"What is wrong with you, boy?" she demanded.
As if to make his mortification complete, the sun hid its face behind a cloud once more. The fiery goddess transformed into a woman. A woman who didn't look a bit like Lady Doireann. Wheat coloured curls hung to her waist. The breeze played with some of the outer tendrils, the movement reminiscent of tongues of fire. Add that to the butter-coloured dress she wore, and it was easy to see how his overactive imagination had turned a girl into a goddess, with just a bit of sunlight.
He laughed shakily. "For a moment, I thought you were on fire," he admitted. He traced the shape of her body in the air. "Sunlight in your hair and in your dress. It looked like you were wreathed in flames. I thought I was going to die, and that you were going to burn me to death, without the flames touching you at all."
She backed up a step, her eyes widening in horror. She almost tripped over the hem of her gown, which was a little long for her, he'd only just noticed. She cast her eyes down. "My mother told me many times not to play with fire."
Grieve managed a smile. "My mother told me the same thing," he said. "But I did not listen. I once burned down a whole hay shed. My brother told me the cat had had a litter of kittens and that I could see them in the morning, but I was impatient, and took a candle in there at night…" Now it was Grieve's turn to bow his head. "I earned a sound thrashing from my father for that, and as a punishment he made me rebuild the hay shed. After that, I preferred to build with wood, not set fire to it."
Her eyes was still wide. "And what of the kittens?" Her voice trembled. She might look like a woman but she could not be much older than Grieve himself.
Now Grieve grinned. "They were never in the hay shed. The cat had her kittens in the barn, where the dairy cows slept." He held out a tentative hand for her to shake. "I am Grieve Lewisson, from Myroy Isle. I am to be Lord Ronin's squire."
She eyed his hand suspiciously for a moment, then took it in her own. "Rhona." Her eyes dared him to ask for more than just her name.
All Grieve's instincts screamed that this would be a trap, though what sort, he did not know. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rhona, guardian of this tree. I have heard tales of naiads, but this is my first time meeting one." He closed his mouth, giving her a challenge of his own.
Her narrowed eyes made him worry that he'd made a mistake. Perhaps he should have just complimented her on her name the way he had when he'd met Bedelia. Then again, look how well that had turned out.
Then Rhona gave a tiny smile. "I think you mean a dryad, not a naiad. Dryads live in trees. Naiads are river spirits. But both are myths. They don't exist. At least, not outside of stories. And we are both too old for such things."
Grieve recognise the regret in her tone, for he shared it. Life was much simpler as a child, believing all his mother's tales to be true. "Then why protect this tree so passionately?"
"Because it belonged to my mother," she said. "She brought the trees, and many other medicinal plants, when she came to… When she came to live with my father."
"And your father is…?"
She gave him a look of deep disgust. "Not stupid enough to build a fortification out of willows, or anything that burns so easily. Here on Rum Isle, timber is too precious. We build with sod and stone, so our kittens are safe from boys who like to play with fire, and our people sleep safer in their beds, knowing that when Alban raiders come, and they will, they will not be burned alive, for it would take powerful magic indeed to burn down a sod house." A girl she might be, but the hard look at her eyes said she knew as much about war as Grieve himself, or perhaps more. For a moment, she looked like his own father, telling Mahon how to prepare for war. She seized his arm, her touch searing through the cloth as though the flames Grieve had seen earlier were not as imaginary as he thought. "Come. We shall both go to see my father together, and if his witch of a wife is behind this… I will make her rue the day she was born."
Grieve let the girl pulled him into Lord Ronin's house, all the while musing that if one of the two women he'd met today was a witch he would place his wager on Lady Rhona and not the mousey Doireann. But he kept this thought to himself, lest Rhona turn her fury on him again.
Nineteen
"Brigid," Father breathed, his eyes wide.
Rhona glanced down. Had this gown belonged to her mother – her birth mother, not Blanid? That would explain why she'd never seen Blanid wear it. She rubbed her fingers down the silk. She'd treasure it now she knew.
But now she had more important matters to attend to. "Father, why was this boy cutting down trees by the river?"
"Ah, you've met Grieve, your new foster brother," Father said. "He is Lord Lewis' son, and to be treated with every courtesy. As you are not needed here, will you show him around the island and introduce him to everyone? Lord Lewis sent him to help with our defences, so show him everything."
He meant Sanctuary, Rhona knew. Strange that he did not mention its name before Doireann. Did he not trust her either? Rhona could only hope. She moistened her lips. "Yes, Father." She headed upstairs to pack some things to take. A horseback tour of the island could be done in a day, but if she was to show this stranger Sanctuary…she wanted to take her time, to find out if he could be trusted. Unlike Doireann.
Three days, she decided, if they left this afternoon.
She would need riding clothes, not this beautiful gown. The only thing she had left from her mother. Not to mention another cloak, for hers was still covered in mud from when Doireann left her in the woods. Candace had offered to clean it, but Rhona had wanted to show it to her father as proof of his new wife's perfidy. But it could wait until she returned.
As long as Candace took care of the girls.
Rhona headed for her sisters' room, where she could hear giggling.
Candace sat with the three of them, reciting a rhyme that named each of Sive's toes before tickling the small girl.
"Did you tell Father what she did?" Nuala demanded.
Rhona hung her head. "I tried, but he still does not believe me. Mistress Candace, I swear to you that every word I spoke to you and my father is the truth. She has drugged my sisters once, and next time, she might give them more than a simple sleeping potion. She said as much to me before she knocked me out." She rubbed the lump on the back of her head, still tender after almost a week. Who would have thought Doireann could muster so much power in a single blow? "Please, whatever you do, do not let the girls eat or drink anything that Doireann has touched. I trust the staff, for they are all loyal to my father, but they still must obey her. They will tell you if she touches anything in the kitchen, though she hardly goes in there. But if she does – "
"Hush, girl. I will keep them safe. Your mother nursed my girls through a winter fever when I thought I would lose them. Lady Blanid should have sent word when she was taken ill. I would have been here directly to help." Candace smiled.
"But I must go away for a few days. Will you…"
Candace bowed her head. "I will care for the Lady Blanid's girls like they were my own. By the time you return, Lord Ronin will have accepted me into his household as a nurse again. You may not remember your wet nurse, but Lord Ronin remembers me well. I will make sure of it, if he tries to forget."
Did that mean Candace knew who Rhona's real mother was? Rhona opened her mouth to ask.
"Where are you going?" Maeve demanded.
Her sisters could never know. "Father has a new squire, and he wishes me to show him the island. When we return, I will introduce him to you."
"Will he have new stories?" Sive asked, her eyes shining.
Always, it was stories. If only fairytales were true, and some handsome prince or knight in shining armour would come to save them from Doireann and this war with the Albans.
Rhona managed a smile. "I shall ask him while we ride, and let you know the answer when we return." She made a private wager with herself that the answer would be yes – Grieve had seemed to like telling stories. Perhaps he wou
ld have some even she had not heard yet, that he could tell to amuse her on their journey.
Smiling to herself, Rhona headed for her room.
Off came the beautiful golden gown, to be carefully placed in the chest with Blanid's things. She would need a thicker shift – wool instead of linen. She loosened the laces and let the shift slip to the floor.
A male voice swore.
Rhona whirled in panic, and met the eyes of a red-faced Grieve, who turned around as though his life depended on it.
"What are you doing in my chamber?" she demanded, clutching her shift to her chest.
"I'm not in your chamber, just on the threshold," he said. "Your father told me to follow you, so I did. I waited for you to speak to your sisters, before following you here. How was I to know you intended to undress?"
It sounded reasonable enough. It wasn't like he'd tried to hide.
But…
"Why didn't you say something when I took off my gown? Before I removed my shift?" Rhona demanded. She tugged the woollen shift over her head, so she wouldn't feel so exposed.
"Because I was mesmerised, my lady. It wasn't until I regained my senses that I realised what I should have done. I froze. I could not help myself. I've never seen…" He swallowed, seemingly unable to continue.
"A naked woman before?" she finished for him, feeling her fury build. Oh, if only she could use her magic to blast him out the window. She'd never felt so humiliated in her life.
He managed a watery smile. "Oh, no, I've seen one of those. A few, actually. Just…never one as beautiful as you. One glimpse and…I lost my mind, my lady. I could no longer think or speak. I could only stare." He ducked his head. "Please accept my forgiveness. I did not mean to offend you. I swear it will not happen again."
Beautiful. He'd called her beautiful. No one ever said that. Well, except her father, and he didn't count. Maybe she would forgive him. After all, she'd never seen a naked man before. She'd probably stare, too.
Instead of the brown overdress she'd intended to wear, Rhona chose the rose-coloured one Blanid had once favoured for festival days, until Maeve was born and her waist thickened too much to tie the laces. Blanid's wine-coloured riding cloak went perfectly with it. Oh, but her hair…
Rhona pulled out the pins and set to work, braiding it in earnest. When she had her hair as firmly under control as the blush that had briefly coloured her cheeks, she turned and said, "Shall we go, Grieve Lewisson?"
Twenty
If he'd known she was about to undress, he would have turned his back on her. That would have been the honourable thing to do. But his breath had caught in his throat as the gown came off, and then her shift…
Yes, he'd seen naked women before. But none of them had such perfect breasts. And nipples as pink as…well, the dress she now wore to hide them. As if anything could hide the swell of her breasts now he'd seen them – they were permanently burned into his brain. He would dream of them for the rest of his days, Grieve was certain of it.
Still he waited for her to slap him like Bedelia had, but she did not.
Then she stood before him, only a breath away, her eyes level with his. Gazing at him expectantly.
"What did you say?" he asked, feeling even more stupid.
She gave him a mischievous smile, as though she'd plucked the thought from his mind and it amused her. "I said, shall we go, Grieve Lewisson?"
He'd never heard his own name sound so…seductive. "Anything you wish, my lady," he managed to say.
"We will not return for a couple of nights, so bring whatever you'll need," she said, bundling a few things together. She tucked the bundle under her arm.
Grieve held out his hand. "Allow me to carry that for you." He might have forgotten his courtesies earlier, but that meant all the more reason to remember them now.
Rhona laughed. "You've seen quite enough of my underthings, Lewisson. You see to your own. I shall meet you in the kitchen."
Feeling his cheeks grow hot all over again – she'd been the one caught naked and unaware, so why was he so much more embarrassed? – he headed for the room he'd been told would be his. A comb, some spare clothes, his cloak…what else did he need? His mind refused to work properly. All he could see was her pale skin, curves he ached to touch…and those breasts!
He gritted his teeth and forced the image out of his head as he descended the stairs two at a time to where his nose told him the kitchen lay.
"I do not know what your father is thinking, Lady Rhona, truly I don't. First her ladyship and now young Lewisson…but you may rest assured that Candace and I will keep an eye on them for you. We are old friends, us two, though the friendship soured a little when she married. We both wanted young Paddy, you see, but he had eyes only for her…"
Grieve stepped inside the room, inhaling the scent of roasting meat and fresh baked bread. He wanted to eat it all.
"He looks like the younger one, not Lewis's heir at all," the woman continued. The cook, Grieve assumed. "Your father and Lewis can't be serious about this."
"Lord Angus himself was a younger son, and now he's Lord of Isla and High Lord of us all. Stranger things have happened in tales as well as in truth. Who can say what will come to pass?" Rhona said. She bit into a crust of bread.
"Who indeed?" Grieve said, reaching for the loaf.
The women's eyes widened – evidently they had not seen him enter.
He tore off a chunk and chewed with relish. No matter what this cook thought of him, at least she would feed him well. "This is the best bread I've tasted in weeks." He swallowed and continued, "I am my father's second surviving son. My brother Mahon will be lord after Father. He will also marry Lord Calum's daughter. Father has not told me about his plans for me, though he sent me here. What do you know that I do not?"
"He expects you to marry one of Father's daughters and succeed him as Lord of Rum Isle. As I'm the only one old enough, it seems Father has set his sights on giving me to you. Hence this farce about defence and a tour of the island."
Lady Rhona? His? Desire burned deep within him at the thought. If only. But the look in her eyes dispelled that idea as quickly as it had come. Lady Rhona would never accept him as a husband, especially not if her father pushed her to do so.
"Defence against Alban raiders is never a farce. They are a very real threat to us…" Grieve began.
"The boy's right about that. Lewis always was a strategist, and his son must be the same. It can't hurt to have his help defending the place. I will give you as many provisions as the horses can carry, just in case." The cook pulled two loaves from the oven, wrapped them well, then handed them to a maid who carried them outside.
"Come, Lewisson. We may still manage a few miles before dark," Rhona said, leading the way outside.
Two horses stood in the yard, saddled and ready to go. The bread-bearing maid fastened the nearest one's saddlebags. "Safe journey, Lady Rhona," she said with a respectful bow of her head. She glanced at Grieve, but said nothing as she went past.
Bemused, Grieve stared after her. First the cook, now the maids. At home, all would have at least bobbed a curtsey to him, though they'd known him since childhood. Here, things were very different indeed, if the servants had little respect for their betters.
"Wipe that look off your face, Lewisson," Rhona advised him from her perch atop a horse. "Siobhan is betrothed to the first mate on Father's ship. She's not for you."
"No, but you are," he said without thinking. He swung up onto his horse, only to find himself face to face with the furious girl.
"I belong to no man. Not my father, not you, and definitely no one who even thinks a woman can be owned. No self-respecting Islander woman would allow such a thing. I choose to take you on a tour of Rum Isle because my knowledge of the island is second only to my father's, and you might be able to help us defend our home against all enemies."
Now it was Grieve's turn to bow his head. "I am your servant, as I am your father's squire, Lady Rhona. I am indebted to
you for your kindness, I'm sure. All enemies of such a lovely lady are, of course, my enemies as well."
She almost smiled at that, but when he looked again, the smile was gone as though he'd imagined it. "Pretty words, Lewisson. You'll need more than words if it comes to war." She set off at a fast trot, and it took Grieve a moment before he could persuade his horse to follow, by which time she was several lengths ahead of him.
He feared she always would be, but that didn't stop him from striving to catch up. Lady Rhona was a woman he wanted to catch, but only if she allowed it.
Twenty-One
Rhona headed for the eastern watchtower, reasoning that it was the only suitable place to take him that was an easy ride before dark. Sanctuary could be reached just as easily, for they didn't have a cart, but she wasn't sure she was ready to show that to him yet. Better to take him on a full tour of the island and see what kind of man he truly was before revealing any secrets. Lord Lewis was no fool – if he'd sent his son to help Father, then Grieve could help. But if he was a strategist like his father…he might use Rum Isle as a pawn in a much larger game with higher stakes than Rhona could see. Rum Isle might not be important to Lord Lewis and his son, but it was everything to those who lived there.
"Are you planning on pitching me off a cliff, my lady?" Grieve asked after some time.
Rhona smiled. To someone who didn't know what to look for, the clifftop watchtowers looked like ordinary crags. "Maybe later. You have not yet vexed me enough for that. Perhaps on the third offence I will not be as forgiving."
She dismounted, and glanced over her shoulder to see what Grieve had made of her half-joking response.
"I shall endeavour not to cut down any trees, or look at you, without your permission. Is there anything else you'd care to warn me about, so I do not offend you again?" He lifted his hand. "Wait, I already know I must be kind to kittens."
"It is always wise to be kind to kittens," Rhona said. She headed for the standing stone that marked the entrance, then slipped into the rock crevice behind it. It was a tight squeeze, but grown men used this passage every day, so she knew she would fit. When she was through, she extended a hand. "Come, Lewisson, if you wish to see Rum Isle's first line of defence against invaders."
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