She had to admit he had chosen well. Despite the early season, brightly colored flowers and young vines painted a beautiful scene. The hum of bees lulled her as Alasdair led her to a nearby bench surrounded by pink roses. The light and pleasing scent calmed her a little as the man shifted to face her, perilously close to bringing their knees into contact.
“As Lady MacGregor, ye will have charge of caring for this garden as well as the ones used for the kitchen and the healer.”
Caitrin opened her mouth to protest she knew little about such things, but he raised his palm to silence her.
“No’ that I expect ye to be digging in the dirt with these lovely hands.” He took one of her hands in his and stroked his thumb across her knuckles.
Her pulse accelerated, anxiety swamping her, rather than attraction. Surely, he did not intend to seduce her here. They’d barely met.
But he released her easily and gestured around them. “Nay, simply to oversee the gardeners and to hear the cook and healer when there are disputes. I leave such responsibilities to ye. I have other matters to attend.”
Oh, so she would keep house and garden while he dealt with weighty matters of clan, warfare, and alliances. She expected no less, yet somehow had hoped for more. To be more of a partner in the clan’s dealings, not relegated to women’s work. Alasdair had a thing or two to learn about her, indeed, if he thought she would be satisfied with so little.
“Who keeps the accounts?” There went his eyebrow again, arching upward. Either her father had painted her the sort of shy miss he’d told her this man wanted, or MacGregor really was unused to being questioned. She supposed the first possibility was as likely as the second, but no matter. She might as well continue. “Is there an arms master to oversee training the lads and lasses?”
“Aye...lasses? Lasses dinna learn to fight.” His brows drew down in a puzzled frown.
“Ye wish to have the women of the clan able to assist in its defense, do ye no’?” Caitrin found her confidence growing with each question they exchanged.
“Aye, by caring for its wounded, boiling oil and water for the walls...”
“Women are capable of much more,” she told him, sweetly.
“But they are no’ needed. We have warriors to fight for the clan.”
He smiled, making her wonder if he thought her stupid.
“My wife will oversee the women as they care for the clan, the bairns, and the keep. I’ve been assured ye are well trained in those arts. Did ye learn much while living with the Lathans?”
Caitrin decided to concede for the moment. She would take up this battle again later, if she stayed and it became needful. She focused on his last question. “Aye, of course.”
“Ye must tell me about yer time there.”
“I’d rather find out about life here,” she demurred. He frowned, which confirmed for her that he didn’t like losing control of their conversation—or likely anything else. She filed that away for future consideration and forged ahead. “For instance, what about schooling for the bairns?”
“We have a large library—”
Caitrin’s eyes lit up. Books! A library? She could barely contain her excitement at the thought. “Where? May I see it?”
“Now? I thought ye would enjoy the sunshine and the garden. The library will still be there later.”
“Seeing the library would please me more.”
It was Alasdair’s turn to concede, but would he? Was she disrupting some plan of his? She thought he might object to having his arrangements questioned and refuse to indulge her. But then he shrugged and stood. “Very well. Let’s go there now.”
Caitrin rewarded him with the first smile she’d displayed since arriving yesterday. Perhaps Jamie was right, and it had been her fatigue making MacGregor seem threatening. Today, he’d seemed quite different. Less the laird and more Alasdair. When he returned her smile, his seemed genuine, if puzzled. Did he think it so odd then, that a woman would have a use for the clan’s library? If true, education here must be sorely lacking and it would be her first priority, should she stay. That and archery training for the lasses. One battle at a time, she told herself as they made their way back into the keep.
Chapter Eight
Jamie entered in time to see Caitrin leave the hall on the MacGregor’s arm. Fletcher remained at table, watching them go. The slight frown marring his face gave Jamie hope. So he did care about his daughter. At least he hoped that was the sentiment behind Fletcher’s expression.
Jamie had looked for just this sort of opportunity to speak to Fletcher without the scrutiny of his daughter or Alasdair MacGregor. The fact that he seemed to be concerned about her welfare at the moment might make this conversation all the more productive. “Good day, Fletcher.”
“What? Oh, Lathan. Good day.”
Jamie debated asking permission, but didn’t want to be refused, so he simply depended on Fletcher’s good manners and sat. “Did I see Caitrin leaving with the MacGregor a moment ago? How is the negotiation going?” In for a penny, in for a pound.
Fletcher surprised him by sighing and dropping the bit of bread in his hand onto his pewter trencher. “It seemed to be going well until my daughter arrived. Now? I canna be certain. Perhaps that,” he said, nodding at the door, “will be the beginning of a resolution.”
