Page 64 of The Outlaw's Bride
She never reached him, for Rhona grabbed her and hauled her back. “Leave them,” she bit out. “That Fraser bastard deserves it.”
“No, he doesn’t! He—”
The sound of shattering pottery echoed through the kitchen. Lachlann had just grabbed a jug and broken it over Taran’s head.
Taran roared and punched Lachlann in the face. An instant later Lachlann arched up under him and drove his knee into Taran’s belly. Fists flew as the two men rolled down the table, sending cups and bowls flying.
In the midst of the chaos, Caitrin approached them and threw a pail of water over the brawlers.
“Enough!” she shouted. “Ye will not destroy my kitchen!”
Dripping wet, Taran pushed himself up off the table and wiped water out of his eyes. Next to him, Lachlann sat up and massaged his jaw, his expression murderous.
Taran cast Adaira a despairing look. “Ye are far too softhearted, lass. Lachlann Fraser can’t be trusted.”
Adaira glared back at him. She yanked against Rhona’s grip, but her sister held her fast. “Lachlann Fraser and I are to be wed tomorrow.”
Rhona let go of her so suddenly that Adaira nearly toppled over. She caught herself on the table edge and turned to face her sister. Rhona’s face had gone pale, her features taut. “Have ye lost yer wits?”
Adaira clenched her jaw, refusing to answer. However, she could feel anger rising within her like steam off a boiling cauldron of water.
Rhona’s attention snapped to her elder sister. “Did ye know about this?”
“Aye,” Caitrin replied, her face pained. “I’ve organized for the priest to wed them in the village kirk tomorrow morning.”
Rhona’s gaze narrowed. “Ye have been helping them?”
Caitrin nodded.
Rhona cast Caitrin a look of disgust, before she rounded on Adaira. “I don’t understand.”
“Ye don’t need to.” Lachlann had climbed off the table and now stepped up next to Adaira. He took her hand, his fingers lacing through hers tenderly; yet his face was hard. “This isn’t yer life, or yer choice to make. If Adaira doesn’t want to wed me then let that beherdecision.”
Silence fell in the kitchen.
Rhona swallowed before shifting her gaze to Adaira. Staring into her elder sister’s storm-grey eyes, Adaira glimpsed her hurt, her confusion. Rhona wasn’t being malicious. She truly was at a loss. “Is this really what ye want?” Rhona asked finally, her voice catching.
Adaira leaned into Lachlann, finding solace in the warm heat of his body pressed into her side. However, her gaze never left Rhona’s. “Aye,” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Blood of My Blood
“WHAT ARE YE doing today, daughter?”
Caitrin glanced up from buttering a piece of bannock and favored her father with what she hoped was a serene smile. “I always take bread and sweet buns down to the villagers on Wednesdays,” she replied.
He huffed. “Can’t they make their own bread?”
Caitrin’s smile widened. “Aye, Da … but it’s a tradition that Baltair’s father began years ago. I like to continue it. It’s good for me to talk with the folk here, to learn what they need from me.”
Una gave a soft snort. She’d been daintily nibbling a bannock, but now lowered it. She viewed Caitrin with a shrewd look. “Ye think yerself a chieftain now, do ye, Caitrin?”
Malcolm MacLeod chortled at this, although Caitrin stiffened. “No … I’m chatelaine.”
“Aye, that’s right,” her father rumbled, his grey eyes still shining with mirth. “And soon Duntulm will have a new chieftain, and ye will be wed again.”
Caitrin’s pulse quickened. She hated her father discussing her future like this. She’d thought once she became Baltair’s wife that her father’s interference in her affairs was over, but now she was a widow he’d made her his business once more.
