She shrugged, and started the most cold-blooded lying of her life. "At the time my parents died, Colin was the best choice. I suppose I could have left him to become a rich man's mistress, but such positions are precarious. Marriage and reputation are a woman's best protections." She sipped her brandy, and prayed that he would accept her next condition. "Which is why I will not allow you into my bed until after we are wed."
His eyes darkened. "You slept with Kenyon."
"Not until he had offered for me." She pursed her lips. "Perhaps I should have waited, but I wanted to attach him more securely. He's the honorable sort, which means that he would never have broken a betrothal after promising marriage and lying with me. I wouldn't have done it if I had realized the extent of your interest, cousin. You should have spoken sooner."
A slow smile curved Haldoran's lips. "I always knew that under your saintly facade beats a heart of pure brass. We shall deal very well together"-he scanned her face with dangerous shrewdness-"as long as you don't think you can deceive me with the pretense of cooperation. Here on the island, my little army makes me invincible. If you betray me, it will be simple to dispose of you and make it look like an accident on the cliffs. I will do it in an instant if you make it necessary."
"I believe you. I'd be a fool not to."
He swirled his brandy in slow circles. "Your daughter is very like you, and she is on the verge of womanhood. Did you know that on Skoal, girls can be married at the age of twelve?"
The threat was unmistakable, and more horrifying than everything that had come before. Choking back a desire to physically assault him, she said, "You will find a woman far more satisfying than a child." She made herself give a seductive smile. "As you observed, women are practical creatures. We are attracted to the most powerful males. If you deal fairly with me, I shall return the courtesy."
He laughed out loud. "Catherine, you are wonderful. I should have done this months ago."
"Why didn't you?"
"I was busy." His gaze went over her again, lingering on her breasts. "I wanted to be able to give you my full attention when the time came."
She tried not to think of what it would be like to be bedded by a man she loathed. It would make her marriage to Colin seem like paradise. "That's all well and good, but before anything else, we must see how my grandfather fares."
"True. We can hardly allow him to expire on the floor. People would talk. I assume you intend to nurse him, so I'll leave one of my men to help. I will also move into the castle myself, to be on hand should my support be required." He tapped the edge of the brandy glass against his teeth thoughtfully. "Since you'll be busy, I think it best for Amy to stay at Ragnarok until the laird dies. That won't be long. You needn't worry about Amy-someone will be with her at all times."
In other words, she and Amy would be constantly guarded. But for the time being, safe. Now to ensure Michael's life. "I'll order Lord Michael's things to be packed. Will you arrange for a boat to take him to the mainland?"
Haldoran nodded. "The sooner Kenyon is gone, the better. When he returns from his artillery shoot, speak to him in the laird's sitting room. I shall be listening from the bedchamber." His expression became feral. "And if you feel a sudden temptation to tell him how I persuaded you to accept me-resist it." He let his coat fall away to expose the butt of a pocket pistol. The message was blindingly clear.
"Do you take me for a fool, cousin? There is no advantage for me in trouble." She stood. "Now that we have settled the essentials, ring for the servants. We must put my grandfather to bed and send for a physician, even though nothing can be done."
He rose and went to the bell pull while Catherine knelt beside the laird. His breathing was shallow but steady, and his eyelids flickered a little when she whispered, "Please don't die on me, Grandfather. I need you alive." But he did not wake.
As she tucked the blanket closer around the old man, she thought about what she should say to Michael. He would never believe such an abrupt change of mind if she simply told him to go. What could she do to make him leave without asking awkward questions that would get him killed?
The answer came, quick and ugly. She must be like the bitch who had betrayed him. She must trigger his hidden core of doubts by using her knowledge of him to weave a web of lies so potent that he would believe she was a selfish, callous slut.
The prospect was agonizing. He had forgiven her first set of lies and shown her the greatest kindness she had ever known. Now she must pervert the honesty and trust that had grown between them to send him away. In the process she would wound him horribly. Given his past, she might forever destroy his ability to trust another woman. But if she did not persuade him to leave, he would be murdered out of hand.
The cannon boomed again, the sound of war echoing in a place of peace. She drew a shaking breath. Amazing how the threat of death hardened one's resolve.
Michael returned to the castle in midafternoon feeling vastly content. Artillery practice involved fire, filthy smudges of black powder, and ear-numbing amounts of racket. In other words, it satisfied all the guilty pleasures of boyhood. The islanders he had trained had been apt pupils. By the end of the afternoon they had blasted away the most dangerous overhangs in the harbor. A pity Catherine hadn't joined them, but she was probably not fond of the noise. Most women weren't.
He knew something was wrong as soon as he rode into the stableyard and saw the head groom's face. "What has happened?"
"The laird had a fit of apoplexy," the groom said tersely. "They've sent for a doctor, but it… it don't look good."
"Damnation!" Michael swung from his horse. "Is my wife with him?"
"They say she's nursing him with her own hands."
"If anyone can save the laird, Catherine can."
He entered the castle and went up to the laird's rooms two steps at a time. He slowed when he entered the sitting room. One of Haldoran's burly servants-Doyle?-was gazing out a window and looking bored. However, when Michael entered, Doyle moved quickly across the room to block the bedroom door. "The lady says no one is to go in," he said gruffly.
Suppressing his irritation with the man's officiousness, Michael said, "Tell my wife I'm here."
Doyle went into the sickroom. A minute later Catherine came out, her face pale. Michael went to embrace her, but she stopped him with an upheld hand.
Bracing himself for bad news, Michael said, "I heard the laird had a stroke. How bad is it?"
"He's in a coma. I don't expect him to survive."
So she was going to lose her grandfather so soon after finding him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "What can I do?"
She bent her head and pressed her hands to her temples for a moment. Then she looked up, her expression hard. "There's no easy way to say this. It's time for you to go, Michael. Yesterday my grandfather changed his will in my favor, so I have achieved my goal. Thank you for your help. It was essential."
"I don't want to leave you even for a little while." He moved to take her into his arms. "I've been wounded so often that I know my way around a sickroom. I won't get in the way."
She pulled away before he could touch her. "I didn't make myself clear. You must leave permanently. Our affair is over."
He stared, sure he had not heard correctly. "Affair? I had assumed we would marry."
Her brows arched. "Oh? You talked vaguely about the possibility, but you never got around to proposing."
Remembering how much strain she was under, he reined in his temper. "Perhaps I should have been more explicit, but the situation was clear. You're not the sort of woman who has affairs, nor am I a man who seduces respectable women for sport."