Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3) (19 page)

****

Through the whisky in his glass, Jamie watched the flames dance. Another sign of the wealth of clan MacGregor, these heavy crystal cups came from France. The heft pleased his hand, as did the smooth bite of the spirit on his tongue.

Not so the man seated opposite him. Nothing about Alasdair MacGregor pleased Jamie. He had not expected his old schoolmate to be such a cypher, but he knew one thing for sure. He would deal with Alasdair once he was certain he could no longer harm Caitrin. That meant getting her away to some place safe. But for now, Jamie must be the diplomat, calm and cordial, as irksome as that might be, when he wanted to give the man a taste of what he’d done to Caitrin.

The way he’d treated her called to Jamie’s mind some unpleasant memories that weighed heavily on him now. Rumors running rampant during their time in St. Andrews, long discounted and forgotten.

Tavern wenches at several establishments in the part of town frequented by both students and townsmen had been severely beaten. One or more, Jamie was no longer certain of the number, had been raped, a few died. The news spread all over town and speculation grew wilder with each report of a new victim. Especially when the women refused to name their attacker. Battered, bruised, and often bleeding, they’d maintained their ignorance of the man’s identity. Descriptions had varied enough to confound the local officials. Was one man responsible or several? The Bishop had confined the students to classrooms and lodgings, which annoyed many, including Alasdair MacGregor—and Jamie, truth be told. Eventually, the beatings stopped, though Jamie didn’t recall anyone being caught and punished.

What would make a man want to attack such women? Any woman, for that matter?

Jamie eyed MacGregor. Had he been drunk when he accosted Caitrin? Even if he was eager for the marriage he’d yet to commit to, what sort of wooing involved striking the woman he hoped to bed? Her battered face did not lie. Jamie hadn’t asked to inspect the other injuries she claimed, but he had no reason to doubt her word. Only Malcolm and the other man’s arrival had saved her.

Jamie could not accept harming a lass, not in general and not when the violence was directed specifically at a woman Jamie cared for. Loved. Aye, loved. Always had loved. Always would.

Jamie’s fist tightened and he fought the urge…the
need
…to crush the crystal glass in his hand and grind the shards in MacGregor’s arrogant face.

But for this conversation, he must not let his anger rule him. MacGregor would see through him in moments and he would gain nothing. Caitrin was too important for Jamie to make that kind of mistake now. He needed all his skills and persuasive powers to get through this meeting without committing murder.

“Fletcher tells me his daughter is opposed to the match,” Jamie began after another fortifying sip, “though he still hopes for an alliance with MacGregor, even without the marriage.”

“She has little to say in the matter,” MacGregor answered with a smirk. “Her father has yet to withdraw her from my consideration. Though I’m inclined to turn him down if the lass intends to be difficult.”

“I’ll have my men prepare to escort the Fletchers home,” Jamie offered, jumping on MacGregor’s implication and hoping to influence him to agree to send them away. If the Fletchers were easily removed from his keep, perhaps he would allow their departure without further trouble. “I can have them out of yer way tomorrow, early.”

“Why such haste?” MacGregor’s frown put Jamie on alert. “Fletcher hasna spoken of leaving.”

So MacGregor still sought to gain an advantage from Fletcher? Or just to keep Caitrin here and vulnerable to him? This would be harder than Jamie had hoped.

“It will be done or no’ at Fletcher’s bidding. And yers, of course. But if the lass is unwilling…”

“She’d no’ be the first brought fighting to the marriage bed.” MacGregor laughed. “Nay, on second thought, I’ll enjoy taming her.”

Heat fired in Jamie’s gut, and he fought to stay in his seat, to keep his expression unconcerned. MacGregor had not admitted to hitting Caitrin, but this told Jamie he looked forward to doing it again. To cover his disgust, Jamie took another sip and watched the fire.

“Does that displease ye?”

MacGregor’s snide tone jerked Jamie back to his mission. Keep MacGregor off balance and get Caitrin out of here.

“A wife must bow to her husband’s wishes, of course. But with a keep such as this to run, ’twould seem risky to take an unwilling wife. A more biddable lass might better serve yer…purposes.” Jamie bit his tongue when the word “needs” almost slipped past his lips, but he covered it quickly. Reminding MacGregor of his enjoyment of rough wooing or of violent assault would not help Caitrin.

MacGregor set his glass aside and fixed Jamie with a stare.

Did he suspect his interest in her? For a moment, he tensed, preparing to do battle, but he kept his hand away from his dirk by main force.

“’Tis my decision to make, and of nay interest to Lathan. Ye’ve done what ye were asked and escorted my prospective betrothed to me. Her safety is now my responsibility. If I may be so blunt, ’tis time for ye Lathans to leave.”

Jamie could have groaned, but he would not give MacGregor the satisfaction. Instead, he, too, set his drink aside, glad MacGregor seemed oblivious to the riot of emotions heating and roiling Jamie’s blood. Hatred, fury, dismay. “We are here at the request of the Fletcher, and of the Lathan. We will leave only at their bidding, or when it comes time to escort the Fletchers home.”

“Dinna try my patience, Lathan.”

“I dinna seek to do that,” Jamie answered quietly. Time for a change of subject. “Indeed, ye and I have unfinished business for my laird. The matter of the treaty.”

“Ach, aye, the Lathan treaty.” MacGregor shook his head then picked up his glass and tossed back the remainder of the whisky it contained. “I want details,” he demanded and started firing questions. “Who has signed? How many men can they field on short notice? How quickly can they get here should I invoke the treaty, and to how many of them at one time would I be required to send soldiers? It seems to me supporting the treaty could leave MacGregor open to attack by any number of other clans.”

“Who?” Jamie asked, cautiously optimistic, since this was the first time MacGregor had spoken seriously about the obligations inherent in signing.

MacGregor regarded him for the space of several heartbeats. “Nay, I’ll no’ discuss this now. I must think on it further.”

“Verra well.” Disappointed, Jamie stood. Every dealing with MacGregor went like this. A hint of interest, followed by refusal. He should not have been surprised. “I’ll leave ye to yer considerations.”

MacGregor gave a negligent wave of his hand, and Jamie took the opportunity to escape his presence. The discussion had not gone as Jamie planned, but he’d managed to plant a few ideas, such as the ease of removing the Fletchers, and of finding a more biddable lass to marry. He hoped they would influence the MacGregor to refuse the match and send Fletcher home. If not, Jamie would have to take action, at enormous risk. Three-way clan war was not out of the question. He needed to change Fletcher’s mind about the marriage and have him withdraw the betrothal contract. Given his mulishness with Caitrin, changing his mind might be harder than changing MacGregor’s.

Chapter Thirteen

Fletcher was, as Jamie expected, no less stubborn than the MacGregor. “This is between clan chieftains, Lathan. My daughter’s wishes do no’ affect the decision I make in this matter. Nor do yers.”

Well, that was a warning if he’d ever heard one. But Jamie didn’t care. He had to make Fletcher see reason. And he had to do it in a way that would not carry beyond the hearth where he’d found the man, settled comfortably before the fire in the great hall. Fletcher had refused his request to move somewhere more private. But no one sat close enough to overhear if they kept their voices low. “Even if she is in danger here?”

“Danger? Pah. MacGregor has an army at his disposal.”

“MacGregor lacks finesse,” Jamie said, trying without betraying Caitrin’s confidence, to make her father understand what sort of husband Alasdair MacGregor would be to his daughter.

“He doesn’t need finesse when he has so many men.”

“I’m no’ talking about his men,” Jamie interrupted, patience wearing thin. “I’ve seen evidence of his…poor treatment…of the women in his care. Do ye wish to leave Caitrin with a man who may beat her?”

“There’ve been many times when I wished to beat her myself,” Fletcher said with a sigh. “No’ that I ever did. If he beats her, it will be because she deserved it. Caitrin is headstrong. She must learn to be a proper wife to an important laird.”

Jamie held on to his temper with both hands and shook his head, wondering what had happened to the calm demeanor he’d cultivated over the years. His temperament seemed to be at a constant simmer, or worse. Of course, he knew the reason. Caitrin. He would not tolerate anyone raising a hand to her, not her father. Even MacGregor. There would be a reckoning for what he’d already done to her. But for now, he had to ignore Fletcher’s bluster. He had no choice. “And if he’s already done so? Have ye seen yer daughter today, Fletcher? Nay? Ye havena because she is hiding her face from ye. MacGregor has hit her twice. This time, he left bruises.”

“What?” Fletcher snorted, clearly disbelieving. “Surely, he simply became overeager in his wooing. That is good news. The man is becoming entranced by the lass. If he hasna already done so, surely he’ll sign the marriage contract soon.”

Jamie wanted to haul Fletcher to his feet by his shirt and shake him, but he contented himself with leaning forward and pitching his voice even lower. “Fletcher, listen to me. Yer daughter is in danger here. This alliance is a dream of yers, but ye canna wish for it on Caitrin’s bruised and broken body.”

“Ye’re saying this because ye want her,” Fletcher challenged.

Jamie threw up his hands then ran one through his hair. How to make him see reason? “Ye must listen to me.”

“Ye want to prevent this marriage. I warned ye to stay away from her. But ye have seen her today. Ye said so yerself.”

Fletcher stood and Jamie’s hopes for reaching a quiet understanding died a painful death. They were starting to attract attention.

“’Tis time for ye to leave. Take yer men and return to the Aerie. Ye did what I requested and delivered my daughter to her betrothed. I dinna need ye here any longer. Ye have my leave to go.”

Bile burned its way up Jamie’s throat as he gained his feet. He towered over the man, but Fletcher’s posture, hands on hips, belligerent chin thrust out, made it clear he refused to be intimidated. “That’s a mistake, laird,” Jamie answered with all the sincerity he could muster. “Talk to yer daughter,” he continued softly. “Hear from her what kind of man ye plan to marry her to. I dinna care if ye canna believe me, but ye must believe her.”

Fletcher snorted. “She’s infatuated with ye. I’ll get even less sense from her than I’m getting from ye. Nay,” he said, turning to go, “gather yer men and leave in the morning.”

Jamie shook his head. “I canna do that. I also have business here for the Lathan. I’ll leave when that is completed, or to escort ye and Caitrin back to Fletcher.”

“Mark my words. I’ll no’ be needing ye or yer men. MacGregor will sign, and so will I.” With that, Fletcher left the hall. Jamie resumed his seat and took a sip of ale, doing his best to convince any onlookers he and Fletcher had finished a conversation with nothing more than a mild disagreement. And praying no one had heard enough to report back to Alasdair.

****

Caitrin wrung her hands and paced before the fire in her chamber. Jamie stood by the door, looking as dejected as the day, all those years ago, when she’d left Lathan to return home. His shoulders slumped and he kept his eyes downcast.

“I havena done ye any good,” he confessed. “If MacGregor decides he likes the idea of a more biddable wife, he might refuse the match, but Fletcher is as determined as ever to go forward with the marriage. I believe he’ll try to convince Alasdair ye’re as meek as a newborn lamb, or as feisty as a rooster. Whatever he thinks the MacGregor wants to hear, he will say.”

“I must show him what Alasdair did to me.” A glance in the looking glass had revealed the side of her face bloomed purple and green where MacGregor had hit her.

“Yer da sees it as a sign MacGregor is eager for the marriage bed.” Jamie rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, lass. ’Tis a fine time for my persuasive powers to fail me.”

Caitrin quailed. Nay, Jamie couldn’t give up. Her father always took care of her. She just had to convince him. “Once he sees this,” she said, holding a hand up to her bruised cheek, “he’ll see he’s wrong.”

“Ye may persuade him. Aye, ye must try.”

“But if I do, he may go after Alasdair.” Caitrin crossed her arms over her chest. “He’d be killed. That’s the last thing I want. Nay, I canna show him. But what can I do?”

“He canna fight the MacGregor in his condition. He kens it and he wouldna try. He’s no’ a fool, lass.”

“But if he did—”

“Caitrin, he willna.”

“And if he still doesna believe me?”

“Then we dinna have any choice. We must get ye away from here.”

“Against both MacGregor’s and Fletcher’s wishes? Ye would risk Lathan in a clan war?”

“I ken the possibility.” Jamie’s head came up, and he looked her square in the eye. “Ye are worth it to me.”

“To ye, perhaps. But to Toran? He thought me trouble at fourteen. I canna imagine what he’d think of me if ye got him into a war over me. He sent ye here with a peace treaty, for the love of God!”

“He’s changed, lass. And given the danger to ye, he would support my decision.”

“Nay, Jamie. This is no’ why he wanted ye here. Ye’re no’ thinking straight.” She reached for him, but pulled her hand back. She dared not confuse him or herself any further, and touching him would distract them both. The longing for him burned within her. Yet guilt, or frustration, ruled him at the moment. “Ye canna do such a thing. There must be another way.”

“Kyle and I and the others are planning ways to get ye out of MacGregor, should the need arise. If yer da willna concede the truth. If I come for ye, ye must be ready to go. Can ye do that?”