Page 44 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
But instead of going to her chamber, feeling in need of some nurturing, spiritual calm, she went into the castle chapel, hoping to find it empty.
But a maid was there, dusting the huge brass altar candelabra with a feather duster. She turned when Catriona entered, and when she saw who it was, smiled.
“Good day tae ye, me lady,” she said, bobbing a curtsey.
“Good day, Theresa,” Catriona replied with an answering smile as she approached her. “How’s yer maither farin’?”
“Aye, me lady, nae so bad as before, thank ye. She’s over the moon, fer the laird has sent us a great load of firewood that’ll last us all winter. Ye can hardly get inside the cottage, ’tis stacked so high.”
It was yet another example of Malcolm’s kindness, showing his dedication to his clansfolk.
Managing somehow to maintain her smile, Catriona replied, “Och, I’m very pleased fer ye both. Hopefully, yer maither’s cough will improve now she can keep nice and warm.”
Theresa continued dusting, chatting about all the work going on around the castle, whilst Catriona began straightening a pile of prayerbooks stacked upon a side table, a curious question forming in her mind.
Why it did so was a mystery to her. Yet something in the atmosphere of the chapel, perhaps the lingering smells of polish and beeswax, had prompted some vague memory buried deep within her to stir.
“Tell me, Theresa,” she said, arranging the books symmetrically, “daes the laird ever come in here?”
The maid paused what she was doing, feather duster poised, and looked at her in obvious surprise, clearly taken aback by the strange question. Then she shook her head.
“Nay, me lady,” she replied in a hushed voice, glancing at the doors as though expecting Malcolm to burst in and take her to task. “In truth, he daesnae even like it if anyone speaks of it openly. Everybody kens it, but naebody kens why.”
“Och, is that so? I’m glad ye told me, thank ye,” Catriona murmured, finishing with the books, silently pondering the mysterious information the maid had supplied, wondering what to make of it.
After Theresa had finished her work and departed, Catriona went to pray, hoping for some peace to ease her troubled mind and heart. But though she knelt and closed her eyes and pressed her hands together, instead of praying, her mind groped to pull that tantalizing memory into the light so she could examine it fully. For some reason, she felt it might hold the key to understanding Malcolm. And despite all, she wanted to understand him better.
But the memory remained stubbornly ephemeral, lurking below the surface of her consciousness as nothing more than a faint recalling of a Gordon family tragedy that had been mentioned when she was young. But the details remained just out of reach.
No better off for her ponderings, she eventually rose and left the chapel, her knees stiff from kneeling. And a headache starting up behind her eyes.
Later that day, Malcolm was seated at his desk in his study, poring over a map of his domain. He had marked on the locations of the several run-ins his men had had with Sinclair’s caught trespassing on Gordon land. It made him deeply uneasy to see the level of encroachment, for he knew it likely meant that Sinclair had somehow scented the trail of his escaped quarry and was closing in on her.
The thought of Catriona falling into the evil man’s clutches made him feel physically sick. and not just because he had promised Duncan to keep her safe. He simply could not stomach thethought of any man but himself laying a finger on her, even though he could never, ever do that himself again.
“Damn the bastard’s black soul tae hell,” he cursed under his breath, scowling at the areas marked on the map.
Hid brother gave a sharp rap on the door and then opened it. He looked up from the map and immediately noticed the tense expression on Ewan’s face, and the parchment in his hand. His heart sank, for he knew at once that it was bad news.
“What is it?” he asked, throwing down his quill and leaning back in his seat.
Ewan strode forward and placed the letter in front of him on the desk. “From one of our border scouts,” he said, throwing his long frame into the nearest chair and steepling his fingers beneath his swarthy chin.
Malcolm smoothed out the parchment and scanned the report, which advised him of unusual activity taking place in the villages clustered around his eastern borders.
“Ach, what a surprise. More of Sinclair’s armed riders on our land questionin’ the villagers and searchin’ the area without me permission,” he muttered grimly, rolling the parchment and shoving it aside as if in disgust. “Aye, Sinclair has got wind of somethin’ that’s drawin’ him here. He’s huntin’ Catriona on me land, the bastard.”
“Aye, clearly he daesnae yet ken she’s here in the keep, but he’s definitely gettin’ closer,” Ewan agreed, sounding as grim as his brother. “Have ye informed Duncan of the situation?”
“Aye, he kens it well enough,” Malcolm said, the rising tension in his jaw becoming almost painful.
“Mayhap ye should consider sending him another message, tae tell him the situation is now more pressin’,” Ewan suggested.
“I’ll consider it, but I’m certain that if he’s nae already on his way here, he will be as soon as he can.”
“So, in the meantime, what will ye dae about Sinclair’s men?”
“More of the same,” Malcolm said decisively. “I want eyes on them at all times, so step up border patrols in the area. I want each and every one of those riders challenged fer bein’ on our land without me permission and killed if necessary. And any wounded men are tae be brought here tae the dungeon, so I can interrogate them mesel’ about Sinclair’s plans.”
