Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3) (26 page)

They proceeded in silence, Jamie thinking furiously, weighing alternatives as they went. He suspected Caitrin simply didn’t wish for their voices to attract any attention as they moved through the MacGregor’s halls, but if she thought they’d finished talking, she was wrong. When they reached her door, he opened it for her, but remained outside, decisions made. Now if Caitrin would only do as he asked. “Pack anything ye canna do without and be ready. I will come for ye late tonight. Ye canna remain here any longer.”

“My da…”

“I’ll speak to him. But right now, be about getting ready to leave. Ye are in danger, and ye are putting yer da, me, and my men in danger, as well. This has to end.”

“What if Alasdair…?”

“Kyle will be outside yer door until I come for ye. He’ll be armed.”

“Is he better than Alasdair?”

“I hope we dinna have to find out. Latch this door and open it only to me or Kyle.”

Jamie didn’t wait for her agreement, simply closed the door and fetched Kyle to stand guard, then went to Fletcher.

“’Tis time,” Jamie told him without preamble. “MacGregor attacked Caitrin again. I saw it with my own eyes. If ye dinna believe her, believe me. He isna a fit man to be husband for yer daughter.”

Fletcher dropped his face into his hands. “What have I done?”

Sympathy bloomed warm in Jamie’s chest as he finally heard genuine dismay in Fletcher’s voice. “Ye tried to find a good man for her and an advantageous ally for yer clan. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nor with admitting ye made a mistake.”

Fletcher lifted his head and glanced around his chamber. “We must leave immediately.”

Jamie couldn’t argue with that, though Fletcher’s sudden capitulation surprised him. “We will.” Why wait until tonight? “Caitrin is gathering what she needs. Ye must do the same, but stay here until one of my men comes for ye. Kyle is at her door against more trouble. Dinna go looking for MacGregor. I dinna intend to leave any hostages behind.”

“How will ye get her out?”

“With the help of one of MacGregor’s men. We’ll meet her in the village and leave from there. Bring only what ye can carry. Ye’ll be walking to the village.”

Fletcher nodded. “Go do what ye must.” He moved to the table behind him and picked up a document. “First, I must burn this.”

Something in his voice told Jamie what Fletcher held. “The betrothal agreement?”

“Aye.” Fletcher hesitated.

With his back turned, his expression could not help Jamie determine what was going through his mind. The longer Fletcher studied the document, the tighter Jamie’s nerves wound, disbelief warring with the urge to cross the room and rip it from the man’s hands. “Ye didna sign it after what he’s done the last few days?”

“I signed it days ago, before the boar hunt.” Fletcher finally looked up from the document and turned to face Jamie. “MacGregor had already signed it. I thought he behaved as an eager bridegroom would. Nothing more than that.” He flinched as Jamie started toward him. “He hasna seen it,” he stammered, “and doesna ken I’ve signed it.”

“Burn it,” Jamie spat, near to shouting in his fury that Fletcher had decided days ago to give Caitrin to a man who mistreated her.

Fletcher shook his head. “Perhaps I should keep it, in case something changes…”

“Ye’re daft.” Jamie stripped the document from Fletcher’s hands and looked it over through narrowed eyes. Both signatures were bold and sure, revealing no sign of hesitation by either party to agree to the terms. The seals were affixed beneath the inked names. It was as official as it could get. Jamie’s stomach soured. “How could ye?” He started reading from the top. “Ach, aye, I see. MacGregor is prepared to pay ye handsomely for the hand of yer only child. ’Tis good to ken her worth to ye.” He put all the contempt and derision he could summon into his voice. “Why do ye still have this? I would think ye’d be eager to collect the bride price and be gone from here.”

Fletcher’s eyes never left the document as he pulled it from Jamie’s grasp. “Something held me back. I do listen to her, ye ken. And then he threatened her…”

Jamie frowned. “As long as it exists, he could yet force ye to honor it. So burn it.”

Fletcher moved like a man on the way to the gallows, so slowly, Jamie wanted to take the agreement again and throw it into the flames for him. But nay, it wasn’t his to do.

Fletcher dropped it into the hearth fire, where it caught immediately. The edges blackened and curled. The wax seals melted and ran, then flared up.

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief as it went up in flames.

“So goes my hope for a stronger future for my clan. On a pyre,” Fletcher muttered so softly, Jamie barely heard him. Louder, he said, “Though I told MacGregor I didna believe we could come to an agreement, I held out faint hope. Fool that I am, I held out hope.” He turned back to Jamie. “But ye ken I sent Uilleam to Fletcher to ensure MacGregor had no’ already taken it from me?”

Jamie canted an eyebrow. Was this Fletcher’s idea of an olive branch? “He wouldna say, but I suspected as much.”

“I am no’ the heartless fool ye have thought me to be.”

Jamie found he could grant the man some measure of compassion, now the contract was in ashes. “Glad I am of that.”

Fletcher waved him away. “I’ll bring only what I can carry under a cloak.”

Jamie nodded and left Fletcher to his preparations. The hardest, most dangerous task required before their leave-taking remained to Jamie. How to get Caitrin’s copies of MacGregor’s documents out of his solar without being caught?

****

Alasdair MacGregor studied the man before him. Head bowed, hands behind his back, he knew how to appear harmless, subservient, non-threatening. Just as he knew how to lie. He was quite good at lying, in fact.

“They plan to bring her to the croft,” he said. “As soon as I ken it, ye will as well. I’ll see she is no’ harmed.”

“How do ye plan to do that?”

“They dinna ken me well, but they trust me. They trust us. We willna fail ye.”

Alasdair narrowed his eyes. Was he a fool to trust a liar? “For yer sake, and hers, ye’d best be right. I have plans for the lass.”

The man dipped his chin even further, never having lifted his head to look directly at his laird. He was powerless. Except for the favor Alasdair showed him now and again for keeping his laird informed. Trust was his only currency, and it was counterfeit.

But he knew what would happen if he ever lied to his laird. The consequences would be painful for him, enjoyable for his laird.

Alasdair knew how to make his discipline long-lasting. He’d had years of practice drawing out his own pleasure, and looked forward to many more, especially once he got Lady Fletcher to wife and under his control.

Should he go on as his father and uncle had done? Why not?

In the meantime, the man before him would deliver on his promises or face the consequences. Aye, painful. Long-lasting. And fatal.

Chapter Eighteen

Jamie headed to the great hall. He hoped to find the rest of his men, but more than anything, he wanted to be seen in the hall. That way, if MacGregor asked later, someone would tell him Jamie had been there and not elsewhere in the keep.

Two of his men sat near the fire. He quietly gave them their orders and sent them to prepare. Then he settled into one of their seats, planning to spend a few minutes. Lady MacGregor surprised him by taking the seat opposite.

“Jamie Lathan, I have had little opportunity to speak with ye,” she commented as she arranged her skirts to her liking. “I hope ye have succeeded in yer mission here. Caitrin Fletcher is a lovely lass.”

Jamie called on years of practice to keep his expression amiable and his posture relaxed. Could Alasdair’s mother truly be so ignorant of her son’s proclivities? Caitrin had said she knew. Did she simply refuse to believe?

“Aye, she is,” he said, as noncommittal as he could manage to be. If her son sent her to see if anything unusual was going on—like preparations to leave—he must appear relaxed and ready to spend the day with her.

“Would ye like me to have one of the lasses fetch us an ale?”

Or had she been sent specifically to keep him away from Caitrin so her son could continue what he’d started with her, without interruptions? In that case, Kyle would have a difficult morning.

“I would. Thank ye, lady MacGregor.”

She inclined her head. “Madeleine, please.”

“Madeleine. Ye’re verra kind.”

Jamie let his gaze drift lazily around the hall, but in truth, he noted who was there, how many MacGregor warriors were lingering over their breakfast, how many were coming and going through the hall. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. When the serving lass returned, he accepted his cup with a nod, then lifted it to Lady MacGregor. “
Slàinte mhath
, Madeleine.”

“And to ye,
slàinte mhòr
” she responded, lifting her cup. She took a delicate sip. “Great health.”

“I wish to thank ye again for yer care of Fletcher,” Jamie told her. The topic seemed neutral enough, befitting the toast, yet it might give him a better idea where this lady stood.

“I did little enough, and I enjoy his company. In fact, I’ve conceived of a desire to take him to the village this afternoon to see the preparations that are underway for market day tomorrow. I believe he would enjoy that.”

Jamie nodded, studying her for any shift of expression or posture that would tell him whether she had simply happened upon the greatest coincidence he’d ever experienced, or if she and Fletcher were somehow colluding. “That sounds like a pleasant way for ye to spend the afternoon.”

“Indeed. ’Tis a lovely day for a walk, but I believe we’ll ride. I wouldna wish him to further damage his leg. Tell me, though, do ye think his daughter would also enjoy such an outing?”

Jamie nearly choked on his ale and thought about things that seemed too good to be true. He fervently hoped this was not one of them. “I canna say. Perhaps ye should invite her and let her decide.”

“Aye, that’s what I’ll do. Right after I tell her father.” Madeleine put down her cup and stood, so Jamie stood, too. “And if ye feel the urge to enjoy a change of scenery, ye’d be welcome to join us.”

“Lady MacGregor…”

“Madeleine, please. Just Madeleine.”

Then, Jamie had it. If she was disavowing her position, her clan name, everything that tied her to MacGregor, then she was sincere in her intention to help them get away. At least, it seemed that way to him. He wished Caitrin were here to judge the truth of Madeleine’s statements.

“Madeleine, thank ye. I canna think of a better way to pass the afternoon.”

“I’ll just go and speak to Fletcher and to Caitrin, then. Why don’t ye meet us in the stable? By the time ye arrive, I’ll have the grooms readying our mounts.” With that, she left him. Her pace, while not noticeably hurried, was quicker than her usual sedate movements.

He set aside the remains of his ale and went to notify his men of the change of plans. On the way, he crossed paths with Malcolm, who stopped him.

“Lady Madeleine says that I’m to conduct her to the village, along with the Fletchers and ye.”

“That’s good news. Do ye happen to ken where yer laird is at the moment?”

“With the smith, I believe, inspecting some new lances.”

“Verra good. I’ll meet ye at the stables in a few minutes.”

Malcolm nodded and went on his way.

If Alasdair was with the smith, his solar would be accessible. Jamie had best retrieve Caitrin’s copies now, or there might never be another chance. He knocked lightly on the door in case Malcolm was mistaken. When no one responded, he peered inside. Empty.

He slipped in and closed the door behind him. The rolled-up parchment waited exactly where Caitrin had said it would be. He unrolled it far enough to confirm it contained the information she’d described, then rolled it tightly, and slipped it inside his shirt under his plaid.

Despite the danger of carrying these documents around with him, he had one more thing to do before they left. Find Annie.

****

Meg had described Annie’s workspace, and that’s where Jamie found her, at her loom, sitting with her back to the door. Not a position a man would choose. Too vulnerable by far. But she must feel safe here. He could use that confidence against her. And if he must, he would.

The fabric she wove bore the MacGregor hunting colors, more muted than other versions of the clan tartan, the better to blend in with the undergrowth. Jamie hoped he could keep his emotions similarly muted, no matter what she told him about how she came to have his sister’s comb.

He watched her work for a moment, gathering his thoughts, letting the slide and clack of the shuttle and frame soothe him before he approached. He didn’t have much time and might never get another chance to speak with her. He dared not let the desperation within him show, not if he hoped to find out who had killed Netta and bring them to justice.

But after hearing what Meg had to say, he knew the odds were not in his favor. The murderer might well have died at Flodden, along with so many others.

“I’m looking for Annie?” he said softly, pitching his voice as a question to pose as little threat as possible.

The lass—young woman, really—whirled in her seat to face him. “Ach, ye startled me. I didna hear ye come in.”

He was a scout. Of course, she did not hear him come in. Not until he wanted her to be aware of his presence. “My apologies. I didna mean to interrupt yer work. But Meg sent me to ye.” He approached the loom and fingered the cloth forming on it. “Ye weave a tight pattern, Annie. Ye are Annie?”

“Aye, and thank ye. Ye’re one of the Lathans, aye? ’Tis my specialty. The better to keep off the rain, ye ken.”

“I do. ’Tis a useful skill ye have.” He pulled the comb from inside his shirt. “Meg said ye gave her this comb, and I would like to speak to the person who carved it. ’Tis the sort of work I’d like to make use of.”

But Annie was already shaking her head, eyes wide.

Jamie kept his expression placid. Did he see fear in her eyes? Did she know how the comb had come to MacGregor?

“I…I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I dinna ken.”