Lady Of The Glen Part 20

"But-"

"Sleeping with them isna the same as living," John declared.

"Dinna argue it, Alasdair-you will lose. Any man in the glen wi' a wife in his house will tell you that."

Dair sighed. "Then I willna."

"Good. What I am telling you is-and 'tis true-that you canna help but hurt her. Unless you marry her."

"But-"

" 'Tis true a handfast is amicably broken if both sides decide so, but will Jean do it? Will Jean pack up her pots and pans and sewing and go home meekly to Castle Stalker, wi' no harsh word for you?"

Dair knew better. "She will not."

"She will not. Which means you must devise a way of telling her the truth. And it will hurt, laddie . . . 'twill hurt a great deal."

Dair shut his eyes. "Oh Christ . . . Christ, John-I fought at Killiecrankie and was wounded, and nearly died a week ago from a Campbell rope. And do you ken, I think this will be worse?"

"Aye," John agreed. "I do ken that. But when G.o.d made woman for man, he didna promise it would be easy . . . Sandy! Sandy, what did I say?-you're no' to go toward the river . . . oh, Christ-" John pressed the flask on his brother and got up, slapping his kilt free of debris. "Any more than He promised having bairns would be easy!"

Cat stayed where she was, bannock forgotten in its napkin set on the bench beside her. Her palms were suddenly damp; she spread them against her skirts and let the fabric dry them.

"Tell me," Duncan asked as he came into her line of vision, "do you like him better? Everyone else does."

It so astonished her that Cat forgot all about newborn nervousness and stared at him. "I have barely met him!"

Duncan hitched a shoulder. It made the negligible length of his neck shorter yet. "Doesna take anyone long. He's a bonnie lad, my brother, warm of smiles and heart. 'Tis why my father favors him; I am difficult."

Nervousness dissipated. This is what John meant by clouds being on the march. Not the weather, his brother! "Are you difficult?" Cat a.s.sessed him rapidly and gave him tone for tone. "Is it a natural state, or do you work at it?"

Duncan Campbell, who stood before her now, linked his hands behind his back. He was nothing like his younger brother, who was taller, darker, kinder, and unquestionably handsomer. "I work at it," he said, "because 'tis the only thing I am good at. My father will tell you that."

"That you work at it? Or that you are?"

"I am. 'Tis natural, aye?-but I will admit I practice to make my nature more annoying to him specifically; he sired me, after all, and helped make me what I am. He has only himself to blame. My mother died too young. 'Tis his crop to reap."

"It could be a sweeter crop."

"Not at his table."

She eyed him askance; this kind of combat she understood very well, growing up with four brothers. "You're no' so young anymore. 'Tis time to set your own table."

"I intend to," he agreed. "Indeed, I have every intention of it-or did, until he saw fit to interfere."

"Ah." Instinctively Cat knew, and rejoiced. "You dinna want to marry." She grinned. "Well, 'tis no' so uncommon, is it? Neither do I."

"You dinna matter." Infinite derision.

"I dinna?" You pawkie, ill-mannered lad- "No. I am his son, the Earl of Breadalbane-and a host of other t.i.tles. . . ." He waved his hand dismissively. "You should ken it already, if you've been sent to marry me."

"Oh aye, I ken your heritage. I've my own as well; I am a Campbell, too. "

The emphasis was deliberate and served to give him pause. He rea.s.sessed her. "But your father is not an earl."

Cheerfully she said, "Naught but a wee laird, is he? Glenlyon of Glen Lyon." It was a desperate dignity which she knew very well he could easily disparage if he were familiar with her father's tattered reputation, but she would not yet surrender the battle.

"Aye," he agreed less curtly, "but you must ken 'tisn't so much as an earldom."

Cat smiled kindly, then set an edge to it. "Not everyone wants an earldom."

He sighed, surrendering. "I dinna."

That was unexpected. She reconsidered his demeanor. "You dinna want it? Most heirs would."

"Oh, I dinna mind the wealth. I dinna mind the power. But I do mind him. "

Somewhat dryly she reminded him, "He willna be here when you inherit."

"But meanwhile he is."

She began to understand Duncan Campbell better than he did himself; they were not unalike. "So, 'tis your way of fighting back by being rude to his guest?"

"One way." He grinned; though he never would be a handsome man, not as his brother was, with a genuine smile lighting his sallow face he was no longer so unattractive. " 'Tisn't your fault. But if I give you courtesy, you'll tell him so. I'd rather have you tell him I was rude."

"You are."

"Then I am content."

Cat picked up the flask. She felt immensely better than a matter of moments before. "Your brother left ale, and bannocks. D'ye want any?"

"I ate less than an hour ago. In the kitchens." The slight smile was smug. "And it fair set him back to find me there."

"He doesna want you in the kitchens?"

"Eating with turnspits and cooks? Och, no! I'm his heir, dinna ye ken? I'm to behave myself in acceptable ways." He moved abruptly and sat down beside her. He did not encroach upon her skirts, but kept such distance between them as could be managed. "Have I been rude enough? Will you carry him tales?"

Cat grinned. "If you ask it, I willna."

"Why not?"

"Because if you want me to, I'll no' do it."

His brows came down and locked. "Why not?"

"Because you ask it."

"You're a contentious bizzem!"

"In your company, I acquire your habits." She took back the flask from him. " 'Tis in no wise surprising why he favors John. He is courteous."

"You canna have him. He's wed."

"So he told me."

"I daresay you could have him-as mistress."

Cat laughed because he meant her not to, and because she was truly amused by his blatant pettiness. "I would not."

" 'Twould be easier than being wed to me."

"I daresay."

"And which willna be done anyway, have I a word to say." Color splotched his face. "That isna meant as rudeness, but the truth."

"Truth wears many coats. Some are fairer than others."

"So it does, and so they are. But this time I dinna mean to hurt you. 'Tis the truth, and wearing no coat at all."

"You meant to hurt me before?"

"I did." Duncan smiled. "He said you were not fair."

She was unprepared for that. It was wholly unexpected and left her without clever reply.

He gave her no time to conjure one. "And because you are fair, I have naught but rudeness for you."

It shocked her utterly; this kind of battle was unfamiliar. "Why?"

The high color ebbed slowly, leaving him sickly and sallow. "Because I am not," he said tightly. "Because I am not fair, and I ken it, and you ken it, and everyone else kens it; and because he has taken such pains to explain in all the ways that matter that I canna be the man he is, nor what John is."

Something from deep inside bubbled up inanely. Cat pressed a hand to her mouth to keep it from escaping the confines of her chest.

"Christ!" he cried. "Are you laughing-?" He leaped to his feet and stood before her, outraged, like a ruffled heron save its neck was short. "You are! You are! You're no better than he is, then . . . I should take you back in there myself and put you before my father and congratulate him on finding a woman so unco' much like he is!"

"Stop!"Cat cried, and when at last he held his tongue she was able to speak. "I am no' laughing at you."

"You were laughing-"

"Not at you! G.o.d in Heaven, Duncan Campbell, did he tell you naught of me?"

"He told me-"

"-that I wasna fair. Did lie no'? Did he no'?"

His mouth was clamped together in a repressive line. "He did."

"Aye, well, he had reason." She paused. "Sit down."

After a moment he did as told.

"I dinna ken what he said, but likely 'twas true," Cat told him. "I have had names attached to me before." The pain was distant; he of all people understood what it was to be so disparaged. "But for most of my life-and certainly when last he saw me-none of the names were kind."

"In the name of Christ, woman-"

"I do ken, Duncan. I ken it gey well. You dinna need to explain. I have worn your shoes." She set the crumbled bannock remains on the napkin beside others. "But explain something else. You said it a moment ago. You said we wouldna be wed had you a word to say about it."

His profile was stark. "We would not."

"Because of the earl? D'ye say so to fash him?"

"I'll fash him whenever I may, but I say so now because I dinna want to marry you. I want to marry Marjorie."

It stunned her; she had not considered there might be another woman. "Marjorie?"

"Campbell, of course; is there another name fit for a Campbell?"

Cat thought there might be, that indeed there was, but she forbore to say it; he would not understand. His brother would not understand. His father would not understand. Neither would hers.

Neither do I. She drew in a deep breath and stared hard at the wall opposite the bench, deliberately studying the tangled vines. "I think you owe me courtesy now."

"Do I?"

Because of Marjorie he owed it, whom he wanted to wed in her place; because she was cast out before being properly wed; because she didn't want to come anyway, but came--and all for naught! But none of those things would she admit. "I've come a long way; the verra least you owe me is courtesy."

"I didna invite you."

"I didna invite me."

After a moment, he smiled crookedly in rueful acknowledgment. "You didna."

"And they didna ask either one of us."

"They didna."

"And we are left here in the garden to sort out what we will do, while everyone else kens there is no help for it." Cat inhaled deeply. "D'ye love her?"

"I do."

"Does she ken it?"

"I've told her so."

"Ah. Then she kens there is a difficulty."

"Difficulty. Aye, a 'difficulty.' "He was disgusted. "I'm of no mind to wed you. I want to marry Marjorie."

"Then do it, aye?"