Jamie locked gazes with him. “I will,” he swore, with all the sincerity his broken heart could muster.
Catrin sobbed and covered her mouth with one fist. Did she cry at the thought of her father dying here, or of Jamie swearing to protect her from the MacGregor and his men? Or himself?
****
“Why, Da, why?” Caitrin murmured as she smoothed her father’s thinning hair away from his face. Jamie and the healer had left her with him hours ago—time he’d spent sleeping deeply under the influence of the potion the healer had given him to drink or tossing his head from side to side, as he was doing now and moaning.
“Hush-a-bye,” she sang to him. “All is well.” He settled but soon became restless again.
“Are ye in pain?” she wondered aloud, certain he was too insensible to hear her and form a response. “Why did this have to happen to ye? Ye are a good man, Da. Ye’ve always done what’s best for me and for Fletcher.”
He shrugged his uninjured shoulder, and Caitrin began to softly sing again. She didn’t remember many lullabies, and dared not sing the one her mother used to sing to her. If it reminded her da of her mother in his current state, she feared it would make him even more agitated.
“Ye must rest, Da. Sleep is good for ye.” She stroked his hand as he began to mutter. Then his words began to make sense, and she froze, listening.
“He’s going to invade and kill us all. Must make that impossible. Save Fletcher.”
“Da?”
“Give him Caitrin. He’ll get Fletcher without shedding a drop of blood. Sacrifice her…better than all the deaths.”
Caitrin’s blood ran cold. He was talking about the MacGregor. Was any of this real, or the product of his nightmares after MacGregor left him trapped under his horse? If he confused that with the betrothal, mixed it all up in his mind, he might have begun spouting nonsense? Or had the healer’s potions loosened his tongue enough to answer the “why” she had uttered in her despair? She could confront him when he awoke. She would know if he lied to her, surely. But what he’d just said sounded like the truth. Felt like the truth. Or at least, the truth as he believed it.
“Da? Why would MacGregor invade us?”
Fletcher was back to tossing his head from side to side. Was he denying with his movements the words he’d just said? He muttered again, and she thought she caught the word ambitious. Did he refer to MacGregor or himself?
“Da, please wake up and tell me what ye mean,” she pleaded, chafing his hand and tugging at his arm.
But that set him off again, shrugging his shoulder, tensing his muscles as though straining upward, but without moving. Then he collapsed into sleep and began softly snoring.
“Ach, Da, what secrets are ye keeping from me?” She would not rest until she knew. Until he was honest with her. She always knew when someone lied. But she was no better than anyone else at knowing a truth, or a lie, that someone refused to allow past their lips. She was helpless against silence. If she heard him correctly, and his mutterings were not the result of some potion-induced dream, he meant to save the people of Fletcher by giving her, and thereby his clan, to MacGregor. He seemed to think he must do that, or MacGregor would invade, take over Fletcher and kill its people. It was a horrifying choice, one that left him as loser, either way.
****
After the successful hunt, MacGregor appeared to be in an expansive mood, Jamie thought, as he watched the man advance through the great hall, clasping the shoulders of his men who had accompanied them. The rich scent of roasted boar filled the room, and despite Jamie’s disquiet over the way the meal had been acquired, his mouth watered. Caitrin, seated beside him at the high table, watched her intended make his way toward them. A small frown creased her forehead.
“Careful, lass,” Jamie warned her quietly, keeping a pleasant expression on his own face. “Dinna think to beard this lion in his own den.”
“He left ye to rescue my da by yerself,” she answered out of one side of the stiff smile she hastily assumed at hearing Jamie’s words. “How should I feel?”
“Glad yer da isna more sorely injured, and will recover quickly. Keep yer mind on that.”
She sighed and glanced his way then returned to watching the MacGregor approach the high table. “And if I canna do it?”
“Think on this—with his injuries, yer da willna be ready to travel for several days. Ye must be brave and allow him time to heal. Ye dinna wish to see him evicted from his bed before he’s ready for the trip, aye?”
Relief flooded him when her shoulders dropped and she nodded slightly.
“Aye. Ye have the right of it, as usual.” Her tense smile suddenly eased into a smooth mask.
That was slightly better than a frown, he supposed. He nodded and leaned aside as the servers arrived from the kitchen to place before them platters of roasted meat and accompaniments. Hard on their heels, MacGregor took his seat on Caitrin’s other side. “Good e’en, my lady. I trust yer father is well?”
Jamie tensed, and then forced himself to relax as Caitrin smiled brightly. Good lass.
“Aye, and thank ye for yer concern, Laird MacGregor…”
She managed to say it with a straight face, much to Jamie’s relief.
