Page 52 of His Scottish Duchess

He hated the dismissal in his tone, but he didn’t know how else to navigate this sudden intimacy.

Understanding flickered in Catherine’s eyes. She didn’t push further, respecting his need for space. She rose from the bed, her movements quiet and graceful.

“Alright, Your Grace,” she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet understanding that surprised him. “If you need anything…”

Before he could respond, she leaned down, her lips brushing lightly against his in a fleeting, unexpected kiss.

Sampson froze, stunned by the gentle contact. He watched, speechless, as she blushed furiously, her eyes wide and apologetic, before turning and quickly disappearing out the door, leaving him alone once more in the darkness, the ghost of her kiss a warm brand that lingered for the rest of the night.

The following afternoon, Catherine found herself sipping tea in the small sitting room adjacent to her mother’s quarters. Margaret sat opposite her, a mischievous glint in her eyes, while Mary poured a steaming brew of lavender and nettle into her cup, her expression thoughtful.

“So, Catherine, my wee bairn,” Mary began, her voice carrying a gentle Scottish lilt. “How are ye findin’ married life? Was it… difficult at the start, wi’ ye both bein’ strangers?”

Catherine stirred her tea, a faint blush rising to her cheeks as she recalled the initial awkwardness between her and Sampson. “It was a wee bit strange at first, Maither,” she admitted, her Scottish accent returning as she spoke to her mother. “But we—we found a way to coexist. Despite our differences.”

She deliberately kept her tone light, not wanting to delve into the deeper complexities of their evolving relationship.

However, the events of the previous night weighed heavily on her mind. Sampson’s fragmented revelations about his past, the chilling account of his brother’s attempts on his life, had left herfeeling deeply unsettled. Her heart ached at the thought of the pain and betrayal he had endured.

She had tried to see him once the day broke, heading to his room right after making herself presentable, but Oswald had informed her that the Duke had stepped out to attend to some business.

“So early?” she had asked in concern. “Did he even have breakfast before he left? Did he seem… tired? I-I fear he might be a tad unwell, today.”

It had been hard to express her concern without divulging his secrets, but Catherine feared greatly for her husband’s well-being.

Quick-witted Sampson, who seemed untouchable but was in reality haunted by a past he couldn’t change or outrun.

It broke her heart to see him so tense, as though he feared he would fall apart if he breathed in too deeply.

“His Grace said he had a lot to do and would be gone for most of the day, Your Grace. And he seemed quite well. Albeit a bit tired. But I am sure there is nothing to worry about, Your Grace. His Grace is as formidable as they come.”

It had not been as reassuring as Oswald had intended, but she still derived whatever comfort she could from it, because there was not much she could do other than worry.

Margaret snorted softly, interrupting her thoughts. “Och, Catherine, listen to ye.Coexist? Ye sound as if ye’re talkin’ about two different species livin’ in the same cage. Stop soundin’ as if ye’re nae in love wi’ the man.”

Catherine’s head snapped up, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson.

“Margaret!” she exclaimed, feeling caught off guard by her sister’s bluntness. “I… I care for him, deeply. He’s my husband. But… love? I’m nae sure it’s love.”

She wasn’t ready to admit, even to herself, the confusing swirl of emotions Sampson evoked within her. Originally, she had felt greatly annoyed and irritated by his teasing and jokes, but she had begun to see him for more than someone who kept her around as a convenient ornament. Especially because he seemed to hold her in high regard, enough to consider her happiness a priority.

It was strange, how much she loathed to be summoned by him, only for her to anticipate his request for her company these days.

Margaret leaned back in her chair, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Aye, well, the way ye look at him tells a different tale, Sister dear. Yer gaze softens somethin’ fierce when he’s near, all… intense. Anyone who glances yer way would believe ye’ve touched his soul or something.”

Mary gently placed her teacup down, her gaze turning to Margaret with a mild reproof.

“Margaret, leave yer sister be. Feelings are a tricky thing, nae to be rushed.” She then turned her attention to Catherine, her expression softening with maternal concern. “Yer feelings are what matter most, my wee love. If ye’re nae ready for love, then that’s perfectly fine. Take yer sweet time.”

Her gaze then became more serious, a hint of worry creasing her brow. “But given the circumstances of yer marriage, Catherine, I do hope ye get more out of it than just security. Yer faither and I… we wanted the best for ye, and the debt… it was a heavy burden. But we never wanted ye to feel like a mere pawn, used by yer family.”

Catherine had never felt that way. She understood the complications of the debt, and how much they would lose if they tried to pay the required amount. She felt helpless and disheartened as she wondered what she could do to ease the burden. It had been a remarkable opportunity when her father suggested it, and she had been more than happy to stand up for her family in a way only she could.

Still, it was nice to hear her mother dismiss fears that did not exist.

Mary reached across the small table, taking Catherine’s hand in her own. “I just want ye to be happy, my darlin’. And lovin’ yer faither has made me happy, every single day since I met him. I want that for ye. I hope ye find love and happiness wi’ the Duke, in yer own way and in yer own time.”

Catherine felt a warmth spread through her chest at her mother’s heartfelt words. The prospect of truly loving Sampson still felt a little daunting—a step into the unknown. But then her thoughts drifted back to the brief intimacy they had shared the previous night, the heavy weight of his gaze as it reflected pain each time he looked up at her.

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