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

by Jayne Castel

“Alasdair?”

  Tearing his gaze from where Boyd had just disappeared, dragged away by the guards, Alasdair met her eye. Around them the people of Duntulm started to talk amongst themselves in low, excited voices.

  “Sorry ye had to see that,” he murmured, his gaze softening.

  Caitrin raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen worse.”

  Alasdair’s gaze widened, before his mouth curved. “Of course ye have … ye are MacLeod’s daughter after all.”

  “Aye … I’ve witnessed my father beat men half to death for crossing him.”

  Alasdair huffed. “And there was me holding myself back on yer account.”

  Caitrin held his gaze. “I’m glad ye did. Ye have seen enough blood and violence, Alasdair.” She paused then, her mouth curving. “Don’t worry … Darron’s likely to give him a parting gift before he sends him south.”

  Her husband smiled then, the expression chasing away the lingering anger in his eyes. “Aye.”

  Caitrin turned her gaze then to the young woman who stood silently beside her. Sorcha’s usually sunny face was pale, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying. She stared down at her clasped hands, her expression haunted.

  “I did nothing to encourage him,” she whispered. “I promise, milady.”

  Caitrin’s chest constricted at the pain in the girl’s voice. Reaching out, she pulled Sorcha into a hug, difficult since Eoghan now wriggled in her arms. “I know ye didn’t,” she murmured. “He didn’t need an excuse. Don’t blame yerself.”

  “But I shouldn’t have let him corner me.”

  “Ye weren’t to know he’d behave so. Don’t worry … ye are safe now.”

  Alasdair stepped close to the hand-maid, his brow furrowing with concern. “Do ye need to see a healer, lass?”

  Sorcha shook her head. She drew back from Caitrin, extracting Eoghan’s fingers from her hair. The lad had grabbed a handful of the hand-maid’s dark tresses. Meeting Alasdair’s eye she offered him a wan smile. “I’m well, milord,” she replied. “Just shaken.”

  Caitrin had worried that the incident with Boyd would cast a shadow over the day. Yet not long after Boyd was dragged away, the fair continued as if nothing had happened. Laughter and singing drifted across the market square once more.

  However, there were a few folk who were subdued in the aftermath.

  Sorcha returned to the keep early, while Alasdair and Caitrin left the crowds, making their way east of the village to where the stone bridge over the Cleatburn was taking shape.

  Alasdair carried Eoghan now, for Caitrin’s arms and back had started to ache. Pride shone in Alasdair’s eyes, and the lad was delighted to have his uncle carry him. He squealed and burbled gibberish, pointing at things as they walked. Dùnglas padded after them, although the dog was distracted by clumps of heather and rocks he felt compelled to lift his leg at.

  Caitrin stopped on the western bank of the Cleatburn and surveyed the bridge. The half-built structure was twice the size of the old bridge. It was made of basalt blocks of stone and thus much sturdier than its predecessor, spanning the water in a graceful curve.

  “Alasdair … did ye design this yerself?” she asked.

  “There’s a beautiful bridge in Inbhir Nis,” he replied. “It’s much bigger than this one, but I studied it while I was there.”

  Caitrin tore her gaze from the structure and glanced over at him, smiling. “Just as well ye did. It’s remarkable.”

  Alasdair smiled back. “Like that bridge, we built this one with a pointed arch. It makes it less likely to sag at the crown … it’ll also put less strain on the supports.”

  Caitrin nodded. She was impressed by his knowledge. “When will it be finished?”

  “In a month, I’d guess … if the fine weather holds, we’ll be able to work faster.” Alasdair grimaced then, grabbing Eoghan’s hand as the lad grabbed hold of his hair and yanked.

  Watching them, Caitrin smiled once more. She liked seeing Alasdair and Eoghan together. The family resemblance was there, although Alasdair’s features were more hawkish than his nephew’s.

  I wonder when we shall have our first bairn.

  The thought made warmth spread across her chest. She looked forward to giving him children: sons or daughters, she didn’t mind which.

  She thought then of her sisters. Rhona’s belly would have become noticeable by now. When would Adaira and Lachlann start a family?

  A tiny kernel of sadness lodged in Caitrin’s breast then, as she thought about her sisters. She loved her life here at Duntulm, her marriage, and her son. Yet Rhona and Adaira were a part of her. She suddenly missed them with a force that made her chest ache.

  “What is it, love?” Alasdair’s voice brought Caitrin out of her reverie. She glanced up to see he was watching her. “Ye look leagues away.”

  She smiled. “I was just thinking about my sisters … I miss them.”

  Alasdair’s mouth curved. “Well then … we should organize another visit to Dunvegan … and perhaps a trip to Argyle.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. We should cross to the mainland before the cold weather sets in.”

  A smile spread across Caitrin’s face. The past month since their wedding had been an exciting, wondrous time. It was as if she’d been reborn; all the hurts of the past slowly faded into the mist. She woke up every morning, curled up in her husband’s arms and wondering how it was possible to feel so happy.

  She’d told Alasdair that she found it difficult to trust, but as the days passed, she found herself opening up to him more and more. With him she didn’t need to be wary, to keep an eye out for dark moods or a vicious temper.

  Alasdair still suffered nightmares—even if they had started to become less frequent and intense. The tremors in his hands had ceased of late, but sometimes she still caught him staring off into the distance—caught up in unpleasant memories. The wounds he’d brought home with him from war were gradually starting to heal.

  Caitrin’s vision misted. Alasdair wasn’t like the other men she’d known. As much as she loved her father, Malcolm MacLeod was not a man who treated any woman, even his wife, as an equal. He had no use for conversation with them, preferring the company of his men and a horn of mead. Baltair had been much harsher than her father though. MacLeod at least suffered the opinions of his daughters, even with bad grace at times. Baltair had forbidden her from expressing her views entirely. She’d learned that lesson quickly upon coming to live at Duntulm.

  But with Alasdair there were no rules she had to follow, no subjects she had to avoid. She could be herself completely, and he loved her for it.

  The friendship they’d once shared as bairns, the ease in each other’s company, had been reforged—and with it a deeper bond. Something that had taken root inside Caitrin’s breast and grew stronger with each passing day.

  Caitrin stepped close to her husband. Then, going up on tip-toe, she leaned in and kissed him. “I love ye, Alasdair MacDonald,” she murmured. “Sometimes the force of it overwhelms me.”

  He stared down at her, his dark eyes gleaming. “Ye don’t know how I’ve longed to hear those words,” he murmured, his voice catching. “I was beginning to think I never would.”

  Caitrin cupped his face with one hand, while taking hold of one of Eoghan’s grappling fingers with the other. “I’ve known for a while now … I’ve just been waiting for the right time to say it.” Her mouth curved then. “Ironic really … for I once thought I loathed ye.”

  He huffed. “Gavin MacNichol told me that love and hate are close cousins.”

  “They are.” Caitrin then inclined her head. “What passed between the two of ye?”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “I saw the look he gave ye that morning in Da’s solar. He said something to ye.”

  Alasdair favored her with an enigmatic smile. “Nothing of importance.”

  Caitrin drew back. “Very well … keep yer secrets then.”

  His smile wi
dened. “There aren’t any. We just had words that’s all.” His expression turned rueful then. “I was jealous of MacNichol, ye know? I thought ye would choose him.”

  “I would have,” she admitted. “If ye hadn’t made yer feelings known.”

  Their gazes fused. “It took everything I had to go down on one knee before ye again,” he murmured. “I’m not sure what I’d have done if ye had sent me away.”

  “Ye were brave to say what ye did,” Caitrin replied softly. “I’m so glad ye took the risk.”

  He smiled. “Ye have a tender heart, wife.”

  Caitrin stared up into his eyes, her fingers stroking the line of his jaw. “Aye, and it belongs to ye.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  A Man of My Word

  CAITRIN TOOK A seat at the table, next to her husband.

  The noon sun warmed her face, and a sea breeze tickled her scalp. Three weeks had passed since Duntulm Fair, and the Cleatburn Bridge was now complete. To celebrate, Alasdair MacDonald had put on a feast. All the folk of Duntulm—from the high to the low—had been invited.

  Alasdair rose to his feet, raising the tankard he held into the air. Caitrin glanced over at him, admiring his strong profile, his lean features and flowing raven hair. Alasdair looked every inch a chieftain today, especially since he wore the MacDonald sash over his léine.

  They sat at the center of a long table that had been erected in the center of Duntulm village’s market square. Locals, both from the village and the keep, packed its length on both sides.

  Once Alasdair stood up, the chatter of excited conversation died down, and all eyes settled upon their chieftain. Caitrin saw the respect in the men’s eyes and the appreciation on the women’s faces. Alasdair had won their hearts, as he had hers.

  “People of Duntulm.” Alasdair’s deep voice traveled across the square. “Thank ye all for joining us here. Today we celebrate our new bridge, but also much more. I want to thank ye all for the support ye have given me and my kin over the years. We’ve had difficult times—famines, wars, and sickness—but ye have stayed here, farmed this land, fished these seas, and kept our people strong. I will not forget it. By sea and land, the MacDonalds stick together.”

  “By sea and land!” A roar went up. Men and women raised their tankards.

  When Alasdair sat back down, Caitrin flashed him a smile. “Well spoken.”

  An excited chatter rose around them as the feasting began.

  His mouth curved. “We MacDonalds have a way with words.”

  Caitrin snorted. “And a self-confidence that knows no bounds.”

  He laughed. “Admit it … it’s just one of the many things ye love about me.”

  “Conceited cockerel,” she muttered, smiling. Of course, he knew she did.

  “Ye look radiant today.” Alasdair said as he handed her a goblet of sloe wine. “I don’t think I’ve seen the smile leave yer face since dawn.”

  Caitrin laughed and took a sip of wine. “On a day like this, I have much to be happy about.”

  “And what’s that?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

  “A sunny sky, fine food and wine, and a handsome man by my side,” she replied. “What more could a lass ask for?”

  Alasdair grinned. “The lady is easy to please it seems.”

  Caitrin didn’t reply, instead merely favoring him with an enigmatic smile. She wondered then if she should ask him about the trip he’d promised they’d take to Argyle. He hadn’t said anything since the day of the fair, and as summer crept on, she wondered if he’d forgotten.

  Her gaze shifted down the table then, taking in the faces of the servants, retainers, farmers, and artisans who made up their community. A sense of belonging settled over her. She wasn’t born here, on Skye’s isolated northern tip, and yet this place was her home much more than Dunvegan ever had been.

  Under the table, something nudged her knee. Caitrin glanced down to see that Dùnglas sat at her feet. She glimpsed his dark eyes and whiskery muzzle, and smiled. The dog was hoping someone would drop a tasty morsel down to him. With a sigh, Caitrin picked up a piece of pork from the platter before her and dropped it under the table.

  “Ye will encourage the hound to beg,” Alasdair warned.

  Caitrin glanced up guiltily. “I can’t stand it,” she replied with a contrite smile. “When he looks at me with those soulful eyes, I can deny him nothing.”

  Alasdair huffed. “I shall have to try that with ye in future … and see how far it gets me.”

  Caitrin shook her head in mock chagrin, before her gaze returned to farther down the table, where Darron MacNichol and Sorcha MacQueen sat together. The pair were deep in conversation, oblivious to the feasting and drinking going on around them. It was a heart-warming sight. For days after Boyd’s attack, Sorcha had been out of sorts: pale and tense. But from the looks of things, she’d now put the ordeal behind her.

  Caitrin nudged Alasdair with her elbow. “It looks like we might have a handfasting in Duntulm before long.”

  His gaze followed Caitrin’s down the table, before he glanced back at her. “Are ye match-making, wife?”

  “No,” Caitrin said innocently, spearing a piece of pork with a knife. “Just making an observation. Look at them, Alasdair … and tell me they won’t be wed by the spring.”

  The cèilidh started mid-afternoon. Once the long tables and scraps of food had been cleared away, a man pulled out a fiddle and began to play, while his wife sang a bawdy song about a farmer’s wife, her foolish husband, and her two lovers. The song had folk laughing and clapping along by the second verse.

  Caitrin watched Darron and Sorcha run into the midst of the dancers. Their faces were flushed from wine and the sun. Darron twirled Sorcha around, while she laughed.

  Caitrin observed them wistfully, tapping her foot to the music.

  “We never finished that dance,” Alasdair’s voice intruded. “Ye slapped my face and sent me on my way instead.”

  Caitrin turned to him, her mouth curving. “What a shrew ye have wed.”

  He smiled, holding out his hand to her. “May I have this dance, milady?”

  Caitrin inclined her head. “Of course, milord.”

  He led her out into the dancing, and a moment later they were caught up in it, whirling, stepping, and turning in time to the music. Caitrin danced until her feet ached and she felt light-headed. After that, she returned to the table and took a restorative sip of wine.

  Galiene arrived then with Eoghan. Caitrin took the lad from the woman and bid her to go and find some food and drink, and enjoy herself. Eoghan looked around, his chubby face eager, his blue eyes bright with curiosity. Caitrin gave him a chunk of bread, and he began to chew at it. Eoghan then looked up at Alasdair before grinning.

  “Dair.”

  Alasdair smiled at the lad’s attempt at his name. He couldn’t yet manage long words, but he’d become quite talkative of late. “Dair!”

  Caitrin’s throat constricted when Alasdair reached out and ruffled Eoghan’s thick black hair. There was genuine affection in his peat-brown eyes when he looked upon his nephew. “Ye are a good-natured lad, aren’t ye?”

  Eoghan dropped the chunk of bread he’d been mauling and held out his hands to Alasdair. “Dair!”

  Alasdair laughed and took him from Caitrin. The lad clutched at Alasdair’s léine and sash, squealing with delight when his uncle rose to his feet and bounced him in his arms. Alasdair then glanced down at Caitrin with a grin. “I think someone else wants a dance. We’ll be back soon.”

  Caitrin watched Alasdair and Eoghan make their way into the dancing, her gaze misting with love as she watched them.

  Alasdair was a good father to the lad. She hadn’t expected him to treat Eoghan like a son, yet he had. Eoghan would grow up loved at Duntulm.

  The celebrations stretched out and would continue long into the night. However, Alasdair, Caitrin, and Eoghan left when the bairn started to get tired. Leaving the laughter and music ringing out
across the hillside behind them, they climbed the hill back to the castle. Eoghan was asleep, slumped against Alasdair’s chest. Dùnglas trotted along, trailing the couple like a shadow.

  A cool wind skirted across the hill and mist had crept in from the sea. Although this day had been a fine one, Caitrin imagined that they’d awaken to a foggy morning the following day. That was how it was upon Skye. No two days of weather were alike.

  They’d nearly reached the brow of the hill, and the drawbridge that spanned the deep ditch encircling Duntulm’s curtain wall, when the bellow of a hunting horn reached them.

  Caitrin stifled a gasp. She knew that horn. It was one she’d grown up with, had heard every time her father took his men and dogs out on a hunt.

  Turning south, her gaze alighted upon a company of riders approaching over the brow of the nearest hill. Pennants of gold, grey and black, threaded with red fluttered in the breeze.

  Caitrin’s heart soared at the sight.

  She swiveled on her heel, her gaze meeting Alasdair’s, and saw that he wore a knowing smile.

  “Ye invited Da?”

  “Aye, as well as Rhona and Taran MacKinnon. They were supposed to arrive yesterday, in time for the feast, but it looks like they were delayed. It matters not, for the boat doesn’t leave for two days.”

  Caitrin stilled. “The boat?”

  Alasdair stepped close, reaching up with his free hand to cup her cheek. “Ye didn’t think I’d forgotten, did ye? We’re taking a trip to Argyle to see yer sister, and I’ve invited Rhona and Taran to join us.”

  Caitrin stared at him a moment, before joy exploded in her breast. She threw herself into his arms, accidentally waking Eoghan who gave a low whimper and snuggled back into Alasdair’s chest.

  Kissing Alasdair hard on the lips, Caitrin beamed up at him. “Ye remembered!”

  He smiled down at her, his gaze filled with tenderness. “Aye … and I’m a man of my word.”

  Epilogue

  I Made Ye a Promise