Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3)

by Willa Blair

  “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 m
en 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.”

  He covered the comb with his other hand, since the sight of it seemed to disturb her. “Meg recalled yer husband might have gifted it to ye. But if ye dinna ken, he must no’ be the carver. The work is extraordinary. Do ye have any idea—”

  “Meg is mistaken,” Annie broke in. “My da gave it to me mum, years ago. She never liked it and never wore it, and so when she passed, I kept it for a bit, but one day Meggie needed something to keep her hair out of her eyes, so I gave it to her.”

  Given the tension in her voice, she hadn’t kept it for long, Jamie thought. “Ye are a good friend. And yer da?”

  Annie pursed her lips. “Gone. At Flodden.”

  “Ach. Yer husband, too, Meg said. Both parents? I’m sorry for that. Then ye dinna ken where yer da got it?”

  “Nay, but he often left the keep with the auld laird, so it couldha been anywhere.”

  “What did he do, yer da?”

  “Ah, ye wouldna ken that, being a guest. He was the auld laird’s hunting master.”

  Bile rose in Jamie’s throat. Hunting, indeed. He swallowed and nodded amiably. “Really? That must’ve been quite a responsibility, caring for the laird and his sons on a hunt.”

  “Nay, the two oldest, God rest their souls, were skilled, though that didna save them when they fought for the king. The present laird was a lad then—his da kept him close.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, as if she’d said too much, then fluttered back to her lap. “Always ready to charge into battle, that one. So they said.”

  “Well, thank ye, Annie. I suppose I’ll never ken who did the carving. I mean this one as a gift for a lady, of course, but one never kens when more gifts will be required.”

  “I’m sorry I couldna help ye.”

  “But ye did, Annie. Please, go back to yer work. I willna disturb ye any longer.”

  On the face of it, Jamie thought as he left her, Annie had been a dead end, yet in her words he found a link that seemed plausible. He’d wager Annie knew more than she’d said, but he didn’t think he needed more. The auld laird’s hunting master likely got the comb from the auld laird. In fact, he might have been on hand that day, either as an observer or a participant in Netta’s torture and death. And Alasdair surely was there. His da kept him close. Alasdair had not killed Jamie’s sister. But what he’d seen that day had taught him what he’d done with the tavern whores in St. Andrews. He’d bet a cask of MacKyrie’s best whisky on that. It explained why he was so rough with Caitrin. Neither time nor age had softened his aggression or his impulsiveness. He was as violent now as he’d been in his youth—perhaps more so. Still ready to charge into battle. Jamie had the proof in his shirt.

  ****

  He made his way back to his chamber without incident and gathered his belongings. They’d kept most of the travel gear with the horses, so Jamie had little to conceal on his person. In moments, he was out the door. But something nagged at him. Was Caitrin truly on her way to the stables? He’d better make certain. When he saw Kyle still at her door, he frowned as disquiet sent a chill down his back.

  “Has Lady MacGregor come to speak to Caitrin yet?”

  “Aye, she’s in there now.”

  Jamie breathed a sigh of relief and rapped on the door, then opened it without waiting for leave to do so.

  Madeleine tucked something into a pocket of Caitrin’s dress while Caitrin reached for her travel cloak. “We’re ready,” Madeleine said. “By now, Fletcher will be in the hall, waiting for me.”

  “And where is MacGregor? It willna do for him to see us leaving.”

  “My son is still busy admiring his new armaments. The blacksmith summoned him a while ago to meet with him and the blademaster. Between them, he’ll be entertained for an hour or more. We’ll be out of the gate before he kens we’re gone.”

  “On our afternoon visit to the village.”

  “Just so.”

  Jamie cocked an eyebrow at Caitrin and she smiled. Good. “Let’s be on our way, then.”

  “Malcolm and Nan will join us. I suggest yer men make their own way out, but quickly.”

  “Indeed,” Jamie agreed as he opened the door and nodded to Kyle. “We are going. Get what ye can carry and make yer way quietly to the stables. Make sure all the other lads are out as well. Thank God Ewan is already on his way to the Aerie.”

  “Aye.” Kyle led them to the stairs then left them to complete his errand.

  Jamie kept one hand on the hilt of his dirk, but they all rode out of the keep without incident, the ladies chattering the whole way about the upcoming market day to divert suspicion. Madeleine had arranged the “outing” brilliantly. And riding would allow them to get away much faster than walking through the highland forest.

  Jam
ie breathed a sigh of relief as they passed through the gates.

  Madeleine led them through the village, pointing out the market preparations in a loud conversational tone, meant, Jamie was certain, to ensure their visit neither aroused more notice than usual, nor gave the villagers any useful information to later pass on to her son. When they turned a corner and were out of sight of the last of the villagers, Madeleine urged Caitrin and Malcolm on. “Uilleam and a few men loyal to me await ye in those trees,” she said, pointing to the forest beyond the edge of the village. “Go now. Jamie, stay with Fletcher and me until we get further along, then ye and Kyle can leave. I want Fletcher and I to be noticed a bit longer, then we’ll go, too.”

  “Madeleine, ye impress me,” Jamie told her with a grin. “But do ye risk being detained?”

  “Nay. Even if he finds out in time we’re all out here, he canna touch me without our people raising arms against him. And to be fair, this is as much Fletcher’s doing as mine.”

  “Da, thank ye.” Caitrin laid a hand over her heart. “I didna think ye believed me.”

  “Go on with ye, lass,” Fletcher answered.

  Jamie noted a glimmer of a tear in his eye and forgave him everything. He’d been stubborn and blinded by his own goals, but in the end, Caitrin came first.

  “I’ll see ye soon, daughter.”

  “Ye’d better!” She turned to Nan. “Ye’ll be safe with my da and Lady Madeleine. I’ll see ye soon, too.” Then her gaze fell on Jamie “Ye will be right behind us, aye?”

  “Of course. I willna lose ye now.” Caitrin’s brilliant smile lightened his heart and he reached across the space between their horses to grasp her hand. He no longer cared what Fletcher saw transpire between them. They would marry, and Fletcher knew it. Jamie released her hand.

  Malcolm slapped her horse’s rump and sent her on her way. He saluted Madeleine briefly then caught up to Caitrin and rode with her into the trees.