Page 3 of The Rogue's Bride
“Aye.” Caitrin looked away. “I shall go to the village now and let them know. The folk of Duntulm will be delighted.”
She was aware how flat her voice sounded, but she couldn’t force joy into it.
They passed under the portcullis and crossed the drawbridge, taking the narrow road down to Duntulm village. The hamlet was a welcoming sight in the snow, a huddle of stacked-stone cottages with thatched roofs. The village kirk sat behind them, its peaked roof frosted with snow. To the north, the grey waters of The Minch, the stretch of sea that separated Duntulm from the isles beyond, appeared like a sheet of beaten iron against the leaden sky. It had stopped snowing at present, but one look at those ominous clouds warned Caitrin that the break in the weather wouldn’t last long.
Caitrin swallowed a lump in her throat. She loved the folk here. She couldn’t bear the thought of being sent away.
They were halfway down the hill when Darron spoke, his tone guarded. “Alasdair MacDonald isn’t a harsh man, milady. He’ll not turf ye out.”
Caitrin huffed, keeping her gaze fixed upon the village below. Could the man read minds?
Darron was only trying to reassure her, but he’d just unwittingly made her feel worse. He didn’t know of the history between her and the MacDonald heir.
Few besides her sisters did—and even they didn’t know everything.
“I’m sure ye are right, Darron,” she murmured. “Surely, Alasdair will treat Eoghan and me kindly.”
Liar.She wasn’t sure of that at all.
She wouldn’t be surprised if Alasdair MacDonald now hated her.
Chapter Two
Too Much Ale
Kiltaraglen, Isle of Skye, Scotland
Two weeks later …
“I’LL BET YE three silver pennies that I’ll have that wench in my bed by midnight.”
Alasdair MacDonald snorted, bringing the tankard to his lips and taking a deep pull of ale. “A bit overconfident, aren’t ye? The lass hasn’t looked yer way all evening.”
Across the table Boyd raised an eyebrow. “Ye think ye stand a better chance?”
Alasdair smiled back. “Aye.”
“We’ll see about that.” Boyd leaned back in his chair, blue eyes narrowing. “Challenge accepted.”
Alasdair huffed, his gaze traveling across the crowded common room. ‘The Merchant’s Rest’, Kiltaraglen’s only tavern, was packed tonight. Drunken male voices boomed around them. Situated upon Skye’s north-eastern coast, the port village was just a day’s ride from their destination. Their journey back to Duntulm was almost over.
His attention settled upon a blonde and comely lass, with milky skin and a twinkle in her eye, who was carrying a tray of food over to a table in the far corner. She was the inn-keeper’s daughter, and Boyd had been leering at her since they’d stepped through the threshold of the inn.
A smile curved Alasdair’s lips. Boyd was about to lighten his purse. His second cousin, who hailed from the MacDonalds of Glencoe, got bumptious whenever he was full of drink.
Shifting his gaze back to Boyd, Alasdair saw he was smirking at him. Tall and lanky with a shock of red-gold hair, his cousin had a look in his eye that Alasdair knew well. He liked to turn everything, even wooing women, into a contest.
“Very well,” Alasdair drawled. “But ye are not to sulk like a bairn when I win.”
Around them the din increased as two men started having an argument near the fire. The inn had a low ceiling, trapping in the pall of smoke and the odor of roast mutton, unwashed bodies, and damp wool.
Boyd cast him a withering look and raised his hand, catching the serving wench’s attention. “Lass!” he called out, beckoning her to their table. “More ale … can’t ye see we’re thirsty?”
The young woman retrieved a jug and made her way across the sawdust strewn floor toward them. Reaching the table, she gave both men a bold smile and set the jug down.
“We can’t have ye going thirsty, lads,” she greeted them. Her gaze then went to the two empty plates that sat between Alasdair and Boyd. “Was the supper to yer liking?”
“Delicious,” Boyd replied, his tone so lascivious that Alasdair swallowed a laugh. His cousin was a liar. The mutton had been greasy and tough, and the cabbage overcooked.
