Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3) (14 page)

He must do as the Fletcher asked, at least until he recovered enough to feel capable of confronting the MacGregor.

Jamie locked gazes with him. “I will,” he swore, with all the sincerity his broken heart could muster.

Catrin sobbed and covered her mouth with one fist. Did she cry at the thought of her father dying here, or of Jamie swearing to protect her from the MacGregor and his men? Or himself?

****

“Why, Da, why?” Caitrin murmured as she smoothed her father’s thinning hair away from his face. Jamie and the healer had left her with him hours ago—time he’d spent sleeping deeply under the influence of the potion the healer had given him to drink or tossing his head from side to side, as he was doing now and moaning.

“Hush-a-bye,” she sang to him. “All is well.” He settled but soon became restless again.

“Are ye in pain?” she wondered aloud, certain he was too insensible to hear her and form a response. “Why did this have to happen to ye? Ye are a good man, Da. Ye’ve always done what’s best for me and for Fletcher.”

He shrugged his uninjured shoulder, and Caitrin began to softly sing again. She didn’t remember many lullabies, and dared not sing the one her mother used to sing to her. If it reminded her da of her mother in his current state, she feared it would make him even more agitated.

“Ye must rest, Da. Sleep is good for ye.” She stroked his hand as he began to mutter. Then his words began to make sense, and she froze, listening.

“He’s going to invade and kill us all. Must make that impossible. Save Fletcher.”

“Da?”

“Give him Caitrin. He’ll get Fletcher without shedding a drop of blood. Sacrifice her…better than all the deaths.”

Caitrin’s blood ran cold. He was talking about the MacGregor. Was any of this real, or the product of his nightmares after MacGregor left him trapped under his horse? If he confused that with the betrothal, mixed it all up in his mind, he might have begun spouting nonsense? Or had the healer’s potions loosened his tongue enough to answer the “why” she had uttered in her despair? She could confront him when he awoke. She would know if he lied to her, surely. But what he’d just said sounded like the truth. Felt like the truth. Or at least, the truth as he believed it.

“Da? Why would MacGregor invade us?”

Fletcher was back to tossing his head from side to side. Was he denying with his movements the words he’d just said? He muttered again, and she thought she caught the word ambitious. Did he refer to MacGregor or himself?

“Da, please wake up and tell me what ye mean,” she pleaded, chafing his hand and tugging at his arm.

But that set him off again, shrugging his shoulder, tensing his muscles as though straining upward, but without moving. Then he collapsed into sleep and began softly snoring.

“Ach, Da, what secrets are ye keeping from me?” She would not rest until she knew. Until he was honest with her. She always knew when someone lied. But she was no better than anyone else at knowing a truth, or a lie, that someone refused to allow past their lips. She was helpless against silence. If she heard him correctly, and his mutterings were not the result of some potion-induced dream, he meant to save the people of Fletcher by giving her, and thereby his clan, to MacGregor. He seemed to think he must do that, or MacGregor would invade, take over Fletcher and kill its people. It was a horrifying choice, one that left him as loser, either way.

****

After the successful hunt, MacGregor appeared to be in an expansive mood, Jamie thought, as he watched the man advance through the great hall, clasping the shoulders of his men who had accompanied them. The rich scent of roasted boar filled the room, and despite Jamie’s disquiet over the way the meal had been acquired, his mouth watered. Caitrin, seated beside him at the high table, watched her intended make his way toward them. A small frown creased her forehead.

“Careful, lass,” Jamie warned her quietly, keeping a pleasant expression on his own face. “Dinna think to beard this lion in his own den.”

“He left ye to rescue my da by yerself,” she answered out of one side of the stiff smile she hastily assumed at hearing Jamie’s words. “How should I feel?”

“Glad yer da isna more sorely injured, and will recover quickly. Keep yer mind on that.”

She sighed and glanced his way then returned to watching the MacGregor approach the high table. “And if I canna do it?”

“Think on this—with his injuries, yer da willna be ready to travel for several days. Ye must be brave and allow him time to heal. Ye dinna wish to see him evicted from his bed before he’s ready for the trip, aye?”

Relief flooded him when her shoulders dropped and she nodded slightly.

“Aye. Ye have the right of it, as usual.” Her tense smile suddenly eased into a smooth mask.

That was slightly better than a frown, he supposed. He nodded and leaned aside as the servers arrived from the kitchen to place before them platters of roasted meat and accompaniments. Hard on their heels, MacGregor took his seat on Caitrin’s other side. “Good e’en, my lady. I trust yer father is well?”

Jamie tensed, and then forced himself to relax as Caitrin smiled brightly. Good lass.

“Aye, and thank ye for yer concern, Laird MacGregor…”

She managed to say it with a straight face, much to Jamie’s relief.

“Alasdair, please.”

“Alasdair, aye. Da is doing well.”

“Then there’s nay impediment to our enjoying the boar we killed today, is there?” With that, he dug in to the platter before him.

Caitrin’s mouth formed a little moue as she turned to glance at Jamie, who offered her the platter between them. With a shrug, she made her selections and began to pick at her food. She kept her gaze away from Alasdair MacGregor.

Jamie saw the frown return. He cleared his throat and watched her expression transform into a calm mask. Her mood was contagious, he thought as he resumed eating, careful to keep his expression bland, or at best, one of enjoying his meal.

She had a right to be concerned. He suspected part of MacGregor’s good mood stemmed from the fact that Fletcher’s condition changed nothing. The marriage could go forward and might take place more quickly than anyone expected if Fletcher did die. It worried Jamie that MacGregor could take direct control of Fletcher resources all the sooner, which may have been the purpose of the hunt, all along. What had MacGregor’s beaters and hounds been doing on the other side of those trees? Had they driven the boar to charge in his and Fletcher’s direction?

Jamie thought back to the time he spent trying to dig out Fletcher’s legs. How much of his torso had been under the crushing weight of the dead horse? Jamie didn’t recall him struggling to breathe. Had Jamie done enough to save him, or was he still in danger from his injuries?

And would the MacGregor healer truly care for him or, under her laird’s orders, allow him to die? Jamie didn’t like borrowing trouble, but in this case, posting a Lathan guard could be prudent. Or did he simply want to think badly of the MacGregor because he wanted Caitrin for himself?

Jamie’s worries lasted him through the meal. MacGregor traded jovial quips with his people and an occasional remark with Caitrin, but left Jamie to his thoughts. However, once the meal concluded, he invited Jamie to join him, and Jamie resolved to get on with the task Toran Lathan had given him.

He joined MacGregor in the library. The scents of peat, leather, and old books were welcoming, as was the whisky Alasdair poured. But Jamie wasn’t here to enjoy the room or the hospitality. He hoped in this setting, Alasdair would lower his guard and be more amenable to what Jamie had to say, none of which could include taking him to task for delaying Fletcher’s rescue. As they sat before the hearth fire and sipped their drinks, he laid out the plan Toran devised to protect highlanders from incursions by lowlanders and the English.

“We canna depend on the Crown to protect us,” Jamie concluded as MacGregor regarded him. “Fighting among ourselves further weakens us. If, instead, we band together and support each other, we can retain what is ours.”

“It’s a sensible plan on the face of it. But can I depend on the others to come when I call? We’ve spent years fighting among ourselves. Old feuds die hard.”

“Most clans have new leadership,” Jamie agreed with a nod. He leaned forward. “We can forge new bonds that make the old feuds unnecessary.”

“Such as this wedding.”

Nay! Jamie fought the urge to lean back in his seat. Moving away would signal his discomfort, the last thing he needed MacGregor to see. “Aye, this wedding and others like it, with nearby clans.”

“How did Fletcher and Lathan become allied such that he sent Caitrin to ye when her ma died?”

“I dinna ken the tale,” Jamie said, glad he could provide an honest answer. “I was but a lad. The auld Lathan laird and Fletcher made those decisions without consulting me, I’m afraid.”

“Have the two clans ever fought together?”

So MacGregor chose to ignore his small jest. He would remain serious, then. “No’ that I ken, nay. Perhaps long before I was born.”

“Then I wonder why Fletcher sent his daughter to ye.”

He shrugged. “Ye’ll have to ask him.”

“And what did Caitrin do while at the Lathan keep?”

Jamie took a sip and wondered how much Caitrin had told him. “The same as any other lass there. She spent time learning those things any high-born lass must ken to manage her keep, as well as reading, writing, numbers, and such.”

“Aye, she’s already expressed an interest in the MacGregor library.”

“She would.” Jamie chuckled. “If she wasna running the hills with Toran…” Jamie nearly froze, kicking himself for allowing that to slip out. “…and me and the other lads and lasses, she had a book in her hand.” It was a quick recovery, but one he hoped the MacGregor would accept without question. A traditionalist might not understand the freedoms given to the lasses of the Lathan clan. But MacGregor seemed to accept easily enough that Caitrin could read and wanted access to the library, so perhaps he wasn’t as hidebound as some lairds could be.

“A clan’s children sometimes ken it best, aye?”

Cold chills suddenly ran down Jamie’s back at MacGregor’s speculative tone. What was he fishing for? As Jamie nodded affably in agreement, he furiously tried to recall whether Caitrin had ever been down through the caves to the postern gate that had saved him last year when the lowlanders arrived. Come to that, whose idea was it for a Lathan escort? Did MacGregor intend to force the secret from the Lathans if he could not trick Caitrin into revealing what she knew about their keep? Suddenly, it seemed Caitrin’s life was not the only one at risk.

“No’ all. The lasses were kept under close supervision while learning their arts,” Jamie added smoothly, while the image filled his mind of a much younger Caitrin running across the glen below the Aerie. He would not have Caitrin mistreated to force her to divulge a secret she might not even know.

A secret Jamie kept, as did the other Lathans within MacGregor’s walls.

He quickly turned the conversation back to the treaty and got MacGregor’s pledge to consider it. The worth of his pledge remained to be seen. But MacGregor’s conditional agreement gave Jamie the opportunity to take his leave.

The time had arrived to get the other Lathans together and plan an exit strategy. Several, in fact, depending on how the next few days went. They could not do much until Fletcher was ready to travel, especially if, as Jamie feared, they found it necessary to leave in a hurry. But Jamie would get Caitrin out, even if he had to leave her father behind.

Chapter Ten

After the evening meal, Caitrin returned to her father’s bedside. He slept fitfully, turning his head and shrugging one shoulder as if dreaming he still lay trapped under the horse, trying to extricate himself. She reached out and touched his arm. “Ye’re fine, Da. Go to sleep. All is well.” She sighed with relief when he settled and his breathing deepened into soft snores. But her worries didn’t end there.

He’d always been her protector. Even when he sent her to live with the Lathans. And, she supposed, even here. Now, she must shelter him as best she could by overseeing his care. She would have to rely on the Lathans for defense from the MacGregor and his men, if such was needed.

Yet, she must be wary of any time she spent with Jamie. She wanted to tell him what she thought her father had said about MacGregor, but if she was wrong, the results could be disastrous. This was between her and her father, at least for now. Besides, she couldn’t separate her present feelings for Jamie from her girlhood crush, nor from her sense of responsibility to her clan. Was she really so attracted to him? Things were different now that she was here and had met MacGregor. The man her father intended to be her husband intimidated her, aye, but he seemed to have a softer side as well. Yet, he had left her father trapped beneath a horse to pursue a boar. Jamie appeared to accept that decision as a prudent course of action under the circumstances. How could she know? She’d never been on a boar hunt. Perhaps Alasdair had made the correct judgment call as to which posed the greater danger to her father. Either way, thank the saints Jamie had been there to begin digging him out.

Was she overly fond of Jamie because of their childhood closeness? Or attracted to the man he’d become in the years since she last saw him? And was he truly attracted to her, or did she misread his fondness for the lass he used to know? Caitrin leaned her head against the wall behind her chair and closed her eyes. Fatigue robbed her of the ability to figure out something so complicated. But somehow, she would have to be sure of her mind—and heart—before her father signed the marriage contract. It would seal her fate. She had to know what she truly wanted before that happened.

“Lass, are ye asleep?”

She thought for a moment she’d dozed off and dreamt Jamie’s voice. But the big hand on her shoulder startled her into opening her eyes. There he stood, concern written in every line of his posture as he bent toward her, and in the frown lines between his eyes.

She gave him a rueful smile. “Had I been, I wouldna be now, would I?”