Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3) (17 page)

Though her appetite abandoned her at that thought, she’d promised her father, so she continued on her way to the kitchen. Perhaps a bit of food would make her feel better. She might have a chance to speak privately with Madeleine, when she finished dealing with the cook. At the very least, she was unlikely to encounter either Alasdair or Jamie there.

****

Hours later, she encountered Madeleine MacGregor again in the great hall.

“Ah, Caitrin, yer father and I had a lovely turn around the garden, but I fear it was harder on him than he would admit, so I feigned a headache and brought him back in. He’s gone to rest, and I’m feeling restless. Would ye like for me to show ye parts of the keep ye’ve yet to visit?”

Stunned, Caitrin could only nod. “Of course. That would be lovely.”

They headed outside. As they walked, Madeleine kept up a running description of everything they passed—the bakery, the soapmaker, the practice yard, the blacksmith’s. When they reached the keep’s small kirk, Madeleine took her inside. “This is where ye will be married, should my son and yer father agree on the betrothal.”

Caitrin looked around and sucked in air. The space seemed too close, smaller than she imagined it would be. The kirk boasted beautiful stained glass windows, filled with colors that might be brilliant on a sunny day. But at the moment, they were muted against the clouds building up outside, reminding her of dark eyes. A few rows of benches fronted the altar with its holy objects. “Have ye a priest?”

“Aye, though he does travel now and again to outlying crofts and to our neighbors as need be. He will be present when called upon to marry ye, of course.” Madeleine dropped onto a bench. “So many years ago, I stood there,” she pointed to the front of the kirk, before the altar, “to be married. I was terrified. I hope ye will no’ share the same fears.”

Nay, Caitrin thought, mine will be worse. Less about the loss of my maidenhead and more about the loss of my clan and my father. But she could not say those words.

Madeleine must have taken her silence as agreement, for she continued. “When did ye lose yer mother, lass?”

“When I was nine. Long ago.”

“Did ye have a nurse, someone to school ye in the things a woman must ken?”

Madeleine seemed sincere in trying to reassure her, to help her, if she needed a woman’s advice. Thanks to Rona, she did not. “Aye, I did. I ken what to expect. But I thank ye for yer concern.”

Madeleine stood. “Well, that’s that, then. Let me show ye the portrait gallery. Ye’ll want to meet the MacGregor ancestors sooner or later. Today might as well be the day.”

Madeleine led her through the keep upstairs to a hallway she’d yet to encounter. Lined with paintings, it seemed dark and foreboding until Madeleine lit the torches spaced between the portraits. She stopped at one of the newest, moisture glinting in her eyes. “My husband,” she announced. “Lost at Flodden, like so many others.”

“I’m sorry,” Caitrin told her. There were no other words to say.

“Dinna be.”

Caitrin’s mouth fell open.

“Did I shock ye? He and his brother died the same day,” she said, pointing to the next portrait, “probably fighting back-to-back. Or against each other, ’tis hard to say. They were never far apart, whether in accord or at each other’s throats. People called them The Twins. Though their looks were quite similar, they werena twins at all. But they did
almost
everything together. There were times when even I had trouble telling them apart.”

“It must have been difficult—”

Madeleine gave a mirthless little laugh before Caitrin could finish the sentence. “My husband was bad enough, but his brother was worse. Moody. Gleeful one moment, filled with fury or despair the next. He never married.” She paused to study the faces in the portraits, her expression closed off. “We’re better off without them.”

Caitrin quailed. If Madeleine had any idea what her son was like, and he was an improvement over his father and uncle, then Caitrin felt sorry for her, indeed.

“Now this,” Madeleine said, pointing to another portrait, “is their father. Alasdair the first, I call him. He was a strong man, like a bull physically, but prone to fits of laughter then of unyielding gloom. He must have been a trial to his wife. He fathered the Twins, and a host of bastards besides. Those he sent to be fostered away from here. I understand she wouldna tolerate their presence. I canna blame her for that.”

Caitrin nodded. What sort of family did her father mean to marry her into? Were other MacGregor branches like this one?

Madeleine waved down the hall, but remained where she was. “The rest of their stories are much less scandalous, so I’m told. I never had the time or inclination to study the old laird’s journals. If their wives had kept any, I’ll wager those would be much more interesting reading.”

Caitrin did laugh at that. Many wives journals would be more interesting than anything their husbands thought to record. More interesting to other wives, at least.

“Do ye keep one?” Caitrin asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

“No’ for years, since the Twins passed. Since then, my life has been fairly boring. It’s a relief, really. I travel, visit friends elsewhere in Scotland and on the continent. I’m seldom here. ’Tis good luck that I am now, to meet ye.”

“I agree,” Caitrin told her.

“And yer da.”

Caitrin let the silence stretch out a few heartbeats before nodding. “Ye have been good for him, so I agree with ye on that, as well.”

“I’m glad. Well, let’s leave these dusty old relics to their solitude, shall we? The evening meal will be upon us before we’re ready.”

“I’m nearly ready, now,” Caitrin admitted. “But I thank ye for yer kindness today. To me and to my da.”

“Ye are welcome, lass. I hope everything works out as ye wish for it to, whether ye remain here or find a happier life elsewhere.”

****

Later that evening, Caitrin stopped by the sick room to check on her father. He appeared to be sleeping soundly, so she backed out into the hallway. Before she could close the door, she sensed someone behind her and froze, her heart in her throat. Alasdair?
Oh, please, nay!

“How is he?” Jamie’s deep voice rumbled as low as the guttering torches at either end of the hall.

Caitrin’s knees nearly buckled as she let go of the doorframe and turned around, a hand over her pounding heart. He stood a few feet down the hall, as if he’d paused there when he saw her come out of the room. “Ye startled me.” He had, but the sound of his voice still lapped at her like the wavelets from a stone tossed into a pond, causing pleasant little ripples of warmth from her ears to her toes.

“Did I? Or did ye think I was someone else?”

She nodded, reassured he understood her so well. “For a moment.”

He moved closer. “Ye are safe with me.”

“Aye,” she answered, not that she wished to be safe with him. The near-darkness felt cozy. Jamie’s nearness made it intimate, as if they were the only two in the keep. Caitrin glanced back into the room, but her father had not moved. “He’s asleep.” She hoped he slept too deeply to be aware of their presence just outside the door. “He had quite a day, including a walk with Lady Madeleine. If he does as well tomorrow, the Healer will release him back to his chamber, I think.”

“That’s good to hear,” Jamie answered then took her hand. “And how do ye fare?”

“Me?” The heat of his touch spread from her hands up her arms to warm her body. For a moment, she let herself imagine his arms around her then shook her head.
Nay.

But Jamie must have read her mind or interpreted her gesture as meaning she was unwell. He pulled her into his embrace, his strong arms wrapping her in his scent. Caitrin melted against him.

“Ach, tired, then. That’s understandable. Kyle will be here soon. Then ye can get yer rest.”

“Nay, no’ tired. When ye hold me like this, all is well. But I wish…”

“What do ye wish?” Jamie’s softly spoken question whispered against her ear, and made tears prick at her eyes with longing for him.

“That ye could hold me like this forever. Anytime I needed ye. Or wanted ye.” She sighed as he stroked her back with one broad hand.

“I would do it, gladly, if ’twere possible. Ye ken that.”

“All the way to my bones.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring. “Ach, Jamie, why did we have to meet again like this?”

“Better this,” he answered, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as one might do to a small child, “than no’ at all. I’ve missed ye.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “And I, ye. All those years…”

Jamie bent his head.

She knew he meant to kiss her. She meant to allow him to. She reached up to cup his cheek as his mouth descended over hers, gently, softly, in keeping with the quiet intimacy of the darkened hallway. She sighed her longing into his mouth. His embrace tightened, pulling her closer, as he deepened his gentle assault on her senses.

She wished, with everything in her, she was free to love this man. His touch pleased her. She craved his kisses. The sound of his voice made her melt. His presence made her happy in a way no one else ever had. But, at the same time, because she was not free to be his, it made her more miserable than she had imagined herself capable of being. She clutched his hair as his tongue plundered her mouth and then traced the shell of her ear. Much as MacGregor had done, but not the same at all. As she’d imagined, Jamie’s advances felt…right. She would do anything to keep him with her one more moment, then another, and another, as if by wishing it, she could string together enough moments to become a lifetime.

Then stroking his fingers down the side of her face, he released her. Caitrin reached for him, but he stepped back.

“I must go. I want ye too much to remain with ye right now.”

“Jamie…”

“Kyle will be here soon. He can fetch one of the others to escort ye to yer chamber. But I must leave ye.”

She twisted her hands into the fabric of her skirt as Jamie disappeared around a corner of the darkened hallway. She would not cry. She still had time to fix this. So long as the betrothal agreement remained unsigned, she could hope for a future with Jamie. She must.

The sound of the bed creaking under her father sent a chill down her back.

“Daughter.”

Caitrin’s hands spasmed into fists. She forced them open and dropped her skirt, pasted a smile on her face and turned to her father. He sat on the side of the bed, a scowl drawing down his brow and making his eyes glitter with fury. So he had heard - or worse, seen, her with Jamie.

“Aye, Da? Are ye well?”

“Nay, daughter, I am no’.” With obvious effort, he pushed to his feet. “Ye have disobeyed yer laird. Worse, the envoy risks war between MacGregor, Fletcher, and Lathan. How could ye, Caitrin?”

The plaintive tone to the question after the anger in his statements told Caitrin her father was not as well recovered as he might like others to think. Today had been too much for him. And now, furious at what he perceived as her and Jamie’s betrayal, he pushed himself even harder.

“Please sit down, Da. Ye are overtired.”

“I will do as I see fit, daughter. Explain yerself. Ye ken what this marriage means for Fletcher, and yet ye risk a dalliance with the Lathan under the MacGregor’s roof?”

Caitrin knew it was hopeless, but she had to try again. “If ye would but listen to me, Da. I have said the MacGregor is no’ a fit husband for me, nor ally for Fletcher.”

“Nay, I willna listen to such as that. Ye dinna have any proof. Ye simply want the Lathan and will use any excuse to prevent this marriage and destroy the alliance I’m attempting to forge.”

“Nay! I wouldna risk that if there was any chance the marriage could work, if the alliance would achieve what ye want, but they willna.”

“Ye canna ken that.”

“I ken enough about Alasdair MacGregor to be wary.” Should she tell him what she’d overheard him say about MacGregor’s plans?

“’Tis merely nerves, lass,” her father replied, relenting and resuming his seat on the edge of the bed. “There’s no’ a lass been married who hasna shared yer doubts. That’s all it is.”

Caitrin crossed her arms in front of her. “If ye willna believe me, if ye willna help me, then I must…”

“What? There’s naught ye can do. The marriage will take place. And until it does, I forbid ye from seeing any of the Lathans.”

“The same Lathans who’ve been standing guard outside yer chamber to protect ye from aught the MacGregor or his men might do to ye to gain control of Fletcher?”

“What?”

“The Lathans believe ye are under threat. Why canna ye accept this alliance with MacGregor is bad for Fletcher? Forget about what the man will do to me. What will he do to yer people? Yer heritage? Ye ken I’m right. Why will ye no’ admit it?”

Fletcher’s face reddened. “That’s nonsense. Is MacGregor aware this has been going on?”

Caitrin feared she’d pushed him too far. “Please Da, hear me on this.”

“Nay, lass. Ye will hear yer laird.” Fletcher stood again, red-faced, with veins standing out clearly at his temples. “This marriage, this alliance, will go forward. It must. That is yer role for Fletcher. Ye will be Lady MacGregor. Now get out of my sight—and stay away from that Lathan.”

Tears blinded Caitrin so that she ran square in to Kyle, standing out of sight beyond the door. He steadied her then released her and pulled the door closed behind her.

“Dinna fash, Lady Fletcher,” he told her. “Our Jamie is more clever than ye ken. All will work out as ye wish.”

“I wish I had yer confidence,” Caitrin told him, wiping her eyes. She glanced at the solid wood of the door, behind which she could hear her father pacing and muttering.

“Shall I send for an escort for ye?”

Caitrin shook her head. “Nay. I’ll be fine. I’m so angry right now, any MacGregor who comes close to me will quickly back off if they have any sense.”

Kyle nodded.

“But thank ye for watching over my stubborn da. He may refuse to recognize the danger we’re in. I’m glad ye Lathans are wiser than he is at the moment.”

“He’ll come around, lass,” Kyle assured her.