by Willa Blair
Now those few strands also told him which chamber was hers. He lifted the hair from the handle and rubbed it between his fingers. The urge to tuck it into his shirt, a tiny keepsake, tempted him, but if he was found with it, it would mean his life. Nay, the best place for it was inside her chamber, where she waited. On the back of a chair, or on the floor near her dressing table. Decision made, he opened the door carefully, more to avoid making noise than out of concern for finding a maid within. The Caitrin he knew of old, his friend, would not have put out her signal if it would have led to their discovery.
Was she still his Caitrin?
A low fire lit her sitting room well enough for Jamie to see her, still in her dinner dress, dozing in a chair before the hearth. She was alone. Relief washed over him that she had not prepared for bed. That would be twice damning if they were found together. He stepped in silently and closed the door softly behind him. The hearth flames flickered at the shift in the air as he moved forward.
Caitrin awoke instantly, as alert upon being pulled from sleep as she’d been when they were children. He suspected she still slept lightly, at best. She would have made a good scout had she been born a lad.
“I never doubted ye would come,” she said by way of greeting, indicating the companion chair next to hers.
Without touching her, he dropped the hairs onto the back of her chair where a few loose strands would not cause notice then took his seat. “What is going on, Caitrin?” Might as well get straight to the point. “Do ye ken how dangerous this is? Me here with ye?” He kept his voice low and soothing lest his annoyance provoke her. “The longer I stay here, the greater our peril, should yer father take it into his head to play midnight chaperone, or, worse, should the MacGregor decide to sample yer favors before he signs the contract. I havena a good excuse for being on this floor of the keep, should I be discovered in the hall or on the stairs, much less within yer chamber. So I ask ye again. Why am I here?”
Her subtle signal at the table had been plain enough to him. She needed to talk. Now she hesitated, clenching and unclenching her fists.
A chill crept down Jamie’s back. How bad was this going to be?
“I have reason to doubt the MacGregor’s intentions, Jamie.” She turned her gaze to the hearth. “Fletcher is no’ willing to hear me. No’ yet anyway. I need yer help.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Ye’ve barely met the man.” Caitrin had always been a perceptive lass, but this seemed more like an attempt to gain some control over a situation wherein she was little more than a pawn.
Her soft laugh startled him. “That’s exactly what my da said.” She shook her head then turned in her seat and captured his gaze with her own. “I believe the betrothal is a means to an end, as am I.”
“What end?”
She turned back to the fire. “I dinna ken.”
Jamie leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. “What do ye think I can do? Stop the betrothal?”
Her jaw tightened, casting a deeper shadow across the side of her face. “I’m telling ye, he’s up to something. I dinna ken what, no’ yet, but I plan to find out.”
He shook his head, perplexed. She was talking herself out of the match before she gave the man a chance. Not that the idea of her with MacGregor pleased him, but for so many reasons, he could not object. “What makes ye suspect him?”
“I canna tell ye that, Jamie. Just, please, be careful. Dinna accept anything that man says at face value.”
Caitrin had good instincts. He knew that. But so soon? “Ye could be wrong about him.”
She shrugged. “I could, but I dinna think I am.”
Another thought chilled him, despite the warmth of the fire in the hearth and his feelings for the lass, nay, the woman, at his side. “Are ye safe here, lass?”
She averted her gaze to the hearth. “For now, aye. But if he sends ye Lathans and Da and Uilleam away, if I am left here alone with him, I dinna think so.”
Jamie hated the way the thought of her at MacGregor’s mercy leached the strength from his limbs, leaving him helpless against the weight of his concern. He shook it off and resolved to do everything he could to protect her. “I’ll be watching, Caitrin. I will do what I can to protect ye, but I’m caught between yer wishes, yer father’s, and Toran’s. He expects me to see both the treaty and the betrothal done. No’ one or the other. Both.”
She reached across the arm of his chair and touched his hand, her eyes luminous in the firelight. “So ye’ll let MacGregor claim me?”
Jamie’s blood stirred at her touch. He ignored it by force of will. “Ye ken I canna influence that decision. Yer da will do what he thinks best for Fletcher.”
“Ye could help me dissuade him.”
Jamie shook his head and stood, moving out of her reach toward the door. “Did ye hear me, lass? I am under my laird’s orders. I am no’ in charge of what happens here. Nor are ye.”
“Toran’s orders?” She waved a hand, dismissing him, then stood and lifted her chin. “I do ken my role here, much as I might wish to be in control of my fate.” Then her posture softened. “I just needed to be reminded I have a friend nearby.”
His belly clenched in dismay. There was little enough a friend could do for her, even if that friend was the Lathan envoy. But she needed to hear it. “Ye do, as ye always have. Now I must go.”
She attempted a brave smile, but he saw the effort behind it. “Thank ye, Jamie. My friend.”
He gave her a grin intended to reassure, a hint of the affable lad he’d once been. “Ye can thank me when I’ve done something to be thankful for.”
With that, he opened the door a crack and checked the hallway. Still dark and silent, the hallway was clear, so he slipped out and returned to his chamber. But worries about Caitrin kept him awake for hours. What could a handful of men do to protect her in the midst of another clan’s keep?
****
“Ah, there ye are!”
Caitrin looked up in surprise as the MacGregor approached the table where she sat with her father, sharing breakfast and fretting over her late night conversation with Jamie. He’d been honest with her. Toran had put enough pressure on him to test any man’s mettle, and demanded he succeed. It appeared Toran hadn’t changed much over the years.
“Ye look well this morning, my dear. Rested. Are ye recovered from yer journey then?”
Caitrin eyed him warily and nodded. She’d been tired from the trip and up late talking to Jamie. She doubted she looked rested, but went along with the polite fiction. She had learned over the years to ignore the harmless, socially-accepted untruths, as she ignored the slight buzz along her skin that they caused. “I believe I am, Laird MacGregor. My thanks to ye for yer hospitality.”
What had become of MacGregor? Last night, he had been stiffly formal, every inch the laird. This morning, he seemed friendlier, even jovial. Not consistent at all with the reserved impression he’d made on her the evening before.
“Call me Alasdair, lass. ’Twill make our time together this morning more pleasant as we become better acquainted, aye?”
Caitrin’s eyes widened as her brow lowered. Their time together this morning? She quickly controlled her expression and glanced at her father, hoping for a reprieve, but knew she was unlikely to get it.
“Da?”
“Indeed, daughter. Go with the MacGregor. Ye will be well cared for.”
For a moment, Caitrin wished heartily she could go back home to Fletcher, to a life she understood, rather than dealing with all this uncertainty. But at least for this morning, the MacGregor…Alasdair seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her. She’d have expected him to be the type of man to see a pretty face and be ready to proceed directly to the wedding and the bedding as long as the lass was comely and healthy enough to bear his heirs. Perhaps there was more to this man than she’d given him credit for.
But despite his affable demeanor this morning, Alasdair MacGregor still did not seem harmless to her.
He led her from the hall. Outside, cloud shadows played tag in the breeze of a lovely, warm spring day. Caitrin barely noticed the sunshine, so intent she was on MacGregor...Alasdair’s every move. To her relief, he kept a proper distance as he escorted her to a walled garden.
“I thought ye’d enjoy this place on such a fine day,” he told her as he opened the gate and gestured her inside.
She had to admit he had chosen well. Despite the early season, brightly colored flowers and young vines painted a beautiful scene. The hum of bees lulled her as Alasdair led her to a nearby bench surrounded by pink roses. The light and pleasing scent calmed her a little as the man shifted to face her, perilously close to bringing their knees into contact.
“As Lady MacGregor, ye will have charge of caring for this garden as well as the ones used for the kitchen and the healer.”
Caitrin opened her mouth to protest she knew little about such things, but he raised his palm to silence her.
“No’ that I expect ye to be digging in the dirt with these lovely hands.” He took one of her hands in his and stroked his thumb across her knuckles.
Her pulse accelerated, anxiety swamping her, rather than attraction. Surely, he did not intend to seduce her here. They’d barely met.
But he released her easily and gestured around them. “Nay, simply to oversee the gardeners and to hear the cook and healer when there are disputes. I leave such responsibilities to ye. I have other matters to attend.”
Oh, so she would keep house and garden while he dealt with weighty matters of clan, warfare, and alliances. She expected no less, yet somehow had hoped for more. To be more of a partner in the clan’s dealings, not relegated to women’s work. Alasdair had a thing or two to learn about her, indeed, if he thought she would be satisfied with so little.
“Who keeps the accounts?” There went his eyebrow again, arching upward. Either her father had painted her the sort of shy miss he’d told her this man wanted, or MacGregor really was unused to being questioned. She supposed the first possibility was as likely as the second, but no matter. She might as well continue. “Is there an arms master to oversee training the lads and lasses?”
“Aye...lasses? Lasses dinna learn to fight.” His brows drew down in a puzzled frown.
“Ye wish to have the women of the clan able to assist in its defense, do ye no’?” Caitrin found her confidence growing with each question they exchanged.
“Aye, by caring for its wounded, boiling oil and water for the walls...”
“Women are capable of much more,” she told him, sweetly.
“But they are no’ needed. We have warriors to fight for the clan.”
He smiled, making her wonder if he thought her stupid.
“My wife will oversee the women as they care for the clan, the bairns, and the keep. I’ve been assured ye are well trained in those arts. Did ye learn much while living with the Lathans?”
Caitrin decided to concede for the moment. She would take up this battle again later, if she stayed and it became needful. She focused on his last question. “Aye, of course.”
“Ye must tell me about yer time there.”
“I’d rather find out about life here,” she demurred. He frowned, which confirmed for her that he didn’t like losing control of their conversation—or likely anything else. She filed that away for future consideration and forged ahead. “For instance, what about schooling for the bairns?”
“We have a large library—”
Caitrin’s eyes lit up. Books! A library? She could barely contain her excitement at the thought. “Where? May I see it?”
“Now? I thought ye would enjoy the sunshine and the garden. The library will still be there later.”
“Seeing the library would please me more.”
It was Alasdair’s turn to concede, but would he? Was she disrupting some plan of his? She thought he might object to having his arrangements questioned and refuse to indulge her. But then he shrugged and stood. “Very well. Let’s go there now.”
Caitrin rewarded him with the first smile she’d displayed since arriving yesterday. Perhaps Jamie was right, and it had been her fatigue making MacGregor seem threatening. Today, he’d seemed quite different. Less the laird and more Alasdair. When he returned her smile, his seemed genuine, if puzzled. Did he think it so odd then, that a woman would have a use for the clan’s library? If true, education here must be sorely lacking and it would be her first priority, should she stay. That and archery training for the lasses. One battle at a time, she told herself as they made their way back into the keep.
Chapter Eight
Jamie entered in time to see Caitrin leave the hall on the MacGregor’s arm. Fletcher remained at table, watching them go. The slight frown marring his face gave Jamie hope. So he did care about his daughter. At least he hoped that was the sentiment behind Fletcher’s expression.
Jamie had looked for just this sort of opportunity to speak to Fletcher without the scrutiny of his daughter or Alasdair MacGregor. The fact that he seemed to be concerned about her welfare at the moment might make this conversation all the more productive. “Good day, Fletcher.”
“What? Oh, Lathan. Good day.”
Jamie debated asking permission, but didn’t want to be refused, so he simply depended on Fletcher’s good manners and sat. “Did I see Caitrin leaving with the MacGregor a moment ago? How is the negotiation going?” In for a penny, in for a pound.
Fletcher surprised him by sighing and dropping the bit of bread in his hand onto his pewter trencher. “It seemed to be going well until my daughter arrived. Now? I canna be certain. Perhaps that,” he said, nodding at the door, “will be the beginning of a resolution.”
Jamie schooled his features to calmness even while his belly turned over. He should be satisfied for Caitrin to make a powerful match, but his gut had other ideas. Fletcher’s frown had been a sign of concern about making the match rather than Caitrin’s well-being. She said he wouldn’t listen to her. Would he listen to Jamie? “Perhaps. And if it isna?”
“I raised my daughter to be dutiful as well as decorative, Lathan. She’s well aware of my wishes.”
Fletcher had every right to demand her obedience, but it still stuck in Jamie’s craw he would force Caitrin to marry against her wishes. He fought to keep his tone level. He did not want Fletcher to sense the challenge behind his words. Not yet. “Are ye aware of hers?”
“Hers are of little importance, when all is said and done. She will adjust, as she did when she fostered with yer clan.”
As much as it grated, he could understand Fletcher’s sentiments. Marriages were arranged every day in the Highlands. The Lowlands, too. Fletcher did not demand anything out of the ordinary from his daughter. The difference was it mattered to Jamie. Her happiness. And his own. That was a dangerous path to head down. One he had no business walking. But it beckoned, nonetheless.
He forced himself to relax, leaned back in his chair, and nodded. “’Tis plain this match is important to ye, given yer request for Lathan support.” Did he dare probe or would it be too obvious? It was worth the attempt. “What do ye hope to gain from MacGregor?”
Fletcher could either answer or damn him for his effrontery, but Jamie rather thought he owed Lathan an answer for its trouble—for Jamie’s trouble in making the trip. And, though he dared not mention it to Fletcher, for the old wounds seeing Caitrin again had reopened. The old needs.
Silence reigned for several moments until Jamie began to despair. Then Fletcher cleared his throat and met his gaze. “Are ye asking me as the Lathan envoy or as a man with his eye on my daughter?”
Jamie tensed, but Fletcher continued before he could frame a reply.
“Nay, dinna waste yer breath. I suppose ye deserve an answer. And as much as I value the alliance I have with Lathan…the care yer clan gave my daughter after her mother’s passing, we are bound by clan ties to MacGregor.” He waved a hand, encompassing the entire hall. “Those have weakened dangerously over the last four y
ears. MacGregor believes we stinted in providing men and arms to him, as well as to the King.” Fletcher paused then continued more quietly. “He’s right, and in hindsight, perhaps the sacrifice of the men and arms that would have been lost at Flodden, my life and those of the rest of my men, would have been worth it. Aye, we lost Fletchers along with King James, but MacGregor lost more. ’Twas my decision to withhold Fletcher from that fool’s errand. And since, my people have suffered for it in MacGregor’s regard.”
“So ye lean on Lathan rather than displaying a large group of yer men as escort for Caitrin?”
“Ye have the right of it. No’ only for appearances, but to remind MacGregor we have other allies.”
“Wise. Wise, indeed,” Jamie commented, warming to the man, despite their conflicting views on the best future for Caitrin. Yet there were risks in Fletcher’s strategy, and now he’d involved Lathan in his difficulty with MacGregor. Jamie would have to tread carefully, indeed. Had Toran known—or suspected—how this would develop?
“Yet in order to smooth things over with MacGregor,” Fletcher continued, “I must make the most important sacrifice of all. Caitrin.”
“So ye do care.” Though Jamie found little solace in that if Fletcher persisted in his plans for Caitrin’s betrothal.
Instead of rearing up in anger, Fletcher slumped, defeated. “Of course I do. She’s my daughter, my only reminder of her mother. But she must do her duty for her clan, as must we all.”
Jamie nodded sagely, at a loss for an argument, since duty was also the reason he sat with Fletcher at this moment.
“Which is why ye are here. I hope I can count on yer assistance in getting this betrothal agreement signed. MacGregor seems well disposed toward the idea, and I hope the encounter going on now will convince him. But if no’, yer endorsement, speaking for Lathan, may persuade him.”