Page 52 of The Rogue's Bride
“Milord,” she admonished him softly as they drew close and she twirled around him. “Don’t stare so … it makes me uneasy.”
Campbell laughed, and immediately Caitrin relaxed. The expression softened his face and eyes. “I apologize … but it’s because ye are a bonny sight, milady,” he replied. “There are many men in this hall who are unable to take their eyes off ye.”
Caitrin inclined her head, acknowledging the compliment. “Da tells me that ye serve the MacKinnon clan-chief at Dunan,” she said lightly. “How long have ye been there?”
“I fostered at Dunan as a lad.” They shifted apart for a spell then, as Caitrin and Ross danced to opposite sides of the floor. When they neared each other once more, he caught her eye. “Duncan MacKinnon is more of a father to me than my own.”
Caitrin suppressed the urge to frown. She’d heard tales of Duncan MacKinnon—and none of them good. He was said to be a harsh man, one who made Malcolm MacLeod look soft-hearted in comparison. Rhona had told Caitrin that Taran had been pleased to leave Dunan and serve MacLeod instead. However, Campbell clearly held him in high regard.
“How exactly do ye serve him?” she asked.
“I’m Captain of the Dunan guard and the clan-chief’s right hand.”
Caitrin heard the pride in Campbell’s voice, but also the edge. He wasn’t used to being questioned by a woman, to having to explain himself to one. Ross Campbell was charming when he wanted to be, and yet Caitrin wondered if he wished for a demure wife who’d have little to say for herself. She sensed his loyalty would always lie with Clan-chief MacKinnon.
Such a man wouldn’t help her get Eoghan back.
Chapter Twenty-three
The Bonniest Lass on Skye
“YE MUST BE tired, milady?” Gavin MacNichol asked with a smile. “Ye have only missed one dance so far.”
Caitrin sighed, taking the chieftain’s hand as they moved forward with the other dancers in a line. “Aye,” she admitted. “My feet are aching.”
“That’s the problem with having three suitors all vying for yer attention.”
Caitrin cut him a swift look and saw that he wore a wry expression. “Da thought it would be a good idea,” she murmured. “To have all three of ye meet me over a short period … as ye might have guessed, he’s eager to see me wed again.”
They left the line and circled their way, back to back, across the floor.
“He certainly is,” MacNichol answered when they passed each other once more. “Although I remember ye telling me back in Duntulm that ye didn’t want another husband?”
Caitrin met his eye. “I don’t,” she admitted. “But have ye tried refusing Malcolm MacLeod anything?”
MacNichol huffed a laugh. “He’s informed us that we will hear of yer decision at noon tomorrow.”
Caitrin tensed, irritation surging within her. She cut a glance across the hall at where her father sat, drinking horn in hand. Typical of him not to share that decision with her.
“Ye didn’t know,” MacNichol observed.
Caitrin shook her head. She moved away and twirled. When she returned to his side, Gavin MacNichol was frowning. “Ye have had a difficult time, lass. I’m sorry for that … I’d like to see ye happy.”
Caitrin swallowed. His kindness unbalanced her. “It’s difficult for me to be,” she murmured. “When MacDonald has my son.”
MacNichol’s blue eyes clouded. “I heard about that,” he admitted. “But I’d make sure ye saw him often … he’d grow up knowing ye were nearby.”
Caitrin held his gaze, a lump rising in her throat. It was a kind offer, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted Eoghan by her side. And yet, she was beginning to realize that Gavin MacNichol was indeed the only one of her three suitors she could consider—the only one she’d feel even comfortable with.
Drawing in a deep breath, Caitrin was about to speak when movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention.
Alasdair MacDonald approached. He wore a determined expression.
Stopping before them, Alasdair met Gavin’s eye. “May I interrupt, MacNichol?”
The two men’s gazes fused for a moment, and the MacNichol chieftain frowned. Caitrin thought, hoped, that he might refuse. But then he gave a swift, curt nod. Gavin glanced over at Caitrin. “Till the next dance, milady.”
Caitrin swallowed, casting him a pleading look.
