Page 73 of The Rogue's Bride
Caitrin walked slowly, aware that she had a footpad. Instead of Darron shadowing her—for Alasdair had relieved him of that duty as soon as they’d returned to Duntulm—a leggy wolf hound loped along at her heels. Dùnglas had become a constant presence in their life of late. Eoghan loved him, and the hound now lived indoors, sleeping in a basket in the chieftain’s solar at night, and following his master and mistress around during the day as they went about their duties.
Caitrin had thought the dog might get underfoot and annoy her, but it hadn’t. She enjoyed going out for walks with Dùnglas at her side. The hound was also a constant reminder of Adaira.
Surveying her surroundings, Caitrin noted how tidy and prosperous the village looked. Greenery, boughs of pine and hawthorn, decorated the humble cottages, and the streets were filled with stalls boasting the best of the summer produce. She was pleased to see that there remained no sign of the devastating flood of a month earlier. The Cleatburn had now returned to its usual flow, and Alasdair and his men had built a make-shift wooden bridge over it, while they started work on a new stone bridge. One that would hopefully withstand the test of time.
Eoghan perched in a sling on Caitrin’s back, chubby arms waving at passersby. It was a joy to wander here, enjoying the kiss of the sun on her face. The weather leading up to the fair had been grey and wet, but this morning the day had dawned bright.
Caitrin stopped to buy herself a square of rich cake dripping in butter and honey. She had to eat it quickly, lest the honey dripped over her clothing. Dùnglas sat gazing up at her wistfully as she finished the cake and licked honey off her fingers.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she admonished the dog. “There will be plenty of scraps for ye later.”
Caitrin moved on down the crowded street. She walked by men having arm-wrestling contests. An excited crowd swirled around them, shouting encouragement. Not far from the waterfront, a pretty lass with a crown of daisies in her hair danced with other maids before a clapping crowd. Caitrin stopped to watch the dancing, as did many young men. Most of the lads were gawking at the lass with the crown of flowers—this year’s Summer Queen.
Amongst the crowd, Caitrin spotted many of those who worked within Dunvegan keep. Galiene had even managed to drag cook out from her lair. Briana watched the dancing with a grin on her face, her hands full of sticky cake. Sorcha was there too. Caitrin’s hand-maid had joined the dancers. She laughed with the other lasses as she spun and dipped, her hair flying behind her.
Spotting Caitrin, Sorcha broke away from the dancers and joined her. She linked her arm through Caitrin’s, and they moved on, toward the shore. “Will ye watch the men race, milady?” she asked.
“Of course,” Caitrin replied with a smile.
She hadn’t always felt this way. Baltair used to take part in the race, and she’d made a point of staying away, browsing the stalls while he competed. It was tradition that the MacDonald chieftain took part.
But this year was different. This year Alasdair was competing.
Caitrin caught the gleam in her hand-maid’s eye. “I imagine ye won’t bother attending?” she asked, feigning innocence.
Sorcha favored Caitrin with a coy smile. “I wouldn’t want to miss watching a dozen handsome men strip down to their braies, would I?”
Caitrin laughed. Her hand-maid could be almost prudish at times, but then surprise her with a bawdy comment like this.
The two women made their way down to the shore, Dùnglas padding along behind them. Garlands and bright buntings of meadow flowers and heather decorated the streets, leading down to the wooden jetty where small boats bobbed in the tide.
Caitrin stopped, her gaze shifting out across the sparkling water. “How far will they swim?”
Sorcha pointed to where a small blue boat bobbed with the incoming tide. “Out to that dinghy and back.”
They stopped talking then, realizing that the race was about to start: a row of men were undressing ready for it.
Caitrin’s attention immediately strayed to Alasdair. He had his back to her as he pulled his léine over his head, revealing his long, finely muscled back, narrow waist, and broad shoulders. He turned then, tossing his léine aside, and her attention traveled to the dark hair covering his chest, tapering down to his belly.
Despite that she’d seen him naked countless times now, the sight made heat pool in Caitrin’s lower belly.
Shifting her focus to Sorcha, Caitrin saw her hand-maid was watching Darron MacNichol. The warrior had also stripped down for the race as he chatted to Alasdair. Farther down the line, Boyd MacDonald readied himself to race. Tall and lean, his blond hair tied back, Boyd glanced over his shoulder. His gaze rested upon Sorcha until he caught her eye, forcing her to shift her attention from Darron. Then he winked.
The men moved down to the waterline, their bare feet slipping on the loose shingle, and then in a flurry they dove into the water.
Caitrin stifled a gasp. Despite that it was summer, the water would still be freezing.
The swimmers struck out toward the boat. It was hard to tell who was in front. The water foamed around them. However, as they circled the boat, the swimmers drew apart.
Sorcha gripped Caitrin’s arm. “Look, the chieftain and Boyd MacDonald are in the lead.”
Caitrin raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, squinting. “Aye … it’ll be a close race too.”
Cheering echoed out across the water. Most of them were calling Alasdair’s name.
As if hearing them, Alasdair inched forward. He swam in long confident strokes, moving ahead of Boyd.
Caitrin clapped her hands, her voice joining the rest of the watching crowd. Likewise, Eoghan started to squeal with excitement, his chubby arms and legs waving in the sling. Dùnglas started to bark then, adding to the chaos.
