Page 74 of The Outlaw's Bride
Instead, Lachlann frowned. “So ye think he’s dead?”
MacLeod’s lips compressed. “I hope so. I skewered the bastard like a boar.”
Lachlann let out a slow, measured breath, fighting annoyance. Despite that he’d broken with his kin, he didn’t appreciate MacLeod’s insults. Blood was still blood after all. He wondered if MacLeod was deliberately baiting him.
The cunning light in the clan-chief’s eyes confirmed his suspicions. “I don’t understand why ye didn’t return to Talasgair after ye left Dunvegan,” he said after a pause. “My daughter must have wielded quite an influence on ye.”
“She did,” Lachlann replied. He didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken again; they were now skirting the truth MacLeod could never learn.
“I’d heard that Morgan Fraser’s eldest was as ambitious as his sire,” MacLeod continued. “But ye gave it all up … for a woman?”
Lachlann could hear the genuine puzzlement in the older man’s voice. He resisted the urge to smile. “I did.”
“Why?”
Lachlann held Malcolm MacLeod’s gaze, his own steady. “Because some things are worth more than land and titles. Yer daughter is more valuable to me than my inheritance.”
It had taken Lachlann a while to learn that—so long he’d nearly condemned Adaira to a miserable life—but her father didn’t need to know that either.
MacLeod snorted. However, his expression had softened, his gaze gleaming with pride. “Aye, she is.”
“The wind is getting up. Shall I take Eoghan indoors, milady?”
“Aye, thank ye, Sorcha. We’ll follow shortly.”
Adaira watched the dark-haired hand-maid relieve Caitrin of the bairn and carry him away, leaving the three sisters alone on the shore. A fresh wind gusted in off The Minch, foaming the water. Adaira drew her cloak around her, her feet crunching on fine pebbles as she followed Rhona and Caitrin along the strand. The weather was definitely getting cooler; it reminded her that she wouldn’t be able to stay at Duntulm much longer.
“When will ye leave for the mainland?” Rhona asked, as if reading her thoughts. Her sister’s wild auburn hair blew into her eyes, and she pushed it aside impatiently.
“I don’t know,” Adaira replied. Her belly contracted as she spoke these words. Although she was ready to confront an uncertain future, she was also nervous about it. Where would she and Lachlann end up?
“Ye can go to Argyle as ye had first planned,” Caitrin spoke up. Unlike Rhona, who let her long hair fly free in the wind, Caitrin’s hair was tightly braided and wound around the crown of her head. She regarded Adaira with a gleam in her eye. “Ye didn’t hear it from me, but Da has sent word to our uncle and given his blessing for ye and Lachlann to reside at Gylen Castle.”
Adaira halted abruptly, turning to her sister. “Really?”
Caitrin smiled. “Aye … he’s planning to tell ye soon, and ye are to act surprised when he does.”
Rhona snorted. “It’s not like ye to spill a secret, Caitrin. Remind me never to tell ye any of mine.”
“I could see that Adaira was worried about the future,” Caitrin replied with an irritated look at Rhona. “I wanted to allay her fears.”
Adaira reached out and took Caitrin’s hands, squeezing. “And I appreciate it.” She frowned then, as something occurred to her. “Morgan Fraser knows I intended to go to Gylen Castle … what if his men come asking questions?”
“Our uncle won’t say anything,” Caitrin assured her with a smile. “But if ye are worried, ye can have a quiet word to him after ye arrive.”
Adaira nodded, her brow smoothing. Caitrin was right—her uncle had no reason to betray them.
Relief filtered through her. She felt happier knowing they could go to Gylen Castle, and that her uncle would welcome them and keep Lachlann’s identity hidden. Life had been so eventful of late, all she wanted now was a little peace.
“Come on, let’s turn around,” Caitrin replied, pulling the collar of her fur cloak up. “This wind is unpleasant.”
“Aye,” Rhona agreed. “My hair will look like a rat’s nest by the time we reach the keep.”
The sisters began to retrace their steps along the beach, before they left the shore and took the road through the village. It was late morning and the aroma of baking bread and stewing vegetables greeted them.
Many villagers called out to them, greeting Caitrin, who waved back.
Adaira cut Caitrin a sidelong glance. “Do ye like living here?”
