She sensed the lie the moment he spoke. They were in danger. Or she was. Oh, Jamie, please get us out of here, she implored silently, remembering his admonition of the previous night to take her time and make her decisions with a cool head. And to convince her father. But something was off about Alasdair MacGregor. The more time she spent around him, the more apparent it became to her. And time might be one thing they didn’t have.
“Thank ye, then,” Fletcher responded, only a little mollified, given the color climbing his neck. Did he realize he’d just disparaged his host?
Caitrin wanted to invite the MacGregor to leave before her father became agitated, but she dared not speak. It was not her place to interrupt a discussion between two lairds, even if the conversation centered on her.
“I’ll no’ disturb yer rest further,” MacGregor stated.
Caitrin breathed a sigh of relief.
But then he held a hand out. “Caitrin, if ye will leave yer da for a moment and come with me? I wish to speak to ye alone.”
Her pulse kicked up. She had learned at her father’s knee to recognize an order, even when couched as a polite request. She glanced at her father, who nodded, then, with reluctance, she rose and took MacGregor’s arm.
They didn’t go far, just a few paces down the hall. Barely out of earshot, she imagined, of her father’s sickbed. She let go of his arm as soon as they stopped.
“I’m well acquainted with the ways of men, being one myself,” MacGregor began with a self-deprecating chuckle. “We put a brave face on everything. So ye must tell me if yer father is truly recovering.”
Was he sincere? Being certain would require touching him, which she despaired to do, but she sensed nothing without that. “He is, my laird, thank ye.”
“Alasdair. And ye must tell me if ye require anything for yerself or for him. Especially for yerself, aye?”
He tucked a finger under her chin and forced her gaze to meet his before he released her. A chill ran down her back. Alone with him, she was vulnerable. Too vulnerable. And who would come to her aid if she screamed? Her da—in his condition? Or Alasdair’s men?
“Ye made a lovely nursemaid just now. So caring and concerned. I look forward to having those feelings directed to me. We must become better acquainted while we wait for yer father to become fit for travel.”
Fit for travel? Did Alasdair intend to send him away? Or, she thought as hope blossomed, perhaps he meant to dismiss all of them, after refusing to sign the betrothal contract.
“Alasdair.” She attempted to step away, but he lifted her chin again, then increased the pressure, holding her in place. She racked her brain for anything she could say that would deflect MacGregor. “As long as my father continues to improve, I have all I need.”
“Dinna play coy, lass. There’s a loving heart inside ye. I wish to ken what kind of wife ye will make me. How loving can ye be?”
Cold chills turned to heat, rising from the column of her throat to her face. She was sure she colored. “Ye canna mean…”
“I can, if ye are willing. But I will leave that decision to ye for now. Ye willna be going anywhere for days yet. There’s time enough to get better acquainted.” Without warning, he bent down and, still holding her chin, kissed her fully on the mouth. At her gasp of surprise, he deepened the kiss and pulled her against him with his other arm.
Caitrin tried to turn her head, to push away from him, but he held her too tightly as his tongue plundered her mouth. “Ach,” he murmured as he moved to nibbling and licking her ear, and she continued to try to evade him. “I like a lass with some fight in her. We shall do well together.”
“Nay!” He liked a lass with some fight in her? Why had he told her da he wanted an obedient and meek wife? Caitrin’s skin pebbled with goosebumps, not from pleasure, but from disgust at having Alasdair’s hands and mouth on her. This…this was nothing like Jamie’s kiss had been. Nothing like his touch. “Ye canna do this.” She needed to escape, but Alasdair held her trapped between the wall at her back and his demanding mouth.
“Can I no’? I can do this and much more.” As proof, he released her chin and ran that hand down the front of her dress to cup one breast. “All of this will be mine, sooner or later. Why no’ sooner? Think of the passion we can share.” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “I shall enjoy the grand battle for yer virtue.”
At Caitrin’s gasp, his eyebrows lifted.
“Yer da assured me ye were a virtuous lass. Ye dinna mean to tell me ye have given yerself to another?”
What would he do if she told him aye? Send them home? Or take her where they stood in the hallway, assuming she was used goods, available for his pleasure? Nay, she could not bear that. She shook her head. “Never…”
“Alasdair.”
“Never. Alasdair.” She put as much sincerity into her voice as she could muster, given her dismay that he still gripped her breast with one hand and her bottom with the other. Where was Jamie? But nay, Jamie would fight for her, and MacGregor might kill him. She could not bear to be the cause of that. “I am chaste. Ye mustna…”
Alasdair released her then, but Caitrin didn’t dare breathe.
“Very well. I’ll see the proof soon enough, in the blood on yer sweet thighs. Get ye back to yer da. There’s a good lass. We’ll continue this later.”
Caitrin’s hands flew to her throat, but Alasdair merely smiled and stepped away. On trembling knees, she watched him walk down the corridor as bile climbed from her belly. She swallowed furiously and held it down. That had been too close a call.
She straightened her dress where MacGregor had crumpled it, hoping her father would not notice, though she had to be pale and sweating, too. She went back to him on shaking legs.
