Page 45 of The Rogue's Bride
His reaction caught him off guard. When MacLeod had invited him and his men to join them for a goblet of wine and a light supper, he’d been happy to accept. He was curious to see Caitrin’s suitors and her reaction to them. He wanted to see her struggle, possibly even disgrace herself.
But he hadn’t expected this—this stomach-wrenching surge of possessiveness.
As if Caitrin belonged to him. As if he had any claim on her.
Alasdair stared down at his wine and struggled to master his reaction. When he glanced up, the tall, raven-haired man with midnight blue eyes had stepped forward to greet Caitrin. He too took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Ross Campbell at yer service, milady.”
The third suitor approached her then, dropping to one knee before Caitrin. “Such a vision of loveliness,” he boomed in a deep baritone. “A fairy queen stands before me.”
“Daughter, meet Fergus MacKay, son to the chieftain of Strathnaver,” MacLeod spoke up with a grin. “He has traveled a long way to meet ye.”
Caitrin inclined her head, favoring MacKay with a gentle smile. “I am honored, milord.”
Alasdair raised his goblet to his lips and took a deep draft.
Jealousy writhed in his gut like an eel. He tried to quell it, but the beast would not be calmed. It had been a mistake to accept this eve’s invitation. But now it was too late. He would have to sit through torture.
Caitrin took a seat at the long table. Gavin MacNichol sat to her left while Ross Campbell and Fergus MacKay faced her.
When Liosa had claimed her suitors were all fine-looking men, she’d thought her to be exaggerating. The hand-maid tended to go a bit silly over such things and couldn’t be trusted to give an accurate view. However, this time, the lass was right.
It didn’t help ease Caitrin’s nervousness though. It had been a while since she’d been the center of attention like this.
Courage. Ye need to do this … for Eoghan.
Squaring her shoulders, Caitrin’s gaze swept over the faces of her three suitors. “I’m flattered ye have come all this way,” she addressed them with another smile. “I look forward to getting to know each of ye a little better.”
She glanced over then, at the man seated next to her. Gavin MacNichol smiled back. Despite that he was around eighteen years her elder, the MacNichol chieftain was still a virile man. He wore his long blond hair unbound this eve. He looked less weary than the last time she’d seen him. His blue eyes were warm as he poured her a goblet of wine.
Opposite her, Ross Campbell was dangerously attractive. The warrior, who appeared to be in his late twenties, had a magnetic gaze and chiseled features. The sensual edge to his gaze as he briefly met her eye made Caitrin uneasy. She imagined he was used to women fawning over him.
Fergus MacKay was of a similar age to Campbell, although his looks were less brooding. He was built like an ox; his leather jerkin strained against his muscles. MacKay stared at her, his fern-green eyes gleaming with frank admiration.
Caitrin surveyed her suitors under lowered lashes. She needed to think. Which one would get her closer to Eoghan? Which one might even defy MacDonald for her?
She decided then that she would make her position clear.
“I should start this eve by telling ye what I’m looking for in a husband,” she declared, her voice carrying across the table.
Silence fell. No one here—visitors or kin alike—had expected Caitrin to be so direct. A lady didn’t speak so. But Caitrin didn’t care. Her time as chatelaine had taught her the value of taking control of situations before others did.
“My future husband will be honest and loyal,” she continued. “A fair-minded man who would never seek to undermine or mistreat me in any way.”
She shifted her attention down the table then, past Rhona and Taran’s shocked faces, to where Alasdair MacDonald sat. His face was pale and strained, his gaze hooded. He didn’t look happy at all, and Caitrin felt a surge of vindictive pleasure.
Good.
Caitrin looked back at her father to see that Malcolm MacDonald was frowning, his gaze perplexed. He was probably wondering what had come over her. Caitrin had never spoken out of turn like this.
An awkward pause followed, while Caitrin waited for her suitors’ responses.
Ross Campbell met her eye and inclined his head slightly, his expression amused. Next to him, Fergus MacKay favored her with a wide grin, whereas Gavin MacNichol merely smiled, his blue eyes twinkling.
Then, unexpectedly, MacNichol raised his goblet into the air. “Shall we toast to that then?”
At the head of the table, MacLeod struggled to his feet. “Aye … a toast.” He too held his goblet high, although he now wore a slightly stunned expression.
The suitors raised their goblets, smiles stretching their faces.
