by Willa Blair
“Fletcher, Caitrin,” he greeted them. “It’s good to see ye up and around, Fletcher. Yer nurse is taking good care of ye, I see.”
“Indeed, she’s barely left my side since the accident. But now she’s becoming a thistle under my saddle. Ye ken how women like to fuss. Ach, I need some air.”
Jamie laughed politely at his jest then raised an eyebrow at Caitrin while Fletcher went about carefully seating himself near the hearth. Her expression was closed off, guarded. So, Fletcher did not know Lathans had watched over him during the nights of his convalescence, to allow her to get some rest. She gave Jamie a quick smile and bent to her father. Jamie didn’t hear what she said, but Fletcher’s response gave Jamie a clue.
“Send the serving girl with something to eat. That’s all I need. I’m sick of those four walls. I’ll rest here a bit and enjoy the fire. Go on with ye, lass. Leave me in peace for a few minutes.”
“I’m headed toward the kitchen,” Jamie said, interrupting any answer Caitrin had been about to give her father, and lying through his teeth. “I’ll go with ye.”
“Thank ye, Jamie. Da, please stay here. Ye are no’ dressed to go outside.”
Fletcher waved her away without speaking. It concerned Jamie just a little that he did not object to his presence with her.
Once her father’s request had been delivered to the cook, Caitrin continued to walk with Jamie, making small talk. In a sunny nook, they paused.
“What’s amiss, Caitrin? We’re alone here. Ye can tell me.”
Her hesitation worried him. Was her father more ill than he appeared?
“Something isn’t right,” she said then paused.
“Fletcher?”
“What? Nay. He’ll outlive us both. MacGregor.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window. The morning sunlight illuminated her hair, making it gleam, and turned her skin to pearl—except for the faint abrasion beside her mouth that had been invisible in the dimmer interior spaces. Jamie doubted she even knew it was there.
“He hurt ye?”
Her eyes flew wide as she turned to stare at him. “How did ye…nay.” She shook her head. “Of course no’.”
He traced the mark with one fingertip. “Did I do that?”
Her hand covered her face, trapping Jamie’s finger against her warm skin.
“What do ye see?” She moved her hand out of the way and clenched her other hand against her middle.
“A small red mark, faint even in this much light. Invisible in anything dimmer, I’d guess.”
Caitrin’s shoulders dropped. “Thank goodness. If Da saw it…”
“If he hasna by now, he willna. And by tomorrow, it will be gone. I’m sorry. I didna think I’d been so rough.”
“Ye were no’, truly.”
She turned away from him.
He couldn’t let it go. “MacGregor did that.”
“Aye.”
He crossed his arms to keep from wrapping her in them. “What else?”
“Naught to concern ye. But enough to make me doubt his intentions even more.” She drew in a deep breath, turned back to him and put a tentative hand on his arm. “I’ve asked ye before, and I’ll keep asking ye. Ye must help me convince Fletcher against the match.”
Jamie took a turn staring out the window as he pondered the probable outcomes of doing that. Fletcher asked him to care for Caitrin as his own, to protect her from MacGregor and his men. Given the mark on her face, he wasn’t doing a very good job.
But would Caitrin be more open to the MacGregor’s advances without him to distract her? If they had not given in to the attraction they felt for each other, she might. He was about to meet with the MacGregor on the Lathan’s behalf, but in truth, he must also represent Fletcher, and argue for the match if the MacGregor pressed him about it. Despite his own feelings for her. Despite her confusion, for which he blamed himself. So he must do what he could to remove himself from her consideration, for Fletcher and her future. Against those, his happiness mattered little.
“Are ye sure ye’re giving the man a fair chance?”
“I have.”
He faced her again. “How would ye feel if I were no’ here? If we had no’ met again after such a long time apart?”
Her eyes widened, but she answered promptly. “I would feel the same where Alasdair MacGregor is concerned.”
“Would ye?” Jamie compressed his lips for a moment. “I believe my presence is confusing to ye, and I regret that. I dinna wish to be the reason Fletcher’s plans go awry, to the detriment of yer clan.”
“Nay, Jamie.” Caitrin shook her head. “Well, aye, ye do confuse me. But if I’m right, Da’s plans are already useless. MacGregor will no’ be the stalwart partner he is scheming for. MacGregor tried me, aye, tested my resolve. That was…awkward. But truthfully, no’ unexpected, though it displeased me.”
She held up a hand when Jamie gave in and reached for her.
“It’s more in what he doesna say,” she continued. “The look on his face when he speaks. There’s more to the man than we’ve seen, and I dinna believe it to be good for me or for Fletcher.” Her gaze stayed on him while she absently traced a fingertip over the side of her mouth.
An image of MacGregor’s mouth on hers flashed through his mind, roiling his gut. He reined in his anger, determined to do the right thing. “Ye must give him time, lass. For the sake of yer clan and yer father. He may no’ be the man ye think ye want, but ye owe it to them and yerself to give the man a chance.” Would she believe him? Her reservations about MacGregor cheered him, since they matched his own uneasiness, but he had no tangible reason to advise her to do anything more than wait and see. Not yet. “And now, I must leave ye, or I shall be late. Would ye prefer I escort ye back to Fletcher?”
Frowning, Caitrin crossed her arms over her chest. “To the Fletcher keep? Aye. To my da, nay. I’ll bide here for a few minutes and give the poor oppressed man the peace he requested.”
She turned to the window. Her profile gave him only a hint of what she was thinking and feeling. “Keep yer wits about ye, lass. Watch and wait. That’s all I ask.”
“Go on with ye. I dinna wish to make ye late.”
Jamie nodded and took his leave, but her expression stayed with him. Haunted. Nay, hunted, with nowhere to hide.
Chapter Eleven
Caitrin returned to her father and was surprised to see the dowager Lady MacGregor sitting with him by the fire. She wasn’t sure whether her presence would be good for him or bad, but at least he had propped his foot on pillows atop a bench, or she had. His low chuckle at something Lady MacGregor said made her aware he’d undergone a change of mood, a pleasant contrast to the stiff and irritated man she’d left behind. The remains of a meal, nay, two, sat on trenchers near at hand. So MacGregor’s mother had been with him a while, perhaps the entire time Caitrin had been gone, talking to Jamie and then thinking on her own.
“Lady MacGregor, how good of ye to sit with my father,” Caitrin said when they noticed her approach.
Lady MacGregor smiled, her expression open and friendly, making her wonder how such a woman had raised such a son.
“It has been my pleasure, Lady Fletcher. Yer father is a clever and funny man.”
Her father, funny? Had he hit his head when he fell from the horse?
“Now Madeleine,” Fletcher said. “Dinna give away all of my secrets. A father has so few.”
Madeleine? How had they become so familiar so quickly? She needed to sit down. She found a seat on a nearby bench. “I’m happy ye have gotten so well acquainted,” she told her father. The truth of that realization surprised her. She hadn’t seen him like this in years. Smiling at Lady MacGregor, she continued, “Laughter helps one heal, does it no’?”
“Indeed, it does. Ye are wise beyond yer years.”
“I thank ye. But it’s simple wisdom. When something makes ye feel better, it must be good for ye, aye? Laughter certainly qualifies.”
“Fletche
r, I grow more impressed with yer lovely daughter each time I speak with her. She’ll be a good lady for MacGregor. Perhaps no’ as good as I, but one can’t expect so much from such a young lass.”
Despite her surprising good will of just moments before, Caitrin thought to take offense, until Madeleine winked at her. Ah, she still jested with her father.
“That is my thought exactly,” Fletcher responded with more energy than Caitrin had seen him display in two days. “She and yer son will make an excellent match.”
Caitrin’s stomach turned over. Madeleine MacGregor just made her task more difficult.
“It’s wonderful to see ye looking so well,” Lady MacGregor continued, speaking to Fletcher. “The healer has kept me informed of yer progress, but I didna wish to disturb ye by visiting.”
“Visit all ye like, milady. I’ll enjoy yer company. And as my wise daughter has informed us, what makes us feel good is good for us, aye?”
“Indeed.”
“In fact, perhaps ye’d enjoy a walk outside this afternoon,” he told Madeleine, with a rebellious glance at his daughter. “I’d be pleased to escort ye. I’ve been inside these walls too many days.”
Caitrin nearly laughed at that. Though he seemed to be recovering well, Lady MacGregor would likely be escorting her father, unless this morning’s socializing had worked a minor miracle.
Lady MacGregor stood. “I’ll look forward to it. It should be very pleasant out of doors.”
Fletcher started to force himself to his feet, but Lady MacGregor put a hand on his shoulder. “Dinna trouble yerself,” she told him. “Sit here, rest yer leg, and enjoy the fire. I must see to a few things before the midday meal.”
Fletcher eased himself back down with a sigh. “Thank ye, Madeleine. I look forward to the afternoon.”
With a nod to him and a friendly smile for Caitrin, Lady MacGregor headed in the direction of the kitchen.
“Well,” Caitrin said once she moved out of earshot.
“Indeed,” Fletcher answered, looking pleased. “Lady MacGregor is pleasant company.”
“I couldn’t have guessed.”
“Dinna fash, daughter. I feel better now than I have since before the hunt. I’ll be fine to walk a bit with her.”
“And if ye are no’?”
“I will do well in her company. Never fear.”
Caitrin shook her head. “Very well. I see ye are determined.”
Her father regarded her for a moment then waved her away. “Have ye broken yer fast? Perhaps ye should see to yerself.”
She grinned. Here was the father she knew best—looking out for her. “I havena. I’ll pay another visit to the kitchen.” She gestured to the remains of his breakfast. “Would ye like me to bring ye anything else?”
“Nay, nay. Go on with ye, lass. After ye eat, find her son and spend some time with him. How is he to decide to offer for ye if ye never speak to the man?”
Caitrin’s face fell, but she hated to spoil her father’s good mood by reminding him she wished him to cease the negotiation. By telling him how much the son differed from the mother. She stood and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek then turned away.
Madeleine MacGregor was an open book. Everything she said seemed well-intentioned and truthful. Her kindness and caring in spending time with Caitrin’s father meant a great deal, especially if it speeded his recovery. Nothing in her words or manner gave Caitrin to believe she had any ulterior motives.
Not so, her son. Did she not recognize her son’s darker nature? Could Madeleine be that loyal, blindly loyal, to her son—or to her clan—that she ignored all but the good she found in him? The charmer Caitrin had met in the garden and library might be the only side of him he showed to his mother. If that were true, she had little hope of swaying Madeleine against the match and enlisting her help in dissuading her son or convincing her father to abandon his plan. And with Jamie determined that she take the time to get to know MacGregor, she felt more alone than ever.
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 f
elt 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.”