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  If she only knew.

  Gregor’s eyes shot to Cate’s. He didn’t know what he’d expected. To see her embarrassed? Humiliated, as Seonaid had intended?

  But he hadn’t given her enough credit. Cate didn’t look like an immature girl at all when she lifted her chin almost regally and looked down her nose at the other woman. “It wasn’t a tendre, Seonaid. I said I loved him.”

  The soft, matter-of-fact declaration shocked the blond viper into silence.

  She wasn’t alone. Gregor felt as if he’d just been struck in the ribs with a war hammer. The air seemed to have left his lungs. He’d heard countless declarations of the like from many different women, but none had ever affected him like Cate’s simply spoken words. Hell, for a moment they almost sounded true.

  In contrast to the gloating Seonaid, who’d cornered him in the stable to offer her body up as a ploy to a wedding ring, Cate’s straightforward admission was a breath of fresh air and the polar opposite of the coy games and schemings he’d come to expect from women who thought sleeping in his bed would earn them a proposal. How many times had he walked into a room and heard some woman boast about how she would be the one to trap the elusive warrior?

  “ ’Tis no secret,” Cate continued. “I’m sure Gregor knew my sentiments just as well as you.” Her gaze flickered to his only for an instant, but it was long enough to make something in his chest tighten.

  He pulled his arm away from Seonaid’s, reaching for her. “Cate, I—”

  “Sorry for the interruption,” she said too chirpily, quickly stepping away from him. “Come, Pip, let’s take the pup to the kitchens to see if we can find him something to eat.”

  She was gone before he could stop her. But what could he say? “I’m sorry you think you love me? I didn’t want to break your heart? I’m not the man for you?” All were true, but none would ease the sting of what had just happened.

  Time was the only thing that would do that. Aye, in time she would see it was all for the best.

  Eight

  Two days was long enough.

  Hearing the clatter of swords on the opposite side of the bailey beyond the barracks, Gregor quickened his step as he descended the tower house stairs. Although he was curious to see all the improvement John kept talking about, it was Cate—and not her swordplay—that he was anxious to see.

  He couldn’t take the tension any longer.

  Cate wasn’t ignoring him or avoiding him … exactly. But the way her mouth pursed when their gazes happened to meet, or the way the bland smile never seemed to reach her eyes when he tried to make her laugh at the midday meal, or the way her chin came up as if bracing herself whenever he addressed her directly, told him that she was still furious with him. Maybe more than furious. Maybe he’d finally succeeded in wresting every star from her eyes.

  It was exactly what he’d wanted. He should be glad she was no longer going out of her way to try to make him notice her. No longer trying to entice him with those little smiles and gentle touches. No longer looking at him as if she wanted him to push her up against the closest wall and ravish her senseless.

  He was glad of it. Just like he was glad she wasn’t trying to interfere in his assignations anymore. Nay, he’d followed one of the maidservants to the storeroom for more wine last night after the evening meal, and no one had come after them. He could have tapped far more than the cask, but it turned out all he’d wanted was the wine.

  Guilt, he told himself. That was what was wrong with him. Once he and Cate cleared the air between them, everything would return to normal.

  Or would it?

  “I said I loved him.”

  He could still hear her voice, damn it. The feelings he’d never wanted to acknowledge had been spoken and could not be unheard.

  Deep down he knew it would never be the same between them, and that was what really bothered him. He liked Cate. He looked forward to talking to her because she didn’t prattle and pander to him like every other woman. At least not usually. But even the solicitous Cate of the first few days of his return had been amusing rather than annoying. He’d liked prodding her and seeing how far she would go. He’d liked the way she’d tried to mask her rising temper beneath a forced smile.

  Aye, he’d liked it a lot. It had made him want to see whether he could make those dark eyes spark with another kind of heat. It had made him wonder whether she would be just as fierce and passionate in bed.

  She would. He knew she would, and the knowledge taunted him.

  These were the kinds of unwelcome thoughts that had made him so eager to find her a husband. A task that was proving more difficult than he’d anticipated, but not for the reasons he expected. There seemed to be plenty of interest in having Cate for a wife; it was Gregor who was having trouble finding anyone who he thought worthy of her.

  Cate was special, and she needed someone who understood that. Who understood the demons that lived in her nightmares and drove her to the practice yard with John. Who wouldn’t push her to be something she was not.

  With Christmas in a few days, the Hogmanay feast would be here before he knew it. Time was running out.

  The din of swords had quieted. As Gregor rounded the corner of the barracks, he expected to see them taking a break or finishing up.

  That wasn’t what he saw.

  What he saw was John and Cate circling each other in the frost-covered dirt like two men might do in the wrestling contest of the Highland Games. Neither wore a helm or armor. Cate’s dark hair had been twisted into some kind of knot at the back of her head, and despite the cool winter’s day, she wore a simple belted leine of brown wool that came just past her knees over her thick hose and boots. John had removed his cotun and only wore a linen shirt tucked into his leather breeches.

  They were both streaked with dirt, flushed, and a little sweaty, as if they’d been working hard, and something about that set Gregor on edge.

  Christ, she looked like she’d been romping in a bed all night!

  They were so focused and looking so intently at one another, Gregor didn’t think they realized he was there—except that he knew his brother was too good a warrior not to have noticed.

  John feigned a move toward her, trying to get her to react, but she didn’t bite. He was goading her with words also—words Gregor couldn’t hear—but from the look on his brother’s face she was giving them right back.

  Gregor felt his temper prick. He didn’t like not knowing what they were talking about. It felt too damned intimate, which was ridiculous given what they were doing.

  He never would have believed what happened next if he hadn’t seen it for himself. John lunged for her, jabbing his fist toward her face. Taking advantage of his momentum, Cate blocked the strike by bringing her left arm up and grabbing his wrist as she turned, pulling John’s arm down to roll him over her hip and flip him to the ground. From there, with control of his wrist and John on his side, she jerked the arm back to brace it against her thigh. If she’d wanted to, she could have snapped it. Instead, she pinned him with her knee and feigned a palm thrust toward his face that would have sent John’s nose straight to the back of his skull, possibly killing him, if it had been real.

  Gregor was stunned. She’d moved so quickly, and with such certainty. She’d looked … strong. She looked like a real warrior.

  Cate—little Cate—was doing some of the same defensive maneuvers that Boyd had taught him, and that he’d passed on to John. Except they looked different when she was doing them. His jaw clenched. Very different. Bodies-touching-too-closely different.

  But he couldn’t deny that she’d impressed him.

  “Perfect,” John said. “No hesitation, with plenty of intent. If you are going to get in the fight, you have to be ready to hurt someone.”

  She grinned and started to get up. But as soon as she removed her knee, John grabbed her wrist and pulled her down on the ground, rolling on top of her and pinning her hands above her head.

  Gregor’s hear