Page 81 of The Rogue's Bride
“He’s a wise man yer husband,” Caitrin said with a teasing smile. “Taran says little but notices much.”
“Ready to disembark?”
Caitrin glanced over her shoulder to find Alasdair standing behind them, a coil of oiled rope in hand. Dùnglas sat at his side, tail wagging. Since the hound had once belonged to Adaira, they’d decided to bring him with them to Gylen Castle. Behind Alasdair, Taran and two others were readying the boat to dock, trimming the sail and maneuvering it toward the jetty with long oars.
“Aye,” Caitrin replied before grinning. “I don’t think Rhona or I have a love for the water.”
A short while later Caitrin MacDonald stepped onto Argyle soil for the first time. Her legs wobbled under her as she made her way up the wooden jetty. They took a few moments to adjust to a solid surface, and she was glad of her husband’s steadying arm.
Alasdair carried Eoghan strapped to his back. The lad was restless, hands waving as he wriggled against the restraints. Now that he could stand, pulling himself up on any solid object he could find, Eoghan no longer liked being carried.
Dùnglas ran ahead, eager as them to be on land again.
The small party made their way up the path from the jetty, carrying leather bags and satchels with them. The road up to the castle wound over rocky headland, although beyond Caitrin spied grassy hills dotted with cottars’ huts and grazing sheep. It was a peaceful spot, if a little windswept.
They’d almost reached the gates, which were open this afternoon, the jagged teeth of the iron portcullis raised, when a small figure appeared. She was a comely young woman with long walnut colored hair, dressed in flowing green. Picking up her skirts, she broke into a sprint, her slippered feet flying over the stony path.
Caitrin’s breath caught.Adaira.
Her youngest sister collided with Rhona first and threw her arms around her. Adaira’s face was wet, her hazel eyes gleaming, as she pulled back. “I can’t believe it! Ye came!”
Rhona laughed, knuckling away a tear of her own. “Of course we did. I made ye a promise, didn’t I?”
A lean grey wolf hound bounded up to Adaira then, nearly knocking her off her feet.
“God’s bones,” Adaira gasped, averting her face from its eager tongue. “Who’s this?”
“Don’t ye recognize wee Dùnglas?” Rhona asked, laughing. “He’s a bit bigger than when ye saw him last.”
“Dùnglas?” Adaira pushed the hound off her before reaching down to pat him. The dog’s tail whacked against her skirts as he pressed against her. “Ye have grown into a beast!”
“He lives at Duntulm now,” Caitrin said, “but I thought ye would like to see him again.”
“Aye.” Adaira’s gaze shone as she shifted her attention to Caitrin.
Stepping around Dùnglas, she crushed her sister in a tight hug. For a small woman, Adaira’s grip was fearsomely strong. Drawing back from the embrace, Adaira’s gaze searched Caitrin’s face, curiosity lighting in her eyes. Although Caitrin had sent no word of her marriage—or had yet said anything about her change in circumstance—Adaira knew. Caitrin saw it in her expression.
Adaira’s attention shifted to Caitrin’s left, where Alasdair stood with a now grizzling Eoghan on his back. “Alasdair MacDonald?”
Caitrin glanced back to see Alasdair smile at Adaira. “Aye, greetings Lady Adaira. It has been a while.”
Of course, the pair had met briefly when Alasdair had visited Dunvegan intent on wooing Caitrin. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.
“Alasdair is now chieftain of the MacDonalds of Duntulm,” Caitrin said gently, turning her attention back to her sister.
Adaira dropped into a neat curtsy. “Milord.”
“He and I are wed,” Caitrin added.
Adaira’s eyes grew huge. Her gaze flicking between them both. “Ye wed and didn’t invite me?”
Caitrin favored her with an apologetic smile. “The circumstances of our marriage were … unusual, Adi.” She looped her arm through her sister’s and steered her toward the gates. “Come … my belly needs settling after that rough crossing, and if Eoghan doesn’t get out of that sling soon, he’ll turn Alasdair deaf.”
Up ahead, another figure appeared: a tall man dressed in leather braies and a crisp linen léine. He walked with a loose-limbed, confident stride, a smile creasing his handsome face. Fiery auburn hair, of an even brighter shade than Rhona’s, blew around his face.
Lachlann Fraser.
Caitrin cut a glance back to Adaira. “Ye are happy, Adi?”
Her sister nodded, her expression glowing when she too glanced up to see her husband approach. “Very,” she replied softly.
They continued up the path toward where Lachlann had stopped and waited for them. Adaira now clung to Caitrin’s arm as if she feared her sister would run off. “I want to hear the whole story about ye and Alasdair,” she insisted in a low voice. “Ye are to leave nothing out.”
Caitrin laughed and shared a grin with Rhona, who’d fallen into step next to her. Alasdair walked behind them with Taran as they approached the gates.
“I’d forgotten how bossy ye can be,” Rhona chastised Adaira, still grinning.
Caitrin met Adaira’s eye and smiled. “I’ll definitely need to take a seat and have a good platter of food and drink before me. This tale is a long one.”
The End.
