Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3)

by Willa Blair

  ****

  Later that evening, Caitrin stopped by the sick room to check on her father. He appeared to be sleeping soundly, so she backed out into the hallway. Before she could close the door, she sensed someone behind her and froze, her heart in her throat. Alasdair? Oh, please, nay!

  “How is he?” Jamie’s deep voice rumbled as low as the guttering torches at either end of the hall.

  Caitrin’s knees nearly buckled as she let go of the doorframe and turned around, a hand over her pounding heart. He stood a few feet down the hall, as if he’d paused there when he saw her come out of the room. “Ye startled me.” He had, but the sound of his voice still lapped at her like the wavelets from a stone tossed into a pond, causing pleasant little ripples of warmth from her ears to her toes.

  “Did I? Or did ye think I was someone else?”

  She nodded, reassured he understood her so well. “For a moment.”

  He moved closer. “Ye are safe with me.”

  “Aye,” she answered, not that she wished to be safe with him. The near-darkness felt cozy. Jamie’s nearness made it intimate, as if they were the only two in the keep. Caitrin glanced back into the room, but her father had not moved. “He’s asleep.” She hoped he slept too deeply to be aware of their presence just outside the door. “He had quite a day, including a walk with Lady Madeleine. If he does as well tomorrow, the Healer will release him back to his chamber, I think.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Jamie answered then took her hand. “And how do ye fare?”

  “Me?” The heat of his touch spread from her hands up her arms to warm her body. For a moment, she let herself imagine his arms around her then shook her head. Nay.

  But Jamie must have read her mind or interpreted her gesture as meaning she was unwell. He pulled her into his embrace, his strong arms wrapping her in his scent. Caitrin melted against him.

  “Ach, tired, then. That’s understandable. Kyle will be here soon. Then ye can get yer rest.”

  “Nay, no’ tired. When ye hold me like this, all is well. But I wish…”

  “What do ye wish?” Jamie’s softly spoken question whispered against her ear, and made tears prick at her eyes with longing for him.

  “That ye could hold me like this forever. Anytime I needed ye. Or wanted ye.” She sighed as he stroked her back with one broad hand.

  “I would do it, gladly, if ’twere possible. Ye ken that.”

  “All the way to my bones.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring. “Ach, Jamie, why did we have to meet again like this?”

  “Better this,” he answered, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as one might do to a small child, “than no’ at all. I’ve missed ye.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “And I, ye. All those years…”

  Jamie bent his head.

  She knew he meant to kiss her. She meant to allow him to. She reached up to cup his cheek as his mouth descended over hers, gently, softly, in keeping with the quiet intimacy of the darkened hallway. She sighed her longing into his mouth. His embrace tightened, pulling her closer, as he deepened his gentle assault on her senses.

  She wished, with everything in her, she was free to love this man. His touch pleased her. She craved his kisses. The sound of his voice made her melt. His presence made her happy in a way no one else ever had. But, at the same time, because she was not free to be his, it made her more miserable than she had imagined herself capable of being. She clutched his hair as his tongue plundered her mouth and then traced the shell of her ear. Much as MacGregor had done, but not the same at all. As she’d imagined, Jamie’s advances felt…right. She would do anything to keep him with her one more moment, then another, and another, as if by wishing it, she could string together enough moments to become a lifetime.

  Then stroking his fingers down the side of her face, he released her. Caitrin reached for him, but he stepped back.

  “I must go. I want ye too much to remain with ye right now.”

  “Jamie…”

  “Kyle will be here soon. He can fetch one of the others to escort ye to yer chamber. But I must leave ye.”

  She twisted her hands into the fabric of her skirt as Jamie disappeared around a corner of the darkened hallway. She would not cry. She still had time to fix this. So long as the betrothal agreement remained unsigned, she could hope for a future with Jamie. She must.

  The sound of the bed creaking under her father sent a chill down her back.

  “Daughter.”

  Caitrin’s hands spasmed into fists. She forced them open and dropped her skirt, pasted a smile on her face and turned to her father. He sat on the side of the bed, a scowl drawing down his brow and making his eyes glitter with fury. So he had heard - or worse, seen, her with Jamie.

  “Aye, Da? Are ye well?”

  “Nay, daughter, I am no’.” With obvious effort, he pushed to his feet. “Ye have disobeyed yer laird. Worse, the envoy risks war between MacGregor, Fletcher, and Lathan. How could ye, Caitrin?”

  The plaintive tone to the question after the anger in his statements told Caitrin her father was not as well recovered as he might like others to think. Today had been too much for him. And now, furious at what he perceived as her and Jamie’s betrayal, he pushed himself even harder.

  “Please sit down, Da. Ye are overtired.”

  “I will do as I see fit, daughter. Explain yerself. Ye ken what this marriage means for Fletcher, and yet ye risk a dalliance with the Lathan under the MacGregor’s roof?”

  Caitrin knew it was hopeless, but she had to try again. “If ye would but listen to me, Da. I have said the MacGregor is no’ a fit husband for me, nor ally for Fletcher.”

  “Nay, I willna listen to such as that. Ye dinna have any proof. Ye simply want the Lathan and will use any excuse to prevent this marriage and destroy the alliance I’m attempting to forge.”

  “Nay! I wouldna risk that if there was any chance the marriage could work, if the alliance would achieve what ye want, but they willna.”

  “Ye canna ken that.”

  “I ken enough about Alasdair MacGregor to be wary.” Should she tell him what she’d overheard him say about MacGregor’s plans?

  “’Tis merely nerves, lass,” her father replied, relenting and resuming his seat on the edge of the bed. “There’s no’ a lass been married who hasna shared yer doubts. That’s all it is.”

  Caitrin crossed her arms in front of her. “If ye willna believe me, if ye willna help me, then I must…”

  “What? There’s naught ye can do. The marriage will take place. And until it does, I forbid ye from seeing any of the Lathans.”

  “The same Lathans who’ve been standing guard outside yer chamber to protect ye from aught the MacGregor or his men might do to ye to gain control of Fletcher?”

  “What?”

  “The Lathans believe ye are under threat. Why canna ye accept this alliance with MacGregor is bad for Fletcher? Forget about what the man will do to me. What will he do to yer people? Yer heritage? Ye ken I’m right. Why will ye no’ admit it?”

  Fletcher’s face reddened. “That’s nonsense. Is MacGregor aware this has been going on?”

  Caitrin feared she’d pushed him too far. “Please Da, hear me on this.”

  “Nay, lass. Ye will hear yer laird.” Fletcher stood again, red-faced, with veins standing out clearly at his temples. “This marriage, this alliance, will go forward. It must. That is yer role for Fletcher. Ye will be Lady MacGregor. Now get out of my sight—and stay away from that Lathan.”

  Tears blinded Caitrin so that she ran square in to Kyle, standing out of sight beyond the door. He steadied her then released her and pulled the door closed behind her.

  “Dinna fash, Lady Fletcher,” he told her. “Our Jamie is more clever than ye ken. All will work out as ye wish.”

  “I wish I had yer confidence,” Caitrin told him, wiping her eyes. She glanced at the solid wood of the door, behind which she could hear her father pacing and mutteri
ng.

  “Shall I send for an escort for ye?”

  Caitrin shook her head. “Nay. I’ll be fine. I’m so angry right now, any MacGregor who comes close to me will quickly back off if they have any sense.”

  Kyle nodded.

  “But thank ye for watching over my stubborn da. He may refuse to recognize the danger we’re in. I’m glad ye Lathans are wiser than he is at the moment.”

  “He’ll come around, lass,” Kyle assured her.

  Her tears welled again. She shook her head and moved past him. It was up to her to save herself and Fletcher. Her father’s inability to see the truth meant she must act for him. In the morning, she’d confront Alasdair and tell him the wedding was off. If her father felt well enough to flirt with Madeleine MacGregor, he must be well enough to travel. It was time to head home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Caitrin chose to confront MacGregor in his solar. She knew better than to challenge him, perhaps embarrass him, in front of his people, so she waited until she found him alone there. With the great hall only steps away and full of people, she should be safe enough. As a precaution, she left the door open. MacGregor, working at his desk, glanced up as she approached, then quickly rose to his feet.

  “Ah, my lovely betrothed. How are ye? And how does yer father fare?”

  “Da is much improved,” Caitrin said. “Thank ye for yer concern. But he is no’ why I am here.” She paused, considering how to go forward. “Or perhaps he is.”

  MacGregor’s quizzical smile and raised eyebrows confirmed she had his attention. She refused the chair he gestured for her to take and did not object as he reseated himself.

  Now to tell him her decision, and make him accept it.

  “I’ve come to tell ye I canna marry ye.” She held up a hand as MacGregor leaned back in his chair. His expression quickly changed from curious to something darker as his brow lowered. The flinty glint in his eye made her wish she’d brought an army with her.

  “Indeed.”

  “I’m sorry. MacGregor is an impressive clan, an imposing keep. And ye…” Caitrin suddenly found herself at a loss for words. She swallowed. “And ye…will make an advantageous match with another woman. Another clan.”

  “Will I?”

  He said the words softly, but suddenly, MacGregor looked downright dangerous. Caitrin forced herself to remain calm. She dared not show any weakness.

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, his hands clasped loosely before his face. “And will ye be arranging such an advantageous match for me?”

  “Me? Nay, how could I? I simply mean to say ye willna marry me.”

  “And does Fletcher agree with this?”

  “Da doesna ken I am here. ’Tis my life. My decision to make.”

  “I must assume ye have someone else in mind to marry. The Lathan, perhaps?”

  “What? Nay!” MacGregor could not find out how she felt about Jamie! It would put him in terrible danger. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I simply dinna wish to marry at this time. Perhaps never.”

  “Ye would disobey yer father, yer laird, in this manner?”

  “My da will understand.” Eventually.

  MacGregor stood and moved around the desk. Caitrin willed her knees to hold her up as he approached. She kept her gaze on the middle of his chest, fearing eye contact would set him off.

  “I dinna think he will,” MacGregor murmured as he lifted her chin with one crooked finger, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  His touch scalded her skin and his sour breath turned her stomach—or did fear do that? Why had she thought she could come in here, announce her intentions, and simply leave with this man’s acceptance? She cursed herself for a fool, but held her ground.

  “In fact, I believe he will be most distressed. His daughter’s rebellion, for one, will cause him pain. As will her temerity in pretending to speak for her laird.”

  As MacGregor spoke, his voice softened, and his eyelids drooped heavily. Caitrin’s heart kicked against her ribs as icy dread finally washed through her. What did he mean to do?

  Before she could blink, he slapped her, hard, across the face, knocking her to her knees. “And of course, her condition will distress him, once I finish punishing her for disobeying her rightful laird. Both of them.” He lashed out again, landing an open-handed blow to the side of her head.

  Ears ringing, she scrambled to get away, but he caught her easily and pulled her up by her arms. He studied her for a moment, his gaze traveling from her face down her throat to her breasts and lower. With a curl of his lip, he punched her in the belly but prevented her from doubling over against the pain, nearly wrenching her arm from its socket. Next, he grabbed her breast and squeezed until he had the nipple between his thumb and fingers, then he twisted.

  She cried out, but that only made him twist harder. Head spinning, she fought back with her free hand, clawing at his face, going for his eyes. He laughed and released her breast, only to spin her around and pin her injured arm behind her back between them. Then he started to pull up her skirt. Caitrin tried kicking him, but she only succeeded in wrenching the arm he held. He slid his hand up her leg, making her skin crawl, then grabbed her thigh and squeezed. She rocked against the pain of his fingers digging into her flesh, trying to dislodge his hand without dislocating her arm.

  “Ah, ye like that, do ye?” His words, whispered in her ear, chilled her. Then his hand slid farther upward and Caitrin whimpered. “Ye like it rough, I see. Ye’re wild for me, aren’t ye?” She closed her eyes, but that only made her more aware of the sensation of his fingers grasping and prodding at her, causing a cramping pinch deep in her core. “Nay doubt of yer innocence, then. I’ll enjoy breaking through that with my cock.” He drew his hand from beneath her skirt. “Ye’re ready for me. I’m going to have ye eventually. I dinna see a reason to wait to claim my bride. Do ye?”

  He slammed her face down onto the desk and bent her over it, and then he grabbed the back of her skirt and pulled it up. Pinning her in place with his hip, he fumbled one-handed at his clothing as he continued to force her arm up behind her back. Cool air suddenly contrasted with the heat of his body against her bare bottom. Caitrin clenched her teeth and shed hot tears on the desk. He meant to take her like this. If she fought him, he’d break her arm, or worse.

  Then she heard footsteps in the hall outside the open door. “Nay!” she cried, praying they would hear her distress.

  MacGregor swore and pulled her upright, turning her to face the door. The hem of her skirt fell to the floor as she spun and she breathed a small sigh of relief at the reprieve. “Let me go,” she pleaded as two of MacGregor’s men appeared in the doorway.

  “Laird?” one of them said. “We heard a cry…”

  Caitrin had no idea what errand had brought them, but she wanted to throw herself to the floor at their feet and thank them. Their presence saved her. For the moment, at least. She squeezed her legs together against the unfamiliar, uncomfortable sensation left behind by MacGregor’s assault.

  “Take her to her father,” MacGregor ordered.

  She could not mistake the fury in his voice. She dared not look around at him. Instead, she tried to run to the door as MacGregor pushed her forward. She tripped on her skirt and fell headlong at the men’s feet, just as she had pictured doing. In her panic, she had not realized MacGregor had ripped the cloth in his attempt to punish her.

  “Pick her up and get her out of my sight,” she heard MacGregor growl.

  Hands gripped her under her arms, and she cried out as spears of pain shot down the arm MacGregor had used as leverage against her. But the men kept moving, not speaking, likely no more anxious than she to remain in their laird’s presence.

  “Take me to my chamber, please,” she pleaded as they forced her along between them. “I dinna wish my da to see me like this.” Or anyone else. Caitrin barely noticed the route they took, but to her great relief, they encountered no one. She gasped her thanks when she found h
erself at her chamber door. One of the men opened it, and the other nudged her inside. The door slammed shut behind her.

  But she was not alone—one man remained behind. To finish what his laird had started? Surely, MacGregor would not tolerate one of his men sullying his intended bride? Her heart thudded into her throat and she backed away.

  He shook his head. “I’ll no’ harm ye, Lady. But what do ye need? Shall I send the healer? A hot bath?”

  Caitrin’s knees went weak. “A hot bath?”

  “Dinna fash. I’ll send Nan. She and the bath will be here soon. I’m Malcolm. Open the door only when ye hear me say my name, aye?”

  “Malcolm.”

  “Good lass.”

  It took a moment for Caitrin to realize he’d left her and she was alone in her chamber. She let the sobbing come then, wrenching her chest and pouring out her pain and shame at how MacGregor had violated her body. She had no doubt this was the future she faced if the marriage went forward.

  What had she hoped to achieve? After he’d manhandled her in the hall, she’d been a fool to think an open door would protect her. That he would simply accede to her demands and allow both Fletchers and Lathans to depart in peace. Her father was right—her confidence in her ability to detect lies only led her to rash action and caused trouble. She could not fight the MacGregor alone. Nor could her father.

  Her father! If he saw her like this, he’d challenge the MacGregor, but he wouldn’t survive two minutes.

  Jamie and the Lathans were her last hope. If they could get her away, hide her, perhaps MacGregor would lose interest and seek another bride. Another poor woman he could abuse.

  Suddenly, she saw the expression on the pregnant woman’s face in a whole new light. Her smile had not been prideful, it had been a smile of sympathy. The woman knew the fate that awaited Caitrin. How many other women in this clan, and elsewhere, shared that awful knowledge?

  ****

  Jamie knew there had been trouble as soon as he opened his door and saw Caitrin’s face. She tried to hide behind her hair, but a dark bruise marred one cheek and she held one arm close to her side. He hated the haunted look in her eyes. “Who did this?”