Page 70 of The Rogue's Bride
“I’d better get back inside,” she murmured, picking up her skirts so that they didn’t drag in the muddy water. “Lady Caitrin will need my help.”
With that she turned and hurried away.
It was loud inside the Great Hall of Duntulm. The roar of voices echoed through the space like storm-driven waves pounding a rocky shore. Extra tables had been carried in, for all those villagers who’d been temporarily rendered homeless by the flood. Servants carried out tureens of thick salted pork and cabbage stew, served with large loaves of coarse bread.
Caitrin took a sip of wine and let out a long sigh, glancing across at her husband. Alasdair sat upon his carven chieftain’s chair, goblet of warmed wine in hand, surveying the sea of hungry village folk beneath him. The air was heavy with the smells of food, wet wool, and peat smoke. It wasn’t a pleasant odor, but no one seemed to mind. They were all just happy to be somewhere warm and dry, and to fill their bellies.
The rain had stopped now at least, and with any luck the Cleatburn would quickly recede. Then work could start on repairing the damage the flood had caused.
When the last of the food and drink had been served, Alasdair rose to his feet.
“People of Duntulm.” His voice echoed through the Great Hall, quietening the din. “Today might not seem like a cause for celebration, but I have news to share with ye.” Alasdair glanced down at Caitrin then, his eyes shining. He then shifted his attention back to the sea of faces beneath the dais. “Three years ago ye welcomed Lady Caitrin to these lands. Ye have seen her strength, her justness, and her capability. I inform ye now that this woman, whom I know ye all love and respect, is now my wife. She will rule Duntulm at my side.”
Shock rippled across the hall. Nervousness tightened Caitrin’s belly as she looked on. Alasdair’s words had filled her with joy, yet what if the people here didn’t love her as much as he believed?
An instant later she realized her fear was unfounded.
A roar went up, as men and women rose to their feet and raised their cups in the air.
“To the chieftain and his lady!” Alban MacLean shouted, his leathery face creased with joy.
Raucous cheering followed, shaking the hall to its foundations. Smiling, Alasdair reached down, pulling Caitrin to her feet so that she stood next to him. Then, he placed an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.
Caitrin’s vision misted. She’d never expected such a response. Meeting Alasdair’s eye she grinned. “Ye are well liked here,” she said, raising her voice so he could hear her over the din.
His smile widened. “Aye … and so are ye.”
The cheering settled and the feasting began. Caitrin and Alasdair took their seats once more. Helping herself to some stew, Caitrin felt warmth seep through her. The atmosphere in the hall was more joyous than Yuletide. A simple meal sat before them, but it didn’t matter. It was moments like these that made life worth living.
The stew was delicious and the bread fresh and nutty. Wine flowed, and laughter echoed high into the rafters.
Eventually, her belly full, Caitrin leaned back in her chair. She wrapped her fingers around the goblet of wine she held. Like Alasdair she’d changed into dry clothes upon arriving home, but there had been no time to relax in their quarters together. They’d both come straight back downstairs as there had been much to organize before supper.
“I feel as if the damp has drilled into my bones,” Caitrin said with a sigh.
“Aye,” Alasdair replied, massaging a stiff muscle in his shoulder. “I’m looking forward to a hot bath later.”
Caitrin shot him a smile. “I’ll ask Sorcha to have one brought up to yer bed-chamber.”
“Ourbed-chamber,” he corrected Caitrin, before leaning in and kissing her. “I was hoping ye would join me.”
Chapter Thirty-one
All We Need Is Time
THE SIGHT OF the huge iron bathtub, filled with steaming water, made Caitrin release a sigh of pleasure. She sniffed then, catching the scent of rose and lavender. Sorcha had added oils to the water.
The tub sat in the midst of Alasdair’s bed-chamber—or what was now their marital bed-chamber. It was the same one she’d shared with Baltair, and Caitrin had been worried that setting foot inside the chamber again would raise unpleasant memories. Yet, this eve, it didn’t.
Finally, it seemed as if Baltair’s ghost had stopped haunting her steps. For the first time since his death, Caitrin’s body didn’t tense when she thought of him.
It was cozy and warm inside the chamber. The shutters to the single window had been closed tightly, and a fire burned in the hearth. A few feet from where Caitrin stood, she watched her husband disrobe.
Alasdair undressed with the unconscious self-confidence that only men seemed to possess. Most women were prone to cower, to try and cover their breasts with their hands, but a man merely tossed his clothing aside and stood there in his naked glory, without a care.
Caitrin was glad of it, for her gaze feasted upon Alasdair, taking in the long, hard planes of his body and the way the firelight danced across his skin.
Throwing aside his braies, Alasdair turned to her. “Are ye going to join me in the tub?”
