Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3)

by Willa Blair

  “But the moon hasna finished setting,” MacGregor pointed out with a nod to the window. “Yet ye appeared to be leaving the solar. Had ye seen enough, then?”

  Caitrin swallowed. “The sun is rising. I started getting sleepy so I decided to return to my chamber to prepare for the day. If ye’ll excuse me, I’ll go there now.”

  “Nay. Ye’ll remain here. Take a seat.”

  “I wish to leave, Alasdair.”

  “Ah, now ye will call me Alasdair?” He narrowed his eyes. “What were ye doing in my solar?”

  “I just told ye. Now, please, ye canna detain me. I am no’ yer betrothed yet.”

  MacGregor gave her a long look, then smiled that cold smile she’d learned to hate. “But lass, I’ve signed the agreement already. Ye may well be my betrothed. Ach, ye didna ken? Yer da hasna kept ye informed? Too bad. Now sit.”

  Pulse racing, Caitrin did as she was told, choosing one of the high-backed chairs facing the hearth while MacGregor sent one of his men to summon her father.

  “My father? Why?” She twisted around in the chair to regard MacGregor as a sense of foreboding washed over her, leaving her skin pebbled and her heart in her throat.

  “Be silent. Or tell me who ye are spying for. Yer da? Lathan? I will go easier on ye if ye tell me the truth before yer da gets here.”

  Caitrin flinched and lowered her gaze. She dared not say a word. No matter what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into, arguing with Alasdair would only make it worse. She bit the inside of her lip. What would he do to her father? She had the proof Jamie needed, but it would do them no good if they were all dead. Should she admit what she’d done to save herself or her da? Nay! MacGregor would hang Jamie and the rest of the Lathans before the sun set. She kept her eyes down and her mouth closed.

  “Nay? Very well.”

  While they waited for Fletcher to arrive, MacGregor sat at his desk and examined a few documents. Would he notice the missing blank pages? Had she put the ink back where he’d left it? Cold sweat dripped down Caitrin’s ribs by the time someone rapped on the door.

  “Come.” The volume of MacGregor’s barked order made Caitrin flinch. Just how angry she’d made him remained to be seen.

  Fletcher frowned when he noticed her presence, but addressed MacGregor. “Ye asked to see me. What is so urgent at this early hour?”

  “I surprised yer daughter in my solar, leaving as I arrived. What do ye suppose she was doing here?”

  “I came to watch the moon set,” Caitrin interjected, hoping to prevent her father from making the situation worse.

  “She has always been fascinated by the night sky,” Fletcher confirmed, his frown deepening.

  “Indeed. Does skywatching involve rifling my desk?”

  “What?” Fletcher glanced her way and Caitrin could only shake her head, hoping he would defend her. “Of course no’. I doubt she went anywhere near yer desk.”

  “No’ even to satisfy her feminine curiosity?”

  Caitrin realized MacGregor’s mild tone boded ill. For her? For Fletcher? Did her father realize MacGregor made threats like a big cat, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to toy with its prey before sinking in its claws? When Fletcher gave a nervous chuckle and responded, “Ye never can tell with a lass,” Caitrin gave up hope of escaping without some punishment. But she had to try.

  “It is as I told ye, Alasdair. I watched the moon until I became sleepy. I was leaving for my chamber when ye arrived.”

  “Ye entered the laird’s solar without permission. I canna prove what ye did or didna do while ye were here. But the fact remains ye were here. Were ye spying for yer da? For that, ye should be given to the lash.”

  Caitrin couldn’t contain her gasp, but Fletcher’s “Nay” covered up any sound she made.

  MacGregor held up a hand. “Out of respect for my future betrothed, I willna rule in that fashion. But ye will be restricted to yer chamber, under guard, for three days. Ye’ll have bread and water and naught else for comfort. If, at the end of that time, I havena found any evidence ye tampered with anything here, I will release ye.”

  “But…” Fletcher spluttered. “Ye think to treat my daughter this way and believe I will agree to marry her to ye?”

  This is what it took to make her father see reason? Perhaps the punishment MacGregor meted out would be worth it. Her heart lifted. Would this negotiation for her hand end right here?

  “Would ye rather she suffer the lash? She can do that now and be on her way back to Fletcher immediately after. Is that what ye wish?”

  For a moment, Caitrin considered it. Her freedom might be worth a few lashes. “How many?” slipped out before she could clamp her lips together.

  MacGregor’s gaze cut to her, steely and assessing. “Ten.”

  She shook her head. She might be able to withstand one, or two, or even three. But not ten.

  “Caitrin!” Fletcher’s exclamation warned her to keep her mouth closed. “Ye willna whip her, nor will ye confine her.”

  Her father spoke in a tone she’d never heard from him before. His voice conveyed anger, but cold, steely anger, and it made her shiver. Here was the laird in him she so rarely saw, confronting another laird. But she also saw the redness creeping up his neck.

  MacGregor merely raised an eyebrow.

  Fletcher’s demands carried no weight. She prayed her father didn’t try to push MacGregor too far.

  “I had hoped we could arrange an alliance to our benefit, but I see that isna possible.”

  “If ye wish to secure the future of yer clan, it is. Caitrin must learn the limits of her responsibility—and authority—as lady of this clan. Consider this an easy lesson.”

  Caitrin could see how close to eruption her father had come, one he might not be able to withstand in his condition, and one that would certainly make this situation worse. She had to prevent that. “Very well, I agree to yer terms of confinement.” She stood and moved to the door before Fletcher could object. “Will ye have me escorted, or may I find my own way?”

  MacGregor’s smirk irritated her, but she dared not make matters worse. The tension in the chamber set her teeth on edge.

  “Malcolm awaits outside. He will escort ye and arrange the guard on yer door. Dinna think to disobey me in this, or ye may yet face the lash.” With a nod clearly meant to dismiss her and her father, MacGregor returned his attention to his desk. Caitrin left the chamber and joined Malcolm in the hall as quickly as she could, tapping her toe until her father followed her out and closed the door behind him.

  “What did ye do, lass?”

  “Nothing, Da,” she answered, glancing at Malcolm.

  No’ yet. And nothing I can tell ye here.

  She squared her shoulders and met her father’s concerned gaze with a determined expression. “Now do ye believe me?”

  Fletcher’s jaw clenched.

  ****

  After he heard about Caitrin’s misadventure and confinement, Jamie spent the day pacing and coming up with a dozen different courses of action, none of which changed the fact that he had caused Caitrin’s trouble. If he had not wished for proof, she would not have been in Alasdair’s private solar.

  She would not have been caught.

  He’d passed by her chamber several times. Each time the guard present outside her door watched him with a critical eye. But there was no indication Alasdair had disturbed her, which gave Jamie a small measure of comfort. Then a serving girl, one he hadn’t seen before, came out of her chamber and Jamie’s heart nearly stopped.

  He knew the comb she wore in her hair. He had carved it for his sister.

  The guard must’ve seen him react to the lass. He shifted his weight, eyeing Jamie, then glancing to the serving girl’s retreating back as she made her way down the hall.

  “Who…who is she?” Jamie managed to ask, fighting the urge to run after her and grab her arm, to demand how she came by something that had belonged to his murdered sister.

  But the gua
rd had a hand on his weapon. “Why do ye want to ken the name of a serving lass?”

  “Never mind.” Jamie gathered his wits and proceeded at a sedate pace down the hall in the same direction as the girl. He could feel the guard’s eyes boring into his back and suspected he debated the relative merits of deserting his post to go chasing after him, or staying at his post on Caitrin’s door.

  “Halt!”

  The command didn’t surprise him. Jamie stopped and turned to face the guard, hands at his sides, palms out, open, his stance easy, doing everything he could with his body to allay the guard’s suspicions. “Aye? Is there a problem?”

  “I asked ye why ye wanted her name.”

  Jamie allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk up. “Have ye never been startled by the sudden appearance of a lass of uncommon beauty?”

  “Meg? Uncommon beauty?” The guard snorted and relaxed. “Yer eyes are failing ye, I’d say.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Perhaps ye have the right of it. Ye have my thanks for keeping me from making a fool of myself.”

  “Ye’ll remember that, then. First impressions are no’ always what they seem.”

  Jamie nodded. “I will,” he said and turned to go, eager to follow the lass, Meg, but it seemed the guard wasn’t quite done with him yet.

  “Now the lass behind this door, there’s an uncommon beauty for ye.”

  Jamie’s hackles lifted, ever so slightly. “Is she?”

  “Aye, and ’tis my job to keep the likes of ye out.”

  “Aha, well, then, ye are very good at yer job.” Jamie relaxed as it became apparent the guard hadn’t had designs on Caitrin, but on warning him off. “I’ll just be on my way.”

  This time, he managed to get down the hall and around the corner before the guard decided to continue the conversation. Where had she gone? The great hall? The kitchen? Jamie hurried to the next hallway. Where would Caitrin send her? Or was she bound for her own quarters? No telling where those would be, especially since she likely shared a cot with other female servants. He picked up his pace and turned another corner in time to see the lass finish speaking to a male servant and continue on her way. Dared he call out to her? He passed the lad and gained on her, coming close enough to call out “Meg,” without alerting the entire keep.

  The lass paused and turned back. “Aye? Can I help ye?”

  Jamie took a breath. She was too young to have been involved in what happened to his sister. Better to tread lightly with her. “I saw ye leave Lady Fletcher’s chamber and admired a glimpse of yer haircomb. May I?”

  She cocked her head, looking askance, but shrugged. “Aye, why no’?” With a deft move, she pulled it from her hair and handed it over.

  There was no doubt. He recognized his own handiwork. The weight and feel of it in his hands brought back memories of carving it, then smoothing and polishing, rubbing it until it gleamed, and his sister’s delight when he gave it to her. It needed some of that care now, but he could never mistake it. He fought to keep his tone light and casual as he turned it over in his hand, even though he could feel moisture gathering in his eyes. “’Tis an unusual piece of work. Where did ye get it?”

  “From a friend. She married and dinna use it. Now she keeps her hair covered, so she gave it to me.”

  “And yer friend? Who gave it to her?”

  “Likely her husband. He had a clever hand with a blade. Older than her, he was. Died in ’13, along with the rest of ’em.”

  Damn. “Does yer friend still live here? What is her name?”

  “What business is it of yers? Chasing a widow, are ye?”

  “Nay, nay. I simply hope she has more of her husband’s carvings that she might be willing to sell. I admire the work.”

  Meg’s eye suddenly gleamed with what he could only interpret as a predatory light.

  “I might be willing to sell this one, if ye like.”

  Jamie pulled some coin from his pouch. “Would this do?” he asked, selecting a few of the smaller ones. He’d pay the earth for the comb, but it wouldn’t do to be too eager.

  “Those, aye, and perhaps a few of the others as well…? I snuck some meat and cheese from the kitchen onto the tray of bread and water I just delivered. And some for Nan.”

  The hell with it. “Take them all, Meg. I…This will be a gift for a lass I fancy. She’s worth any price.”

  “Lucky lass!” Her excitement over her windfall lit her face in a broad smile.

  “But ye mustna mention this to anyone. I wouldna want my friend to hear of it and guess the gift.” Or for MacGregor to hear of it and ken the significance.

  “But how will I explain these?” she asked with a worried frown as she held out her palm, coins covering it. “Someone will think I stole them.”

  “Nay. Tell them I paid ye for yer care of Lady Fletcher, since she spoke well of yer service, but she canna do for ye in her present circumstance. Will that do?”

  She looked uncertain. “Dinna tell them about the extra food. I dinna wish to be in trouble with the laird.”

  “I willna, but I’ll mention yer kindness to a few of the guards, too.”

  Meg’s frown smoothed out. “Aye.”

  “And yer friend’s name? The one whose husband gave this to her?”

  “Annie, she is. Ye’ll find her at her loom, most likely.”

  “Thank ye, Meg. I’ll do that. And thank ye for this.” Jamie turned the comb over in his hand then tucked it in his shirt.

  With a nod, Meg went on her way. As soon as she passed out of sight and he stood alone in the hall, Jamie collapsed against the wall and rested the back his head against the cool stone. He laid his hand over the comb under his shirt, holding it over his heart as tears slid silently down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried in years, but the shock of seeing the gift he’d made his sister after so many years, and in this godforsaken place, unmanned him. He stumbled down the stairs and made it to his door without seeing anyone—or anyone seeing him in this state. Inside his chamber, he let the tears come, and the sobs, dry, silent screams that came from the grief-stricken lad buried deep inside him. He turned the comb over in his hands, running his fingers along every tooth, every curve he’d painstakingly carved into the bridge. Ach, Netta, sister. Who did this to ye? They’re here. Or they were, before Flodden.

  ****

  Jamie had resolved to get some rest, and try again during the night to find an opportunity to speak to Caitrin when the guard slept, or left his post, thinking no one would be the wiser. But when he awoke hours later, he found he’d allowed his reaction to Meg’s tale to exhaust him. He’d slept far longer than he’d intended.

  He needed to know what Caitrin had discovered, if anything, and what had happened to her once MacGregor discovered her.

  And how much MacGregor knew.

  While he’d succeeded in avoiding his old classmate all day, he could not miss the evening meal without causing comment. The hall seemed subdued as everyone became aware of Caitrin’s absence. MacGregor, much to Jamie’s relief, left her empty chair between them, avoided conversation, ate quickly and left. Everyone in the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

  Including Jamie.

  He needed to see Caitrin, to determine if she’d been harmed again in any way. The MacGregor would pay handsomely if he’d touched her again. Jamie didn’t think his easy-going reputation would survive a public confrontation with MacGregor, but given that the man had physically harmed Caitrin, and then locked her in her chamber under guard, Jamie would be pleased to take advantage of any opportunity to cut him down.

  He simply could not do it in cold blood.

  Kyle entered the hall and shook his head when Jamie met his gaze, then retreated the way he’d arrived. So the guard remained outside Caitrin’s door, but apparently the MacGregor had gone elsewhere and not to her chamber when he left the hall.

  Jamie met Kyle in a side hall. “We’ve been doing the random passes, as ye instructed,” Kyle reported. “The guard changes, but there’s
always someone there. MacGregor has no’ approached her, nor had he ordered her brought before him during the day.”

  “That’s been my observation as well,” Jamie answered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “We’ll continue to keep watch. I want to be informed the moment MacGregor enters her chamber, if he does, or sends for her. I dinna trust him around her.” Had he spent the day trying to determine what she might have learned while in his solar unsupervised? If so, he might send for her at any time.

  “He’ll no’ be left alone with her, if we can help it.”

  “Has anyone seen Uilleam since we arrived?”

  “Now that ye mention it, nay. Did Fletcher send him home, then?”

  “I’ll inquire. I’m going to talk to Fletcher now. There’s one more thing ye should hear.”

  “Aye?”

  Jamie blew out a breath. How to begin? “One of the serving lasses had my sister Netta’s comb in her hair today.”

  “What?”

  “One I carved for her. I couldna mistake it.”

  Kyle crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Did ye speak to her? Where did she get it?”

  “From another woman, a widow, whose husband may have given it to her. I’ll talk to her, of course. But this is another reason to get Caitrin out of here. The man who killed my sister may be here. Or he may have died at Flodden.”

  “We’ll find ye if we need ye.”

  Jamie clapped Kyle on the shoulder. “Good man.”

  “Keep a cool head,” Kyle told him with a grimace and left him to his errand.

  Fletcher had returned to his chamber from the sickroom a day ago, and since Jamie hadn’t seen him at the evening meal, he expected to find him there. Perhaps he’d been confined by the MacGregor just as his daughter had been.

  There were no guards stationed outside Fletcher’s door. Jamie knocked then waited, listening. He heard movement in the room, but none near the door. Jamie tried the latch. It gave way easily and the door swung open.

  Fletcher stood, pen poised over a document. Writing? Or signing?

  Jamie’s hair lifted at the nape of his neck.

  “What do ye think ye’re doing here?” Fletcher frowned. “I didna give ye leave to enter.”