Chapter 6

Tad locked the bedchamber door behind him. He could hear Catreena's breathing become a little labored across the room as she washed her face in a basin of water. He didn't turn to face her, feeling unable to do so, as he laid his pack in a corner of the room.

What did she mean by that?

Her words from dinner kept repeating in his mind. Try as he might, he could not forget them. It was the way she had looked at him for a second, as if she understood him, perhaps even accepted his rakish ways, then it evaporated in an instant.

"The way ye litter women around ye…"

He felt like those words had been added to one of his tattoos, stained across his skin. Was that what he did? Did she see him as a man who cast women aside as nothing more than dispensable rubbish?

"Ye can have the floor." Her words drew his attention.

He was shrugging off his loose jacket as he turned to face her in alarm.

"What did ye say?" His eyes flicked to the bed. It was a good size, easily large enough for the two of them in this poky room. "There's more room in the bed than there is on the floor. Have ye seen the size of me?" He gestured to his tall figure. "I can hardly curl up like that guard dog ye'd have me be."

"Ye forget, ye are the one who cast yerself in that role. Nae I," she said curtly. "I am nae sharing a bed with ye."

"We could build a wall of pillows."

"It would nae be enough."

"I would never touch ye!" he said with sudden heat, angered that she still couldn't trust him.

She stood beside the bed, her body frozen, her fingers half through the updo of hair she was taking down. He hadn't realized just how long her blonde hair had grown. It reached past her shoulders and to her breasts, where it tangled loosely. An errant imagining of threading his fingers through those golden locks filled his mind, of gripping onto it as he kissed her neck, then he thrust the image away with anger.

"I made yer braithers a vow," he spat hurriedly. "When are ye going tae start tae trust the fact I would nae dare touch ye?"

"I ken ye wouldnae touch me." She matched his fierce tone. "Why would ye want tae touch the woman who is practically young enough tae be yer daughter, eh?"

He felt the rug had been pulled out from under him as she erupted in sudden movement. She grabbed extra pillows off the bed. The first one caught him off guard as she flung it at his face, but he managed to catch the next two.

"Tae make the floor comfortable," she explained quickly.

"Ye heard me," he muttered, more to himself than her. For a second, he was back in that study, persuading her brothers they could trust him. He'd had no idea her ear must have been pressed close to the door as she listened in. "I didnae mean it like that –"

"Oh, aye, ye did, nae that I should mind," she said hurriedly as she flung back the cover and sat down on the bed, fully clothed. She reached down, pulling off her boots. "I was hardly standing there waiting fer yer good opinion, was I?"

"Cat – I'm sorry. But it is a fact."

"Dinnae call me that," she said with sudden fierceness. "Nay more ‘Cat,' nay more ‘little Catreena' either. I cannae stand any of it." She flung her hands up as she dropped her boots on the floor. "This isnae about believing ye would go back on yer word if I did allow ye intae this bed. It's about the fact that I dinnae want ye in this bed with me." She turned to him with wild eyes. "I am being ordered from one clan tae another because men say so. I am sharing a chamber with ye on yer order. If I will have control of one thing in me life, it will be who I damn well let intae a bed with me."

The fierceness made him take a step back. The way she put it, the way she described it, suddenly made him feel small indeed. He was like an asp in the bushes, waiting to pounce and make her do his bidding. It seemed that's how she viewed all men at this moment, him and her brothers.

"Well, I cannae blame ye fer that thought," he muttered. His acceptance made her sit up straight on the bed. "Ye can always control who sleeps beside ye, Cat… reena," he added hurriedly, not wishing to offend her again. "Fine, I shall take the floor."

He turned to wash himself as she climbed under the covers fully clothed and threw the blanket over her head. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, then of her beneath those covers. The ungentlemanly thoughts he'd had of her in his head all night, the way he had been tempted to kiss her as they ate their dinner, now filled him with utter shame.

She deserves better than that.

When he was done, he blew out the candles and retreated to the floor, sleeping fully clothed with his boots off, his head rested on the pillows she had quite understandably thrown at him.

Tad was there again. He couldn't escape it. It was the perpetual reality for him now.

He was fighting, blood seeping from a gash across his right cheek, as he powered on through the crowd. Behind him, across the battlefield, he knew the Mackintoshes were fighting with him.

Alec, Bran, Evander and Dunn were there. They had all come to the MacBean's defense, and together, the two were facing down their enemies.

Tad thrust his broadsword across an enemy's back, watching as the man cried out in pain and buckled forward. The lad cried, great tears gushing down his face. Tad lifted his sword, ready to take the final killing blow. He had to do it – he knew he should. This was war, it was battle, it was kill or be killed, then the boy fell back again and scrambled away.

In the midst of the other fighters, with swords clashing on either side of them, arrows and crossbows flying in the midst of the deep mist which hung over the fields, the lad scurried back like a fleeing mouse. Tad followed, pursuing him, raising that sword an inch higher when the lad could go no further because of a large boulder behind him.

The boy raised his hands, trying to shield his own chest, but all Tad could look at was his face.

He was truly just a boy. His height had to be deceiving at first, but as he looked at those eyes, he saw his enemy had recruited children. This one had to be no more than sixteen.

"I cannae dae it," Tad muttered to himself. He lowered his sword, watching as the boy's eyes widened, his chest rising and falling fast. Without thinking through his actions, Tad reached down and grabbed the lad's arm, jerking him to his feet. "Run," Tad seethed under his breath.

"W-what?" the boy stammered.

"This is war. Nay place for a child. Go home, lad." Tad pushed the boy through the crowds. He would never forgive himself, never be able to look himself in the mirror and feel proud of what he had done if he slaughtered children that day.

"Tad. Tad!" Alec's voice broke out through the clattering of swords.

Tad looked around. Alec was trying to reach him, but failing, fighting against two thickly set men who carried staffs rather than swords.

"It's yer faither," Alec bellowed. "He needs help." He barely had time to point in the right direction with his sword before he was drawn back into battle.

Tad's eyes shot through the crowd. To his left, his father was flanked by two men. Injured, Laird Delaney MacBean was struggling to raise his sword arm. His hand shook on the handle of the blade, the blood gushing from a spot near his elbow.

Tad sprinted as he had never done before in battle. He passed Alec, managing to cut one of Alec's opponents across the back of the knee with his blade to take him out of the fight, then he ran on, heading toward his father.

A tall figure knocked the weapon out of Delaney's hand, then another fighter struck Delaney across the back of the head.

"Nay!" the bellow erupted from Tad like thunder. He raced forward, catching the two men in time. Before the first man could strike Delaney again, Tad ran the man through the back with his own sword.

A sound like that of a pig in agony pierced the air before Tad turned his attention to the second man. He lunged forward, knocking the shorter basilard from this man's hand and wounding him across the shoulder. The man turned and fled.

Tad stood before his father, protecting him, shielding him, but he had not noticed another's approach. Amid the battle, someone had crept up on his kneeling father from behind.

"Argh!" the pain of his father made Tad dart his head around.

There was a sword in his father's chest, the blood pooling so fast that Tad felt the pain of it, as if he was the one who had been stabbed to the chest. Tad felt the tears before he could stop them, they pooled in his eyes, blurring his vision, as his gaze settled on the face of his father's attacker.

It was the boy that Tad had let go and urged to run. The young face did not seem so young now as he stood beside Laird Delaney MacBean, a look of victory in his eyes.

"Nay!" the scream erupted from Tad.

He sat bolt upright off the floor, but he was not alone.

"Tad?" Someone was in front of him, trying to calm him. Hands gripped his shoulders tight as Tad thought of fighting. He had to stop it, had to bring back his father, had to halt the lad from killing again. "Tad!" the scream caught him this time.

He froze, coming to realize just what position he was in. Sat on the floor, his arms outstretched, he had taken hold of Catreena who was on her knees in front of him, trying her best to shake him into reality.

"Dream," he murmured, breathing heavily. She had to have lit a candle in the room, for the lemony light had fallen on her face. Her blonde hair was wild about her face, tangles of it falling down her face. "It was a nightmare, Tad. That was all. Ye are back now. Ye are here."

It wasnae a nightmare.

He didn't release her. There was something strange about her anchoring him to this position that he didn't want to let go of. He looked down between them, at a blanket he had not noticed was on him. Had she thrown that over him at some point that night?

It was a memory.

"Look at ye," she whispered. "It was a night terror, wasnae it?"

He still couldn't speak. He wasn't even sure he could gather his thoughts. The terror returned to him periodically. It had always been the same ever since he had lost his father that day in the battle.

It's me fault. Me fault entirely. I shouldnae have let the lad go.

"Here, Tad." She stood. He didn't like to let go of her, but he knew he had to. She moved away and returned a second later, taking a towel to him. When he held it only limply in his hands, she snatched it up from his grasp and mopped his face. "Sweaty as anything." She dried him then pointed to the bed. "Sit there. Ye are as helpless as a bairn."

"I…" He tried to speak, but it was still too difficult. He did as she told him too, standing and perching on the edge of the bed. When she returned, she sat beside him, pressing what appeared to be a small cup of ale in his hands. He took a sip, trying to calm himself.

"Breathe," she urged. "Pace yer breathing. It's like ye have been in battle."

I have.

He did as she instructed, calming his breath and taking another sip, then he took the towel from her and mopped the back of his neck too. He leaned forward after a minute or so of silence, resting his elbows on his knees.

I lost control in front of her.

"What happened?" She was suddenly in front of him, her gaze meeting his as she kneeled before him.

"Catreena…" he whispered.

"Nay." She raised her eyebrows. "Dinnae tell me I am too young and na?ve tae ken of what terrors haunt ye. I've heard enough of what haunts ye and me braithers tae ken something of it." She inched forward, just a little, but it was enough.

A warmth spread through him like nothing he had ever felt before. She was taking care of him. That simple act of being looked after by another stirred something in him. He could not remember anyone doing that for years. Certainly, no lass had ever done it.

He dropped the towel without thinking and rested his fingers on the back curve of her neck.

"Tad," she murmured his name, a mere exhale of soft breath, before he brushed his lips against her own.

He was acting on instinct, without thought or words, he just wanted to thank her, to show her how much this simple act, perhaps tiny to her, was quite revolutionary to him.

She didn't pull back. Her lips were soft, almost curious, then he pushed farther. He placed his lips firmer to hers. It was momentary, it didn't last, but me God, it was a thrill. That brief second of a fiercer kiss made sparks erupt in his gut, then he jerked himself back.

"Cat… I'm so sorry." He moved to his feet. He nearly dropped the cup she had given him. He tripped on the towel and somehow steadied himself against the door, putting the cup down as quickly as he could on the window ledge, then turning around to face her wildly.

She now stood straight, staring at him with an expression he could not decipher.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I wasnae thinking. I am nae meself. I told ye, I wouldnae –"

"It doesnae matter." Her voice was shockingly calm compared to his own. He thought by now she would be furious.

"I thought ye would start throwing things at me again."

"Well, tempting." She smiled a little. That more than anything else made him soften. He leaned against the door, considering fleeing through it and sitting out in the corridor to guard her after all, like a dog. "Fer the name of the wee man, I can see ye are nae yerself. Get on that bed, Tad."

"I beg yer pardon?" His eyebrows shot up.

"Tae sleep, ye demon." She flashed him a half exasperate, half amused look. "If ye try tae escape through that door, ye'll wake the whole inn up if ye start with that night terror again. Now, bed." She thrust a finger at the bed.

Astonished, he did as she said. He stumbled toward the bed and lay down, holding his hands over his face, uncertain if he wished to hide from the nightmare or from her and what he had just done.

God, I'm weak.

"Now, move over," she urged. "If ye wish tae share this bed after all, ye have tae make that tall frame of yers small."

He smiled weakly as he moved over. For a second, he reeled at the fact that Catreena sat beside him, then he became all too aware of her keen gaze in the candlelight.

"What?" he whispered.

"What did ye see?"

"It doesnae matter."

"Aye, ye're right. It cannae matter at all that ye started thrashing and shouting in yer sleep." She flung herself down beside him on the bed. There was a space between them that he was all too aware of.

I kissed her. I broke every vow I made tae her braithers.

The guilt raged inside of him.

"What did ye see, Tad?" her voice was so soft that his heart pounded in his chest. Uncertain what it meant, he felt the glimmer of the truth escape his lips.

"I saw me faither again. I saw the day that he…" He didn't need to say the word. The silence between them showed that she understood. "I saw the boy that did it. I let that same boy go, seconds before it happened."

"It was nae yer doing, Tad. Ye were trying tae protect a boy from death."

"Wasnae it?" He scoffed, shaking his head on the pillows. "I'll always feel responsible, Cat. Always."

To his relief, she didn't complain at the nickname.

Her fingers snaked out toward his, curling softly around his own. Without thinking, he caught her hand in his and held it tight.

No other words passed between them, though he felt something shift in that silence. She turned her head toward his a little, and she didn't pull back her hand. He felt his eyes drift closed and sleep claimed him, with Catreena there beside him.