Several of the men exchanged worried glances, but no one had a reply.
****
Through the whisky in his glass, Jamie watched the flames dance. Another sign of the wealth of clan MacGregor, these heavy crystal cups came from France. The heft pleased his hand, as did the smooth bite of the spirit on his tongue.
Not so the man seated opposite him. Nothing about Alasdair MacGregor pleased Jamie. He had not expected his old schoolmate to be such a cypher, but he knew one thing for sure. He would deal with Alasdair once he was certain he could no longer harm Caitrin. That meant getting her away to some place safe. But for now, Jamie must be the diplomat, calm and cordial, as irksome as that might be, when he wanted to give the man a taste of what he’d done to Caitrin.
The way he’d treated her called to Jamie’s mind some unpleasant memories that weighed heavily on him now. Rumors running rampant during their time in St. Andrews, long discounted and forgotten.
Tavern wenches at several establishments in the part of town frequented by both students and townsmen had been severely beaten. One or more, Jamie was no longer certain of the number, had been raped, a few died. The news spread all over town and speculation grew wilder with each report of a new victim. Especially when the women refused to name their attacker. Battered, bruised, and often bleeding, they’d maintained their ignorance of the man’s identity. Descriptions had varied enough to confound the local officials. Was one man responsible or several? The Bishop had confined the students to classrooms and lodgings, which annoyed many, including Alasdair MacGregor—and Jamie, truth be told. Eventually, the beatings stopped, though Jamie didn’t recall anyone being caught and punished.
What would make a man want to attack such women? Any woman, for that matter?
Jamie eyed MacGregor. Had he been drunk when he accosted Caitrin? Even if he was eager for the marriage he’d yet to commit to, what sort of wooing involved striking the woman he hoped to bed? Her battered face did not lie. Jamie hadn’t asked to inspect the other injuries she claimed, but he had no reason to doubt her word. Only Malcolm and the other man’s arrival had saved her.
Jamie could not accept harming a lass, not in general and not when the violence was directed specifically at a woman Jamie cared for. Loved. Aye, loved. Always had loved. Always would.
Jamie’s fist tightened and he fought the urge…theneed…to crush the crystal glass in his hand and grind the shards in MacGregor’s arrogant face.
But for this conversation, he must not let his anger rule him. MacGregor would see through him in moments and he would gain nothing. Caitrin was too important for Jamie to make that kind of mistake now. He needed all his skills and persuasive powers to get through this meeting without committing murder.
“Fletcher tells me his daughter is opposed to the match,” Jamie began after another fortifying sip, “though he still hopes for an alliance with MacGregor, even without the marriage.”
“She has little to say in the matter,” MacGregor answered with a smirk. “Her father has yet to withdraw her from my consideration. Though I’m inclined to turn him down if the lass intends to be difficult.”
“I’ll have my men prepare to escort the Fletchers home,” Jamie offered, jumping on MacGregor’s implication and hoping to influence him to agree to send them away. If the Fletchers were easily removed from his keep, perhaps he would allow their departure without further trouble. “I can have them out of yer way tomorrow, early.”
“Why such haste?” MacGregor’s frown put Jamie on alert. “Fletcher hasna spoken of leaving.”
So MacGregor still sought to gain an advantage from Fletcher? Or just to keep Caitrin here and vulnerable to him? This would be harder than Jamie had hoped.
“It will be done or no’ at Fletcher’s bidding. And yers, of course. But if the lass is unwilling…”
“She’d no’ be the first brought fighting to the marriage bed.” MacGregor laughed. “Nay, on second thought, I’ll enjoy taming her.”
Heat fired in Jamie’s gut, and he fought to stay in his seat, to keep his expression unconcerned. MacGregor had not admitted to hitting Caitrin, but this told Jamie he looked forward to doing it again. To cover his disgust, Jamie took another sip and watched the fire.
“Does that displease ye?”
MacGregor’s snide tone jerked Jamie back to his mission. Keep MacGregor off balance and get Caitrin out of here.
“A wife must bow to her husband’s wishes, of course. But with a keep such as this to run, ’twould seem risky to take an unwilling wife. A more biddable lass might better serve yer…purposes.” Jamie bit his tongue when the word “needs” almost slipped past his lips, but he covered it quickly. Reminding MacGregor of his enjoyment of rough wooing or of violent assault would not help Caitrin.
MacGregor set his glass aside and fixed Jamie with a stare.
Did he suspect his interest in her? For a moment, he tensed, preparing to do battle, but he kept his hand away from his dirk by main force.
“’Tis my decision to make, and of nay interest to Lathan. Ye’ve done what ye were asked and escorted my prospective betrothed to me. Her safety is now my responsibility. If I may be so blunt, ’tis time for ye Lathans to leave.”
Jamie could have groaned, but he would not give MacGregor the satisfaction. Instead, he, too, set his drink aside, glad MacGregor seemed oblivious to the riot of emotions heating and roiling Jamie’s blood. Hatred, fury, dismay. “We are here at the request of the Fletcher, and of the Lathan. We will leave only at their bidding, or when it comes time to escort the Fletchers home.”
“Dinna try my patience, Lathan.”
“I dinna seek to do that,” Jamie answered quietly. Time for a change of subject. “Indeed, ye and I have unfinished business for my laird. The matter of the treaty.”
“Ach, aye, the Lathan treaty.” MacGregor shook his head then picked up his glass and tossed back the remainder of the whisky it contained. “I want details,” he demanded and started firing questions. “Who has signed? How many men can they field on short notice? How quickly can they get here should I invoke the treaty, and to how many of them at one time would I be required to send soldiers? It seems to me supporting the treaty could leave MacGregor open to attack by any number of other clans.”
“Who?” Jamie asked, cautiously optimistic, since this was the first time MacGregor had spoken seriously about the obligations inherent in signing.
