“What do ye see?” She moved her hand out of the way and clenched her other hand against her middle.
“A small red mark, faint even in this much light. Invisible in anything dimmer, I’d guess.”
Caitrin’s shoulders dropped. “Thank goodness. If Da saw it…”
“If he hasna by now, he willna. And by tomorrow, it will be gone. I’m sorry. I didna think I’d been so rough.”
“Ye were no’, truly.”
She turned away from him.
He couldn’t let it go. “MacGregor did that.”
“Aye.”
He crossed his arms to keep from wrapping her in them. “What else?”
“Naught to concern ye. But enough to make me doubt his intentions even more.” She drew in a deep breath, turned back to him and put a tentative hand on his arm. “I’ve asked ye before, and I’ll keep asking ye. Ye must help me convince Fletcher against the match.”
Jamie took a turn staring out the window as he pondered the probable outcomes of doing that. Fletcher asked him to care for Caitrin as his own, to protect her from MacGregor and his men. Given the mark on her face, he wasn’t doing a very good job.
But would Caitrin be more open to the MacGregor’s advances without him to distract her? If they had not given in to the attraction they felt for each other, she might. He was about to meet with the MacGregor on the Lathan’s behalf, but in truth, he must also represent Fletcher, and argueforthe match if the MacGregor pressed him about it. Despite his own feelings for her. Despite her confusion, for which he blamed himself. So he must do what he could to remove himself from her consideration, for Fletcher and her future. Against those, his happiness mattered little.
“Are ye sure ye’re giving the man a fair chance?”
“I have.”
He faced her again. “How would ye feel if I were no’ here? If we had no’ met again after such a long time apart?”
Her eyes widened, but she answered promptly. “I would feel the same where Alasdair MacGregor is concerned.”
“Would ye?” Jamie compressed his lips for a moment. “I believe my presence is confusing to ye, and I regret that. I dinna wish to be the reason Fletcher’s plans go awry, to the detriment of yer clan.”
“Nay, Jamie.” Caitrin shook her head. “Well, aye, ye do confuse me. But if I’m right, Da’s plans are already useless. MacGregor will no’ be the stalwart partner he is scheming for. MacGregor tried me, aye, tested my resolve. That was…awkward. But truthfully, no’ unexpected, though it displeased me.”
She held up a hand when Jamie gave in and reached for her.
“It’s more in what he doesna say,” she continued. “The look on his face when he speaks. There’s more to the man than we’ve seen, and I dinna believe it to be good for me or for Fletcher.” Her gaze stayed on him while she absently traced a fingertip over the side of her mouth.
An image of MacGregor’s mouth on hers flashed through his mind, roiling his gut. He reined in his anger, determined to do the right thing. “Ye must give him time, lass. For the sake of yer clan and yer father. He may no’ be the man ye think ye want, but ye owe it to them and yerself to give the man a chance.” Would she believe him? Her reservations about MacGregor cheered him, since they matched his own uneasiness, but he had no tangible reason to advise her to do anything more than wait and see. Not yet. “And now, I must leave ye, or I shall be late. Would ye prefer I escort ye back to Fletcher?”
Frowning, Caitrin crossed her arms over her chest. “To the Fletcher keep? Aye. To my da, nay. I’ll bide here for a few minutes and give the poor oppressed man the peace he requested.”
She turned to the window. Her profile gave him only a hint of what she was thinking and feeling. “Keep yer wits about ye, lass. Watch and wait. That’s all I ask.”
“Go on with ye. I dinna wish to make ye late.”
Jamie nodded and took his leave, but her expression stayed with him. Haunted. Nay, hunted, with nowhere to hide.
Chapter Eleven
Caitrin returned to her father and was surprised to see the dowager Lady MacGregor sitting with him by the fire. She wasn’t sure whether her presence would be good for him or bad, but at least he had propped his foot on pillows atop a bench, or she had. His low chuckle at something Lady MacGregor said made her aware he’d undergone a change of mood, a pleasant contrast to the stiff and irritated man she’d left behind. The remains of a meal, nay, two, sat on trenchers near at hand. So MacGregor’s mother had been with him a while, perhaps the entire time Caitrin had been gone, talking to Jamie and then thinking on her own.
“Lady MacGregor, how good of ye to sit with my father,” Caitrin said when they noticed her approach.
Lady MacGregor smiled, her expression open and friendly, making her wonder how such a woman had raised such a son.
“It has been my pleasure, Lady Fletcher. Yer father is a clever and funny man.”
