Page 57 of The Outlaw's Bride
Lachlann swung down from his horse before helping Adaira to the ground. He craned his neck then, taking in the huge basalt keep and tower that reared overhead. This was his first visit to Duntulm. Perched on a lonely cliff top and commanding a view for many furlongs distant, the castle was an impressive sight.
His attention shifted to the steps that led up to the entrance to the keep, where a tall man with long pale-blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck descended. Clad in leather and plaid, his expression forbidding, the warrior reached the bailey courtyard and strode across to greet the newcomers.
“Good evening.” His voice was as unfriendly as his expression. “Who are ye, and what business brings ye to Duntulm?”
Lachlann opened his mouth to reply, for he was used to taking charge in situations like this. However, this time he hesitated. His name wasn’t one he should be speaking loudly on this island, if at all.
“My name is Lady Adaira MacLeod, and this is my escort,” Adaira replied confidently, meeting the warrior’s gaze. “I’m here to see my sister.”
The man’s eyes widened. His expression softened a little. “Lady Adaira … does yer father know ye are here?”
Adaira’s mouth thinned. “No … and no one is to tell him.”
The warrior nodded slowly, his gaze shifting to Lachlann. His expression hardened.
Tensing under the scrutiny, Lachlann knew this man guessed at his identity. The flame-red hair of the Frasers of Skye was well-known on the isle. One glance at him and folk could guess his parentage.
“Does yer escort have a name?” the guard asked, still staring at Lachlann.
“Aye, but it’s best I keep it to myself right now,” Lachlann answered.
Adaira broke the tense silence that followed, stepping in front of Lachlann so that she drew the man’s gaze. “What isyername?”
“I’m Darron MacNichol,” he said after a pause, dragging his attention back to Adaira. “Captain of Duntulm Guard.”
Adaira raised her chin. “Captain MacNichol … please take us to my sister.”
MacNichol nodded, his face turning grim once more. “Follow me.”
The captain led the way into the keep. They crossed a wide entrance hall and began to climb a narrow stone stairwell. On the way up, Lachlann noted how different Duntulm was to his father’s fortress. Talasgair was a blend of the past and the present—an ancient broch attached to a newer tower—but Duntulm was an imposing rectangular-shaped keep. The main tower rose four floors high. It was a solid fortress, with walls over two feet thick, and built of the same basalt as the cliffs on which it perched.
MacNichol led them to a solar on the third level of the keep. It was a large chamber with two windows: one looking south over green hills, the other facing north across the sea. A fire roared in the hearth, casting the chamber in a warm glow.
“Wait here,” the captain ordered. “Lady Caitrin will be with ye shortly.”
He left them alone then. Lachlann and Adaira shared a look. He could see the excitement in her eyes; she couldn’t wait to see her sister. However, Lachlann didn’t share the feeling. He knew this meeting wasn’t going to go as smoothly as Adaira hoped it would.
Reaching out, he stroked her cheek. However, he jerked his hand away when he heard footsteps rapidly approaching outside the solar.
“Adaira!”
Lady Caitrin MacDonald flew through the door and launched herself at her youngest sister.
Lachlann backed up, giving the pair of them space.
Caitrin was as he’d heard her described: tall and willowy with hair the color of sea-foam. Dressed in mourning black, she was a striking sight. It reminded Lachlann of looking upon a frosty morning. Beautiful, yet cold.
A large set of iron keys hung from a girdle around Caitrin’s waist, revealing her status here as chatelaine of Duntulm. The keys rattled as she pulled back from Adaira. Tears streaked her face.
“God’s Bones, Adi,” she gasped. “When I heard ye had run away, I thought ye lost forever.”
Adaira wiped away her own tears. “As ye can see, I’m not lost.”
Lachlann moved back farther, edging toward the hearth. He was intruding here.
Eyes glittering, Caitrin reached out and stroked Adaira’s cheek. “Da scoured the isle looking for ye. He even sent men to Gylen Castle,” she said softly, “and when they said ye weren’t there either, I imagined the worst.”
Caitrin broke off there, her gaze shifting to Lachlann for the first time. The tenderness on her face disappeared, and her gaze narrowed. Although Lachlann hadn’t introduced himself to Darron MacNichol, the man would know who he was—and he would have informed his mistress. A Fraser: her father’s escaped prisoner.
