Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

L ogan's tapping feet. The farmer's merciless snore. His daughter's lapping at pork. The anxiousness in the pale lady's breathing. Lorena's infectious yawn. God Almighty! The great hall resembled a cemetery.

Catherine leaned into the slightly open door, a wicked grin on her face, and peered into the hall. She wore her apron and walked into the feast hall with her palms on her belly.

"Pardon my interference, Sir Logan," Catherine said as she edged closer to him. "I might be able to find the Laird and return him to the feast, milord."

"How so?" Logan sneered. "Is it part of yer duty to spy on the Laird?" He had a heartfelt dislike for her, and she knew it. In fact, she thought he had a dislike for all the women the Laird brought into his bed. It did not bother her much though—an old cad was the least of her concerns.

"Never, Sir Logan. I am but a humble maidservant." She tasted bile at the words. "I am often aware of his favorite places in the castle, Sir Logan. ‘Tis all."

The squat, greasy-fingered noble girl scoffed at Catherine, and the maid reciprocated her arrogance with a glower.

"Hurry then," Logan encouraged her. "Let him ken that his guests are weary for his absence."

Catherine nodded and turned away. A wicked grin took shape on her mouth.

I ken, milaird, that ye would nae choose any other lass , she told herself, stifling a giggle.

When she got outside, she looked around. He was, indeed, in the field by the oak—looking up at the sparkling stars. He made no move in response to her approach.

He picked at his nails as he twitched against the trunk where he sat.

"Milaird."

Kendrick turned to Catherine. To her delight, her bosom caught his gaze. However, she was left rather disappointed when he ignored her. Had there not been so many guests, she knew, he might have had his way with her then and there. This night was different. He pretended not to notice her presence; he had never pretended to not notice her before. She was hurt.

"Laird MacNeil," she called out to him again, slowly closing the space between them with all the grace of a cat. "I see yer alone and in need for comfort." She crouched before her, pushing her breasts together. Then, she reached for his leg. "I have missed ye, milaird."

"Nae tonight, Catherine." Kendrick dragged her hand away. "Ye should cover up and return inside, lest ye catch a chill."

His voice was empty, but Catherine did not mind. She was used to his coldness, to his mean way of talking to her.

"Why, milaird? Have ye nae missed me?" She tried to unfasten the brooch that held his plaid together.

"Catherine…" Kendrick grizzled in warning, trying to sit up.

He rose suddenly, knocking her off her haunches. "I'm sorry, Catherine." He reached out to help her. "Ye should return inside the keep and leave me."

"Tell me, milaird." She rose from the ground, dusting herself off. "Do ye see me just as a maid, or as a confidant? Perhaps, as a woman that can take the burden off your shoulders?" Kendrick did not grace her with a reply, and she knew why.

Becoming the Lady of Clan MacNeil was her dream, but it was still far out of reach. She was still a simple maid.

"I beg for an answer," Catherine cried, holding her hands over her face. She would fake an outburst for a drop of sympathy.

"Catherine, yer testing my patience," Kendrick held her chin up. "What is this about?"

My tricks are working. His face holds concern for me. Just a little more, and he will be unable to deny me.

She stared up at him with a forced frown. "I only hate it when ye worry, milaird." She held the hand that was on her face. "Yer sadness troubles me so deeply."

"I appreciate yer concern, Catherine." He withdrew his hand from her cheek. "But I mean it when I say, I must be alone."

Catherine knew her Laird well enough—he was easy to read. She would use his desire for solitude against him.

She placed his hand on her waist, gazing lustfully at him. Kendrick, however, did not seem interested. His empty countenance revealed it all. He removed his hand from her waist and turned away from her.

Catherine swallowed down her outrage. She wanted more . She wanted him to warm her lips with his tongue as he always did. She wanted him to lavish her without holding back.

She embraced him from behind, but he only shrugged her off.

"I have a feast to attend, Catherine," he said over his shoulder. "And ye have yer duties."

But Catherine rushed around him. Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and took his lips in her own... in such a way he would not be able to resist.

Sophia felt as though she was in a prison, trying to divert the direction of her thoughts. The evening was nothing like she had imagined it would be. Kendrick had run off from her like she was a ghost, and the company she had found in his wake was almost as torturous.

The potbelly landowner belched.

Why in the dratted Highlands did he have to drink so much?

"My daughter, Beth… aye, she will become Lady of the MacNeil clan!" Gregor announced from where he was staggering atop the feasting table. His voracious daughter, Beth, and the keep's strongest manservants struggled to bring him down.

"Let us celebrate," he roared, filling the hall with surprised laughter.

"What should we do with the drunkard?" one of the men tugging at Gregor hissed.

"Should we put him on a horse?"

"Seeing as he cannae hold his ale, he is unfit to ride a horse," Logan yawned. "Leave him be till the Laird arrives."

"Too many troubles for one night," Lorena commented, coiling a strand of hair around her finger.

"Ye must be tired from waiting," Logan said to Angus. "I must believe he will be here shortly."

"It is nae a problem," Angus assured. "Perhaps the feast was too boring for a laird of his esteem, and he thought to be alone for some time."

"Nae! Dinnae say such madness. Aye, but it appears the maidservant's quest was unsuccessful." Logan stretched out. "I may have to find him myself."

Still wrangling with her father, Beth knocked over the cup of water beside her. It spilled on Sophia's dress.

"Oh my! I am so dearly sorry," the girl cried, using her hands as a kerchief to dry out the water.

Sophia rose from her seat. "It's alright. Ye dinnae have to do that. I will go dry it off this instant, and it will all be fine."

"Should I join ye sister?" Lorena asked.

"Nae, I will be fine alone." Sophia made to leave. "I will be back in a hurry."

She passed through the entrance hall and out the door of the keep. She held her skirt and petticoat hems up to prevent them from running through the mud. As she walked through the darkness, a quiet contentment washed over her. She hadn't walked the grounds of the keep in years.

Sophia looked up at the sky and raised a hand up to it. "Heavens! It's indescribably beautiful!"

She formed the shape of the moon with her fingers like Kendrick had taught her when they were younger. "A gift," he had called it. "I will capture the moon for ye," he had said. She could almost feel the warmth of his skin against hers as he repositioned her hands. The echo of his fingers against her own.

Then there was the sudden sound of moans and pants. She shifted her focus to the large oak tree where they sounded.

"Is anyone there?" she asked, but there came no response. She picked up her gown again and walked towards the field.

A couple was passionately kissing. Two silhouettes, on the other side of the trunk. They failed to hear her footsteps. She peered closer and realized it was the maidservant from earlier. Who was her lover? He was tall, with dark hair, almost like…

A shiver ran through her body.

Is it really him?

As if she was answering, the maidservant grabbed the man's curly hair and brushed it away from his face, revealing Kendrick's soft features. Sophia lurched back. It couldn't be him! She stifled a smile to smother her betrayal. Her denial was futile. As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, Kendrick was there, desperately kissing the maid.

This is why he ignored me earlier. He loves another.

With blurred eyes, she choked on every breath she took. She should have turned away. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Her heart was breaking, but it was not betrayal. Kendrick was not hers, and she had no reason to believe he would be.

Suddenly, the maid turned her head toward Sophia. With a little gasp, Sophia finally dashed away. She would not let Kendrick see her pain—hurt by a man who had no affection for her. She rushed back to the great hall, trying to keep her tears from falling. She wouldn't spill tears for a man who so clearly didn't care.

I was silly to think he would ever love me.

"Did ye find him, lassie?" Logan asked her as she settled beside her sister.

She swallowed hard. "Nae, Sir Logan." She was not sure if that was the right answer. She was not sure of anything anymore. Her insides coiled. She could hear the noise and voices around her but, somehow, they sounded like they were mixed up roars and neighs of horsemen.

"Damned lad," Logan cursed beneath his breath. She wanted to curse too; she wanted to stand in the blackness of the field and shout at him until her lungs burst.

The hall shifted suddenly as Kendrick stepped to the great hall.

His curly hair was tangled. His plaid was out of place, and his lips were swollen. Sophia knew she alone caught the markings of his vice, but she could see it all. The corner of his lips curled in cursed smile.

"My sincerest apologies to ye all," he announced, outstretching his arms. His guests stood—except the drunken landholder who had dozed off.

Sophia glared. She had spent years refusing eligible men, to the dismay of her father. For what? Because she only wanted Kendrick… but there he was, enjoying the warmth of another woman's body.

Logan hurried back to his high table. He dragged out the chair at the center of the table for Kendrick, and then whispered something into his ear before returning to his seat next to him.

"As Laird, I shall decide a bride for myself tonight." He raised his silver goblet high in toast. "For now, we shall eat and dram until our bellies are full."

Everyone in the hall raised their cups and cheered. Everyone, except Sophia. He did well to avoid her stare every time he looked over the hall as if he knew she had seen him; as if he was aware of how sad she was.

"Sister, ye have nae touched a single thing," Lorena said. "Are ye afraid?"

Sophia collected Lorena's goblet and downed whatever was inside. It burned "Afraid of what?"

"That the Laird may or may not choose ye."

"Is it quite so obvious?"

" Obvious ?" Lorena simpered. "For me, aye—but I believe that anyone can tell that ye love him. Have ye seen yer face?"

"What is wrong with my face?" Sophia threw her hands to her cheeks. They were hot with the flush of that burning drunk. Of something else, too.

Lorena shook her head and looked away, before suddenly blurting, "The Laird! He is coming this way."

"Nae games, Lorena. I dinnae wish to see him." Sophia admonished. "Nae lying."

"I swear it to God Himself, I am not!"

Sophia looked at his perch but he was gone. She pinched Lorena. "Ye are a liar!"

Lorena giggled, and then whispered low, "Am I? Funny that he should be standing right behind ye."

Gasping, she got to her feet. His back connected with someone's chest—hard and warm. She spun around, and there he was. Kendrick. His piercing blue eyes bored into her. Suddenly, every bit of anger in her doubled, and she prickled all over.

"Milaird!" she yelped.

She swayed just a little, but he was quick enough to catch her.

"Sophia."

My name. He actually said my name!

"May I speak with ye?"