Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3)

by Willa Blair

  Caitrin suddenly wanted to cry. From the moment she started speaking, Jamie had moved his head from side to side, slowly, signaling nay. He did not believe her.

  No one did.

  “There are ways, without auld talents, to do that, lass. The way someone speaks. Their expression. The way they move. Contradictions…”

  His words stung, reasonable though they were. “Aye, and those ways will work, to some extent,” she admitted. “But I always ken a lie, Jamie. Always. Try me.”

  He studied her for a moment, and the corner of his mouth quirked. “Yer hair is green.”

  She laughed softly, relieved he was willing to play along. Tiny bees buzzed along her skin. “Ye’ll have to do better than that.”

  He thought for a moment.

  She saw him tense a moment before he spoke.

  “I killed my sister.”

  “Ye didna!” She shook her head, concerned over what she felt. He knew he had not, yet he still spoke with conviction, as though he felt responsible. Why? “Try again.”

  He grimaced. “I want ye to marry the MacGregor.” The bees grew angrier, prickling her skin, irritating her. Or was irritation her reaction to the idea that Jamie could want her to marry someone other than himself. Nay, irritation was too mild an emotion for such as that.

  “Ach, Jamie. Ye canna lie to me. Ye do think ye want me to, I imagine, for the sake of my da, and to prevent a war, but at the core of it, what I sense deep within ye, is that ye dinna want anyone else to have me, save ye, and especially no’ Alasdair MacGregor.”

  He pursed his lips and for a moment, his chin crinkled like a child’s will who is fighting hard not to cry.

  “I dinna love ye, Caitrin.”

  Bee stings exploded along her skin. She ignored them. Her heart lifted at the admission, for surely he meant it that way. If he believed her. If he believed in her talent. Else why would he say such a thing? “Again, ye lie. Ye do love me. Ye canna hide it, no’ from me.” Her Jamie loved her.

  His mouth found hers in a heartbeat, blindly, his eyes already closed against the wetness she’d seen there. Aye, he loved her, though he despaired of it. That despair stung, but she understood there were reasons for it—reasons she might even share. Such as the situation they were in. The wasted years they spent apart. Their chances of spending any of the future together. She tugged him into her embrace and held him while he kissed her lips, her bruised face, her throat, then again, her lips. “Ye do love me, Jamie. Ye always have. As I have loved ye. Though I never thought to see ye again. I ne’er forgot ye and ne’er stopped loving ye. The lad ye were, and the man ye have become. I never will.”

  He rested his forehead on hers. “And if that man has to give ye to another to wed?” His tone was weighty with despair.

  “We’ll find a way. We will.”

  “We must.” He lifted his head and leaned away from her as he stroked her cheek with one finger.

  Her heart leapt to her throat as she felt him withdrawing, not just his embrace, but the warmth, the feelings he had for her. Somehow, he could hide them. Bury them deep. Was she so much a burden to him, then? That he must lock his feelings for her away, even from himself? His next words cut her to the core.

  “If it comes to war,” he said, pinning her with his gaze, “I will give ye up. I must. Do ye ken I speak the truth?”

  Caitrin fought back tears, searching his face for the part of Jamie that loved her. But his eyes had gone dark, deep blue, impenetrable. “I ken ye believe it now,” she said, fighting to keep her voice as steady as his gaze. “But when the time comes?” She shook her head. “I pray ye canna do it.”

  ****

  Jamie didn’t know what to believe. Caitrin told a fantastic tale, and yet he’d seen strange talents proven again and again—first Aileana’s amazing ability to heal. It had saved his life. Then Ellie’s Sight. Now this. It had seemed Caitrin could see into his soul. And that had frightened him. His soul was a very black place, one he’d kept buried under a veneer of reason and joviality, to protect his friends and family from what had dwelled there for most of his life. He would not inflict that blackness on Caitrin, no matter how much she loved him. She could not love him enough to face that. No one could.

  Could she simply be very good at reading people? And if so, did she read MacGregor correctly? She certainly seemed to believe what she said about him. Could he believe her? MacGregor had already proven he was not above violence against women. Of what else was he capable? It had already occurred to him that Fletcher—both her clan and her father—would not be safe with Caitrin wedded and bedded by that man.

  The thought of Caitrin sharing a wedding night with anyone other than himself turned his stomach, but he forced himself to consider it. Once consummated, the marriage would be unbreakable, except by death. MacGregor would be Fletcher’s heir, by marriage to his only child. The possible bad outcomes kept piling up in Jamie’s mind. Fletcher dead, then Caitrin. MacGregor had much to gain and little to lose.

  But even if MacGregor did not intend anything so dire, and in his gut, Jamie knew he did, what good would the Lathan treaty be when MacGregor could not be trusted to uphold it?

  If Caitrin spoke the truth—and lacking the ability she claimed, he had no way to be certain—then he wasted his time negotiating for the MacGregor’s signature on Toran’s behalf. He’d be better off spending his time with Fletcher, turning him away from his insistence on making this match.

  Confused and frustrated, Jamie stood and moved from the cot and the woman on it. He dared not share his thoughts. She had suffered enough already. He would not add to her worries unless he could not avoid doing it. He knew she watched him pace, but he kept his thoughts on the dilemma before him, rather than on the woman he wanted.

  “There must be a way to prove MacGregor is negotiating in bad faith,” he muttered. “Proof yer da would accept. Proof Toran must accept. But how?”

  “Have a care, Jamie,” Caitrin warned. “Ye canna trust anything he says or does. If ye hadna been there, he couldha killed my da on the boar hunt with none to say it was no’ an accident. Or it could have been ye under the horse, or worse, both of ye. Neither yer men nor ye are any safer within these walls than Da is or I am.” Caitrin touched the side of her face, and Jamie’s heart wrenched in his chest, but he forced himself to think rather than react. It seemed her worries ran in the same direction as his.

  “We are outnumbered, I will grant ye that. But MacGregor hasna made a threat…”

  But he had. Jamie froze.

  “What? When did he threaten ye?”

  Had she picked up on his hesitation? On his sudden change of heart as he recalled MacGregor’s anger? It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t true, either. Or had she simply recognized Jamie’s hesitation for what it was—the realization he spoke in error.

  “Days ago, after he first hit ye, he demanded we leave. I refused on the grounds of our duty to Fletcher and the task Toran gave me. While ye were in seclusion, he seemed more open to negotiation. So, to keep him occupied, I pursued our treaty talks in earnest. He has agreed to consider signing, though he hasna committed himself.”

  “He’s stalling then. But why?”

  Jamie shook his head. “It makes little sense, when only days ago, he wished to be rid of us Lathans. His moods change, moment by moment. At once, he is cooperative, then belligerent, then back again. It makes nay sense.”

  Caitrin stood and moved to him, placing a hand on his arm. “Perhaps I can find out. If I pretend to change my mind in favor of the match and spend more time around him…”

  Jamie gave in to the urge to put an arm around her waist and pull her against him. “Then yer da may sign the papers and ye’ll be MacGregor’s.” Even in the dim glow of the hearth, he could see Caitrin pale. “I’ve been doing all I can to distract him from the betrothal. Best ye stay out of his way.”

  Her hands on his chest contracted into fists, but she only gave a stiff nod in answer.

  “The lads
and I have been working on ways to get ye free from here, should the need arise to depart, against the MacGregor’s wishes.”

  “Or my da’s?”

  “Him, too, aye. The simplest will be if ye can go with some of the other ladies to the village.”

  “Would I be allowed to leave the keep?”

  “I dinna ken,” he answered, lightly running his hand up and down her back. “But perhaps on market day, or with Lady MacGregor, on some errand of hers.” He shrugged. “With the healer, aye, that could work as well, since she’s called out at all hours.”

  “Where would we go? MacGregor’s men would surely pursue us.”

  “Back to the Aerie, to Lathan.” The arch in her eyebrows told him he’d surprised her.

  “We canna do that. It would mean war.”

  “No’ if I paid MacGregor the bride price.” Where had that idea come from? He’d said he’d give her up if it came to war. But he knew he could not, and despite what he’d said, he would find a way to keep her.

  “Can ye afford such a thing? This is a wealthy clan. Likely he’d demand a large sum.”

  He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me worry about that. The first thing we must do, if all else fails, is to put ye where he canna reach ye.”

  “Da is the key. If he would only withdraw, which he can still do honorably, we could leave with heads held high and nary a concern.”

  “Have ye spoken to him since…”

  Caitrin touched the side of her face then shook her head. “Nay. He hasna visited me. Whatever ye told him has worked well to keep him away.”

  Jamie looked over her shoulder to stare at the fire in the hearth. “That may have been a mistake. Had he seen ye soon after…”

  “He wouldha charged in on the MacGregor like a wildcat with its tail on fire. Nay, ye were wise to protect him from that.”

  “Perhaps ’tis time to employ the servants. If a lass helping ye tells the healer, who tells yer da…he’ll have to believe the healer.”

  “If we could count on her to bear the tale where we wish it to go. But Jamie, Lady MacGregor already kens what her son did. What he’s like. Something she said when she showed me the portraits of her husband and his brother…they were awful, like Alasdair, and so similar in appearance they were called the Twins.”

  “How does that help us?”

  “She told me even she had trouble telling them apart. She seemed to hint that the brother had raped her, that he might be Alasdair’s father, no’ her husband, the laird. I dinna think she kens for sure. If Alasdair is no’ the legitimate heir, yet she canna stop him, if she allows him…” Caitrin faltered and took a breath. “What I’m trying to say is perhaps none of the others will speak against him either. Even someone as important to the clan as the healer may no’ be safe from his anger.”

  “There’s no’ a soul in this keep as important to me as ye are.”

  “But ye willna stand by while innocents are harmed, even for me. I ken ye too well, Jamie Lathan.” She spun out of his embrace and began to pace. “What if we arrange to be discovered together?” She pointed. “Here, in this bed.”

  “Likely yer da would kill me before MacGregor had a chance to. And MacGregor might still take ye to wife then spend years punishing ye.”

  Caitrin sat abruptly, as if her knees had given way beneath her. “I so desperately wanted to talk to ye, I hadn’t thought of that. I’d better get back to my chamber.”

  “Can ye go in the dark?” If someone discovered her, she would not be able to explain being on this floor of the keep at this hour. For a moment, Jamie considered escorting her, but that would only make things worse. Being caught alone led to questions, but being caught together would provide answers they did not wish to make known. “’Tis better ye are no’ seen.”

  “I got here in the dark, so aye. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, I promise.” Caitrin stood and moved to the door, but turned back before she opened it. “Kiss me good night, Jamie. I would have yer scent in my nose and yer taste in my mouth to keep me company the rest of this night.”

  Jamie’s heart squeezed in his chest as he took her in his arms. “Would that I could be with ye, but our time will come.” He kissed her softly then more firmly as she pressed against him. “Ach, Caitrin. Ye ken my heart. Will ye be my wife? If we can? When we can.”

  “I will. ’Tis what I’ve wanted since I first saw ye, all those years ago. But for now, I must leave ye.”

  Her insistence did her credit, as much as Jamie appreciated, yet despaired of the impulse that had brought her to him in the middle of the night. She could not be caught here. They both knew it.

  As silently as she’d promised, she slipped out the door into the dark hallway.

  Jamie waited by the opening, listening for any sound that meant trouble, but the only whisper in the night was his own breathing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  One of Jamie’s comments kept echoing in Caitrin’s head as she made her way toward her chamber. If only she could prove the MacGregor was negotiating in bad faith. What if she could find proof her da would accept? Proof even Toran would accept. She paused on the stairs, then filled with resolve, made her way to MacGregor’s solar rather than back to her chamber.

  The hall outside the solar was empty and dark. Caitrin listened at the door, but heard no movement inside. She slipped in and stood still and silent, in case someone was in the chamber.

  Starlight glimmered through the large windows along with the light of a waxing moon, not yet visible on this side of the keep. A banked fire still glowed in the hearth.

  The moonlight gave her enough illumination to read some of the papers on MacGregor’s desk. Most seemed to be correspondence or the sort of paperwork typical in the management of a large estate. But near the bottom of the pile, she found the proof she believed Jamie looked for. The proof that her father’s fears were well-founded.

  One document contained lists of the resources available to MacGregor’s neighbors—crops, cattle, mining, and so forth, in great detail. At the very bottom of the pile, a large map depicted what must be battle plans, with the disposition of MacGregor’s forces against his neighbors marked in detail, down to the numbers of archers, pikemen and mounted warriors. She wanted to laugh out loud and dance around the room that it existed, but she dared not.

  Here was proof MacGregor would never sign the Lathan treaty. He intended to conquer his neighbors and absorb their lands into his holdings, including, she noted with a heavy heart, Fletcher. A minimum of forces were annotated there, probably because he expected to take control of her home through marriage to her. Her da was right to be concerned. But with the Lathans and their allies, he would not need to sacrifice her to save Fletcher.

  She couldn’t find any indication of MacGregor’s timetable, but she suspected he’d started gathering information on his neighbors soon after the Scots’ defeat at Flodden, and knew if he planned to take advantage of the chaos and lack of leadership at Court since the death of James IV, he was running out of time.

  She glanced toward the window, trying to judge how many hours of darkness were left. Did she have time to take these documents to Jamie and return them here before the keep began stirring? Before MacGregor arose and came here to work? She must try. If she left them behind, he might put them away where she would never find them again, and Jamie would still not have seen the proof he needed.

  Or could she copy them? She found some blank pages, pen and ink. She quickly decided if she only copied the most important of the neighbor’s resources rather than trying to recreate the entire document, she’d finish sooner. The map would be much harder to reproduce, but she’d do as much as she could and then secrete her copies in her clothes until she could give them to Jamie.

  She bent to work.

  She had nearly finished when a slight sound alerted her to her peril. With a start, she glanced toward the window. The sky had begun to lighten toward dawn. A chill swept over her. She dared not be caught
with her copies, and she’d lingered too late to be certain of reaching her chamber undiscovered. Where could she hide them?

  She blew the last of the ink dry and rolled the pages together, and then she returned MacGregor’s pages to their places in the pile on his desk. It would mean her death if he caught her with this handiwork on her person. Her clothing might disguise the rolls, but any sound they made would give her away. Glancing around she noticed the upper of two small tapestries partially covered the one below it. If the lower one hung from loops, she could slip her rolled pages inside. She lifted the lower corner of the upper tapestry and sighed in relief. The lower tapestry hung from a rod threaded through several loops, with plenty of room for the documents she needed to hide. She slipped them in place and let the upper tapestry fall back over them. Perfect. They would not be easy to recover, but not impossible either, especially if she could return here when the MacGregor and his men were out of the keep, hunting.

  Now to return to her chamber. She reached the hallway door just as it swung open and Alasdair MacGregor walked in. She froze, heart in her throat for one long moment as they stared at each other. Standing right in front of him, in his way, she had nowhere to hide, so she tried boldness instead.

  “Good morrow, Alasdair. I woke up early and decided to see if I could watch the moon set. Ye must agree, the light is so lovely. And my chamber faces the wrong way.”

  MacGregor closed the door, shutting her in the solar with him. Caitrin suddenly recalled the stinging pain of the back of his hand to her face. She took one cautious step away from him.

  “Indeed? Why my solar? There are other windows that give out on the same view.”

  “There must be, aye,” Caitrin answered, keeping her voice as steady as she could. “But I kent this chamber and these windows. I didna think ye would mind.”

  She held herself still as MacGregor’s gaze swept over his desk. Had she left it exactly as she’d found it, or would he know she’d looked at what he kept there—and found his plans?