The Rogue's Bride (The Brides 0f Skye Book 3) Page 21
CAITRIN’S FIRST GLIMPSE of Gylen Castle was of a stone tower etched against a grey sky, surrounded by an emerald blanket of green.
Clutching at Rhona’s sleeve, Caitrin pointed east. “Look … there it is!”
The sisters stood at the bow of the large boat that sailed across the choppy waters of the Firth of Lorne. A brisk breeze had whipped up the surface of the water, making the boat roll. Rhona and Caitrin clung together for stability, clutching the railing.
The castle perched upon a rocky outcrop, commanding a view for miles around. Although it formed part of Argyle, Gylen didn’t actually sit upon the mainland. It sat instead upon the rocky Isle of Kerrera, just off the coast.
Caitrin’s mother’s people resided here—Clan MacDougall. Adaira had assured Caitrin in her letters that their uncle had given her and Lachlann a warm welcome, and that they enjoyed their life at Gylen. But even so, Caitrin felt nerves flutter in the pit of her belly.
She hoped that Adaira and Lachlann truly were happy here and that no unpleasant surprises awaited them.
“It’s impressive,” Rhona said, pushing her unruly auburn hair out of her eyes. “I’d thought Adaira must be exaggerating.”
Caitrin smiled. She’d imagined the same, for their sister could be prone to over-enthusiasm. The tower that rose from the grey-stone keep had graceful lines. It was very different to the more bulky and squat silhouettes of Dunvegan and Duntulm.
“Adaira has no idea we’re coming.” Caitrin’s gaze dropped to the approaching rocky shore. A long wooden jetty jutted out to meet them. “I can’t wait to see her face.”
“Hopefully, she’s at home,” Rhona replied. One hand rested on her belly as she spoke; it had started to swell now under her kirtle, visible when the wind pushed her clothing against her form.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Caitrin said with a frown. “But I’m sure our uncle will entertain us until she returns.”
Rhona huffed. “I’ll be glad to get off this boat. It’s rolling makes me queasy.”
Caitrin nodded, casting her sister a sympathetic smile. It had been a rough ride across from Skye. They’d had to weather two rain squalls and a constant wind that had quickened the journey but made it more uncomfortable.
Rhona held her gaze, her storm-grey eyes piercing. “I haven’t had the chance to say much to ye, Caitrin. We never seemed to have a moment alone once we arrived at Duntulm, but I’m truly happy for ye. I look at yer face now, and I see my sister again.”
Caitrin’s mouth quirked. “I feel a different woman,” she admitted. “But I haven’t gone back to who I was before I wed Baltair. That girl is gone forever.”
Rhona’s eyes clouded. “I must admit that I had my doubts. I thought ye mad for wedding MacDonald. I’m happy to see I was wrong.”
“So am I,” Caitrin replied.
Rhona favored her with an arch look. “Taran did tell me all would be well between ye. He’s been insufferably smug to be proved right.”
“He’s a wise man yer husband,” Caitrin said with a teasing smile. “Taran says little but notices much.”
“Ready to disembark?”
Caitrin glanced over her shoulder to find Alasdair standing behind them, a coil of oiled rope in hand. Dùnglas sat at his side, tail wagging. Since the hound had once belonged to Adaira, they’d decided to bring him with them to Gylen Castle. Behind Alasdair, Taran and two others were readying the boat to dock, trimming the sail and maneuvering it toward the jetty with long oars.
“Aye,” Caitrin replied before grinning. “I don’t think Rhona or I have a love for the water.”
A short while later Caitrin MacDonald stepped onto Argyle soil for the first time. Her legs wobbled under her as she made her way up the wooden jetty. They took a few moments to adjust to a solid surface, and she was glad of her husband’s steadying arm.
Alasdair carried Eoghan strapped to his back. The lad was restless, hands waving as he wriggled against the restraints. Now that he could stand, pulling himself up on any solid object he could find, Eoghan no longer liked being carried.
Dùnglas ran ahead, eager as them to be on land again.
The small party made their way up the path from the jetty, carrying leather bags and satchels with them. The road up to the castle wound over rocky headland, although beyond Caitrin spied grassy hills dotted with cottars’ huts and grazing sheep. It was a peaceful spot, if a little windswept.
They’d almost reached the gates, which were open this afternoon, the jagged teeth of the iron portcullis raised, when a small figure appeared. She was a comely young woman with long walnut colored hair, dressed in flowing green. Picking up her skirts, she broke into a sprint, her slippered feet flying over the stony path.
Caitrin’s breath caught. Adaira.
Her youngest sister collided with Rhona first and threw her arms around her. Adaira’s face was wet, her hazel eyes gleaming, as she pulled back. “I can’t believe it! Ye came!”
Rhona laughed, knuckling away a tear of her own. “Of course we did. I made ye a promise, didn’t I?”
A lean grey wolf hound bounded up to Adaira then, nearly knocking her off her feet.
“God’s bones,” Adaira gasped, averting her face from its eager tongue. “Who’s this?”
“Don’t ye recognize wee Dùnglas?” Rhona asked, laughing. “He’s a bit bigger than when ye saw him last.”
“Dùnglas?” Adaira pushed the hound off her before reaching down to pat him. The dog’s tail whacked against her skirts as he pressed against her. “Ye have grown into a beast!”
“He lives at Duntulm now,” Caitrin said, “but I thought ye would like to see him again.”
“Aye.” Adaira’s gaze shone as she shifted her attention to Caitrin.
Stepping around Dùnglas, she crushed her sister in a tight hug. For a small woman, Adaira’s grip was fearsomely strong. Drawing back from the embrace, Adaira’s gaze searched Caitrin’s face, curiosity lighting in her eyes. Although Caitrin had sent no word of her marriage—or had yet said anything about her change in circumstance—Adaira knew. Caitrin saw it in her expression.
Adaira’s attention shifted to Caitrin’s left, where Alasdair stood with a now grizzling Eoghan on his back. “Alasdair MacDonald?”
Caitrin glanced back to see Alasdair smile at Adaira. “Aye, greetings Lady Adaira. It has been a while.”
Of course, the pair had met briefly when Alasdair had visited Dunvegan intent on wooing Caitrin. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.
“Alasdair is now chieftain of the MacDonalds of Duntulm,” Caitrin said gently, turning her attention back to her sister.
Adaira dropped into a neat curtsy. “Milord.”
“He and I are wed,” Caitrin added.
Adaira’s eyes grew huge. Her gaze flicking between them both. “Ye wed and didn’t invite me?”
Caitrin favored her with an apologetic smile. “The circumstances of our marriage were … unusual, Adi.” She looped her arm through her sister’s and steered her toward the gates. “Come … my belly needs settling after that rough crossing, and if Eoghan doesn’t get out of that sling soon, he’ll turn Alasdair deaf.”
Up ahead, another figure appeared: a tall man dressed in leather braies and a crisp linen léine. He walked with a loose-limbed, confident stride, a smile creasing his handsome face. Fiery auburn hair, of an even brighter shade than Rhona’s, blew around his face.
Lachlann Fraser.
Caitrin cut a glance back to Adaira. “Ye are happy, Adi?”
Her sister nodded, her expression glowing when she too glanced up to see her husband approach. “Very,” she replied softly.
They continued up the path toward where Lachlann had stopped and waited for them. Adaira now clung to Caitrin’s arm as if she feared her sister would run off. “I want to hear the whole story about ye and Alasdair,” she insisted in a low voice. “Ye are to leave nothing out.”
Caitrin laughed and shared a grin with Rhona, who’d fallen into step n
ext to her. Alasdair walked behind them with Taran as they approached the gates.
“I’d forgotten how bossy ye can be,” Rhona chastised Adaira, still grinning.
Caitrin met Adaira’s eye and smiled. “I’ll definitely need to take a seat and have a good platter of food and drink before me. This tale is a long one.”
The End.
Dive into a new series set in the same world as THE BRIDES OF SKYE!
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Gavin MacNichol once broke Annella Fraser’s heart.
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Recently widowed, Gavin has lived with regret all these years. He wed for duty, not for love. But when he escorts Sister Ella of Kilbride home to visit her ailing mother, he realizes that the passion he once felt for Ella still burns—hotter than ever.
Yet Ella is forbidden. She’s sworn her life to the Cluniac order, and is determined to resist the emotional response Gavin’s nearness provokes in her.
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From the author
I hope you enjoyed the conclusion to THE BRIDES OF SKYE. This has been my first ‘quick-release’ series. I actually managed to release all three books a month apart in April, May, and June 2019! Whew!
Writing a revenge story is actually much more complex than I thought it would be! It’s not a theme I embark on that often, but I’d been waiting for the opportunity to get my teeth into such a tale. Caitrin and Alasdair gave me the chance! Often seething resentment is built on misunderstandings, and so I gave our lovers plenty. A young man’s ego is a fragile thing, having Caitrin laugh at him when he proposed would have been hard to take, and then when she marries his brother shortly after the damage is complete. Likewise, when Alasdair separates Caitrin from her son, he does something that’s very hard to forgive.
THE ROGUE’S BRIDE is a highly character-driven story. I enjoyed exploring how far we’ll let our past dictate our future, and delving into the nature of forgiveness. Caitrin and Alasdair were both unhappy at beginning of the story, and I really wanted to give them a HEA. Of course you met Caitrin back in Book #1, when she was married to Baltair, so I hope her story was worth waiting for!
I had to do a bit of research into PTSD for this story. Such things hadn’t been diagnosed back in medieval times, but PTSD existed all the same. As those of you who’ve read other novels by me will know, I like to write about flawed heroes. Alasdair had a lot to contend with, not just the bitterness of losing the woman he loves to his brother, but the trauma of war as well.
The Battle of Neville’s Cross was a real battle. It took place on 17 October 1346, just half a mile from Durham, England. As explained in the novel, the battle was a crushing defeat for the Scottish. The invading Scottish army of 12,000 led by King David II was defeated with heavy losses by an English army of approximately 6,000–7,000 men led by Lord Ralph Neville. King David survived the battle and was taken prisoner by the English. For those Scots who did survive and manage to flee with their lives, the memories of that fight would have been harrowing.
The novel’s main setting, Duntulm, is an actual castle set high upon a cliff on The Isle of Skye’s windswept northern coast. It was the MacDonald stronghold for many years. These days it’s nothing more than a ruin, but enough remains that I was able to get a clear picture of what the keep would have looked like.
Follow me on Facebook and/or my blog to keep updated on my upcoming books. Or you can join my mailing list (not only do you get updates, exclusive stories, and a chance to join my ARC list, but you also receive a free origin story to THE WARRIOR BROTHERS OF SKYE series!).
Jayne x
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About the Author
Award-winning author Jayne Castel writes Historical Romance set in Dark Ages Britain and Scotland, and Epic Fantasy Romance. Her vibrant characters, richly researched historical settings and action-packed adventure romance transport readers to forgotten times and imaginary worlds.
Jayne lives in New Zealand's South Island, although you can frequently find her in Europe and the UK researching her books! When she’s not writing, Jayne is reading (and re-reading) her favorite authors, learning French, cooking Italian, and taking her dog, Juno, for walks.
Jayne won the 2017 RWNZ Koru Award (Short, Sexy Category) for her novel, ITALIAN UNDERCOVER AFFAIR.
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