Raith sighed, his face relaxing into a expression of calm at the soothing admission. He would go after her. He would bring her home, make her his wife, as he should have done when she first made that absurd, defiant announcement, claiming him as her husband.
Yet he didn’t delude himself that it would be easy; things never were where Katrine was concerned. No doubt she would put conditions on her return. An apology for his treatment of her, for one. And probably a reconciliation with Morag. And doubtless he would be required to make peace with Argyll and Clan Campbell. His sigh deepened. He would have to swallow his Highland pride and make the best bargain he could for his clansmen.
A moment later he heard a door opening and closing somewhere in the recesses of the house. He recognized the footsteps as Callum’s, then saw the wavering glow of the candle his cousin had paused to light.
The glow increased as Callum made his way along the corridor. At the door, he paused again, looking concerned to see Raith sitting in the dark, holding Meggie. Entering the room, Callum raised a worried eyebrow. “Nightmares again?”
“No,” Raith denied, his voice still husky with emotion. He nearly smiled at the way Callum’s brow snapped together in a startled frown. Raith returned his cousin’s gaze, unashamed of the wetness on his cheeks. “Meggie spoke.”
Callum stared at Raith, before transferring his gaze to the sleeping child. Slowly he let out his breath in a soft hiss. “So there is a God after all.”
Looking down at his young ward, Raith nodded wordlessly. It was a long moment later that he broke the silence. “No doubt you’ll be pleased to know I’ve decided to accept my fate. I mean to marry Katrine.”
A slow grin spread across Callum’s lips. “Such interesting developments all around. But I imagine Katrine might have other ideas.”
When Raith gave him a glance that was sharp and questioning, Callum held up his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence. “I vowed not to say anything, but—” his dark eyes gleamed with unholy amusement “—Lachlan never did. If you want to discover, dear cousin, just what fate has in store for you, I’m sure Lachlan would be delighted to tell you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Katrine sat at her bedchamber dressing table, absently doing battle with her unruly tresses as she prepared for bed. Yet her thoughts were far away—pleasantly focused on the wondrous event that would occur sometime next spring. Surrounded as she was by the soft glow of candlelight, she found it easy to withdraw into herself, to forget the worry that Callum’s appearance four days ago had stirred.
Although Callum had given his word, she didn’t trust him to keep his promise not to divulge her secret. But then it really didn’t matter. She wanted nothing more to do with the MacLeans. And most particularly with Raith. Katrine had little doubt that if Raith learned about the child he had sired, he would try to provide for his “issue.” But she didn’t require his support, monetary or otherwise. Her portion was substantial enough to raise a child in comfort, if not luxury, and if Uncle Colin refused to let her remain with him, she would find a small village in the Highlands where she could pass herself off as a widow.
No, she had far too much pride to foist herself and an unwanted child on Raith. But most of all she couldn’t bear the heartache of seeing him again, only to have him spurn her love. As she had told Callum and Lachlan, she’d had e
nough grief and heartache to last a lifetime.
But no longer, Katrine had vowed. Henceforth she would only concern herself with providing a good future for her child. A future filled with love and warmth and laughter, not bitterness and hatred.
Thinking dreamily of the prospect, Katrine paused in the task of combing her hair to softly stroke her abdomen. She was wearing a brocade dressing gown over her flannel nightshift, for though September had barely begun, the nights were chilly. She would have enjoyed a fire in the grate, but she was determined both to spare her frugal uncle the expense, and to endure the cold. If she meant to remain here, she would have to become accustomed to the harsh Highland winters.
Katrine was just beginning to braid her hair for the night when she heard a light rapping sound behind her. That in itself was startling, since the door was to her right. Whirling, Katrine peered at the flickering shadows thrown by the candlelight. She could just make out a dark shape at the window.
Alarmed and curious, Katrine picked up the candle, prepared to use the brass candlestick as a weapon if necessary. Moving hesitantly across the room, she cautiously unfastened the latch and drew open the window. The next instant she found her gaze locked with the midnight blue eyes that had haunted her dreams and waking hours for what seemed an eternity.
“Raith…” The word was a whisper on her lips, a protest, a denial. She stood there rooted to the floor, wishing he hadn’t come, yet aching to find refuge in his arms.
For the span of a hundred heartbeats, they stared at each other, her eyes devouring him, his drinking in every detail of her face, absorbing the sight of her.
Finally a slow smile curved Raith’s lips. “For once I seem to have struck you speechless,” he said mildly. “Don’t you mean to invite me in, my love? This is rather uncomfortable, clinging to a ledge. And while a drop of twelve feet or so wouldn’t be fatal, the noise would be highly inconvenient. I would prefer to avoid Argyll’s soldiers at the moment, if you don’t mind.”
Katrine came to life then, eyes snapping, cheeks flaming, revealing the spirit that had first vexed and later captivated him. “What in God’s name are you doing here? There must be two hundred dragoons looking for you MacLeans!”
“Four hundred, by last estimate.” Raith raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t expect you to shower me with kisses, I admit, but you might show the tiniest bit of warmth in your welcome. What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve come to fetch you home, what else?”
“Fetch me! Callum told you, didn’t he?” She glared at Raith, her gaze accusing.
“No, Callum never told me about your condition. I had to learn it from Lachlan.”
“Oh, that—that traitor! Well, let me tell you, Raith MacLean, this babe is my child and you have no claim to it.”
“That, my dear Miss Campbell, is debatable,” Raith replied as he began to haul himself over the windowsill. “It is my child as well—but that is really beside the point. I would marry you in any case.”
“Marry!” The word was a gasp. Katrine stared at him, feeling everything at once—bewilderment, delight, defiance, fury. Two months ago she had vowed her love for Raith and pleaded with him to let her stay with him. She’d even made a fool of herself by claiming him as her husband before his clan. But Raith had refused her in unmistakable terms, and then sent her away. How dare he barge back into her life now, declare his intention of marrying her and expect her to fall on her knees in gratitude! How dare he barge into her bedchamber without permission!
“Raith, don’t you even think about coming in here!” she cried, seeing him swing his long legs over the sill. Her warning had no effect. Raith negotiated the opening easily, as if climbing through second-floor bedroom windows at night were a common occurrence for him. Which it no doubt was, with his proclivity for lawlessness.
Katrine took a hasty step backward, hefting the candlestick. “I mean it! Go away this instant. I’ll…I’ll scream for my uncle.”