Then Jamie approached and Will stepped away. “Fletcher, I presume?”
“Aye, and ye are the new Lathan? ’Tis good to finally meet.”
“Nay, I regret Toran, Laird Lathan, couldna make the trip. I’m Jamie Lathan, cousin and envoy for Clan Lathan, and an old friend of Caitrin’s.”
His smile was pleasant enough, but Caitrin detected a hint of tension in his shoulders as he handed Fletcher a letter. So she was not the only one who harbored concerns about her father’s plans.
“I appreciate Lathan’s assistance in this matter,” Fletcher answered, glancing at the seal and nodding politely. “We’ll talk later, but for now, let’s get the lass to her chambers. There’s much to do before the evening meal.”
“Of course.”
Caitrin gave Jamie a brief smile before taking her father’s arm. The MacGregor steward led them into the keep and escorted them to their chambers. Jamie and the other Lathans were diverted to the floor below hers, along with Will. Her last glimpse of Jamie revealed his frown as Fletcher directed her up another flight of stairs. Will seemed unconcerned, but Jamie clearly didn’t like her being isolated from her escort.
Or from him?
At her suite of rooms, Fletcher took his leave, promising to return later to collect her. Caitrin looked around her new surroundings, amazed to have a sitting room, a bed chamber, and even a permanent bathing area. MacGregor servants filled the large stone tub in it with steaming water. The furnishings were well cared for and reflected the clan’s wealth—greater than what she was used to at Fletcher. A lass near Catrin’s age stayed behind to help her undress and to unpack her belongings. She seemed surprised when Caitrin asked her name, which was Nan, and thanked her for helping. Nan didn’t chatter, which suited Caitrin’s mood at the moment.
Caitrin relished this time to prepare. If she wasn’t neck deep in a warm tub, she’d be shaking with nerves, but the warm water soothed her. Before she knew it, her head nodded and her bath took on a decided chill.
She rose from the tub and dried off then pulled on a warm robe and settled by the small blaze in the hearth. Nan laid out the dress she’d chosen to wear for her first meeting with the man her father intended her to marry, and despite the warmth of the fire, that thought chilled her. What kind of man would he be? What kind of husband? Kind or cruel or indifferent? Caitrin was in no hurry to don the dress. Instead, she watched the flames dance and distracted herself by asking Nan questions while the lass brushed her hair to gleaming.
“What did ye do before ye came to help me?”
“I help one of the other ladies, but she has several of us to care for her, so the steward sent me to ye.”
After the warm bath, the glide of the comb through Caitrin’s hair was almost mesmerizing, but it didn’t keep her from noticing bruises on Nan’s arms. “What did ye do to gain those?”
“Ach, I can be so foolish. I tried to move one of milady’s chests. It was too heavy for me and left these marks.”
The slight tingle on her skin told Caitrin Nan had lied, but why. Had someone hurt her? And was it any of her business? She’d barely arrived. If the maid didn’t complain, she had no reason to pry. Instead, she watched as the lass pinned up her hair. She wasn’t used to such luxury, or to such luxurious treatment. She resolved to enjoy it while she remained here, come what may.
That thought stopped her. While she remained here? Had she decided before she even met the man to refuse the match? Because of Jamie? Her father would never tolerate such rebellion. Jamie would not go against her father’s wishes. Nor could she, not without a very good reason he would accept. Nay, it was too soon to be thinking such things.
****
“Lathan. Welcome.”
Alasdair MacGregor stood as Jamie entered the solar.
“MacGregor.” Jamie took a moment to assess the man before him as he moved to the seat MacGregor indicated. Jamie had seen enough in his travels around Scotland, during his time studying at St. Andrews, and as emissary for his laird, to know the MacGregor keep befitted a wealthy and powerful clan. Thinking back to the Alasdair MacGregor he’d known in school, the reason for some of the lad’s arrogance became clear. True, he’d not been the heir at the time, but the disastrous Scottish defeat at Flodden had changed the course of many lives—those it did not end abruptly.
Alasdair had been a year ahead of Jamie in his studies, so they hadn’t spent much lesson time together, though they got on well whenever their paths crossed. Some of the townfolk resented the presence of the St. Andrews students who, for the most part, were sons of Scottish nobles required by the king to study language, mathematics, and Scottish law. So outside of their studies, students usually spent time together at sport, sailing, hunting, and of course, frequenting the local pubs. That last, Jamie suddenly recalled, Alasdair had excelled at.
The man who stood before Jamie looked older. It remained to be seen whether he had also gained wisdom.
MacGregor gestured toward the window and the keep beyond it. “Well met,” he said, resuming his seat.
Well met here, Jamie supposed he meant, as opposed to their old haunts. Was that intended as a boast? “Indeed,” he answered, keeping his tone neutral.
“What of ye? My steward tells me ye are the Lathan emissary.”
“Aye,” Jamie answered, proffering the letter Toran had written for the MacGregor. “Much has changed since our time at St. Andrews.”
MacGregor took the missive and nodded, then set it aside in favor of fingering the handle of a small, thin-bladed knife that Jamie supposed he used to open correspondence. But any blade, used properly, could be a weapon. Jamie steeled himself to pay close attention.
“Would that we could go back to those simpler days, eh?”
Jamie shrugged. “What we studied didna seem so simple at the time.”
