Page 27 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
Malcolm chuckled. He liked this side of her, the sharp, intelligent sense of humor. He could not think of any woman who amused him as she did.
“How long d’ye think it’ll be before Ducan comes?” she suddenly asked, catching him off guard with the abrupt change of topic.
He let out a long exhale and sat forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I wish I could tell ye. I only sent the message upon arrival, so it’ll be some days at least before I get a reply. I ken how badly ye wantae get home, Catriona.”
“I havenae seen me braither or Elaina fer five years,” she said, so forlornly, his heart went out to her. “We couldnae even write tae each other in case Sinclair intercepted the letters and found out where I was hidin’.”
He was stricken with guilt for not understanding the depth of her suffering. No wonder she carried that air of sadness with her.
“Christ, Cat. I didnae realize. I’m sorry. It must have been hard fer ye.” The diminutive slid off his tongue unnoticed. Gathering himself, he continued, “I’m sure Duncan will reply as soon as he can. He’s been missin’ ye as well. He wants ye home. But…”
“But Sinclair. Aye. He’s never stopped huntin’ me fer five years. All that time, I’ve lived with the guilt of being a burden tae anyone who tries tae protect me. Me mere presence put their lives in danger.”
“Ye havetae stop sayin’ that,” he began, but she cut him off.
“’Tis the truth. Malcolm, I dinnae want tae bring trouble tae yer door, but the longer I stay here, the more likely it is that Sinclair will come. That’s why I need tae get home very, very soon.”
At the thought of her leaving Malcolm ran his hand through his hair, trying to straighten the thoughts and emotions rampaging inside him. He drank some more ale and, gradually, calmed down.
“Catriona, I understand the burden of guilt more than ye might think. I understand yer reasons fer feeling the way ye dae, and I willnae try tae argue ye out of them. Ye’re a good person, and I dinnae think ye’ll ever really get over people gettin’ hurt because of the position Sinclair’s put ye in. ’Tis understandable.”
He paused, then added, “But he’s the aggressor in all this. Ye’re innocent. Dinnae given in tae him. There’s nae a clan within a hundred miles that wouldnae like tae see him dead.”
She looked at him with surprise. Then she said, “Oh? I didnae ken that. Well, ye’re very kind, Malcolm, but the fact remains that havin’ me here at yer keep puts ye, Ewan, and yer clan at risk.”
He saw the pain in her eyes and once more felt a bond of kinship with her. He knew all about guilt and how it twisted inside a person unceasingly through the years like a knife in the gut.
He had to fight down the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. But he knew it would be a bad mistake, so he stayed where he was. Reaching over for the jug, he topped up her cup.
“Mayhap it would help ye tae think of him as a nasty disease like, say, leprosy,” he suggested, setting down the jug on a low table. “It ravages and kills, destroys lives, causes endless misery and suffering. But dae the healers give up tryin’ tae cure folks who are sufferin’ from it, even though they risk getting’ infected themselves? Nay. Dae they stop feelin’ bad when they cannae save a patient? Nay. They try all the harder tae beat the disease by unitin’ their knowledge and skills.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“That’s an interestin’ way of puttin’ it. But ye make it sound like I’m part of somethin’ bigger.”
“Ye are. I’m sure ye’ll start tae see that more clearly now ye’re out of the priory. Ye had little news in there, I’m guessin’.”
“Aye, that’s right. And I only got short messages by word of mouth from Duncan, relayed tae me by the Mother Superior. I had nay idea what was happenin’ outside.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Jaysus, Catriona, I dinnae ken how ye survived in there without goin’ mad.”
“Who say’s I didnae?” she asked, her demeanor brightening.
Malcolm smiled at her joke as well as her incredible resilience. And the more they talked, the more he admired her.
“I survived because the nuns are very kind. They helped me tae get through it, just like they helped me tae escape,” she added.
“They’re very good, brave women, nay doubt.”
“And I had hope too, of bein’ able tae go home one day. I think ye can get through a lot of things if ye have hope.”
“So folks say, aye, and it worked fer ye,” he replied before supping some more ale, reflecting that he had never had such an extraordinary conversation with anyone, let alone a woman, before. “The important thing is that ye understand that I’ll always dae me best tae protect ye, whatever happens,” he told her, choosing his words carefully. “And so will me men. We wouldnae be able tae live with ourselves otherwise. Ye’re worth fightin’ fer, Catriona.”
Bloody hell! When did I get so eloquent?
She was staring at him again, her lips slightly parted. “That is positively heroic, Malcolm Gordon. Ye make a wonderful knight in shinin’ armor. But whatever fine words ye say, I still dinnae like the idea of anyone fightin’ and dyin’ fer me sake.”
“Of course, ye dinnae, but it could happen. Hopefully, it’ll be the enemy that does most of the dyin’.” He paused, about to put to her an idea that had come to him while they had been talking. “Ye said ye feel like a powerless victim… what if ye could dae somethin’ fer me that will help strengthen the alliance against Sinclair, somethin’ that would increase the chances of removin’ him?”
