Page 62 of The Rogue's Bride
Rhona’s gaze narrowed. “Ye didn’t know how ye felt?”
Caitrin shook her head, dropping her gaze. “When I knew Alasdair before, we were friends. I didn’t see him in any other way. But when he returned to Duntulm, something changed between us. We both fought it initially. Alasdair still resented me, and I was determined to continue as chatelaine … after Baltair I promised myself I’d let no man rule my life again.”
“But what Alasdair did to ye.” Rhona was scowling now. “It was unforgiveable.”
A wry smile tugged at Caitrin’s mouth. Her sister could be dogmatic at times. She was like their father: there were certain lines that could never be crossed, and once they were, there was no going back.
“I thought so too,” Caitrin admitted softly. “There have been times over the past few days, if ye had given me a dirk, I’d have happily stabbed him through the heart with it.”
Rhona’s grey eyes grew wide. “And ye are going to wed this man?”
Caitrin sighed. “Aye … I can’t describe it, Rhona. I started the day hating him … but after he came to my chamber and told me how he felt … and explained himself … my feelings changed.”
“So ye aren’t doing this just to get Eoghan back?”
Caitrin shook her head. “Alasdair agreed to return Eoghan to me, whether or not I decided to wed him.” She paused here, meeting her sister’s gaze. “I’m doing this because I want to.”
Rhona exhaled sharply. “I just hope ye are seeing things clearly.”
“Surely ye understand, Rhona?” Caitrin replied with a shake of her head. “On yer wedding night with Taran, ye were set to hate him forever … and yet by the next morning yer feelings toward him had completely changed.”
Rhona’s brow furrowed. “That was different.”
“How? He entered those games without telling ye, knowing that ye would feel betrayed. Ye were then forced to wed a man ye didn’t want.” Caitrin paused here. “Yet one night alone together made all the difference.”
Rhona actually blushed then, dropping her gaze. When she looked up, there was understanding in her eyes. “It did,” she said softly.
Silence stretched between the sisters then, as each retreated into their own thoughts. Finally, Caitrin picked up her spindle once more and resumed winding wool. “Forgiving Alasdair was much harder than hating him,” she admitted softly. “But I realized I would know no peace until I did.”
Alasdair pulled up the hood of his cloak and exited the keep, making his way down the slippery steps to the bailey below. The rain fell in heavy sheets, sweeping across the courtyard in waves. It didn’t seem to have let up since it had begun the previous day.
Crossing the cobbled bailey, Alasdair made his way toward the stables. However, instead of taking the left door in to where the horses were kept, he ducked through a low doorway into the lean-to where MacLeod housed his hounds.
The smell of wet dog assaulted his nostrils as he entered. The lean-to was open on two sides, letting in light and a little rain. The dogs didn’t seem to mind though. Most of them were asleep, curled up together at the back of the space, although they stirred when Alasdair appeared.
Tails wagging, many lurched to their feet. The first to reach the edge of the enclosure was a young, leggy wolf-hound with a wiry grey coat.
Dùnglas jumped up against the wooden boarding lining the enclosure, whining with delight at the sight of Alasdair.
“Easy lad.” Alasdair smiled as he tried to fend off the dog’s clumsy feet and wet tongue. He leaned down and examined the injury to the wolf hound’s shoulder, pleased to see the stitched cut had started to scab over now.
Gently, he pushed Dùnglas back into the enclosure. However, the hound tried to get back up again. Its tail was wagging so hard now that its whole body moved from the force of it.
“Looks like ye have found yerself a new friend.”
Alasdair glanced over his shoulder to see Taran MacKinnon standing behind him. Wearing a rain-splattered leather cape, his short hair slicked back against his scalp, the warrior was an intimidating presence.
Alasdair huffed a laugh. “Aye … yer wife thinks the dog is theonlyfriend I’ll make here at Dunvegan.”
MacKinnon’s mouth curved. “Ye would be right there. Rhona would like to see ye gelded.”
He moved closer, his gaze shifting to where Dùnglas had climbed up onto his hind legs again so that he could get to Alasdair. “Are ye looking for a new hound?”
Alasdair shook his head. “I’ve already got plenty of them back in Duntulm.”
“One more won’t make a difference,” MacKinnon replied with a shrug. “Dùnglas is a funny one … since Adaira left, he’s never bonded with anyone else, and he keeps apart from the other dogs. I think he’d be happier elsewhere.”
Alasdair absently stroked the hound’s head. “I suppose I could take the dog back with me … if ye don’t want him?”
