“But thank ye for watching over my stubborn da. He may refuse to recognize the danger we’re in. I’m glad ye Lathans are wiser than he is at the moment.”
“He’ll come around, lass,” Kyle assured her.
Her tears welled again. She shook her head and moved past him. It was up to her to save herself and Fletcher. Her father’s inability to see the truth meant she must act for him. In the morning, she’d confront Alasdair and tell him the wedding was off. If her father felt well enough to flirt with Madeleine MacGregor, he must be well enough to travel. It was time to head home.
Chapter Twelve
Caitrin chose to confront MacGregor in his solar. She knew better than to challenge him, perhaps embarrass him, in front of his people, so she waited until she found him alone there. With the great hall only steps away and full of people, she should be safe enough. As a precaution, she left the door open. MacGregor, working at his desk, glanced up as she approached, then quickly rose to his feet.
“Ah, my lovely betrothed. How are ye? And how does yer father fare?”
“Da is much improved,” Caitrin said. “Thank ye for yer concern. But he is no’ why I am here.” She paused, considering how to go forward. “Or perhaps he is.”
MacGregor’s quizzical smile and raised eyebrows confirmed she had his attention. She refused the chair he gestured for her to take and did not object as he reseated himself.
Now to tell him her decision, and make him accept it.
“I’ve come to tell ye I canna marry ye.” She held up a hand as MacGregor leaned back in his chair. His expression quickly changed from curious to something darker as his brow lowered. The flinty glint in his eye made her wish she’d brought an army with her.
“Indeed.”
“I’m sorry. MacGregor is an impressive clan, an imposing keep. And ye…” Caitrin suddenly found herself at a loss for words. She swallowed. “And ye…will make an advantageous match with another woman. Another clan.”
“Will I?”
He said the words softly, but suddenly, MacGregor looked downright dangerous. Caitrin forced herself to remain calm. She dared not show any weakness.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, his hands clasped loosely before his face. “And will ye be arranging such an advantageous match for me?”
“Me? Nay, how could I? I simply mean to say ye willna marry me.”
“And does Fletcher agree with this?”
“Da doesna ken I am here. ’Tis my life. My decision to make.”
“I must assume ye have someone else in mind to marry. The Lathan, perhaps?”
“What? Nay!” MacGregor could not find out how she felt about Jamie! It would put him in terrible danger. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I simply dinna wish to marry at this time. Perhaps never.”
“Ye would disobey yer father, yer laird, in this manner?”
“My da will understand.”Eventually.
MacGregor stood and moved around the desk. Caitrin willed her knees to hold her up as he approached. She kept her gaze on the middle of his chest, fearing eye contact would set him off.
“I dinna think he will,” MacGregor murmured as he lifted her chin with one crooked finger, forcing her to meet his gaze.
His touch scalded her skin and his sour breath turned her stomach—or did fear do that? Why had she thought she could come in here, announce her intentions, and simply leave with this man’s acceptance? She cursed herself for a fool, but held her ground.
“In fact, I believe he will be most distressed. His daughter’s rebellion, for one, will cause him pain. As will her temerity in pretending to speak for her laird.”
As MacGregor spoke, his voice softened, and his eyelids drooped heavily. Caitrin’s heart kicked against her ribs as icy dread finally washed through her. What did he mean to do?
Before she could blink, he slapped her, hard, across the face, knocking her to her knees. “And of course, her condition will distress him, once I finish punishing her for disobeying her rightful laird. Both of them.” He lashed out again, landing an open-handed blow to the side of her head.
Ears ringing, she scrambled to get away, but he caught her easily and pulled her up by her arms. He studied her for a moment, his gaze traveling from her face down her throat to her breasts and lower. With a curl of his lip, he punched her in the belly but prevented her from doubling over against the pain, nearly wrenching her arm from its socket. Next, he grabbed her breast and squeezed until he had the nipple between his thumb and fingers, then he twisted.
She cried out, but that only made him twist harder. Head spinning, she fought back with her free hand, clawing at his face, going for his eyes. He laughed and released her breast, only to spin her around and pin her injured arm behind her back between them. Then he started to pull up her skirt. Caitrin tried kicking him, but she only succeeded in wrenching the arm he held. He slid his hand up her leg, making her skin crawl, then grabbed her thigh and squeezed. She rocked against the pain of his fingers digging into her flesh, trying to dislodge his hand without dislocating her arm.
