Page 4 of The Rogue's Bride
The girl eyed Boyd, her smile widening. “Will ye be wanting anything else?”
“Why don’t ye pour yerself an ale and take a seat on my lap?” Boyd favored her with a toothy grin. “Take a well-earned rest.”
The inn-keeper’s daughter laughed, not remotely cowed by Boyd’s boldness. “Da would beat me for idleness if I did such a thing,” she replied with a shake of her head. The girl’s attention then shifted to Alasdair, where it halted. “Yer face is familiar … have I seen ye before?”
Alasdair held her gaze for a heartbeat, before he allowed himself a slow smile. “I’m Alasdair MacDonald,” he replied.
The young woman’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. “Ye are Baltair MacDonald’s brother?”
Alasdair’s smile widened. He could feel Boyd’s glare cutting into him. His cousin was a fool if he thought Alasdair wouldn’t use his position to his advantage. Baltair had taught him how attractive women found a man with a title.
“Welcome home, milord,” the lass said, her eyes gleaming with interest. “When ye didn’t return after Baltair’s death, we all thought ye lost … that ye had fallen against the English.”
“Well, I’m alive, as ye can see,” he replied, saluting her with his tankard.
Her smile widened. “I shall have our best chamber prepared for ye, milord.”
“Thank ye,” he replied, his gaze holding hers. “And what isyername?”
“Catriona,” she said, her voice lowering. “Willyebe needing anything else?”
Catriona.The name, so similar to that of the woman he’d once loved, caused Alasdair’s breathing to still.
Caitrin.Baltair’s widow, and the woman who’d once spurned him. She was only a day’s journey away now, currently ruling as chatelaine of Duntulm. He’d sent a letter ahead of him; she would be awaiting his arrival, although he didn’t imagine she’d be happy to see him. She probably wished he’d been gutted on an English sword.
Alasdair blinked, shoving thoughts of Caitrin aside. Instead, he leaned forward, his mouth curving. “Aye, bring another jug of ale up to my room, Catriona,” he murmured. “And if it pleases ye, join me up there later as well.”
The young woman’s gaze grew sultry. “Aye, milord,” she murmured, inclining her head. “Itwouldplease me.”
She turned then and walked away, her hips swaying tantalizingly. Alasdair watched her go. She was indeed bonny, and not so different in looks from his sister-in-law. An image of Caitrin MacLeod, lithe and blonde, her sea-blue eyes twinkling with laughter, assaulted him then. The wellbeing that the warmth, a full belly, and copious amounts of ale had given him, ebbed.
Irritation surged. Alasdair would have to face Caitrin again soon enough—but he didn’t want her ruining this evening for him.
He turned his attention back to Boyd. His cousin sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, scowling. “Cheating bastard,” he growled. “I should have known ye wouldn’t fight fair.”
It was Alasdair’s turn to smirk now. “Stop whining and hand over those pennies.”
Alasdair’s eyes flickered open. The light, even dim as it was inside the bed-chamber, assaulted him, and he squinted. It was early. The shutters were closed, and a fire still burned in the hearth, casting a golden veil over the inn’s best room.
Rolling over, Alasdair stifled a groan. His mouth tasted rank, and his temples throbbed. Too much ale. Last night was little more than a blur of noise and fleeting images.
Alasdair’s gaze slid to the back of the naked woman sleeping beside him, and he went still. More details of the night before flooded back. Their coupling had been rough and lusty. His wits addled with ale, Alasdair had almost forgotten to withdraw before the crucial moment, but somehow good sense had prevailed. The lass had seemed disappointed that he didn't spend his seed inside her, but Alasdair was relieved he hadn’t.
He didn’t want to father a bastard. Truth was, he didn’t want to sire any bairns at all.
Catriona shifted, stretching as she awoke. She rolled over to face Alasdair, offering him a sleepy smile when she saw he was watching her. “Good morning, milord.”
“Morning,” Alasdair rasped. He sat up, wincing as pain thundered through his skull. What did they put in the ale in this place? He’d never awoken with such a sore head after a night drinking.
Pushing aside the sheet, he rose to his feet and strode naked to where a pitcher of water sat on the sideboard. He picked it up and drank deeply, not even bothering to pour the water into a cup. He was parched and felt more than a little queasy.
As he lowered the pitcher, Alasdair noted that his hands trembled. He frowned. He’d hoped the tremors, which had begun shortly after the battle against the English months earlier, would stop.
It’s just the ale, he assured himself.I’ll go easy on it in future.
“It’s still early,” the girl crooned behind him. “Ye can have me again before the sun rises.”
Her voice, although gentle, made Alasdair stifle a wince. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. Sitting there amongst the tangled sheets, her blonde curls tumbling over her naked shoulders, Catriona was a bonny sight. Yet the desire to throw up the contents of his stomach was greater than that to spread her smooth thighs. His temples now throbbed as if someone had taken a hammer to them.
