Terri Brisbin - Yield to the Highlander

But the murmurs that passed through the crowds just then had nothing to do with the men fighting within the fence there. Elbows nudged and heads leaned closer to whisper some bit of gossip about someone walking towards the keep. As he leaned away and looked to the person causing the comments, a sick feeling hit him like a punch in his gut, its sourness spreading into a very bad taste of bile in his mouth.

Catriona MacKenzie walked alongside the steward’s sister, heading for the keep. He noticed that she glanced behind her as people passed, clearly aware of the whispers and pointed staring in her direction. When those whispers and stares began to include him, he knew for certain that someone had witnessed that kiss.

One thing his father had taught him was that to give scandal attention was to give it life, so he returned his gaze to the men fighting. His attention remained elsewhere, wondering who had carried the tale. And if everyone knew what had happened. And if everyone thought that they had....

Bloody hell! They knew him and his ways—of course they thought he’d taken Gowan’s wife as his lover. A twinge of guilt assailed him as he knew that he would have if she’d said aye.

The discretion he’d planned, if that path had been followed, was impossible now. If he tried to correct the assumption that everyone now accepted, it would draw more attention than if he simply did not comment on it.

That plan lasted exactly four minutes—the length of time it took Munro to reach his side after entering through the gates. He hoped to explain things to his friend—after all, they’d shared a number of sexual conquests in their carousing nights and Munro would believe him.

It was the punch that connected with his jaw and landed him on his face and the taste of dirt in his mouth that convinced him otherwise.

‘Munro,’ he began as he pushed to his feet and wiped the back of his hand across his face. ‘Come. Let us discuss this....’

He got nothing else out before the punch in the stomach knocked the air from his lungs and made speaking impossible. When Young Dougal grabbed Munro and held him, wrapping his arms around their friend and not allowing him to deliver any blows, Aidan caught his breath.

‘In the hall,’ he ordered. ‘Gair’s chamber. Now.’

Young Dougal had some sense for he dragged Munro around to the front of the keep and entered that doorway, not crossing paths with the stricken woman whose reputation was now being bandied about by one and all, embellishing the details as it passed. Aidan thought about how to proceed, how to stop this reckless talk before true harm was done, but he could come up with nothing.

Munro walked on his own as they made their way through the main floor of the keep, heading towards the chamber that Gair, the steward, made use of. It was one of few truly private places within the keep, making it a perfect place for the discussion to come. Once they were gathered inside, with the door closed and a servant outside to drive away the curious, Aidan faced Munro.

‘I know not what gossip you heard, but it is not true if it involves your father’s wife.’ Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for the accusations, planning to reveal nothing more than was necessary.

‘So, you say you have not been following Catriona? And you did not meet with her in the village two days ago?’ Munro glared at him, his posture daring Aidan to lie.

‘Following her? I spend time in the village. If I saw her and greeted her, ’twas only as much as anyone else who lives there.’ He evaded the question, but from the expression in Angus’s eyes, he knew not well enough.

‘And during the storms? ’Tis said you two were kissing in the village then. You were seen wrapped around her and her clutching you back.’

‘Aye, I did see her during the worst of the storms. She was making her way to some task and nearly fell into a rut in the lane. I righted her and she went on her way and I on mine.’

Munro looked stymied then. To question him further could be considered an insult, yet it was clear to Aidan that he wanted to.

‘Did you question her about these accusations? Oh, wait. No one actually accuses us. This is just gossip being spread with or without the truth mattering,’ Aidan said.

‘Aye, I did question her,’ he spat out. ‘First she refused to answer me and then she denied it. Do you deny it as well?’

‘She denied it because she has been only faithful to your father, Munro.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There is no proof.’

And that was his mistake, for Munro raised his head and met his gaze. He began to grind his jaws as he rose to his full height.

‘No proof? I think you had me invite you to supper that night just to press your suit. Now that I think on it, you have been in the village more than usual. And you have not mentioned another woman’s name in weeks and weeks. That means you are pursuing a new lover for your bed. Proof, Aidan? I have only to remember your ways to know that there is more to this than you or she is saying.’ Munro pushed him aside and strode from the chamber. When his friends looked to him to see if they should stop him, he shook his head.

‘Let him be.’

‘Aidan?’ Caelan asked the question without even saying the rest.

‘She is faithful to her vows,’ he repeated, telling them exactly what they suspected—it was not for a lack of trying on his part that Catriona MacKenzie did not share his bed.

‘What about Munro?’ Angus asked.

‘Leave him be. This gossip will die down soon enough. When all those who now watch us both see nothing, it will die down.’

Now, their expressions confirmed what he already knew—this gossip would not go away soon or well enough. Everyone who heard it would think Catriona guilty of cuckolding Gowan. She was an outsider, from lands and a clan who were, until only recently, their enemies.

So until Gowan returned and the matter could be dealt with as it needed to be—the misbehaving wife punished and the man issued a challenge—the gossip would do what gossip did.

It would spread.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since her life irrevocably changed and there was still nothing she could do about it. In spite of knowing she’d done the right thing, everyone in the village and the keep believed she had sinned and humiliated Gowan.

Munro dogged her steps and slept at the cottage every night. He also arrived at various times during the day—unexpected and unannounced—with the hardly hidden goal of catching her in some act. It was not just his presence, it was the way he spoke to her and glared at her. So many times she wanted to strike out at him, but she held her hand and hoped that Gowan would believe her even if his son did not.

The worst part was that Munro revealed that he’d sent word to his father to return and take care of this matter of honour. Her body trembled as the thoughts of what that would entail crept back into her mind. As her husband, Gowan had the right to punish her however he chose, though to kill her would require the chieftain’s permission. He could banish her or send her to a convent, but that would require money. As much as she wanted to believe Gowan would not seek such redress, Munro’s taunts and threats could convince her otherwise.

Muireall stood by her when none other would, but Cat had heard the harsh, whispered words between Muireall and her husband, Hugh, and knew her friend risked much by her support. The rest of those living in the village reacted the same—treating her like a traitor and shunning her.

The butcher could not give her the meat she asked to buy and offered her only the toughest cuts instead. The baker had no space in his ovens for her bread. The women stared or walked away instead of answering her greetings. When walking through the village, she lost her footing several times when bumped or jostled from behind as people rushed past her.