Page 61 of The Rogue's Bride
“I was under the impression she didn’t want me,” Alasdair replied, holding his eye. “I was wrong.” He glanced over at Caitrin then. Her face was tense, her blue eyes wary. She’d been nervous about this meeting. He didn’t blame her, for their future rested on what was decided here.
The pair of them stood shoulder to shoulder as they faced her father. Wordlessly, Alasdair reached out and took her hand, interlacing her fingers with his. Caitrin’s answering squeeze reassured him.
“Campbell’s right,” MacKay growled. “Ye have wasted all our time. I didn’t travel here to be made a fool of.”
Alasdair cut MacKay a sharp look. “No one’s made a fool out of ye, Fergus. Lady Caitrin was free to choose between us … and she has.”
“Aye … but I wager the lass always knew she’d choose ye.”
“No, I didn’t,” Caitrin replied. Her voice was soft, although with a steely edge just beneath. “I met with all of ye in good faith.”
MacKay glared back at her. “Ye have made a mistake choosing him. I could have given ye Strathnaver … a vast tract of land, far superior than any on this barren rock.”
His comment made MacLeod stiffen. Alasdair too tensed at MacKay’s insult, but held his tongue. He was too happy this morning to let anything ruin it. He understood MacKay’s bitterness. The man was disappointed—he was lashing out.
“Let them be,” MacNichol cut in, his voice weary. “Lady Caitrin has made her choice, and we must accept it.”
Fergus MacKay spat out a curse. “Ye may, but I don’t. The Devil take the lot of ye … this is the last time I have anything to do with the MacLeods of Skye.”
With that, MacKay strode from the solar, slamming the door behind him with a force that made the chamber shudder.
“Well … that’s an important relationship ye have just cost me daughter,” Malcolm MacLeod said sourly. “It’s just as well ye are wedding a MacDonald and strengthening the link between our clans … or I would be very displeased with ye right now.”
“Ye do realize that MacKay was always going to be a poor loser?” MacNichol pointed out. “He was sure Lady Caitrin would select him.”
Campbell snorted at this, raising a dark eyebrow as he cast the MacNichol chieftain a disbelieving look. “That oaf? He never stood a chance.”
Alasdair smiled, while MacLeod’s glower eased. Campbell’s comment had succeeded in easing the tension in the solar. Alasdair gently squeezed Caitrin’s hand and glanced at her. He was glad to see that much of the tension had ebbed from her face. She looked up, meeting his eye, and smiled.
MacLeod huffed out a breath before crossing to the sideboard, where he reached for a jug of wine and set out five goblets. “A toast is in order then,” he rumbled, pouring out the wine.
He handed out the goblets, pausing once he’d passed Caitrin hers. He fixed his daughter in a level stare. “Is this truly yer wish, lass?”
Caitrin nodded. She smiled once more, a soft expression that made her eyes darken. The sight made Alasdair’s breathing quicken. “Aye, Da. It is.”
“Very well.” MacLeod held up his goblet. “Let us toast to yer handfasting.” He paused then, his gaze narrowing as it pinned them both to the spot. “There will be no time for second-thoughts, mind. If ye wish to wed, then there will be no delay. Ye shall be handfasted in Dunvegan chapel tomorrow at noon.”
Rhona had gone very quiet.
She and Caitrin were sitting in the women’s solar. Rhona was working upon her tapestry, while Caitrin wound wool onto a spindle. It was late afternoon, and usually at this hour they would have taken a walk together in the gardens. However, rain still fell outdoors, so they were forced to remain inside the cool, damp stone walls of Dunvegan Castle.
When the silence finally got too much, Caitrin put down her spindle, fixing her sister with a level stare. “Out with it.”
Rhona glanced up from her weaving. “What?”
“Ye have something to say to me. I am waiting.”
Rhona huffed, favoring her with a rueful look. “Words fail me, sister … I’m struck dumb.”
“That’s a rarity,” Caitrin replied with a snort. “I should annoy ye more often.”
“Cheeky wench,” Rhona growled. Their gazes met, and her features tightened. “Of late, ye keep yer own counsel. Sometimes I think I hardly know ye.”
Caitrin inclined her head. “Because I didn’t say anything about Alasdair?”
“Aye. Ye had plenty of opportunity to tell me how ye truly felt about him … but ye didn’t. Don’t ye trust me?”
Caitrin loosed a sigh. She heard the hurt in her sister’s voice and was sorry for it. “It’s hard to speak of something ye haven’t even admitted to yerself,” she said after a pause.
