Page 38 of The Rogue's Bride
His mouth quirked. “Eoghan is my heir.”
“So ye keep saying. But he’s not yer property. He’s half MacLeod, and he’s not staying here.”
“Aye … he is. Eoghan is weaned now. He doesn’t need ye anymore. I will teach him everything he needs to know—so that one day he can take over from me … he will want for nothing.”
“I’m his mother,” Caitrin countered, “and I’ll go nowhere without him.”
Alasdair snorted. “Ye will … even if I have to throw ye over the back of yer horse and tie ye down.”
Caitrin stared up at him, trembling now. “This is monstrous,” she rasped, heart pounding. “What kind of man would separate a mother from her bairn?”
“One who wishes to ensure the MacDonald bloodline endures.”
“That’s all ye care about, isn’t it?” Caitrin snarled. “Having an heir. Ye are a cold-blooded, heartless rogue, Alasdair MacDonald!”
Alasdair stepped closer to her, his gaze never leaving hers. The smile had faded, and a nerve flickered in his cheek, revealing that her words had managed to wound him. “Aye, I am,” he murmured. “But very soon I will be the least of yer concerns.”
“I can’t believe it, milady,” Sorcha whispered, aghast. “The chieftain wouldn’t do such a thing.”
Caitrin straightened up from where she’d been laying out her clothes on the bed ready for packing. The look of abject horror on her hand-maid’s face, the disbelief in her eyes, made Caitrin’s anger bubble to the surface once more. “Well, ye should believe it,” she snapped. “For it’s true.”
Sorcha’s dark-blue eyes now glittered with tears. “But why?”
“Because he’s been looking for a way to hurt me … and he’s found it.”
“But ye seemed to get on well of late.” The lass knuckled away a tear that now trickled down her cheek. “I thought ye might—”
“Well ye thought wrong,” Caitrin cut her off. “Now stop looking at me with cow eyes and help me pack my things.”
Sorcha heaved in a deep, shuddering breath and nodded. A large wicker chest sat on the floor at the foot of the bed ready to be filled with Caitrin’s belongings.
Caitrin got to work, rolling, folding, and packing with ruthless efficiency. Her movements were jerky as anger roiled within her. She’d been harsh with Sorcha, and didn’t mean to be—but when the lass had tried to tell her that Alasdair MacDonald wasn’t capable of such cruelty, something within her had snapped.
I should never have let my guard down with him.
It was too late now for such regrets, too late to change things. She’d almost begged him earlier—only pride had prevented her—but she knew that wouldn’t help her. He’d only despise her all the more.
“I’m sorry, milady.” Sorcha’s broken whisper pulled her out of her seething thoughts. Caitrin glanced up from her packing to see that her hand-maid now stood, head buried in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. “I can’t bear the thought of ye going away,” she gasped, “of ye leaving Eoghan behind.”
Grief bubbled up within Caitrin. She hated to see Sorcha so upset; she could deal with her own suffering, yet she hated to see it in others.
Wordlessly, she pulled Sorcha into her arms. However, this only made the girl start to sob. Tears stung Caitrin’s eyelids then, scalding her cheeks. She’d told herself she wouldn’t weep until she was alone, but it was impossible not to, not with Sorcha inconsolable. They clung together for a few moments, before Sorcha drew back, her face distraught.
“Surely yer father will oppose this?” she choked out. “He won’t let MacDonald keep ye from yer son.”
Caitrin loosed a heavy sigh and shook her head, wiping at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “My father is a calculating man … political alliances have always meant more to him than the happiness of his daughters. Why do ye think he’s so keen to see me wed again?”
“But surely he wouldn’t want ye separated from yer bairn?”
Caitrin favored Sorcha with a sad, watery smile. “No … but if it keeps his neighbor appeased, I doubt he’ll oppose it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Out for Vengeance
A COOL WIND fanned Caitrin’s face.
Her throat was raw from weeping, her eyes swollen. She was barely aware of those who escorted her: Alasdair up front and Darron behind, with a handful of the Duntulm Guard bringing up the rear.
