Page 34 of The Rogue's Bride
Caitrin heaved in a deep breath. The air between them was suddenly charged. She wasn’t sure she wanted to spend an evening alone with him. It was best they kept their relationship well-defined. He was the chieftain, and she his chatelaine. They spoke daily about what needed to be done to keep Duntulm running, but they didn’t need to take things further than that.
Yet she couldn’t refuse without giving offense. The boyish smile he gave her then, unraveled the last of her reserve toward him. He looked so hopeful she couldn’t deny him.
“Very well,” she huffed before favoring him with a smile. “Now, please go away and let me finish my bannocks in peace.”
Chapter Fifteen
I Don’t Want This
CAITRIN TOOK A sip of wine. The deep, spicy flavor exploded on her tongue, and she glanced up, eyes widening. “This is delicious … what is it?”
“Spiced black plum,” Alasdair replied with a smile. “The last of the wine laid down by my father.”
Caitrin lowered her gaze to the deep red wine in her goblet, before she took another sip. “I thought we didn’t have any of that left?”
His smile widened. “Aye … that’s because ye don’t know of Da’s secret store.”
Caitrin inclined her head. “Clearly not.”
The evening was drawing out. They had long since finished their supper of pork and kale pie. The servants had cleared away the dishes, before Alasdair suggested they shared a goblet of wine together. Caitrin had now taken a seat before the window while Alasdair leaned up against the stone ledge opposite.
Alasdair drank from his goblet, his expression turning wistful. “No one could make wine like my father. We haven’t had a decent drop here since he died.”
Caitrin watched him, noting Alasdair’s relaxed posture as he leaned against the sill, legs crossed at the ankles before him. She’d been tense upon first entering the solar—for she couldn’t set foot in this chamber without remembering Baltair—but after a good meal she was starting to unwind.
The tension and worry of the past days slowly unraveled, and she found that she was enjoying the evening. The shutters were open, giving her a view of the deep indigo sky, where the stars were just twinkling into existence. The air filtering in was cool and laced with the scent of the sea.
“The seeds are sown for the summer now,” she said finally. “All we need is a few months of sunshine.”
He huffed a laugh. “Ye are never guaranteed that on this isle.”
“I saw the new grain store yesterday.”
“Aye.” He met her eye, his mouth curving. “What do ye think of it?”
“It’s a very clever design … I never thought of raising it so high off the ground.”
Alasdair smiled. “It keeps rodents out. I saw one similar in Inbhir Nis … ye needed a ladder to get up to it. We’re going to build three more before summer ends.”
Caitrin inclined her head, studying him. “Ye make a fine chieftain, Alasdair MacDonald. The folk of this land are fortunate to have ye.”
Alasdair held her gaze. “Are they?”
The atmosphere suddenly altered between them, a tension rising that had been absent earlier. Suddenly, Caitrin felt nervous. She looked away and took a large gulp of wine to fortify herself.
“I know Eoghan is important to ye,” she said finally, “but why not find yerself a wife and father children of yer own?” She raised her chin, forcing herself to meet his eye once more. “The MacDonalds of Duntulm risk dying out.”
His gaze guttered, and yet he didn’t reply. Instead he looked away, focusing upon the dark sky outdoors.
Caitrin’s breathing quickened. She probably shouldn’t have spoken of something so personal, and yet this issue had been bothering her. “Alasdair?”
He shifted his gaze back to her, and the look on his face made Caitrin swallow hard. She curled both hands around the goblet, as if anchoring herself to it.
“After ye wed Baltair, I made a decision.” His voice held a rasp. “If I couldn’t have ye, I would have no one.”
The words fell heavily in the solar.
For a long moment, Caitrin merely stared at Alasdair, and then her chest constricted as guilt tore into her. She knew she’d hurt him—but the wounds went deeper than she’d thought. “Ye shouldn’t throw yer life away like that,” she whispered. “It’s a waste. Ye would make a fine husband and father.”
