Page 21 of The Rogue's Bride
Alasdair inclined his head. “What happened with yer sisters?”
“He tried to force Rhona to choose a husband … and when she refused, he organized games where she was to wed the winner.”
Alasdair gave a soft laugh. “That would have been ill news for yer sister. Did she not rebel?”
“She did … Rhona ran away but failed in her attempt to flee the isle. In the end she wed Taran MacKinnon.”
Alasdair’s gaze widened. “That scarred brute … yer father’s right-hand?”
“Aye, the same. He won the games.” Caitrin paused here, her mouth quirking. “She wasn’t pleased … but fate turned in her favor. They’re now in love.”
Alasdair shook his head in disbelief. “And wee Adaira. What happened to her?”
“Da tried to wed her to Aonghus Budge.”
“Lord … he didn’t?”
Caitrin grimaced. “Luckily, that never came to pass, for Adaira freed a prisoner from Dunvegan dungeon and escaped with him. They’re now wed and live in Argyle.”
Reaching out, Alasdair placed a hand on her arm, forcing her to stop walking. “God’s bones, Caitrin. Ye must be spinning me a tale?”
Caitrin shook her head. Strangely, she was enjoying this conversation. It reminded her of years past when she and Alasdair had swapped stories of the goings on in their respective castles. It seemed a lifetime ago. “The man she freed was Lachlann Fraser, the Fraser chieftain’s eldest,” she replied. “Da nearly went mad when he learned of it, but he has given them his blessing now.”
Alasdair gave a low whistle, his gaze searching her face. “And what of ye, Caitrin? Surely the old dog has let ye off the leash?”
Caitrin pulled a face. “Ye would think so, yet now I’m a widow, he’s already scheming. He wishes to find me another husband.”
Alasdair’s face tensed. “He does?”
“Aye … I imagine ye will receive a missive from him soon enough, asking ye to send me home.”
Alasdair nodded, his gaze shuttering. They resumed walking, following the party up the hillside now to the fallow barley field.
“And what doyewish?” Alasdair asked finally. “Do ye want to wed again?”
Caitrin shook her head. “I’d prefer to remain at Duntulm as chatelaine,” she murmured. “I have a son and a life here.”
She glanced away then, aware that she’d possibly said too much. It was bold for a woman to make such statements. However, Alasdair had just given her the opportunity to make her wishes for the future clear. He might help her keep her father at bay.
Caitrin met his eye once more and smiled. “I’m glad we are friends again, Alasdair.”
He held her gaze for a moment before glancing away. His voice, when he answered, was soft and reflective. “So am I.”
They reached the barley field then, a wide gently sloping stretch that crowned the top of a hill behind the lower fields.
The farmers were waiting for them, gathered in a huddle as they bickered together over the best spot to plant the barley.
Caitrin moved past them, walking across the fallow earth a few paces. She then crouched down and scooped up a handful of soil and examined it.
“What say ye, milady?” The elderly farmer approached her, his brow furrowed. “It’s too dry, isn’t it?”
Caitrin sighed, brushing off her hands and rising to her feet. “Perhaps … but I’m not sure the meadow next to the burn is the right spot to plant barley either. It gets waterlogged in heavy rain.”
“The lady has a point.” Alasdair stepped up next to the farmer. “Barley doesn’t thrive in wet soil. It needs a well-drained field.”
“Aye,” Caitrin replied with a smile. “If I may make a suggestion, milord … I think ye would be best to plant out this year’s barley in the field behind the kirk.”
The mist had lowered when they made their way back down the hill. The rain shrouded the winter landscape in a heavy veil. Picking her way down the slippery, pebble-strewn path, Caitrin cast Alasdair a quick look. “Ye love this land, don’t ye?”
