Page 33 of The Rogue's Bride
But now the worst was over.
Caitrin felt wrung out. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, her head heavy. She needed to rest.
As if reading her mistress’s thoughts, Sorcha spoke up. “I’ll watch over the lad, Lady Caitrin. Why don’t ye go and lie down awhile?”
Opening her eyes, Caitrin cast a grateful smile over her shoulder at her hand-maid. “I don’t know what I’d do without ye, Sorcha.”
The young woman smiled back, her cheeks dimpling. She looked tired in the grey light that filtered in from the open window. It was a sunless day outdoors. Sorcha’s face was strained, her eyes hollowed.
Caitrin was sureshelooked far worse.
“Ye are a good mother, milady,” Sorcha replied. “Ye couldn’t have done more for Eoghan.”
Caitrin heaved a sigh. “I keep blaming myself. I shouldn’t have had him outdoors … if he caught a chill because—”
“Ye don’t know that, milady,” Sorcha cut her off, her voice firm. “Ye aren’t to blame.”
Caitrin pushed herself away from the edge of the crib. “I just thank the Lord it’s over,” she murmured.
Eoghan was all she had. She couldn’t bear to lose him.
Leaving Sorcha with her son, Caitrin made her way back to her own quarters. She entered her solar: a small, yet comfortable space, warmed by a glowing hearth. A servant had been in here, she noted. They’d left a tray of food—bannocks with butter and honey—for her.
Caitrin had thought she’d be too exhausted to eat, but the sight of the food made her belly growl, reminding her that she’d missed supper the night before. Seating herself at the table, she poured out a cup of milk and started to butter a wedge of bannock.
She was halfway through her meal when a knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called, expecting to see a servant.
Instead, Alasdair MacDonald appeared. Leaning against the doorframe, he folded his arms across his chest and favored her with a tired smile. “I saw the healer leave earlier. He tells me Eoghan is on the mend?”
Caitrin put down the bannock she’d been about to bite into. She had not spoken to Alasdair since their brief conversation two days earlier. “Aye,” she replied, her manner guarded. “His fever broke just before dawn.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
Not knowing what to say to him, Caitrin fell silent.
“Are ye angry with me?” he asked after a moment.
“No,” Caitrin replied warily.
Pushing himself off the doorframe, Alasdair took a step into the solar. “I haven’t been inside this chamber for years,” he said, his gaze shifting around the solar. “Not since my mother was alive. It was Ma’s favorite spot … but I see ye have made it yer own.”
His words eased the tension between them, and Caitrin nodded. Indeed, since her arrival at Duntulm, she’d imbued the solar with her own character. There were baskets of dried herbs and flowers dotted around the space. Colorful hangings, which she and Sorcha had spent the last three winters laboring over, covered the damp stone walls.
Alasdair met her eye then. “I’m sorry about how I spoke to ye last. I was worried about Eoghan … it made me harsher than I intended.”
“I was worried about him too,” she reminded him quietly, “but I also owe ye an apology … I should have told ye he was unwell.”
Alasdair’s gaze clouded. “Why didn’t ye?”
Caitrin looked away. “I don’t know.”
He’d take offense if she told him the truth. Despite that they’d gotten along well over the past few months, when it came to Eoghan, she still didn’t trust him.
She glanced back to see Alasdair watching her. “Are we still friends, Caitrin?” he asked softly. The way he said her name made a shiver of pleasure run down her spine.
Doing her best to ignore the distracting sensation, Caitrin frowned. “Of course.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Then would ye have supper with me this evening in my solar?”
