“Ye’ve spent the last six years pining for a lad who couldna be bothered to call on ye. Now ye’re about to be betrothed to another man. ’Tis no’ the time to be wishin’ the lad would appear before ye.” Rona pursed her papery lips. “’Tis best to put him out of yer thoughts.”
“Perhaps ye have the right of it.” Caitrin’s eyes narrowed. Out of her thoughts? Possibly. Out of her heart? Never.
“Well, then, have ye finished packing?”
“Nearly so.”
“And do ye recall what I told ye the last time ye were about to leave me?”
A sense of desolation swamped her, but it was only a memory, quickly dismissed. “Aye. Keep my talent a secret. Dinna tell anyone lest ye willna have any friends and nay lasses to play with.”
“Ye’re a might old to be worrying about finding playmates. Especially as ye’ll be lady of the clan and mistress of the keep. But ye mustna risk revealing yer ability in a clan full of strangers. They may no’ be as accepting of the old ways as I am.”
“I ken it. And I’m grateful for yer care and counsel, Rona.” Caitrin’s hackles rose at the thought of ruining her father’s plans for her and for their clan. She could not do that. She must be careful.
“Only if ye…if there is nay other way to save yerself. Do ye ken?”
Caitrin sighed. “Aye.”
“Well, then, that’s that. We’ve had the talk. Ye ken what to expect from yer husband should ye wed.”
Caitrin felt heat climbing into her face and knew she blushed again. But she kept her voice steady, secure in the knowledge Rona could not see her embarrassment. “Aye.”
“’Tis no’ so bad, after the first time. And if the MacGregor is the right man for ye, yer coupling may well be a joy. I wish it so for ye, lass.”
Suddenly, Caitrin struggled to find her voice around the lump in her throat. She sensed Rona was saying goodbye in the only way she knew how, counseling her one last time, reminding her of the things most important to her future. A future she would face,again, without her old nurse.
I’ll miss ye, as I did then.
“Ye ken I wish ye could go with me.” Caitrin choked on the words, but Rona’s smile told her they were enough.
Chapter Two
The trip from the Lathan Aerie to the Fletcher keep took two days. Most of that time passed in silence. Apparently, the Fletcher ghillie did not indulge in idle conversation, ever. Jamie tried a few leading questions about Fletcher’s aspirations with the MacGregor, about Caitrin, about the state of affairs in Clan Fletcher, but Will provided, at best, one sentence in reply, often only one-syllable responses—aye or nay, or merely a grunt of acknowledgement.
Jamie supposed it could have been worse. The man could have talked his ear off the entire trip, though at least then, Jamie might have gleaned a hint or two about the situation before him. Toran’s mention of rumors about the MacGregor made Jamie itch in his ribs under his arm, where he’d taken an arrow last year and nearly died. Not only was he concerned about what he might be getting into, but what he might be taking Caitrin Fletcher into. Yet, she was the linchpin. The enticement. The one thing the Fletcher pinned his hopes to for the betterment of his clan.Fletcher’sclan, not Lathan’s. So what about this trip, this errand, made Jamie uneasy?
He shifted in his saddle and considered the problem from another angle. He no longer knew the MacGregor. Their time together at St. Andrews was five years gone, and they hadn’t been close. Arriving only a few months after his sister’s death, Jamie had not been the most motivated of students and as a result, had fallen under the watchful eye of several of his tutors, which meant extra hours of study. MacGregor completed his time at St. Andrews during Jamie’s second session there. Before Alasdair left, he had been more interested in socializing and more practiced at getting around his tutors, so they rarely crossed paths. But taking on the mantle of leadership changed a man, especially if that burden came unexpectedly, as it had to many younger sons, and daughters, of lairds killed at Flodden. Chances were, Jamie would barely recognize Alasdair MacGregor when they met again.
Of course, Jamie no longer knew Caitrin Fletcher, either. He hadn’t laid eyes on her in six years. She might be nothing like the bonnie lass she’d been as a fosterling with clan Lathan. Since then, she’d had six years to grow up, six years to change, six years to harden, six years to...oh, hell. He bit his lower lip for a moment, trying to distract himself, but it didn’t work. What if she remained exactly the same? He’d been half in love with her then. Half maddened by any notice she gave Toran. How would it feel to see her now? No longer a lass too young for his attentions, but a woman ripe for marriage…and the marriage bed.Bollocks.This line of thinking was getting him nowhere good.
And how would she react when she saw him? She probably expected Toran, primed for battle, reading to defend against his teasing and taunting. Or to use well-practiced feminine wiles to gain his favor, or her revenge. Jamie regretted some of the things they’d done at Toran’s instigation while trying to rid themselves of their unwanted and annoying shadow. At least that’s how Toran had characterized her, and Jamie had no doubt she knew it. Toran never hid how he felt. But if Toran had been the one to make this trip, to escort her to her betrothal, she’d have been surprised at the changes in him since he’d been forced to become the Lathan laird. Bearing that responsibility, he’d grown up, matured, in all the ways that mattered. Even more since Aileana’s arrival.
More than likely, Caitrin would be prepared for an interesting, even irritating, trip to her betrothal, but no more than that. She’d be focused on her eagerness, or her anxiety, to meet her prospective husband. Women obsessed about such things.
Jamie glanced around at Kyle and the four other Lathans riding with him on the way to guard and escort Caitrin. Donal had trained them well to fight, but also to avoid a fight. Judging by their silence and the movement of their eyes as they rode, they were alert and aware of their surroundings. They would be even more careful once Caitrin joined them. It wouldn’t do to let her be stolen away by bandits or brigands or lowlanders. The territory between the Fletcher and the MacGregor keeps was not known to be particularly dangerous, but it paid to be prepared. A large party attracted attention a smaller party might avoid. Toran wanted allies, not enemies. Peace, not war.
Finally, Jamie looked down upon a broad glen. At Will’s nod, he surmised they’d arrived. The Fletcher keep was a tower house with wings built off two sides, added, Jamie supposed, years or even generations after the original tower had been built to secure the surrounding glen. Like most keeps of its type, the tower’s ground floor had no windows and only one door. The first floor above it had tall, narrow slits, openings for raining arrows down upon an attacker. Above those were larger, glazed windows, intended to provided light and air to the living quarters. The wings boasted small windows on the ground floor and larger ones above, where Jamie supposed were more living quarters.
All in all, it was an impressive keep, though not on the scale of the Lathan’s Aerie, and certainly not as imposing as Donal and Ellie MacKyrie’s keep. But it would do to protect the inhabitants, allow for a defense, and if worse came to worst, hold off attackers long enough for help to arrive.
Jamie anticipated no problems getting the Fletcher to sign Toran’s treaty. He would welcome allies. The MacGregor might be another matter entirely.
MacGregor had an army of his own and might find a treaty such as Toran’s unnecessary. Even inhibiting, if he had designs on his neighbors’ lands and goods. Toran’s warning echoed in Jamie’s mind. He’d be wise to tread carefully until he understood the situation, and not assume he knew the MacGregor based on his recollections of a lad from school.
But now, he had a more pleasant matter to deal with. Caitrin. Where was she?
An older man exited the keep’s stout door, followed by several lads. “Uilleam, I see ye were successful.” At Will’s nod toward Jamie, he continued speaking. “Greetings, Laird Lathan.”
