The Rogue's Bride (The Brides 0f Skye Book 3)

by Jayne Castel

  The night was still, the darkness smothering. Alasdair found he couldn’t settle.

  Rising from the fireside, he walked to the edge of the camp, stepping up next to where Boyd stood watch.

  “I’ll take over,” he said quietly. “Ye get some rest.”

  Boyd glanced over at him. “Are ye sure? I can keep watch for a while yet.”

  “I can’t sleep anyway. There’s no point in both of us being awake.”

  Boyd nodded, although his face, illuminated by the faint glow of the torch behind him, was thoughtful. “Still not sleeping?”

  Alasdair shrugged. “Some nights are better than others.” He cast an eye over Boyd. Unlike him, his cousin appeared to have emerged from the war unscathed. “Ye sleep easy these days then?”

  Boyd gave a jaw-cracking yawn and stretched. “Aye … like a bairn.” He clapped Alasdair on the back and stepped away from him. “My bed roll beckons. I’ll leave ye to it.”

  His cousin walked off, returning to the camp and leaving Alasdair alone.

  Somewhere in the undergrowth, an animal rustled, and then an owl softly hooted. Alasdair drew in a deep breath, listening to the slumbering land around him. The night sounds were gentle, calming, yet they did little to relax him.

  He felt as if he stood upon a knife’s edge. Every nerve in his body was taut, ready to fight. It was as if danger lurked behind each surrounding shadow. He’d get little rest tonight.

  His encounter with Caitrin in the solar had thrown his world back into chaos. It had been a slap in the face, a brutal reminder of why he should have never let his guard down with her.

  He had no one to blame but himself.

  He’d been a gullible fool twice now. The first time he could have claimed ignorance, but this time he’d known full well the risk he’d been taking.

  Alasdair stared out at the darkness, his gaze unfocused. He’d hurt Caitrin deeply by taking Eoghan. There was no worse revenge he could have exacted upon her. MacLeod’s demand had been the perfect excuse to send her away, while keeping his nephew.

  Vengeance.

  It had once been his constant companion, especially after he learned of Baltair’s death. Yet, for a brief few months it had released him from its claws, allowing him to hope that one day he might know happiness again. That was—until two days ago.

  Now the beast had seized him once more. It perched upon his shoulder and whispered to him. It told him that Caitrin deserved his wrath—that she deserved to suffer as he had. As he did now.

  Alasdair drew in a deep breath. Aye, this was what he’d wanted, what he’d planned for on the journey back to Duntulm all those months ago. He should feel jubilant, vindicated that he’d finally achieved his goal.

  Why then did he simply feel hollow?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Return to Dunvegan

  “LORD, HOW I’VE missed ye!” Rhona MacKinnon flew across the bailey and threw her arms around Caitrin. She drew back from her sister, storm-grey eyes gleaming. Tall and statuesque with a mane of auburn hair, Rhona looked as vibrant as ever. “Ye don’t write often enough!”

  Caitrin swallowed a lump in her throat and forced a smile. She was aware that she and Rhona had an audience. Alasdair MacDonald and the rest of her escort were approaching the keep just a few strides behind her. The dove-grey bulk of Dunvegan keep towered above them. Much bigger than Duntulm, Malcolm MacLeod’s fortress faced west. It perched on the edge of a loch surrounded by lush green, with rugged hills at its back.

  Usually, Caitrin was happy to come home, but this morning the sight of Dunvegan brought her no solace. It was just a reminder of what lay in store: a forced marriage.

  “I’m sorry I’m so terrible at keeping in touch,” she replied. “The days pass and then, before I know it, a month has gone by and the letter I promised to send ye is still sitting on my desk half-written.”

  Rhona gave an unladylike snort. “It sounds as if ye are much busier than me.” Her gaze shifted from Caitrin then, moving past her to the rest of the company. “Where’s Eoghan?”

  Caitrin stiffened, struggling to keep the smile plastered to her face. She didn’t want to tell Rhona about Eoghan now, not with Alasdair MacDonald just a few feet behind her. “He’s remained in Duntulm.”

  Rhona frowned. “But ye usually travel with him?”

  “Not this time … he’s in good hands. Sorcha is minding him while I get this over with.”

  Rhona nodded, her gaze shadowing. “That makes sense I suppose. Da’s got the bit between his teeth. He has three suitors lined up already … they’ll keep ye busy enough. Ye will be able to send for Eoghan once all this is done.” She looped her arm through Caitrin’s, and together they walked toward the set of steps leading up to the keep. “I bet the lad has grown.”

  “Aye.” Caitrin’s face was starting to ache from the effort it was taking her to keep the smile frozen to her face. “He’ll be walking soon.” Caitrin paused here, desperate to change the subject. “Have ye heard from Adaira? The last letter I had was two moons ago.”

  “I heard from her last around then too,” Rhona replied. “It sounds as if Gylen Castle suits her and Lachlann very well. Ma’s family welcomed them without hesitation. The descriptions of her new life there made me quite jealous.”

  Caitrin huffed a laugh. “Then we shall have to organize a visit to see her … I have to admit I’m curious about Ma’s kin. I’d love to visit Gylen.” Even to her own ears Caitrin’s voice sounded forced. Of course she wanted to visit Adaira, but right now her priority was Eoghan.

  They entered the keep and made their way through a wide entrance hall with stairs leading off it to the left and right. Straight ahead were the heavy oaken doors leading to the Great Hall.

  “The noon meal is still being prepared,” Rhona said, steering her toward the left stairwell. “Come on, let’s go to the women’s solar. There’s so much I’ve got to tell ye.”

  Caitrin set down the goblet of wine she’d just taken a sip from and tried to focus on her sister’s happy news. “Congratulations … I’m so pleased for ye both.”

  Rhona beamed back at her. “I’ve been throwing up my bannocks in the mornings for over a week now … the healer confirmed it this morning. I’m with child.”

  Caitrin smiled. “Taran must be overjoyed.”

  “That’s an understatement. He hasn’t stopped grinning since I told him.” Rhona paused here, her gaze searching. She set aside her own goblet of wine. “There is something up with ye, Caitrin. I sensed it from the moment I set eyes on ye downstairs.”

  Caitrin swallowed. She’d always been adept at masking her feelings from others—even her sisters—but not today it seemed. Her vision misted then; she was so tired of being strong, of having to keep up a wall. Now that she was alone with Rhona her defenses crumbled.

  Bowing her head, she covered her face with her hands and began to weep.

  Rhona was at her side in an instant, her arm circling Caitrin’s shoulders. “Caitrin … what’s wrong?”

  “It wasn’t my choice to leave Eoghan behind,” Caitrin finally gasped. “Alasdair MacDonald is keeping him … as his heir.”

  She raised her face, turning to her sister. Rhona’s face had gone ashen. “But he can’t keep ye from yer son,” she whispered.

  Tears streamed down Caitrin’s face. “He can … and he has.”

  Rhona’s features tightened. “Only the worst kind of rogue would do such a thing!”

  “Aye … I didn’t think him capable of such an act, but I was wrong.”

  “Why would he be so cruel?”

  Caitrin loosed a breath. “He’s never forgiven me for spurning him.”

  She deliberately didn’t mention the incident of a few days prior. She wasn’t sure how to articulate it. Rhona knew about the proposal Alasdair had once made though.

  Rhona stared at her for a moment, before her expression hardened. It was a look Caitrin knew well—the look of a woman steeling herself for a fight. “MacDonald
will not get his way. Da will learn about this. He’ll put things right.”

  “No, Rhona,” Caitrin replied firmly. She sniffed, wiping her wet cheeks with her sleeve. “Da will only make things worse … if he helps at all.”

  “How can ye say that?” Rhona scowled. “Eoghan is a MacLeod as much as he’s a MacDonald. Da will tell that bastard to send yer son to ye.”

  Caitrin shook her head. She’d already had this discussion with Sorcha; it wearied her to have to explain it to her sister as well. “Ye have a short memory, Rhona. Da’s alliances mean more to him than we do. Ye would be wasting yer breath.”

  “But after what happened with Adaira he might—”

  “That was different,” Caitrin cut her off. “Adaira forced Da’s hand that day. If I want Eoghan back, I need to be the one to fight for him.”

  Rhona’s gaze narrowed, and she folded her arms across her breasts. “But how will ye do that. We live in a man’s world.”

  Caitrin’s expression hardened. “And that’s why we must fight using our own weapons.”

  “Ye should have brought Eoghan with ye,” MacLeod grumbled. “I haven’t glimpsed my grandson in months.”

  “Ye shall see him on my next visit to Dunvegan,” Alasdair assured MacLeod with a smile. “I thought it best Lady Caitrin wasn’t distracted … ye want her to focus on finding a husband, do ye not?”

  Across the table Caitrin tensed. She glared at Alasdair, but he ignored her. Instead, he sipped from his goblet with a nonchalance that made her temper flare.

  The MacLeod clan-chief’s brow smoothed. Tall, broad, and heavy-set with greying auburn hair, he had eyes the color of a stormy sky. He was a portly man and had gotten so fat of late that it was difficult to see where his chin ended and his neck began. “Aye … maybe ye are right.”

  “We can travel to Duntulm together, Da,” Caitrin spoke up, forcing a lightness of tone she didn’t feel. “Once I’ve chosen a suitor.”

  “There will be no time for that,” Alasdair replied, before MacLeod had a chance to answer. “I imagine ye will be wed as soon as ye choose a suitor. Yer new husband won’t want ye disappearing to Duntulm.”

  “Aye,” MacLeod said, eyeing the MacDonald chieftain in surprise. He then shifted his attention to Caitrin. “He’s right again, lass. I’ve sent word. Yer suitors are due to arrive tomorrow. One of them is traveling from the mainland.”

  Caitrin clenched her jaw, dropping her gaze to the plate of boiled mutton, turnips, and oaten bread before her. Around her the table went quiet. They sat in Dunvegan’s Great Hall, a massive space dominated by two hearths. The noon meal had just been served, and the greasy odor of mutton hung in the air.

  Steeling herself, Caitrin glanced up, her gaze traveling to where Rhona and her husband, Taran, sat watching her. Rhona wore a pinched expression, while Taran, whose scarred face gave him a frightening look at the best of times, was scowling. Rhona must have told him about Eoghan, for her brother-in-law then favored Alasdair MacDonald with a dark look.

  “Ye are fortunate indeed, Caitrin,” Una, her step-mother, spoke up. Small and dark, Una favored Caitrin with a smug smile. “One of yer suitors is my brother, Ross. A fine warrior he is too—any woman would be lucky to have him.”

  MacLeod huffed, holding his goblet up for a passing servant to fill. “Gavin MacNichol and Fergus MacKay are both worthy too. We’ll see whom Caitrin prefers.”

  Caitrin went still. Chieftain MacNichol was one of her suitors? She remembered then her brief conversations with him during his visit to Duntulm—and the interest she’d glimpsed in his eyes.

  Across the table Caitrin saw Alasdair MacDonald stiffen. While Gavin had indicated an interest in Caitrin during his visit to Duntulm, Alasdair obviously hadn’t imagined he’d take it further.

  “What if she doesn’t like any of them?” Caitrin’s younger brother, Iain, asked. A sallow-faced lad with sharp features and a mop of auburn hair, he was watching his father, a gleam in his grey eyes.

  Caitrin frowned. She didn’t like the evident pleasure Iain took in asking this. She’d had little to do with the lad over the past few years, but Rhona had warned her about his vindictive streak.

  “My daughter will do her duty.” MacLeod rumbled before turning his attention to Caitrin. She stiffened at the hard look in his grey eyes. The events of the past year hadn’t softened him it seemed; he still saw his daughters as his pawns. “If she refuses to make a choice, I shall do it for her.”

  MacLeod raised his goblet to his lips and took a large gulp. He then shifted his attention to Alasdair, his expression lightening. “Will ye stay on in Dunvegan awhile, MacDonald?”

  Caitrin froze. No … Da. Please don’t.

  Alasdair inclined his head. “I should really return to Duntulm.”

  MacLeod snorted. “What’s the hurry? Stay on for a few days and enjoy some fine MacLeod hospitality. I’ve got a boar hunt organized for tomorrow.”

  Silence fell at the table. Caitrin held her breath. She stared down at her meal, willing Alasdair to refuse. However, when the hush drew out, she raised her gaze and looked at Alasdair. He met her eye briefly, before he shifted his attention to MacLeod and smiled, raising his goblet to the clan-chief. “Why not? I like a good hunt.”

  Caitrin caught up with Alasdair in the entrance way outside the Great Hall once the noon meal had ended. Hurrying ahead of him she stepped into his path, forcing him to stop.

  Alasdair halted, while Darron and Boyd continued on.

  “Why are ye staying?” she demanded, rounding on him.

  He cast her an infuriating smile. “Yer father insisted.”

  “Ye could have refused.”

  “It seemed rude.”

  Caitrin drew in a sharp breath, fighting the anger that made her want to slap his face. “Twisted bastard—ye are remaining here to spite me,” she accused. “To gloat when I am forced to wed.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Ye give yerself too high an importance, Caitrin. I’m staying to appease yer father, and for no other reason.”

  She stepped close to him, drawing herself up as tall as she could. Even then, she still had to angle her head back to meet his gaze. Alasdair stared back at her, a challenge in his eyes. He was goading her, and she hated him for it.

  “Ye are an unwelcome guest, MacDonald,” she snarled. “Ye might fool my father with yer smiles and flattery, but I know what ye are. Keep out of my way.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  First Impressions

  CAITRIN STOOD IN her bed-chamber, nervously smoothing the skirts of her sky-blue kirtle. It was the first time since Baltair’s death that she’d worn any color besides black. She felt naked without her somber clothes.

  Heaving in a deep breath, she glanced over her shoulder at her sister’s hand-maid, Liosa. “So, they’re all waiting for me in the Great Hall, are they?”

  The maid paused in brushing Caitrin’s hair. “They are, milady.”

  Caitrin swallowed, nervousness rising in her breast. She wasn’t ready for this. “Have ye seen them?” Although Caitrin had already met Gavin MacNichol, she had no idea what her other two suitors looked like.

  “Aye … I was in the bailey when they rode in.”

  “And?”

  Liosa’s green eyes grew round. “Ye are fortunate, milady. They’re three fine warriors.” She sighed then. “I can’t decide which of them is the most handsome.”

  Caitrin cast a look over her shoulder at where Rhona perched upon a seat near the window.

  Her sister met her eye with a wry look. “At least Da isn’t trying to wed ye off to the likes of Aonghus Budge.”

  Caitrin pulled a face. “I’d rather he wasn’t trying to wed me off at all.”

  Rhona studied her a moment, her expression turning thoughtful. “Ye are taking all of this better than I would,” she murmured. “I take it ye have a plan of some kind?”

  “Perhaps.” Caitrin looked away, allowing Liosa to finish brushing her hair. She had piled half of
it on the top of Caitrin’s head, while allowing the rest to tumble free down her back. It was the first time she’d worn her hair loose in a long while.

  “That sounds mysterious,” Rhona replied. “Are ye going to keep it to yerself?”

  Caitrin glanced back at her. “For the moment.”

  Rhona’s gaze narrowed. “Ye didn’t used to be this secretive.”

  Caitrin didn’t reply, despite that she could sense her sister’s frustration.

  “Well?” Rhona pressed.

  Caitrin sighed. “All I care about is getting Eoghan back,” she admitted. “There’s no point appealing to MacDonald, or Da … but if I choose a husband wisely, he might be able to help me.”

  When Rhona didn’t answer, Caitrin turned to face her. Liosa gave a huff of frustration and stepped back, giving up on her finishing touches to Caitrin’s hair. “Do ye think that’s calculating of me?”

  Their gazes met before Rhona’s full-mouth curved. “No … I think it’s clever.”

  The soaring strains of a harp greeted Caitrin when she stepped inside the Great Hall, Rhona following close behind her. It was early evening, and supper would be served soon. Her father’s retainers hadn’t yet entered the hall. However, a small group sat upon the raised dais at the far end.

  Caitrin’s heart raced, and she surreptitiously wiped her damp palms upon the skirt of her kirtle. She hadn’t been looking forward to this—but now the moment had come to greet her suitors, she wished she could turn and flee back to her bower.

  She had no wish to sit and simper before these men, not when her son was in her enemy’s keeping. And yet, if she wanted Eoghan back, she had no choice.

  Her father and Una sat at the head of the table, with the three suitors flanking them. They weren’t alone though. Taran, Alasdair, Boyd, and Darron sat at the opposite end of the table.