MacGregor regarded him for the space of several heartbeats. “Nay, I’ll no’ discuss this now. I must think on it further.”
“Verra well.” Disappointed, Jamie stood. Every dealing with MacGregor went like this. A hint of interest, followed by refusal. He should not have been surprised. “I’ll leave ye to yer considerations.”
MacGregor gave a negligent wave of his hand, and Jamie took the opportunity to escape his presence. The discussion had not gone as Jamie planned, but he’d managed to plant a few ideas, such as the ease of removing the Fletchers, and of finding a more biddable lass to marry. He hoped they would influence the MacGregor to refuse the match and send Fletcher home. If not, Jamie would have to take action, at enormous risk. Three-way clan war was not out of the question. He needed to change Fletcher’s mind about the marriage and have him withdraw the betrothal contract. Given his mulishness with Caitrin, changing his mind might be harder than changing MacGregor’s.
Chapter Thirteen
Fletcher was, as Jamie expected, no less stubborn than the MacGregor. “This is between clan chieftains, Lathan. My daughter’s wishes do no’ affect the decision I make in this matter. Nor do yers.”
Well, that was a warning if he’d ever heard one. But Jamie didn’t care. He had to make Fletcher see reason. And he had to do it in a way that would not carry beyond the hearth where he’d found the man, settled comfortably before the fire in the great hall. Fletcher had refused his request to move somewhere more private. But no one sat close enough to overhear if they kept their voices low. “Even if she is in danger here?”
“Danger? Pah. MacGregor has an army at his disposal.”
“MacGregor lacks finesse,” Jamie said, trying without betraying Caitrin’s confidence, to make her father understand what sort of husband Alasdair MacGregor would be to his daughter.
“He doesn’t need finesse when he has so many men.”
“I’m no’ talking about his men,” Jamie interrupted, patience wearing thin. “I’ve seen evidence of his…poor treatment…of the women in his care. Do ye wish to leave Caitrin with a man who may beat her?”
“There’ve been many times when I wished to beat her myself,” Fletcher said with a sigh. “No’ that I ever did. If he beats her, it will be because she deserved it. Caitrin is headstrong. She must learn to be a proper wife to an important laird.”
Jamie held on to his temper with both hands and shook his head, wondering what had happened to the calm demeanor he’d cultivated over the years. His temperament seemed to be at a constant simmer, or worse. Of course, he knew the reason. Caitrin. He would not tolerate anyone raising a hand to her, not her father. Even MacGregor. There would be a reckoning for what he’d already done to her. But for now, he had to ignore Fletcher’s bluster. He had no choice. “And if he’s already done so? Have ye seen yer daughter today, Fletcher? Nay? Ye havena because she is hiding her face from ye. MacGregor has hit her twice. This time, he left bruises.”
“What?” Fletcher snorted, clearly disbelieving. “Surely, he simply became overeager in his wooing. That is good news. The man is becoming entranced by the lass. If he hasna already done so, surely he’ll sign the marriage contract soon.”
Jamie wanted to haul Fletcher to his feet by his shirt and shake him, but he contented himself with leaning forward and pitching his voice even lower. “Fletcher, listen to me. Yer daughter is in danger here. This alliance is a dream of yers, but ye canna wish for it on Caitrin’s bruised and broken body.”
“Ye’re saying this because ye want her,” Fletcher challenged.
Jamie threw up his hands then ran one through his hair. How to make him see reason? “Ye must listen to me.”
“Ye want to prevent this marriage. I warned ye to stay away from her. But ye have seen her today. Ye said so yerself.”
Fletcher stood and Jamie’s hopes for reaching a quiet understanding died a painful death. They were starting to attract attention.
“’Tis time for ye to leave. Take yer men and return to the Aerie. Ye did what I requested and delivered my daughter to her betrothed. I dinna need ye here any longer. Ye have my leave to go.”
Bile burned its way up Jamie’s throat as he gained his feet. He towered over the man, but Fletcher’s posture, hands on hips, belligerent chin thrust out, made it clear he refused to be intimidated. “That’s a mistake, laird,” Jamie answered with all the sincerity he could muster. “Talk to yer daughter,” he continued softly. “Hear from her what kind of man ye plan to marry her to. I dinna care if ye canna believe me, but ye must believe her.”
Fletcher snorted. “She’s infatuated with ye. I’ll get even less sense from her than I’m getting from ye. Nay,” he said, turning to go, “gather yer men and leave in the morning.”
Jamie shook his head. “I canna do that. I also have business here for the Lathan. I’ll leave when that is completed, or to escort ye and Caitrin back to Fletcher.”
“Mark my words. I’ll no’ be needing ye or yer men. MacGregor will sign, and so will I.” With that, Fletcher left the hall. Jamie resumed his seat and took a sip of ale, doing his best to convince any onlookers he and Fletcher had finished a conversation with nothing more than a mild disagreement. And praying no one had heard enough to report back to Alasdair.
****
Caitrin wrung her hands and paced before the fire in her chamber. Jamie stood by the door, looking as dejected as the day, all those years ago, when she’d left Lathan to return home. His shoulders slumped and he kept his eyes downcast.
“I havena done ye any good,” he confessed. “If MacGregor decides he likes the idea of a more biddable wife, he might refuse the match, but Fletcher is as determined as ever to go forward with the marriage. I believe he’ll try to convince Alasdair ye’re as meek as a newborn lamb, or as feisty as a rooster. Whatever he thinks the MacGregor wants to hear, he will say.”
“I must show him what Alasdair did to me.” A glance in the looking glass had revealed the side of her face bloomed purple and green where MacGregor had hit her.
“Yer da sees it as a sign MacGregor is eager for the marriage bed.” Jamie rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, lass. ’Tis a fine time for my persuasive powers to fail me.”
Caitrin quailed. Nay, Jamie couldn’t give up. Her father always took care of her. She just had to convince him. “Once he sees this,” she said, holding a hand up to her bruised cheek, “he’ll see he’s wrong.”
“Ye may persuade him. Aye, ye must try.”
