Page 44 of The Rogue's Bride
Her sister met her eye with a wry look. “At least Da isn’t trying to wed ye off to the likes of Aonghus Budge.”
Caitrin pulled a face. “I’d rather he wasn’t trying to wed me off at all.”
Rhona studied her a moment, her expression turning thoughtful. “Ye are taking all of this better than I would,” she murmured. “I take it ye have a plan of some kind?”
“Perhaps.” Caitrin looked away, allowing Liosa to finish brushing her hair. She had piled half of it on the top of Caitrin’s head, while allowing the rest to tumble free down her back. It was the first time she’d worn her hair loose in a long while.
“That sounds mysterious,” Rhona replied. “Are ye going to keep it to yerself?”
Caitrin glanced back at her. “For the moment.”
Rhona’s gaze narrowed. “Ye didn’t used to be this secretive.”
Caitrin didn’t reply, despite that she could sense her sister’s frustration.
“Well?” Rhona pressed.
Caitrin sighed. “All I care about is getting Eoghan back,” she admitted. “There’s no point appealing to MacDonald, or Da … but if I choose a husband wisely, he might be able to help me.”
When Rhona didn’t answer, Caitrin turned to face her. Liosa gave a huff of frustration and stepped back, giving up on her finishing touches to Caitrin’s hair. “Do ye think that’s calculating of me?”
Their gazes met before Rhona’s full-mouth curved. “No … I think it’s clever.”
The soaring strains of a harp greeted Caitrin when she stepped inside the Great Hall, Rhona following close behind her. It was early evening, and supper would be served soon. Her father’s retainers hadn’t yet entered the hall. However, a small group sat upon the raised dais at the far end.
Caitrin’s heart raced, and she surreptitiously wiped her damp palms upon the skirt of her kirtle. She hadn’t been looking forward to this—but now the moment had come to greet her suitors, she wished she could turn and flee back to her bower.
She had no wish to sit and simper before these men, not when her son was in her enemy’s keeping. And yet, if she wanted Eoghan back, she had no choice.
Her father and Una sat at the head of the table, with the three suitors flanking them. They weren’t alone though. Taran, Alasdair, Boyd, and Darron sat at the opposite end of the table.
Caitrin stiffened at the sight of Alasdair. She’d hoped he wouldn’t be present for this meeting. Yet she should have known he’d make a point of attending—if only to watch her suffer.
The moment she stepped inside the hall, she felt Alasdair’s attention swivel to her. The weight of his gaze unsettled her, but she ignored him. Instead, Caitrin shifted her attention to the three men who had come to woo her.
Breathe, she counseled herself.Don’t let any of them see ye are nervous.
Gavin MacNichol met her eye, a warm smile stretching his ruggedly handsome features. Next to him was a dark-haired warrior with swarthy good-looks and bright blue eyes. Instinctively, Caitrin knew this must be Ross Campbell. The family resemblance to Una was striking. The third suitor, Fergus MacKay, was a broad-shouldered man with a mane of thick brown hair and green eyes. An appreciative smile stretched his comely face as he watched Caitrin approach.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Caitrin favored them with a warm smile and stepped up onto the dais. “Good eve, milords … thank ye all for coming.”
Alasdair’s fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet.
All conversation had ceased when Caitrin entered the hall. Alasdair’s gaze hadn’t been the only one to track her path toward them.
It was a surprise to see her not wearing black. The sky-blue kirtle clung to her lithe form, accentuating the high curve of her bust, the womanly flare of her hips. It brought out the color of her eyes, the creamy texture of her skin. Her hair, which she usually wore up in prim braids, tumbled down her back.
Alasdair had forgotten to breathe as she’d walked toward the dais—forgotten about anything except the beauty gliding toward him.
And then, he’d watched her attention focus upon the three men seated near MacLeod.
When she’d smiled, his gut had twisted.
That smile wasn’t for him—it would never be for him. Especially now.
The three suitors rose to their feet. MacNichol, the oldest of them, stepped forward first to greet Caitrin. “It’s a pleasure to see ye again, milady,” he said with a smile. He took her hand and raised it to his lips for a brief kiss.
Jealousy knifed through Alasdair, causing him to suck in his breath.
