Page 29 of The Rogue's Bride
“Open them up first, please,” Caitrin instructed. “I want to make sure we’ve gotten what we ordered.”
He obeyed, using a knife to pry the lid off a small barrel. A sweet, woody scent drifted into the damp air, and Caitrin peered inside, a smile curving her lips. “Cinnamon,” she breathed. She’d forgotten that she’d ordered some all those months ago—the scent reminded her of mulled wine at Yuletide.
Scratching a note on her board, Caitrin nodded to Tory.
“Open that one next to it.”
The young man pried the lid off another small barrel, which was filled with black peppercorns. Another costly spice, and one which would hopefully last them a while.
“Make sure ye close those barrels well,” Caitrin ordered, “and put them on the top shelf in the stores.”
“Aye, milady.” Tory carried the barrels of precious spice away, leaving Caitrin alone. She was just scratching another note when a male voice behind her made her start. “Good day, Lady Caitrin.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see that Gavin MacNichol had approached. Her heart sank at the sight of him. After the words they’d shared the day before, she felt a little uncomfortable around the chieftain. She’d always liked Gavin, but during that meal she’d seen the glint of interest in his eyes. Her father hadn’t helped matters either, but she didn’t want to encourage him further. She also didn’t want to linger out here in the bailey any longer than necessary. With Eoghan so restless, she needed to return to her son as soon as possible.
“Good day, Chieftain MacNichol.”
“Busy, I see,” he observed. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Alasdair is lucky to have yer help here.”
“These are long awaited supplies,” she replied, favoring him with a smile of her own. “The first since the war.”
He gave her a long, searching look. “It’s good to see ye happy again, lass.” Caitrin tensed, and when she didn’t answer, he continued. “Innis told me how unhappy ye were … but the last time I visited, I didn’t need anyone to point it out to me. I’ve never seen a woman with such sad eyes.”
Caitrin dropped her gaze to the muddy ground, aware that Tory would return soon. MacNichol had been so direct she didn’t know how to respond.
“Baltair could be a brute, and he wasn’t easy to like,” the chieftain said after a pause. “I’m just sorry he put ye off wedding again.”
Caitrin glanced up, meeting his gaze. Gavin MacNichol was watching her with a soft look that made her feel wretched.
“Not every woman is meant to be a wife,” she replied, her tone brittle.
He inclined his head. “No … but it’s a waste of a good woman such as yerself.”
“How is he?” Caitrin let herself into her son’s bed-chamber to find Sorcha seated by the fire, sewing in hand. Eoghan lay asleep in his crib.
As soon as the supplies had been dealt with, she’d made her way back upstairs.
Sorcha cast aside her sewing and rose to her feet, her face tense with concern. “His cheeks are very red … but he has been sleeping since ye left.”
Caitrin crossed to the crib and gazed down at her son’s sleeping face. Sorcha was right. His cheeks were deeply flushed now, and when she pressed a hand to his forehead, she drew in a sharp breath. He was burning up. “Go and fetch a healer, Sorcha,” she ordered. “Quickly, please.”
Sorcha nodded. Without another word, she left the chamber.
Alone, Caitrin let out a deep sigh. Massaging a tense muscle in her shoulder, she continued to watch Eoghan, calmed by the steady rise and fall of his chest.
It’s only a fever,she reassured herself.
Why then did cold dread curl in the pit of her belly?
“Where are ye off to in such a hurry?”
Sorcha was looping a woolen shawl over her shoulders as she crossed the keep’s entrance hall, when a familiar voice hailed her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Darron MacNichol approach.
“Wee Master Eoghan has a fever,” she replied briskly, “I’m off to the village to fetch the healer.”
Darron stepped close to her. “I’ll come with ye.”
Sorcha clicked her tongue. “There’s no need for that, MacNichol. Ye don’t have to escort a hand-maid.”
