“Alasdair, please.”
“Alasdair, aye. Da is doing well.”
“Then there’s nay impediment to our enjoying the boar we killed today, is there?” With that, he dug in to the platter before him.
Caitrin’s mouth formed a little moue as she turned to glance at Jamie, who offered her the platter between them. With a shrug, she made her selections and began to pick at her food. She kept her gaze away from Alasdair MacGregor.
Jamie saw the frown return. He cleared his throat and watched her expression transform into a calm mask. Her mood was contagious, he thought as he resumed eating, careful to keep his expression bland, or at best, one of enjoying his meal.
She had a right to be concerned. He suspected part of MacGregor’s good mood stemmed from the fact that Fletcher’s condition changed nothing. The marriage could go forward and might take place more quickly than anyone expected if Fletcher did die. It worried Jamie that MacGregor could take direct control of Fletcher resources all the sooner, which may have been the purpose of the hunt, all along. What had MacGregor’s beaters and hounds been doing on the other side of those trees? Had they driven the boar to charge in his and Fletcher’s direction?
Jamie thought back to the time he spent trying to dig out Fletcher’s legs. How much of his torso had been under the crushing weight of the dead horse? Jamie didn’t recall him struggling to breathe. Had Jamie done enough to save him, or was he still in danger from his injuries?
And would the MacGregor healer truly care for him or, under her laird’s orders, allow him to die? Jamie didn’t like borrowing trouble, but in this case, posting a Lathan guard could be prudent. Or did he simply want to think badly of the MacGregor because he wanted Caitrin for himself?
Jamie’s worries lasted him through the meal. MacGregor traded jovial quips with his people and an occasional remark with Caitrin, but left Jamie to his thoughts. However, once the meal concluded, he invited Jamie to join him, and Jamie resolved to get on with the task Toran Lathan had given him.
He joined MacGregor in the library. The scents of peat, leather, and old books were welcoming, as was the whisky Alasdair poured. But Jamie wasn’t here to enjoy the room or the hospitality. He hoped in this setting, Alasdair would lower his guard and be more amenable to what Jamie had to say, none of which could include taking him to task for delaying Fletcher’s rescue. As they sat before the hearth fire and sipped their drinks, he laid out the plan Toran devised to protect highlanders from incursions by lowlanders and the English.
“We canna depend on the Crown to protect us,” Jamie concluded as MacGregor regarded him. “Fighting among ourselves further weakens us. If, instead, we band together and support each other, we can retain what is ours.”
“It’s a sensible plan on the face of it. But can I depend on the others to come when I call? We’ve spent years fighting among ourselves. Old feuds die hard.”
“Most clans have new leadership,” Jamie agreed with a nod. He leaned forward. “We can forge new bonds that make the old feuds unnecessary.”
“Such as this wedding.”
Nay! Jamie fought the urge to lean back in his seat. Moving away would signal his discomfort, the last thing he needed MacGregor to see. “Aye, this wedding and others like it, with nearby clans.”
“How did Fletcher and Lathan become allied such that he sent Caitrin to ye when her ma died?”
“I dinna ken the tale,” Jamie said, glad he could provide an honest answer. “I was but a lad. The auld Lathan laird and Fletcher made those decisions without consulting me, I’m afraid.”
“Have the two clans ever fought together?”
So MacGregor chose to ignore his small jest. He would remain serious, then. “No’ that I ken, nay. Perhaps long before I was born.”
“Then I wonder why Fletcher sent his daughter to ye.”
He shrugged. “Ye’ll have to ask him.”
“And what did Caitrin do while at the Lathan keep?”
Jamie took a sip and wondered how much Caitrin had told him. “The same as any other lass there. She spent time learning those things any high-born lass must ken to manage her keep, as well as reading, writing, numbers, and such.”
“Aye, she’s already expressed an interest in the MacGregor library.”
“She would.” Jamie chuckled. “If she wasna running the hills with Toran…” Jamie nearly froze, kicking himself for allowing that to slip out. “…and me and the other lads and lasses, she had a book in her hand.” It was a quick recovery, but one he hoped the MacGregor would accept without question. A traditionalist might not understand the freedoms given to the lasses of the Lathan clan. But MacGregor seemed to accept easily enough that Caitrin could read and wanted access to the library, so perhaps he wasn’t as hidebound as some lairds could be.
“A clan’s children sometimes ken it best, aye?”
Cold chills suddenly ran down Jamie’s back at MacGregor’s speculative tone. What was he fishing for? As Jamie nodded affably in agreement, he furiously tried to recall whether Caitrin had ever been down through the caves to the postern gate that had saved him last year when the lowlanders arrived. Come to that, whose idea was it for a Lathan escort? Did MacGregor intend to force the secret from the Lathans if he could not trick Caitrin into revealing what she knew about their keep? Suddenly, it seemed Caitrin’s life was not the only one at risk.
“No’ all. The lasses were kept under close supervision while learning their arts,” Jamie added smoothly, while the image filled his mind of a much younger Caitrin running across the glen below the Aerie. He would not have Caitrin mistreated to force her to divulge a secret she might not even know.
A secret Jamie kept, as did the other Lathans within MacGregor’s walls.
He quickly turned the conversation back to the treaty and got MacGregor’s pledge to consider it. The worth of his pledge remained to be seen. But MacGregor’s conditional agreement gave Jamie the opportunity to take his leave.
