyes had widened in shock at the look of hunger within Iain's eyes as they glanced down into hers.
Slowly, as if scared to startle her, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly to hers. Pulling away in case his attentions were unwanted he waited for her response. She reached up, and her hand tangled in his rich locks her fingers pulling them free of the tie that held it back. His hair flew loosely to frame his square jaw and brushed lightly against her chin. She laughed at the sensation and he grinned down at her. Catherine pulled him closer and shyly kissed him.
As the seconds passed, their kisses became more and more heated. Catherine felt Iain's hand slide around her waist and continue to slowly caress a path up her back, leaving her shivering in his arms.
Her moan of delight roused her and ended the dream before she could further explore her feelings. In the bright light of the day, Catherine was shocked at her wanton behavior but also intrigued. The conflicting feelings left her unsettled and tense. She sensed that there was more to the dreams and scolded herself for craving them but each night they came and instead of dreading her actions, she was beginning to enjoy the decadent dreams.
Iain had come to call later that day and she found that it took all her fortitude not blush fiercely under his scrutiny, fearing that he would know her thoughts with just one glance.
Everyday a small token of Iain's affection had been given to her, his messenger having been instructed to wait until she had personally accepted his gift.
The first day, he sent her a colorful bouquet of posies, roses and wild flowers, tied together with a lace ribbon. The note attached said that the flowers were a reminder of all their garden trysts.
On the second day, a sketch that he had drawn of her had arrived. Iain had managed to capture her exasperation, her crooked smile and the tilt of her nose as she looked off in the distance at an unseen figure.
The third day, a luxurious shawl in a rich shade of turquoise had been delivered to her. The shawl was soft to the touch and she brushed it along her face, her eyes closing at the texture of the fabric. A note had fallen to the ground and she quickly picked it up.
"Beloved,
Imagine that this shawl are my hands, and each time you wear it or caress it,
think of my hands, one day, following the same path.
Iain"
'He was still a cad.' She thought, pretending to be vexed at his words but cherishing them nonetheless.
The fourth day, he sent her a leather bound book of Lord Byron's poetry. She had mentioned the previous day, that there was nothing she enjoyed more than sitting in the shade of the large willow tree while reading poetry. She had not expected him remember her words, as they were just a causal statement but her heart quickened at how much he listened to what she had to say.
On the fifth day, a delicate cameo arrived. Looking closely at it, she had gasped in awe. The figure carved upon it was hers. Her eyes filled with tears at his gift.
On the sixth day, a single semi-opened peace rose had arrived with a note from Iain tied around the thornless stem.
"Catherine,
As the rose opens to reveal its inner petals,
I can only hope that our love will continue to blossom and grow.
Iain"
However, it was his gift on the seventh day that touched her the most. On the seventh day, he gave her the key to his heart and she gave him hers in return.
With each day that passed, she learned something new about him and found herself falling a little deeper in love with him. She had not yet said the words aloud to him.
This was not to say that she wasn't aware of his flaws.
No, Iain made the most contrary, stubborn and overprotective male pale in comparison.
The only time that his temper flared and these traits came to the forefront was when they spoke of her meeting with Patrick. Then he became like a growling, injured beast that no one could get near.
They would go from acting like a couple enthralled with each other to shouting opponents in a matter of seconds. Neither of them willing to call a truce.
Her mother had commented after one such shouting match had ended, that their voices had been shrill enough to wake the dead and with a strong glare suggested that perhaps they should avoid the topic of Patrick, unless they wished to end their visit for the day.
Quietly, they murmured to each other their apologizes, neither wanting to leave each other so soon.
They would sit a little ways from her mother, far enough to speak without anyone overhearing but still close that no one would comment on their improper conduct.
Whenever she thought he was distracted and looking elsewhere, she would lovingly memorize his every gesture and every expression, drinking in the sheer masculine beauty before her. The smallest thing that he did caused her pulse to race.
She was captivated by his dimpled grin, stunned by his adoring gaze, breathless with each movement of his lips and completely mesmerized by each movement of his hand as he entwined it with her.
Catherine knew that she sounded like a lass speaking of her first affair of the heart but being with Iain made her feel as if she was only now truly discovering what love was about. The one thing that cast a dark shadow over them was Patrick's constant presence in the background.
Her message, to Patrick had been sent by messenger the very first day that Iain had come to the house. The messenger confirmed that Laird McNeill had received her letter but four days passed before she received a response.
She thought back to her letter, trying to see if anything within that suggested that she was not waiting for his reply...
"Laird McNeill,
I have given some thought to your proposal of marriage and I wish to
speak with you in person as quickly as possible to discuss the matter.
I pray for you speedy response.
Regards,
Lady Catherine Lindsay"
Patrick had finally responded to her letter, stating that could not come for about a week, as he was otherwise occupied. He would grace her with a visit as soon as his commitments had been met.
Catherine had stared at his response, her mouth tightening in a scowl at his laissez-faire attitude towards her. He had brushed aside her request as if she was a bothersome pest that was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. She now knew from his response that he thought of her as already his and not worth spending time in impressing her with his courtly manners.
The slight had only caused her dislike for him to deepen and she couldn't wait until his arrival to knock the arrogance from him.
Catherine was helping sort the linens when she received the message that Patrick had arrived and was demanding to speak with her at once.
Catherine felt her temper start to soar. After making her wait nearly two weeks, he had the gall to order her to come to his side like a trained pup. She breathed deeply, calming herself before the coming confrontation. Patrick was a prideful man and her refusal to marry him would no doubt vex him.
Just before walking into the parlor, Catherine pasted a smile upon her face and swung the door open to reveal her soon to be ex-fiancé. She suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the sight of him. She did not know if it was because of the knowledge that Iain had imparted regarding Patrick's questionable activities, or if it was her own feelings towards him after his blatant disregard for her, but she was instinctively on guard.
Patrick pompously stood in the middle of the small parlor, his brown eyes not bothering to hide their arrogance and contempt for his surroundings. His large hawk like nose protruded from his face and stood out from his sharply angled features. A sneer had etched a permanent scar upon small, thin lips, and his muddy brown hair was pulled back tightly, pulling his forehead higher than nature had intended. It drew unwarranted attention to his pallid yet splotchy complexion.
Patrick was a short man, standing barely two inches taller than her petite frame and he had a large, bloated stomach, evidence of a man who enjoyed and indulged his liquor to a great degree.
Catherine thanked the spirits for sending Iain to her, as she looked at the alternative before her. She knew that it would have been a horrible existence that she would have doomed herself to. Life with Patrick would have destroyed her within months if not weeks.
"Lady Catherine," Patrick greeted her, not bothering to bow before her as customs dedicated.
"Laird McNeill, thank you for your prompt reply to my message," Catherine replied, refusing to curtsy before him.
"The demands on a Laird's time are many, Lady Catherine. Something that you'll soon discover when we are wed," Patrick promised in an annoying voice. "I suggest that we marry within the month. You are no longer a young miss that needs to be courted, and besides, I need an heir right away. The longer I wait, the less chance your spinster's body would provide me the healthy male I need. Call you father in and let us sign the contract."
Catherine stared at him, and as the seconds passed, the less she wished to be near him. Her eyes narrowed in contempt at his words. She was to become a brood mare in his eyes. 'What a delightful concept.' She thought sarcastically. The sooner she said her piece the sooner he would be gone from her life.
"That is the reason that I wished to speak with you," Catherine replied smoothly, refusing to let him see how angry his words had made her.
"What? Surely, you're not having any misses' airs. You knew before what you were getting into." Patrick retorted, dismissing what he thought were her concerns.
"I've decided that we are not a suitable match," Catherine announced, watching him closely. "I thank you for the offer but I must decline the honor of being your intended bride."
Patrick paused and took a step closer to her. The strong scent of hard liquor, sweat and his last meal wafted towards her. Catherine felt her stomach lurch from the combination of strong odors.
"What did you say?" Patrick asked angrily, not believing what she had just said to him.
"I said, I don't wish to marry you but I thank you for the honor," Catherine repeated, breathing through her mouth to avoid passing out from his stench.
"You don't have an option, Catherine," Patrick sneered, "Your father gave me his word that you'd be mine and I'm not going to let your stupid little wants get in the way. This is about what I want, and I want you. You'd best resign yourself to being mine, I don't let go of things that have been offered to me. The banns will be read this week and I will have you as my bride by the end of this month."
"I'll never agree to marry you. I'll tell you no at the altar before witness," Catherine spat, her eyes flashing with ire at his proclamation. "I'm not going to go along with your wants. You may want me but I do not want you."
"Give it time. Soon, you'll be begging for my touch," Patrick replied, his finger tracing the slim line of her jaw.
"I somehow doubt that," Catherine said, trying not to cringe from his disgusting touch upon her. "Don't touch me."
Patrick let out a sharp laugh and grabbed hold of her arms. His grip continued to tighten around the flesh, bruising her as he shook her hard. Determined to make her cry out in pain and give into his greater strength.
"As my intended bride, it's within my right to touch you wherever I desire," Patrick countered, reaching out with one hand grasping her breast and twisting it hard, feeling her flinch from his painful touch. "We'll have such fun together once we're wed, Catherine."
"Let go of me before I call for Father's guards to run you through," Catherine ordered in an icy voice.
"Of course, beloved," Patrick mocked. "I'll see you when the banns are read."
"Guards!" Catherine called out, her patience gone.
A group of three soldiers rushed in, their swords drawn and ready to protect their mistress. "My lady, what are you're wishes?"
"Escort Laird McNeill, from our land." Catherine ordered, turning to walk out the door. Reaching it, she paused and looked back at most detestable human on earth. "I meant what I said. It'll be a cold day in hell before I marry the likes of you. Don't come here again, the next time you will not fair so well in the outcome."
Catherine walked calmly out the door, ignoring Patrick's angry shouts. A sound to her left caused her to start slightly before relaxing when she saw her mother's concerned visage.
"Mama," she whispered, rushing into her comforting arms. She felt violated, sick and her body ached from Patrick's cruel touch. She wanted nothing more than to bathe away the feeling that he had left behind.
"Shh, it's alright," Glenda murmured soothingly, "I'm here. He's gone and it's over."
'No, it's not,' Catherine thought, remembering the look in his eyes as he mauled her.
Patrick stood before the roaring fire, watching it consume the saplings that he had just feed into the blaze. He held a half filled crystal brandy glass in his hand. All around him was a scene of destruction. Chairs and tables had been overturned, vases and glasses shattered, pictures ripped to shreds and ink splatters marred the walls. His mind was still filled with a red haze of anger and he panted for breath in the midst of his exhaustion after wreaking carnage within the room.
Catherine had dared to summon him to inform him of her wishes to dissolve their coming union. His bride-to-be had picked a bad time to form a backbone and to try to call off the engagement. She was a spirited lass, it was too bad that spirit was a trait he rarely enjoyed in his bitches. He would enjoy breaking her.
His temper flared as he remembered her defiant stare, and her refusal to curtsy before him. Her revulsion written plainly for him to see, but it was her lack of fear that grated on his mind. He found her contempt for him only increased his desire to make her his. His lips twisted in a cruel smile as he pictured her at his mercy. She would be on her knees before him, shaking in fear and begging him to do whatever he wished to her, whether it was a kiss or a blow across the face.
His mind drifted into his dark fantasies, each more depraved than the last.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Go away," he shouted, swirling the amber liquid and once again returning his thoughts to Catherine's submission.
The door swung slowly open and Patrick turned with a roar of anger, hurling the glass at it. The glass shattered upon impact, splattering small shards of crystal and amber liquid over the floor, wall and figure of the servant entering the room. He watched dispassionately as the servant fell before him, trembling uncontrollably, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.
"Why have you disturbed me after I left specific orders that I was not to be bothered this evening?" Patrick asked slowly. "Do you need another lesson in how to be a proper servant to the McNeill Laird?"
"No… no, my lord," the servant stammered, curling into a tight ball as he saw the leather clad feet approaching his crouched position. He knew better than to try to escape the Laird's wrath and all he could so was suppress a frightened whimper as one of the boots nudged his thigh.
"Then why are you here?" Patrick demanded in a sadistic voice.
"The MacLachlan ally has arrived," the servant whispered, through clenched teeth, every muscle in his body tense as he waited for his master's orders.
"I'll be there in a moment," Patrick ordered, before delivering a swift kick against the servant's ribs. He smirked at the sound of bones cracking under the force of his blow and at the moan of pain that his servant was unable to conceal. "Don't come in here without my consent or next time you'll have more to worry about than broken ribs. Now move! Bring some refreshments. After all we don't want to keep anyone waiting, do we?"
Patrick exited the room, uncaring of the curled figure whimpering in pain. His thoughts now concentrated on the final stage of his plan to ruin MacLachlan.
Walking into his study, he watched his ally paced agitatedly before him, scowling and muttering under his breath, Patrick could barely make out the words but Iain's name was uttered frequently along with a handful curses.
"You're late."
"Patrols have been stepped up since the last time we spoke. I had to time it so that I didn't arouse any suspicion. Besides, you are not my commander to order me to appear at your side on a whim," the traitor replied arrogantly.
"No, but I'm the man that's helping you kill your commander. Loyalty to him at this point, after helping murder his family, is a little hypocritical, don't you think?" Patrick asked coldly. "And in case you've forgotten, I also have the power to crush your future ambitions and I have no qualms about killing you on the spot, if that was my wish. This agreement is more a beneficial to you than I."
"Perhaps in the past that may have been true but I would not say that is completely true now," he replied in a cocky voice.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing much, Laird McNeill," he taunted, enjoying the power he had over Patrick in that moment. "How is your bride?"
"What does she have to do with our agreement to eliminate Iain?" Patrick growled, quickly losing patience with the cat and mouse game.
"I just find it interesting that rumors of your engagement being called off are filtering through the ranks."
"Go on."
"Especially, since she's been seen cavorting with Laird Iain MacLachlan for nearly two weeks." He taunted, twisting the knife deeper, "He had his hands all over your future bride and his lips all over her flesh."
Patrick's outraged roar filled the house, its echo resonating for minutes after it was uttered.