10. A Litter for Ladies
A Litter for Ladies
The Frasers arrived the next day, in considerably more pomp and ceremony than the Farrish men.
There were women amongst the Frasers, too.
No female soldiers, of course, but servants, attendants, and so on.
A litter was bundled along, swathed in silks and lace which had, remarkably, survived the harsh Highland roads.
Curtains were drawn across the litter window, preventing anyone from looking inside.
This time, Niall made sure to stand side by side with Kenneth at the top of the steps to greet their guests. Kenneth kept scowling up at him.
Niall barely noticed. A quick glance through the crowd reassured him that Catriona was there, standing beside Sukie down on the ground. Their eyes met briefly, and she reddened, glancing away.
He bit back a smile. She’d avoided him since the kiss. Since she had kissed him. It was adorable.
I had better not crowd her. She’ll come to me when she’s ready.
Easier said than done, of course. That kiss was like taking a nibble of delicious, fresh bread when one was starving and then having the whole dish whipped away from you.
“Ye know, if this is too boring for ye, I can see Laird and Lady Fraser to their rooms,” Kenneth said, carefully offhand. “I don’t mind.”
“Nay, cousin. This is my responsibility,” Niall responded smoothly. “I don’t mind.”
Kenneth pouted but smoothed out his expression in time to greet their new guests.
Laird Fraser was a tall, thin man with iron-gray hair and a beaky nose. He’d chosen to ride an expensive purebred horse that somehow resembled him, with its long, bony limbs and its narrow, haughty face.
Kenneth greeted him first, holding out his arms in welcome. Laird Fraser gave a tight, miserly smile.
“Laird MacLeod is not here, then?” he said, too loudly for Niall’s taste. “His health must be worse than is said.”
Kenneth blinked, floundering for a moment. Niall spoke up.
“My father’s health is reasonable. However, he was unable to greet Laird Farrish, and it is unthinkable for him to extend a courtesy to one guest and not another.
So, he regrets that he cannot greet ye either.
Still, he hopes that ye will appreciate his keen sense of justice and looks forward to seeing ye soon. ”
Laird Fraser sniffed. “Well, fair’s fair, I suppose. Ye know my son, Eamond, of course. My heir.”
Pride simmered in his voice.
“Ye two are of a similar age,” Laird Fraser added, “although of course my Eamond is poised to take over as heir if anything should happen to me. He is used to weighty responsibilities, ye see.”
Eamond Fraser was probably a handsome man, if a person liked that sort of thing. He was not particularly tall or broad—not so tall as his father, but certainly stronger-looking—and he smiled around, self-satisfied. Niall didn’t suppose they’d end up being best friends.
Well, nobody is here to make friends anyway, not really.
Turning—with a flourish, so that his cloak flared out behind him—Laird Fraser snapped his fingers in the air. At once, the litter was lowered to the ground, and a soldier stepped forward and unlatched the door, offering his hand as a support.
A tall, thin woman stepped out, descending grandly. She sniffed at the muddy cobbles, drawing away her skirts. Holding her head high, she sailed over to where Laird Fraser stood.
He held out a bony hand for her to take.
“My wife, Lady Fraser,” he announced.
Lady Fraser had the misfortune of resembling her husband just a little too much. Faced with two sets of small, beady eyes, their gazes seeming to miss nothing, Niall almost wished he had left the greeting to his cousin.
Another woman began to scramble out of the litter.
She struggled to maneuver herself through the narrow doorway.
While the soldiers had rushed forward, hands upheld to support Lady Fraser down to the ground, they simply looked at the younger woman, letting her struggle.
She dropped ungracefully, stumbling. Her hem dragged in a puddle, and Lady Fraser gave an audible tut.
People in the crowd craned their necks to get a look at the newcomer.
She was beautiful, with long, rich blonde hair, so pale it was almost white.
She had rich, amber-colored eyes, glinting with gold and hazel and even green.
Her dress was the most beautiful, intricate thing Niall had ever seen.
It was a pale pink, hemmed with countless rolls of lace, gathered in at the hips and allowed to flare out in layers and layers of petticoats.
The color suited her pale skin and somehow managed to make her look almost pure white.
The woman straightened her spine, delicately lifting her skirts, and picked her way over the muddy puddles to stand behind the three Frasers.
Niall caught a glimpse of thin, embroidered satin slippers and frowned.
Shoes like that would be soaked and filthy within minutes.
And in the bitter Highland cold, her feet must already have been frozen solid.
She gave no sign of discomfort, however. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she dropped into a graceful, straight-backed curtsey.
“This, of course, is Isobel MacAlpin,” Laird Fraser announced, with obvious relish. ‘A ripple ran around the crowd.
A MacAlpin lass? They would be saying, more eager than ever to get a glimpse.
Those girls were like currency. Whoever had a MacAlpin girl controlled the clan, everybody knew that. Laird MacAlpin would do anything to guarantee the safety of his beloved daughters.
But now two of them are safe, Niall thought, chewing his lower lip. What happens when he has them all back again? Won’t he take revenge on the clans who wronged him?
“Isobel is betrothed to my Eamond,” Laird Fraser continued, almost airily. “It’ll be a fine marriage.”
Eamond smiled at Isobel, not quite looking at her. She beamed at him, shuffling closer and holding out her hand, as if wanting to take his. He didn’t seem to notice, and she dropped her arm as if it were all an accident.
“It’s a pleasure to have ye all here,” Niall said, taking a step forward. He smiled at each person in turn, careful to meet their eyes. When he met Isobel’s eye, he held out his hand. She gingerly extended hers. He took it—her fingers were freezing. Why wasn’t she wearing a cloak? He bowed over it.
“Ye look like ye could be made of marzipan, Lady Isobel. That’s a compliment, believe it or not.”
She gave a small smile. “I love marzipan.”
Her arms were bare, since the sleeves of her dress only reached her elbows. Goosebumps shivered over her skin.
“But marzipan should never be allowed to get cold,” he responded briskly, straightening up. “Kenneth, why don’t ye lend Lady Isobel yer cloak until she can unpack her own things?”
To his credit, Kenneth had already lifted his hands to the clasp of his cloak when Lady Fraser spoke up.
“She is not cold. That won’t be necessary,” she snapped, voice frosty.
Isobel’s smile wavered. Lady Fraser glanced at her, and Isobel swallowed.
“Aye, ’tis true. I’m not cold.”
Niall bit back a sigh.
A quick glance over the crowd told him that nobody believed Lady Fraser. They were all cold, wearing cloaks and shawls around their shoulders. There were a few tuts and a few meaningful looks. Poor Isobel seemed like a fragile little princess, shivering in the frosty courtyard. She…
Niall’s thoughts ground to a halt. His gaze found Catriona, as it always did.
Catriona’s expression was like nothing he’d ever seen. Her back was straight, eyes wide enough that he could see the whites all the way around, and her jaw slack.
She was staring at Isobel as if she’d seen a ghost. In turn, Isobel’s gaze gradually slipped over to the crowd.
Niall watched, holding his breath.
Slowly but surely, Isobel’s eyes inched over to where Catriona stood.
Then she saw her.
Their expressions mirrored. Shock, confusion, horror. Delight, followed by a hefty portion of fear. Panic, even.
How could I not have seen it before?
The girls had the same pale skin. Their eyes were set in the same way, with dark brows above. The same pointed chin, the same vulpine, upturned nose, the same cheeks, the same way of holding themselves, the same…
Sisters. They’re sisters.
Catriona is the fourth MacAlpin lass.
The realization hit him like a horse running over his chest. Faces flashed through Niall’s mind. Laird Fraser, his face twisted with greed. Laird Farrish and the hatred dripping from his voice when he talked of how much he hated Fiona MacAlpin.
Kenneth and his icy determination to prove himself. To succeed, at all costs.
Nobody can know who she is. They’ll tear her into pieces between them.
Sensing eyes on her, Catriona glanced up. Their gazes met. He watched fear flash across her face before she managed to control it, glancing away.
Isobel had managed to smooth out her expression completely, standing quietly and attentively beside her betrothed once more.
“Shall we go inside?” Niall heard himself say, interrupting whatever Kenneth was saying to Laird Fraser. He got a glare from his cousin in return. “It’s freezing out here. Lady Isobel, why don’t ye go and make yerself comfortable in yer room?”
“She’ll stay with us,” Lady Fraser responded shortly.
Niall shrugged. “As ye like, but I thought we could go straight to my father. I know that Laird Fraser here has serious matters to discuss. I’m sure ye would like to accompany him, but Father won’t talk of clan matters in front of anyone who isn’t a laird or an heir, ye know.”
Lady Fraser’s mouth tightened. No doubt she was imagining being turned out of the room where the future was going to be decided, forced to sit with Isobel in their apartments.
“Very well,” she said at last, voice crisp. “Isobel, go straight to our rooms and wait there. Don’t leave until I arrive.”
“Aye, Lady Fraser,” Isobel responded obediently. She turned to Eamond, smiling hopefully at him. “Goodbye, my love. Will I see ye soon?”
He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was peering up at the Keep walls.
“Is that a gargoyle up there?” he asked.
Niall didn’t bother to respond, and so Kenneth jumped in.
Isobel cleared her throat, turning away, and set off at a brisk trot down the hallway, following a blank-faced Fraser soldier and a maid.
In the crowd, Catriona pushed her way through.
A moment later, she hurried up the steps, keeping her head down and looking at nobody.
She went straight past Niall, and as she did, she glanced up, just for a moment, looking him straight in the eyes.
His heart tightened. He offered her a quick, secret smile and had the satisfaction of seeing a blush creep across her cheeks before she put her head down again, hurrying on by. He watched her go, disappearing down the corridor where Isobel had gone.
Does she understand that I know? She might. She’s clever enough.
What comes next?
Well, that was a question that Niall didn’t have an answer to. He was too tired to worry about it, too.
Nobody can know who Catriona is. Her fate would be bad, I know that. She’d either be a pretty little slave in a gilded cage, like her sister Isobel, or hated and hunted by a powerful man, like Fiona.
I wonder if Laird MacAlpin is furious that his daughters are used as currency among the clans? I would be, if I were him.
The back of his neck prickled, and he lifted his hand, patting down the hairs. Slowly, he turned, already half-guessing what he’d see there.
Alasdair Farrish stood in a shadowy doorway, eyes folded. Fraser soldiers and attendants went past him, deep in conversation. Nobody spared him a glance, and he never looked at them twice, either.
No, his gaze was fixed intently, unblinkingly, on Niall.
Unease coiled in Niall’s chest, tightening and tightening until he felt as though the air was being forced out of his lungs. He offered a quick, easy smile, nodding in Alasdair’s direction.
The man gave no sign that he’d registered the gesture. He didn’t nod back. He certainly didn’t smile.
Swallowing, Niall turned away, following the Frasers and his cousin down the hallway.
Alasdair Farrish’s gaze burned into his back all the way.