her squarely on the saddle.
He unhobbled the gelding. Katherine barely had time to throw a leg over to slip both feet into the stirrups before William gave the horse a whack on the backside. Greyfellow took off at a mile-eating canter back to the warmth and light and oats waiting for him in the castle stable.
As Katherine streaked under the portcullis, she realized in her effort to hang on to Greyfellow’s reins, she’d lost her new muff, her Christmas gift from William, somewhere along the path.
It was just as well. She didn’t deserve it.
Sire, the night is darker now
and the wind blows stronger.
Fails my heart, I know not how I can go no longer.
—From “Good King Wenceslas”
“If a body’s that weary, why does he not lie down and sleep? And they call me a fool!”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Five
William trudged through the snow trying to stay in the trampled path left by Greyfellow’s hooves. At one point, he found Katherine’s muff tossed carelessly aside into a snow-covered gorse bush.
She’d thrown away his gift just as she was throwing away their marriage. Damned if he’d let her do it. He pricked his fingers on the sharp thorns several times, but finally managed to extricate the muff from the shrubbery. He stuffed it into the folds of his plaid and pressed on.
He was chilled to the bone by the time he made it back to Glengarry Castle. Night fell early in the Highlands in December. He stomped his frozen feet to coax some feeling into them while the watchmen challenged him. After several impertinent questions, which he felt were entirely unnecessary—he was wed to the daughter of the house, after all—William was finally allowed back in.
“Ought to have let her walk home,” he grumbled as he headed for the great hall. At the time, his only thought had been to get Katherine out of his sight before he said or did something he’d later regret.
Now he wondered why he had bothered since she didn’t seem to regret anything. She wounded him afresh with each rejection and didn’t care a flying fig.
He wouldn’t have named her heartless before.
When he entered the great hall, supper was still in progress, despite the fact that Lord Glengarry’s place on the dais was empty. Will wasn’t surprised. The laird was getting older, and since he’d had that apoplectic fit last winter, he tired more easily.
The whole castle had been in an uproar of panic when their laird was stricken. For weeks, one side of the old man’s face sagged and his speech was slurred. William and Katherine had been summoned to Glengarry and even Donald abandoned court to rush to his father’s bedside.
The earl was made of stern stuff. He had rallied and regained his speech. But now the constant merrymaking of Christmastide probably wearied him more than usual. Will figured his father-in-law had likely taken a bowl of parritch in his chamber.
The fire blazing in the gigantic hearth called to him.
“God be praised,” William murmured under his breath as he worked his way through the throng to stand before the flames. The smell of steaming wool warned him he was a bit too close. It felt so good to let his muscles thaw and unbunch before the fire, he decided it was worth the risk of singeing his plaid.
He didn’t even look around to see if Katherine was there until the blood came screaming back into his fingers and toes once more.
As it happened, she wasn’t in the hall, but he was determined not to go in search of her.
For the first time, the idea that she might be right crept into his brain. Perhaps no true marriage had been made between them if she was willing to set it aside so easily.
But just because his head entertained this thought, it didn’t mean his heart agreed. His chest ached as if someone had opened his ribs and hollowed him out.
William plopped down at one of the tables and snagged a bannock from the basket filled with them. Then a serving girl
He unhobbled the gelding. Katherine barely had time to throw a leg over to slip both feet into the stirrups before William gave the horse a whack on the backside. Greyfellow took off at a mile-eating canter back to the warmth and light and oats waiting for him in the castle stable.
As Katherine streaked under the portcullis, she realized in her effort to hang on to Greyfellow’s reins, she’d lost her new muff, her Christmas gift from William, somewhere along the path.
It was just as well. She didn’t deserve it.
Sire, the night is darker now
and the wind blows stronger.
Fails my heart, I know not how I can go no longer.
—From “Good King Wenceslas”
“If a body’s that weary, why does he not lie down and sleep? And they call me a fool!”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Five
William trudged through the snow trying to stay in the trampled path left by Greyfellow’s hooves. At one point, he found Katherine’s muff tossed carelessly aside into a snow-covered gorse bush.
She’d thrown away his gift just as she was throwing away their marriage. Damned if he’d let her do it. He pricked his fingers on the sharp thorns several times, but finally managed to extricate the muff from the shrubbery. He stuffed it into the folds of his plaid and pressed on.
He was chilled to the bone by the time he made it back to Glengarry Castle. Night fell early in the Highlands in December. He stomped his frozen feet to coax some feeling into them while the watchmen challenged him. After several impertinent questions, which he felt were entirely unnecessary—he was wed to the daughter of the house, after all—William was finally allowed back in.
“Ought to have let her walk home,” he grumbled as he headed for the great hall. At the time, his only thought had been to get Katherine out of his sight before he said or did something he’d later regret.
Now he wondered why he had bothered since she didn’t seem to regret anything. She wounded him afresh with each rejection and didn’t care a flying fig.
He wouldn’t have named her heartless before.
When he entered the great hall, supper was still in progress, despite the fact that Lord Glengarry’s place on the dais was empty. Will wasn’t surprised. The laird was getting older, and since he’d had that apoplectic fit last winter, he tired more easily.
The whole castle had been in an uproar of panic when their laird was stricken. For weeks, one side of the old man’s face sagged and his speech was slurred. William and Katherine had been summoned to Glengarry and even Donald abandoned court to rush to his father’s bedside.
The earl was made of stern stuff. He had rallied and regained his speech. But now the constant merrymaking of Christmastide probably wearied him more than usual. Will figured his father-in-law had likely taken a bowl of parritch in his chamber.
The fire blazing in the gigantic hearth called to him.
“God be praised,” William murmured under his breath as he worked his way through the throng to stand before the flames. The smell of steaming wool warned him he was a bit too close. It felt so good to let his muscles thaw and unbunch before the fire, he decided it was worth the risk of singeing his plaid.
He didn’t even look around to see if Katherine was there until the blood came screaming back into his fingers and toes once more.
As it happened, she wasn’t in the hall, but he was determined not to go in search of her.
For the first time, the idea that she might be right crept into his brain. Perhaps no true marriage had been made between them if she was willing to set it aside so easily.
But just because his head entertained this thought, it didn’t mean his heart agreed. His chest ached as if someone had opened his ribs and hollowed him out.
William plopped down at one of the tables and snagged a bannock from the basket filled with them. Then a serving girl
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