Page 30 of The Rogue's Bride
He favored her with a stubborn look. “Ye serve Lady Caitrin, Sorcha. That makes ye my responsibility as well.”
Sorcha huffed. “Suit yerself.”
They made their way outside and crossed the bailey under an overcast sky, their boots splashing through the mud. Crossing the drawbridge, Sorcha avoided looking down at the deep ditch that surrounded the curtain wall on three sides. If she ever slipped and fell into it, she’d break her neck for sure.
Striding down the hill toward the village, Sorcha stole a glance at Darron. The captain of the guard was an enigma. Upon her arrival at Duntulm, she’d suffered something of an infatuation for him. But after realizing he barely noticed her existence, she’d promptly put him out of her head.
These days though, he’d altered in his manner toward her. It seemed that everywhere she went, Darron MacNichol appeared. He wasn’t a garrulous man, yet he’d approached her at Beltane—much to Boyd’s irritation.
Boyd MacDonald. She wasn’t sure she trusted him. He often went out of his way to speak to her—and when he did his charm was breathtaking—but just yesterday she’d heard two of the scullery maids gossiping about how he’d stolen a kiss from one of them. Sorcha had gone cold. Suddenly, his compliments and melting looks took on a different meaning.
Pushing thoughts of Boyd aside, Sorcha broke the silence between her and Darron. “Is yer uncle still at Duntulm?”
Darron glanced her way. “Aye … Gavin leaves tomorrow. Why?”
“I heard he’s looking for a wife.”
Darron raised an eyebrow. “Are ye interested?”
“Of course not.” Sorcha cast Darron an irritated look. As the bastard daughter of the MacQueen chieftain, men like Gavin MacNichol were far beyond her reach. “Galiene told me that he was showing an interest in Lady Caitrin.”
Darron snorted. “Galiene has the loosest tongue in the keep.”
“Is she wrong?”
“Ye shouldn’t gossip, Sorcha. It’s unbecoming.”
“Oh, stop being such an old woman, MacNichol, and answer me.”
He cast her a censorious look. “My uncle is a widower. If he’s considering taking another wife, there’s nothing strange in that.”
“He’s wasting his time on Lady Caitrin … she doesn’t wish to wed again.”
“I know,” he replied with a shake of his head. “And she’s not the only one. Alasdair MacDonald doesn’t want to wed either it seems.”
Sorcha nodded, remembering the chieftain’s words that day in his solar months earlier when she’d brought Eoghan in to see him.
When Darron spoke once more, his tone was introspective. “Ye didn’t meet Alasdair before he went away, did ye?”
“No … I arrived at Duntulm the same time as Lady Caitrin. He’d already joined the king’s cause.”
“The war changed him,” Darron said, glancing her way once more. They’d almost reached the bottom of the hill now. “There’s an edge to Alasdair that wasn’t there before … like he’s expecting someone to sneak up behind him and sink a knife into his back.”
Sorcha nodded. “I’ve seen him staring off into the distance sometimes,” she murmured. “He’s tries to hide it … but he’s troubled.”
Silence stretched out between them for a few moments before Darron broke it. “Do ye ever give some thought to yer own future, Sorcha?”
Surprised, Sorcha cut him a sharp glance. “Not really … why?”
His gaze met hers. “Do ye wish to one day wed?”
Embarrassment flushed through Sorcha at the direct question. “I … don’t know,” she stammered, trying to tamp down the heat that was now rising up her neck. “I’ve not thought about it.”
Chapter Fourteen
A Trifling Thing
“DARRON … WHERE’S LADY Caitrin this evening?” Alasdair put down his goblet, his gaze settling upon Captain MacNichol. “She usually takes her supper with us.”
