Page 10 of The Rogue's Bride
“The supper was fine,” Alasdair growled, pouring himself a cup of milk from a pitcher in the center of the table. “I’m just tired.”
“Ye have trouble sleeping?” Caitrin knew she shouldn’t pry, for Alasdair was now viewing her with a jaundiced eye. Yet she’d fallen into the habit of helping those around her since becoming chatelaine—and she wanted to prove herself useful now.
“Aye … sometimes,” Alasdair replied, his gaze cautious.
“I can ask a servant to brew ye a drink with valerian root before bed,” she suggested. “It helps with sleep.”
Alasdair nodded, although his frown made it clear he wished her to drop the subject. Caitrin lowered her gaze to the buttered slice of bannock before her. Anxiety churned in her belly as she resumed eating. She’d awoken just before dawn, resolved to prove her worth to Alasdair MacDonald, but instead had succeeded only in annoying him.
“Who has been managing the accounts in my absence?” the chieftain broke the heavy silence that had settled over the table.
Caitrin glanced up to see that Alasdair was looking in Alban’s direction. Irritation rose within her, dousing the nerves. Just like the evening before, he was deliberately favoring the steward, as if she had no responsibilities here.
Caitrin cleared her throat. “I have been … although Alban often sits with me to ensure I have the numbers correct.”
Alasdair’s peat-dark eyes swiveled back to her, his mouth curving. It was his first smile since he’d sat down at the table, and it softened his face considerably. “Of course … I’d forgotten that ye know yer letters.”
Caitrin pursed her lips. “Aye, ye once teased me for it … said that lasses were no good at such things.”
Surprise flared on his face. Did he think she’d forgotten?
She and Alasdair were almost the same age—born in the same year just a month apart. Before that fateful day in Dunvegan garden, when she’d rejected him, they’d been friends since childhood. Years earlier, when they were both around nine winters old, she’d told Alasdair that a nun from Kilbride Abbey was teaching Caitrin and her sisters to read and write. Alasdair had roared with laughter.
“Aye … I did.” Alasdair watched her for a long moment, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “Shall we see if I was right?”
Caitrin frowned.Ye weren’t.The words boiled up inside her, but she choked them back. He was deliberately provoking her.
Alasdair smiled. “Meet me in my solar mid-morning,” he said smoothly, “and we shall go over the accounts together.” He paused here and reached for the last wedge of bannock on the tray before him. “Bring my nephew with ye … I want to meet Eoghan.”
Chapter Five
Taken Seriously
CAITRIN OPENED THE ledger and tried to ignore the man who’d just pulled up a seat next to her.
Alasdair was sitting too close—it unnerved her. She was keenly aware of the heat of his body and the scent of his skin mixed with that of leather. In the past, his presence hadn’t affected her like this. She didn’t understand why it did now.
It was the last thing she needed.
They weren’t alone in the solar. Alban wasn’t present, but Boyd had joined them instead. Dressed in the leather armor of the Duntulm Guard, the warrior leaned against the window sill, cup of ale in hand. Despite that it was a chill day outdoors, Alasdair had opened the shutters to the small window looking south. However, a few feet away, a fire burned vigorously in the hearth. The warmth enveloped Caitrin in a soft blanket, although it didn’t take the edge off her nerves.
She’d never liked the chieftain’s solar, and after Baltair’s death had rarely set foot inside it, preferring to keep to her own quarters instead. This chamber, with its masculine aggression, reminded her of her husband.
They weren’t pleasant memories.
Caitrin cast Alasdair a quick glance and found him watching her, a lazy smile curving his lips.
She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that.
“What would ye like to see first?” she asked, all business.
“I’d like to see my nephew,” he replied. “Where is he?”
“He’ll be here shortly … my hand-maid has just gone to fetch him.” Caitrin drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm her rapidly beating heart. She didn’t like that both men were now watching her. Why did Boyd have to be here at all? “In the meantime, let’s get started.”
“Very well,” Alasdair drawled. “Turn to last year’s expenses.”
Caitrin reached out and leafed back through the pages, smoothing them open at the year’s beginning. She then pushed the ledger toward Alasdair so that he wouldn’t need to move any closer to her to read it.
