Free Charming the Shrew by Laurin Wittig

pit near the entrance, then set about building a fire, always moving with confidence and a hint of a swagger, as if he expected her to be watching him. It took some time, but eventually he managed to ignite the tinder, then the damp kindling, and finally a small fire flickered to life. Immediately Catriona moved to it.
    “That is not nearly enough wood to keep us warm through the night,” she said as he carefully added another piece to the small blaze.
    “’Tis, but if you wish, you are welcome to collect more.”
    “I have no desire to go out in that blow.” She rubbed her hands together and held them to the fire until she realized they were trembling. She pulled them back and clasped them together where the telltale sign of her weakness wouldn’t give her away. “Besides, ’tis your fault we are in this mess. You should gather the wood.”
    He stopped feeding the fire and looked up at her, his face cast in shadows. “How is this my fault?” he asked. There was a dangerous edge to his voice that she had not heard before.
    “If you had not argued with me, we could have found a real shelter, maybe a cottage or a shieling. Shielings are always left with either peat or wood for travelers’ fires.”
    He shook his head and returned to his task. “You are right, there.”
    “I am?” The words popped out before Catriona realized she had voiced them. “Of course I am.”
    He chuckled. “Aye, of course you are, though ’twouldn’t be a shieling nor a cottage. We would be warm within Assynt Castle, food in our bellies and a blazing fire at our feet. You would be home.”
    Catriona hunkered down, not wishing to sit on the cold stone floor but needing to be close enough to the fire to see his face. What did he know of her?
    “Why do you want to go to Assynt?” she asked.
    “I have a message to deliver there, and I am quite fond of food and shelter.” He bent low and blew at the bottom of the fire, causing it to leap a bit higher and burn a bit brighter for a moment.
    “Why are you traveling at this season?” She settled on a cushion of her skirt and cloak. Her legs were tired from her own travels this day.
    “I told you, a message.”
    “Hmph. Anyone may carry messages. You have a drum. Are you a bard?” The look that passed over his face was fleeting, but she thought it was embarrassment.
    “Aye, a bard, and a messenger, and, apparently, the rescuer of young women too confused to know east from west.”
    Catriona flushed but would not let him distract her from her questions. “Who is your message for?”
    He shook his head and continued working on the fire. “’Tis for Duff MacDonell’s betrothed. Catriona is her name. You probably know her. From the tales I’ve heard she is an ugly shrew of a…” Catriona flinched as if he had struck her. He looked at her face. “Nay, you could not be…”
    “I am not ugly,” she said around the tightness in her throat. She had heard the description often enough to wonder at its truth, but she never let on how much she loathed it. Catriona held out her hand. “Your message is delivered. You’ve no need to continue on to Assynt now.”
    The man shot to his feet and started to pace the confines of the cave. “You cannot be she. You are not ugly.”
    “Nay, I am not ugly.” She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and leveled her most terrorizing glare at him. “I am Catriona, daughter of Neill, chief of Clan Leod of Assynt. Tell me the message and your duty will be done.”
    “You have forgotten an important piece of your identity,” he said, his voice as icy as the wind blowing outside the cave.
    “And that is?”
    “You are betrothed to Duff MacDonell.”
    “I will never wed that dog-faced son-of-a—” Catriona clenched her teeth, unable to think of a suitably contemptuous name for the man. “I deserve much better.”
    “Do you, now? How much better?”
    “Better than you,” she said, though she did not see how any man could be better to gaze