Plaid to the Bone by Mia Marlowe Page B

belly jiggled in a rumbling chuckle. “If it is, it’ll be like to kill me.”
    His words were a blade to her heart. Killing him was exactly what she was charged to do. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close, careful not to let him see her face lest he read the horror of what her father had laid upon her in her expression.
    “But I’d die a happy man, Cait. I’d die a happy man.”
    She squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear left a salty trail down the side of her face and slid into her ear.

Chapter 10

    “A few things I’ve noticed about deals with the Devil.
    He’s always more than ready to give a body his heart’s desire, be it wealth or power or love unending. But ol’ Black Donald never presents his bill until he’s certain ye have no wherewithal to pay.”

    From the journal of Callum Farquhar,
haggler to the last farthing and still
always in debt to the Dark One.

    Days slid into weeks and somehow Cait managed to hide the way her heart tore in two a bit more with each sunrise. She nearly worshipped her father, but nothing he’d told her about Adam had been true. Not about Adam’s politics and certainly not about his character. He’d gone out of his way to woo her and make her feel, if not loved, certainly cherished. Each time they came together, he taught her some new breathtaking bed play that, while it should probably be counted a sin, felt more right than wrong.
    A hot lump of caring for her new husband settled into her chest and, try as she might, she couldn’t will it away.
    Adam Cameron was a kind, albeit firm, laird to his people, and while he still advocated the Duke of Albany as regent for young King James, no one could doubt his fealty to the crown. He wasn’t trying to supplant the true king as her father and Morgan had claimed.
    Wallace Grant was misinformed. There’d been a gross misunderstanding. The chieftain of the Grant clan and her husband both wanted the same thing—protection of the child king by a nobleman who had young James’s interests at heart until such time as he came into his own.
    If she could only send a message to her father and explain matters to him, perhaps he’d release her from her awful vow.
    She’d written several versions of the note, wasting precious paper and ink. Even if Cait could pen the words that would make her father understand, there was no one she trusted to deliver the message. Barclay and Fife were under orders to remain at her side no matter what. Even if she begged, their loyalty was to Wallace Grant and only he could rescind that command.
    She’d never liked Morgan MacRath. The man made her uncomfortable in her own skin. Now, as the days sped by and the time drew near when Morgan would expect her to accomplish her appointed task, she trusted him even less than she liked him. He wouldn’t do for a courier.
    Grizel would attempt the journey if Cait asked, but her rheumatism was acting up. The wolf ’s bane poultice Mr. Farquhar made for her only gave temporary relief. Cait wouldn’t subject the old woman to the long weary road back to the Grant stronghold by the sea.
    Callum Farquhar had pledged his service to her, but since he was unknown to her father, any message he bore would be discounted. Wallace Grant was ever a suspicious soul.
    There was no one she could send.
    And no words to convey what was really happening.
    Please, Father. Dinna make me murder the man I fear I’ve grown to love.
    He’d think her a weak-willed ninny.
    Cait rose from the small desk and scattered the tattered remains of her letter-writing efforts on the fire. She abandoned any thought of sending a note to Wallace Grant. She was on her own. She’d have to figure a way out of this tangle without his help.
    A brisk ride would clear her head and help her think. If she could only see Adam, everything would seem less daunting. He’d left early that morning to see about a problem with the mill near one of the estate’s outlying crofts. If she headed that