“Caitrin? What’s amiss? Did MacGregor refuse ye?”
For a moment, her father’s statement shocked her, sounding as if she had made advances MacGregor had refused. But nay. If he knew what MacGregor had done… That didn’t bear thinking about. Instead, she realized he feared MacGregor had told her he didn’t care to take her to wife.
“Nay, Da.”
“Then why are ye so pale?” He frowned. “Did ye refuse him? I heard ye shout ‘nay’.”
Caitrin took a deep breath. She had to tell him something that would put him off making this marriage. Telling him MacGregor had sampled his future bride would not do it, even though she despaired of his touch.
“He lied to ye, Da. I canna say which was the lie—concern for ye or the promise of care, or what, but he lied. I could feel it.”
Despite his injuries, Fletcher sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. To her shock, he stood and faced her. “Dinna let me hear ye say the like again. No’ within these walls, and better, no’ ever. Ye will bring nothing but trouble upon us. I willna hear it.”
What had she done? If his anger wasn’t making his face red, he would be pale as a ghost. “Da, please, sit down.”
“I order ye, as yer laird, lass. None of that.” Despite his anger, he let her urge him back until his legs connected with the side of the bed. With a grimace, he sat down and put his head in his hands.
She realized he was too weak and too fragile to deal with her fears right now. His heavy breathing told her his anger had exhausted him. Gently, she pried his hands loose and urged him to lie back. After she settled him, she stayed until he calmed and dozed off, holding his hand and murmuring soothing nonsense words.
But Caitrin felt anything but soothed. If he truly meant to save Fletcher by sacrificing her, she was trapped. She had carefully avoided acknowledging his order—one she knew she could not agree to. But if her father wouldn’t accept her talent, and he wouldn’t accept her reservations about MacGregor had basis in fact, how could she prove to him she spoke the truth?
****
Jamie was on his way to continue discussions with MacGregor on the Lathan treaty, but he had a few minutes to spare when he encountered Caitrin and her father in the great hall the next day. Fletcher’s movements were slow and stiff, but he was out of bed and walking about the hall with Caitrin at his side, which pleased Jamie greatly.
“Fletcher, Caitrin,” he greeted them. “It’s good to see ye up and around, Fletcher. Yer nurse is taking good care of ye, I see.”
“Indeed, she’s barely left my side since the accident. But now she’s becoming a thistle under my saddle. Ye ken how women like to fuss. Ach, I need some air.”
Jamie laughed politely at his jest then raised an eyebrow at Caitrin while Fletcher went about carefully seating himself near the hearth. Her expression was closed off, guarded. So, Fletcher did not know Lathans had watched over him during the nights of his convalescence, to allow her to get some rest. She gave Jamie a quick smile and bent to her father. Jamie didn’t hear what she said, but Fletcher’s response gave Jamie a clue.
“Send the serving girl with something to eat. That’s all I need. I’m sick of those four walls. I’ll rest here a bit and enjoy the fire. Go on with ye, lass. Leave me in peace for a few minutes.”
“I’m headed toward the kitchen,” Jamie said, interrupting any answer Caitrin had been about to give her father, and lying through his teeth. “I’ll go with ye.”
“Thank ye, Jamie. Da, please stay here. Ye are no’ dressed to go outside.”
Fletcher waved her away without speaking. It concerned Jamie just a little that he did not object to his presence with her.
Once her father’s request had been delivered to the cook, Caitrin continued to walk with Jamie, making small talk. In a sunny nook, they paused.
“What’s amiss, Caitrin? We’re alone here. Ye can tell me.”
Her hesitation worried him. Was her father more ill than he appeared?
“Something isn’t right,” she said then paused.
“Fletcher?”
“What? Nay. He’ll outlive us both. MacGregor.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window. The morning sunlight illuminated her hair, making it gleam, and turned her skin to pearl—except for the faint abrasion beside her mouth that had been invisible in the dimmer interior spaces. Jamie doubted she even knew it was there.
“He hurt ye?”
Her eyes flew wide as she turned to stare at him. “How did ye…nay.” She shook her head. “Of course no’.”
He traced the mark with one fingertip. “Did I do that?”
Her hand covered her face, trapping Jamie’s finger against her warm skin.
