She sighed. In his fumbling way, her father was sincere in his desire to please her. And he expected a marriage with MacGregor would do just that. MacGregor had wealth aplenty, and he would be considered a good match by any clan. But when push came to shove, she knew Fletcher had his eye on what the MacGregor could do for him. His daughter was, above all else, a means to an end.
****
Caitrin accepted her father’s escort as they made their way to the MacGregor’s study. She didn’t take his arm, but followed him down the stairs, then walked beside him. Though he appeared serene, the tic by his right eye told her he was nervous, too. If she touched him, his nerves might compound her own, a risk she dared not take, not with the stakes so high for this meeting. At the solar door, he paused and caught her gaze. “Ready, daughter?”
She inhaled and let the breath out slowly then nodded.
When Fletcher rapped at the door, a deep voice called, “Come in.” A dark-haired, muscular man, not unpleasing to the eye, rose from behind a large desk.
“MacGregor,” her father greeted him.
“Fletcher. And yer daughter, Caitrin.”
Catrin sketched a brief curtsey, keeping her gaze demurely down. “Aye, my laird.”
The MacGregor stepped out from behind the desk and took her hand. He studied her from head to toe and back again. “Pleased I am to behold such a lovely future bride. Yer father’s description didna do ye justice.”
“Ye are too kind,” she answered absently. She fought not to squirm under his inspection, or to bolt from the room. Something about this man set her teeth on edge. The touch of his hand made her distinctly uneasy. Her reaction made no sense. He hadn’t said anything untrue. He was polite of bearing and handsome enough. She cut a glance at her father, hoping for some indication of what she should do, but he had stepped back.
“I’ll leave ye to become acquainted.”
This was the help he offered? His penetrating look reminded her of everything that was at stake, and she stifled her pique.
MacGregor squeezed her hand gently, let it fall, and stepped back. “Indeed, Fletcher. Have nay fears for her safety. I’ll no’ ruin her before the wedding.”
Heat rose from Catrin’s core to her chest, neck, and face. She knew she colored, but could not help it. The MacGregor was bold in his speech. Her father had not prepared her for that. Would he be equally bold in actions? Too bad, he’d released her hand before he’d made that remark. She would have known for certain whether he spoke the truth—or not. As it was, her antipathy toward him was confusing her usual ability to sense untruths. Nearness, especially touch, strengthened that sense, but she could usually get an impression from a few feet away if someone was lying.
Perhaps her father should stay.
“Da...I...”
“I’ll await ye in the hall for the evening meal,” he promised and took his leave.
Caitrin tried consoling herself that Fletcher had spent a great deal of time getting to know the man before her arrival, and would not leave her if she faced any danger. It didn’t work. With a sinking sensation in her belly, she watched the heavy oaken door close behind him then turned stiffly to her intended.
“Dinna fash, lass. I told yer da the truth.”
Caitrin breathed a bit easier after he moved behind the desk, resuming his seat and gesturing for her to take one of the high-backed chairs facing the desk. But unease prickled along her skin as he picked up a small knife on his desk and turned it over in his hands. Why was one of his first comments about telling the truth? Had her father warned of her strange ability even as he refused to accept it?
“I’ll no’ have ye come to the kirk sullied,” he said, setting the blade aside, then, as if he just noticed what he’d done, slipping it into a drawer.
So it was not a threat. Perhaps he was as nervous as she, though that was hard to credit, and he’d handled it without thinking.
“It wouldna be proper for a lass such as yerself,” he continued. “Ye may be assured of my respect.”
Recalling the dismay that flooded her at his touch, Caitrin suspected she should take little comfort from his assurance. Likely, he put on appearances for her father or for the Lathans.
“Ye have an interesting upbringing, one I hope will make ye more amenable to life as my wife. Fostered with the Lathans for many years, ye have experience with a large keep. But ’tis unusual to foster a lass away from her home.”
His silence told her he expected an explanation, though she was certain he’d been over her history in great detail with her father.
Caitrin took a breath and found her voice. “After my mother died, my father believed I would be better cared for by the Lathans. I did no’ wish to leave the only home I’d ever had, but I was too young to understand the reasons.”
MacGregor nodded. “So ye lived with the Lathans in their keep? Or were ye placed with one of their crofters?
“I lived in the keep.” Despite his genial tone of voice as he questioned her, Caitrin had the strong sense he wanted something. But what?
“Yer closest friends included the Lathan and yer escort, too, I’m told.”
