The Arrow Read online

  The gentle teasing suddenly vanished. His face grew painfully serious. She didn’t think there could have been a more awkward silence.

  Her heart wrenched. She felt like a fool. He’d never made her any promises. But he wouldn’t want to do that … would he?

  It would break her heart. Heartbreaker …

  That was what he did, wasn’t it? Not to me. This is different.

  “I hope I can do that,” he said.

  Cate’s chest was burning, but she told herself not to overreact. “How long were you with Isobel, Gregor?”

  His expression hardened. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “How long?”

  “Nearly two years.”

  “Did you bed other women when you were with her?”

  “No.” He seemed surprised by the admission.

  “That’s because when you care about someone you are loyal. And I have every intention of having you care about me very much.”

  Their eyes held, and something strong and powerful passed between them. Her chest swelled, knowing he already did. It wasn’t a promise, but it was the makings of one.

  He handed her the box. “This belongs to you now.”

  “What is it?”

  A small smile curved his mouth. He repeated her words back to her, “Why don’t you open it and see.”

  Lifting the top, she drew in her breath. On a bed of velvet was the ring his mother had worn until her death. It was gold, with a large oval crystal in the center and lions’ heads engraved on either side. Hand shaking, she took it out from the box.

  “It’s a charm stone,” he said. “There’s an engraving on the inside.” She held it up to the candle to read it. “ ‘S Rioghal mo dhream,’ ” he said for her.

  Royal is my race.

  The words taunted her. Stricken, she stared at the ring, not knowing what to do. She couldn’t put it on. Impostor.

  “It’s the motto of the MacGregors,” he explained.

  She blinked at him for a moment in confusion, and then sighed with relief. “Of course it is. I’ve seen it inscribed on your bow and sword.”

  The MacGregors claimed descent from Gregor, the son of King Kenneth MacAlpin, the first King of Scots. How could she have forgotten? For a moment, she’d thought it was a cruel jest.

  She slipped the ring on, holding her hand up and letting it catch the light. “I shall be honored to wear it.”

  “My mother would be happy.”

  Cate’s heart tugged at the memory of both women who would have been pleased. She wished they could be here to share this with her—with them. “Aye, she would,” Cate agreed.

  “Happy Christmas, Cate.”

  “Happy Christmas, Gregor.”

  And with one more kiss, he sent her back to her bed—alas, alone.

  Seventeen

  He grabbed her as she walked by and immediately pulled her into the darkened storeroom. She resisted—as he knew she would—but he was prepared and had her pinned face-forward against the door before she could draw her new dagger.

  But her resistance was halfhearted at best. She went lax against him, as he nuzzled her neck just below the ear the way she liked—the way that made her shudder.

  “You weren’t going to draw the knife on me, where you, Caty? Have you been practicing what I taught you?”

  She stretched into him like a cat, letting him feel the pressure of her body in all the right places. Especially her bottom. Aye, that was in exactly the right place. He was hard as a spike, and getting harder by the moment as her tight buttocks nudged him temptingly.

  “It would be no more than you deserve, startling me like that. Although I wouldn’t have gone for the ‘silent kill’—isn’t that what you called it? I was thinking something a little more painful.”

  Gregor couldn’t help smiling as his mouth traveled down the side of her neck to the slope of her shoulder. He liked her bloodthirsty. The thought of leaving her alone when he had to return to the battlefield scared the hell out of him, but at least when he left he’d be damned sure she could take care of herself.

  “Liar. You weren’t startled. You heard me coming and would have doomed our future progeny with an ill-placed thrust of your knee if I hadn’t been ready for you.”

  She stilled. “Children?” Something in her voice made his chest squeeze. She was trying to sound nonchalant, but he could hear the barely contained yearning. He knew how much a family meant to her. All he had to do was think of the foundlings. Although he had to admit, the fantasy family she’d created wasn’t so bad—except for Pip. Something would have to be done about him. But he wasn’t looking forward to the argument and tears the subject was sure to provoke.

  “That is the usual result of our nighttime activities,” he said gently.

  “You mean the nighttime activities you put a stop to four nights ago?”

  He chuckled, drawing his mouth over the warm, velvety-soft skin of her shoulder, inhaling the faint floral scent that lingered in her hair. “Whinging, Cate? You sound like Ruadh.”

  “His name is Eddie,” she said impatiently. “You can’t call him by the color of his hair.”

  “It’s a hell of a lot better than calling him after an English king. Besides, he likes it.”

  She heaved a weary sigh of resignation, and murmured something about him—and his sex in general—being ridiculous. He could almost imagine her doing the same thing twenty years from now. Bloody hell, they hadn’t even reached the altar yet, and they were already acting like an old married couple.

  Except for the fact that he had her pinned up against a door in a dark storeroom. Hell, he’d probably be doing that in twenty years, too. The thrill of anticipation running through him didn’t seem to show any signs of waning. It just seemed to be getting stronger.

  Knowing he could well be taking his life in his own hands, he released one of her wrists and covered her breast instead. Since she didn’t try to jab him or reach for her knife, he figured she liked what he was doing to her.

  When he was sure she wouldn’t try to flip him on his arse, he released her other hand and really went to work, letting his hands roam over every inch of that sweet body, as he kissed and sucked her neck and nape, and rubbed his erection against the bottom pressing against him.

  God, he was hot. She was burning him up. It had been too damned long. He should have thought of this earlier.

  “It’s not nighttime now, sweetheart,” he said in a half-groan.

  She echoed the sound as he slid his hand from her breast to between her legs.

  “I thought you wanted to wait until we were married?”

  “Aye, well, it turns out that’s too long.”

  He could almost hear her smiling. “It’s eight more days, Gregor.”

  The requisite dispensation had been procured even faster than he’d anticipated. Gregor had received a missive from the king this morning, informing him that it should arrive a few days in advance of Twelfth Night.

  Unfortunately, the king hadn’t just been offering his congratulations. He’d had other news to impart as well. News Gregor would rather not think about. He hated keeping secrets from Cate, even if it was for her own good. But it seemed he would finally have his opportunity to give her the justice she deserved. De Bohun was sending men to help with the defense of Perth Castle, under the leadership of his captain, Sir Reginald Fitzwarren.

  That wasn’t all. The first rumors of Gregor’s part in the Highland Guard—or Bruce’s Phantoms, as they were known across the countryside—had reached the king’s ears. It was only a matter of time before it spread, and the king warned him to be on alert. Gregor had even more of a reason to curse the blown mission at Berwick: Cate. What would this mean for her safety?

  But she cleared his troubled mind for him with her next words. “Gregor, can we? Uh …” He knew she was blushing, but he was too damned aroused to smile. “Like this?”

  Oh God, yes. “Would you like that?” he asked with remarkable c