She dug her fingers into the arm holding her, then twisted and reached up to claw the guy’s face. But she went utterly still when she saw that the man wasn’t another MacKeage idiot trying to steal a wife—he was wearing a MacBain plaid. And Robbie was back there, fighting MacBains.

Oh, how foolish she’d been to run away. Ian had warned her that the MacBains were getting bold, and now Robbie was paying the price.

The sound of pounding hooves came galloping toward them. Catherine twisted to look around her captor and cried out in relief. There was just enough light for her to see Robbie break from the woods into the clearing behind them.

The MacBain warrior stopped and turned his horse to face the charge, and Robbie pulled his stolen horse to a stop. He held his sword in his left hand, its tip pointed at them, and looked angry enough to chew nails.

“Catherine,” he growled. “I want ya to fall forward and bury your face in the horse’s neck when I say so, and don’t move an inch, no matter what happens. Nod if ya understand, lass.”

She was trembling too hard to nod. Holy mother of God, she was caught in the middle of a swordfight.

Robbie advanced his horse when the MacBain warrior backed them away. “Do it now!”

She threw herself against the horse’s neck, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around it, squeezing so tightly she could actually feel the horse choke as the brute tightened his arm around her waist and charged. She was nearly dragged to the ground when her captor suddenly lost his seat with a shout, tumbled backward off the rump of his horse, and hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Another arm snaked around her waist, and Catherine tightened her hold on her horse’s neck. “It’s me,” Robbie said with barely controlled anger. “Let go.”

Catherine opened her arms but kept her eyes closed as she sailed through the air and landed against Robbie’s familiar chest. She turned in his arms and clung to him as they galloped into the woods.

She waited for him to give her hell for running away, but he said nothing as they raced down the dark forest path that only he—and, she hoped, the horse—could see. Catherine could feel each bellowing breath Robbie took, his heart pounding against her cheek and his taut muscles flexing as he balanced them both with the skill of a man born in a saddle. Even a thirteenth-century saddle, apparently.

He stopped at Ian’s hut but didn’t dismount or loosen his grip on her. He said something in Gaelic when Ian came outside and then turned the horse and continued on to the keep.

Since he didn’t appear to have anything to say to her, Catherine decided she wasn’t going to apologize for running away or for getting stolen or even for nearly getting them killed.

He stopped outside the keep, dismounted, pulled her down to the ground, then took hold of her wrist in an unbreakable grip and towed her through the huge door. He led her to the blazing hearth and set her down on a stool beside it, giving her a pointed glare that said she had better stay put. He turned to the group of staring warriors, women, older children, and a dozen dogs and spoke in Gaelic.

Several of the women suddenly cheered, and quite a few of the men groaned loudly.

Niall got up from the table he’d been sitting at with several warriors and came over and pounded Robbie’s back with a smile.

Not ten minutes later, Catherine found herself standing beside Robbie MacBain, both of them facing a priest, with Ian beside Robbie and Gwyneth beside her and at least fifty people she didn’t know in attendance.

The ceremony was succinct, more spit than spoken, and Catherine never did get a chance to say “I do,” or even “I don’t,” for that matter.

The priest suddenly shut up and looked at Robbie. Mary silently flew down from the tall rafters of the great hall, as if appearing out of nowhere, and landed on Robbie’s shoulder. He held out his hand, and the snowy opened her beak and dropped two rings into his palm.

With the owl still on his shoulder, he turned to Catherine, took hold of her left hand, and slid one of the heavy gold bands onto her finger. She waited for him to pass her the other ring so she could throw it at his chest, but he simply slid it onto his own finger, took her left hand back between his, and smiled.

“It’s done, little Cat,” he whispered, pressing her hand between his palms, touching their rings together. “You’re mine.”

The wide band on her finger warmed until it felt as if it would burn her, and Catherine dropped her gaze with a gasp. Robbie’s ring appeared to glow with an energy of its own, and her hand sandwiched between his gently tingled as light shone through his fingers.

She tried to pull away, but he leaned down until his mouth was only inches from hers, causing Mary to flap away with a high-pitched whistle, back into the darkness of the rafters.

“Welcome to your new calling, wife,” he whispered, claiming her gaping mouth with a kiss that was far more possessive than gentle. “And to the rest of our lives, Catherine MacBain,” he added, sweeping her into his embrace, kissing her until her toes curled with excitement and her heart pounded with dread.

Chapter Twenty-one

Robbie only halflistened to the grudgingly given well-wishes of the warriors he was standing with, his attention tuned in to Catherine sitting on the stool by the large hearth.

His poor wife was looking small and fragile and rather bewildered as she inconspicuously tried to work her wedding band off her finger.

He nodded to the warriors and walked through the crowd of celebrating villagers, crouched down beside her, and lifted her left hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers.

“It won’t come off, Catherine.”

“It wasn’t that tight when you put it on,” she muttered, pulling free and tugging on the ring again.

He stilled her actions by taking both her hands in his as he brushed his lips across her cheek, ending his moist caress in her hair. “Aye, but it’s a special ring that is as much a part of you as I am now,” he whispered. “It’s the ring my mama would have worn, had she lived long enough to marry Michael MacBain.”

He lifted his left hand for her to see his own wedding band. “And this is the ring Mary would have given my papa. See,” he said, tugging on his own ring. “As long as we breathe, Catherine, neither ring will leave our fingers. Our bond has been blessed by providence.”

She stared at him, her huge brown eyes unblinking, and he couldn’t decide if she was even more confused by what he’d just told her or horrified.

He stood up and pulled her off the stool, and a hush fell over the great room as he led his wife to the narrow staircase on the far side of the hall. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, gave her trembling hand a gentle squeeze, swept her into his arms, and carried her up the stairs to the clapping and cheers and raucous encouragement of the villagers.

She was a bundle of shivers by the time they reached their room, and Robbie walked to the chair by the hearth, sat down, and settled her comfortably in his lap.

“Be easy, Cat,” he softly told her, tucking his finger under her chin to lift her pale face to his. “Nothing is going to happen tonight unless you wish it.”

“I don’t want to be married,” she whispered. She touched her hand to his chest. “Don’t take it personally, Robbie. It has nothing to do with you. It’s me. I just don’t want to be… to feel like I’m… to be… ”

“Trapped?” he finished, pressing her hand over his heart. “Catherine, our union is not a trap for either of us but a sacred trust between two people who love each other.”

“Y-you love me?”

He couldn’t help but smile at her obvious surprise. “Aye, since the moment I woke up and found myself tied to your bed.”

“But you didn’t even know me then.”

“I knew you, Catherine. And I also knew that you felt it, too. Enough that you placed yourself and your children’s welfare in my hands and took over my household with the determination of a mountain cat.”