by Cathy MacRae
Perhaps the men had grown lax without Manus’ knowledge. Did they have such disrespect for their clan and families they would risk lives in this manner?
She squared her shoulders, giving Ranald her silent support. Her stern glare strengthened Ranald’s authority, and hot fury washed over her as she realized the extent of the men’s carelessness.
As soon as Ranald released them to their new duties, she wheeled her horse, not wanting Ranald to see the shame heating her cheeks. Taking refuge in the rush of wind on her face, Riona spurred her horse into a gallop. She knew Ranald would follow, just as she knew he would ask questions as soon as he caught up with her. She rode low on her horse’s neck, urging him on to greater effort, putting off the unwanted attention of the man who held her future in his hands.
To her surprise, Ranald let her run, easily keeping his horse beside her own. Finally, the last vestiges of temper bled away, and she reined her horse to a walk. He snorted and pranced, blowing hard from his run.
“We are perilously close to losing Finlay’s good graces, milady,” Ranald commented.
Riona noted how the dip and sway of his hand on the reins attested to the difficulty of keeping his horse to a walk. But he controlled his mount with minimal effort, scarcely acknowledging the animal as it tossed its head and chomped musically at his bit.
“We arenae far from the castle,” she demurred.
Ranald grunted. “Far enough.”
“Do ye really believe we are at risk? The lords have accepted ye as Laird.” Riona ducked her head, hoping her bitterness wouldn’t show.
“Ye resent me, then?”
Riona sighed and lifted her gaze. She should have remembered how observant he was. Something stirred in his eyes, and for the first time she spotted a hint of blue in their dark depths. She jerked. When did she notice the color of the man’s eyes? For the past five years, since Kinnon had left, her acknowledgement of men had extended only to their service to her family and the people of the village.
She swallowed hard, remembering the last time a man had shown her interest, the muscles in her arms flinching in memory of the imprint of a violent grip.
Giving herself a mental shake, Riona brought her attention to Ranald’s question. “I dinnae resent ye. I know why my da appealed to the king.” Riona’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I want Kinnon to come home.” Biting the inside of her lip, Riona silently cursed the tears threatening her composure.
Ranald gave a deep sigh. “Aye, Ree. I want him to come home, too.”
Riona’s breath hissed through her teeth as she inhaled sharply.
Ranald tensed, his eyes alert. “What is it?”
“Ye have twice called me Ree. Why?”
Confusion crossed Ranald’s face. “What difference does it make?”
Riona flushed. “Kinnon was the only one who ever called me that.”
Ranald’s expression cleared. “So, earlier today, ye thought I . . .”
Riona gave a short nod. “Aye. I thought Kinnon was home.”
* * *
Her gray eyes sparkled with tears he knew she would not shed in front of him. Even as an exasperating bairn, Riona had taken each bump and setback with gritted teeth and a grim determination to not be left behind. These past few days must have been devastating for her, yet here she was, head unbowed, her only weakness a desperate yearning for her brother’s return.
“Let us walk.” Abruptly changing tactics, Ranald swung a leg over Hearn’s saddle and dismounted. Before Riona could protest, he grasped her mount’s bridle, steadying him for her ease. She slid to the ground, allowing him to lead both horses.
“We’ll walk back toward the castle.”
With a nod, Riona picked up her skirts and fell into place beside him.
“I’m sorry about yer da,” Ranald at last offered. “I havenae had a chance to say so without others listening.”
“Why would it matter if others listened?”
“It sounded too formal. I wanted ye to know I meant it.”
“Oh.”
They picked their way around the edge of the field, careful not to let the horses flatten the ripening grass. The coming winter would be cold with raw winds shrieking over the cliffs from the sea, and the dried grass the only way to keep the horses and cattle alive. Riona stopped abruptly and bent to pick a stone from the ground. Straightening, she tossed it to the side with a practiced flick of her wrist, out of the workers’ way.
Absently she brushed a wayward strand of dark auburn hair from her face as she took two quick paces to catch up with him. The movement reminded him of her as a child.
“I dinnae suppose ye were too anxious to come here,” she said.
He formed a rueful expression. “Nae. ’Twasnae my first choice.”
“I know ye dinnae like it here. Ye always seemed relieved to depart.”
Ranald laughed. “’Twas ye I dinnae like.”
Rather than take offence, Riona nodded again. “Nor I ye.”
“Ye were a difficult lass.”
She drew up short, staring at him. “Me? Difficult? All I ever wanted was to be included. Ye were forever running off, trying to leave me behind.”
Ranald did not check his pace. “Och, we did let ye play sometimes.”
With a huff, Riona scrambled to his side. “Och, aye. Ye let me play princess. The princess ye kidnapped and held for ransom by tying me to a tree all afternoon.” She grabbed at her skirt again as she stumbled and caught herself.
Ranald paused and Hearn tossed his head at his master’s sudden halt, but Riona didn’t slow her stride. With one long pace he was even with her again.
“And what about the time ye let me go fishing?” she railed. “Except I had to sit in the bottom of the boat and use my skirt to hold yer catch. I smelled of fish for a week.”
Ranald chuckled and shook his head. “That wasnae me, lass.”
She bit her lip, and Ranald wondered why her straight, white teeth fascinated him so. He stared at the reddened mark her bite left behind.
“True,” she allowed. “Ye dinnae like the water, do ye?”
Ranald swallowed back his wayward thoughts. This was Riona, his childhood nemesis, not the sweet widow he’d left behind at Scott Castle.
He caught her sideways glance at him and realized he’d not answered her. “Nae. ’Tis all that up and down and sideways motion. Makes my stomach churn.”
“How do ye intend to be laird of a people who live by the sea?”
“I cannae say if I’ll ever be much of a sailor, but I will be laird.”
Riona stared at the ground at her feet. “Oh, I’m certain ye are able, or the king wouldnae have sent ye. I know he needs this land. Too many men covet it. ’Twill be difficult enough.”
Ye have no idea, Ranald thought wryly, unwilling to argue which of them would make the best ruler at Scaurness. She knew as well as he the men would not follow a woman leading a clan often on the verge of war with pirates.
With a nonchalant, breathless whistle, he wisely chose to say nothing.
“How is Eaden?”
The unexpected question caused Ranald to snap his head around in surprise. “Eaden?”
At Riona’s nod, Ranald replied, “He’s wed and has a bairn on the way.”
“Wed? He was always too handsome for his own good. So, some lass finally caught him?”
Ranald laughed, drawing a questioning look from Riona.
“Nae. He was ordered to wed by the king.”
Riona’s face flushed prettily and Ranald realized she must think the bairn was the reason for the marriage. “The marriage was to make peace between the Scotts and the Bardes. My brother’s hot head, not his lustful side, landed him in front of a priest.”
“How so?”
“The Bardes and Scotts have feuded for many years. The marriage was to form an alliance for peace.”
“And did it?”
Ranald snorted, remembering the early fiasco of his brother’s marriage. �
��Nae. Barde wouldnae allow his daughter to wed a Scott, earl though he was, and King Robert threatened to strip Eaden of his lands and titles. So Eaden and I stole to Bellecourt one night and kidnapped the lass.”
His confession drew a horrified gasp from Riona. “What happened then?” Her voice was breathless, fascinated.
“We kidnapped the wrong lass.”
This time Riona stumbled and came to a complete stop, her mouth open in surprise, her lips moving in a soundless attempt to form words. Seeing they were within shouting range of the castle keep, Ranald pulled the horses to a halt.
Leaning against Hearn’s shoulder, he shrugged. “She hit her head when we grabbed her and dinnae know her own name until after the wedding.” An amused grin tweaked his lips at Riona’s continued look of disbelief. “She wanted a divorce, but couldnae get permission. They’ve since squared their differences, and are verra much in love. There was a bit of a skirmish after the wedding and the Barde laird was severely injured. He willnae ever be well enough to lead the clan again. His son-in-law took over and agreed to a truce between the clans.”
Riona seemed to have difficulty digesting this news. With a deep breath, she murmured, “So, the king forced Eaden to wed,” she murmured. Her gaze caught Ranald’s. “What will he do to me?”
Ranald noted Riona’s sudden pallor, her gray eyes widening until they were naught but huge silver orbs. Now was as good a time as any to tell her what King Robert intended for her, but he could not force the words.
“Ye are a laird’s daughter,” he reminded her. “And an heiress. Yer mother’s dower lands north of here are of great value to the king.”
“And I am of little worth, aye?” Riona flared.
“Nae. Ye are of great worth.”
“But a pawn to the king.”
Ranald sighed. This was not going as he planned. “We are all pawns in one way or another, Ree. The king willnae let ye stay on yer own. Ye are a ward of the crown, now.”
“So, he’ll marry me off to some rebellious laird he wants to drag over to his side, using me and my lands to hold him?”
“Nae. Not so bad as all that.”
“Mayhap to a wealthy laird who’s all but doddering in his cups, hoping I willnae breed an heir before he dies, giving title of the land to the king and my next husband?”
Ranald lifted an eyebrow. The lass was getting worked up over nothing. “Marriage, yes. Doddering auld man, no.”
Riona snapped her head to one side, a glower on her face. “Then, who?”
Ranald swallowed and offered a crooked smile.
“Me.”
Chapter Six
Riona’s knees wobbled and she staggered a pace back, hands splayed for balance. She caught nothing but air, and would have fallen had Ranald not bolted forward to grab her arm.
“You!” she shouted, wrenching from his grasp. Fearing she’d left tender skin behind, she rubbed her arm to ease the sting. The pain of his grip changed to an ache in her chest as her heart pounded. She tasted the acrid flavor of panic in her mouth and swallowed hard.
Ranald frowned. “Wheesht, lass. I know I wouldnae be yer first choice, but there is a lot of merit in the union.”
“Other than the fact the king has commanded it, what is the benefit?”
“Ye dinnae want to leave Scaurness, do ye?”
Waves of emotion crashed over her, causing her stomach to churn like that of the greenest sailor. She shook her head, her stare falling to the ground at her feet.
“We could work together, lass,” he urged.
Riona didn’t trust her voice to answer. The sop he offered was the only way she would be able to continue to care for her people, yet she wondered how much he would actually listen to her opinions and allow her to help.
Ranald’s bent forefinger caught her chin and lifted, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Is marrying me such a bad thing?”
Riona tried to keep the mutiny from her face, but she could tell from Ranald’s expression she failed. He eased away and dropped his hands to his sides.
Riona tossed her head. “When is this marriage supposed to take place?” she mocked.
“At the end of this sennight.”
“What?” Riona stared at him in horror.
The touch of his finger once more beneath her chin, closing her mouth, told her it gaped wide. He at least had the grace to wince slightly as she breathlessly continued to fish for words. And air.
Her anger and breath kicked in. “When were ye going to tell me? The day before the wedding? That morning? When the priest beckoned me forward to sign my name to the contract?” She fisted her hands at her sides to keep from slapping the exasperated look from his face.
Well, why shouldn’t she be angry? She’d lost her brother, her da, and now, it was clear, her freedom. “I willnae marry ye!” she declared.
“Ye have nae choice.” Ranald’s voice was carefully neutral.
But Riona sensed the tension in him, the control he exerted to keep from launching into her for arguing with him. Didn’t men always expect women to obey them, no matter what? Why should Ranald be any different?
“I am a ward of the king,” she stated rather than asked.
Ranald sighed. “Entrusted to my care.”
“But I am the king’s ward, now?”
Ranald’s eyes narrowed and Riona figured he was not pleased she pressed the question. She lifted her chin higher, challenging him to answer.
Ranald swore. It didn’t help, so he swore again. Riona hadn’t taken the news of her wedding well. He’d known she wouldn’t, but the reality was daunting. Her rage was palpable, heat infusing twin spots of color on her pale face, her breathing ragged. The late afternoon wind blew, tossing strands of hair about her head, twisting her skirt close to her slender body. Ranald dragged his gaze from her slender silhouette.
“Do ye dislike me that much?” he grated.
Incredulity stamped her face. “I cannae marry ye.”
“Is there someone else? Someone yer da betrothed ye to?”
He thought she flinched, but the instant passed and she was back on the defensive. “My da was teaching me to lead Scaurness. I had no interest in marrying and leaving for another place that wasnae home.” She dropped her gaze again, and Ranald suspected she didn’t want him to see the expression on her face.
“I am betrothed to no one,” she finally assured.
“The king willnae release ye from this.”
“Why not?”
“Because ye are an asset to the clan. To me. I dinnae know the ways of the Macrorys, and ye do. We arenae so closely related that we cannae wed.”
Riona lifted her gaze, tucking a few errant ember-colored strands of hair behind an ear. Dismay—and what appeared as a touch of fright—crossed her face. “But I dinnae like ye.”
“What about respect?”
“I dinnae know ye well enough.”
“We dinnae have time to discuss this, Ree. The king has commanded us to wed, and do so within a sennight of yer da’s funeral.”
“Why? Why so soon?”
Unable to bear her absolute refusal of him, Ranald resorted to stark facts to cover his deepening disappointment. “Ye know the castle is under contention. The lairds may have publicly acknowledged my claim, but as soon as they return to their own lands and sober up, they’ll start wondering why they said aye so readily. It willnae be long before someone attempts a siege of the castle. Our marriage will strengthen my claim.”
He raised a hand, forestalling her interruption. “As an unwed heiress, ye are a target for every man with his eye on yer dowry. Ye must stay within the castle walls unless ye have a proper escort. Kidnapping ye would force ye to wed the blackguard, or start a war—or both. Ye must wed, and soon. The king has decreed I have yer hand.”
He could tell he’d overstepped what Riona was prepared to hear when her eyes narrowed and her chest rose and fell with the rapidness of her passionate denial. Yet she remained silent.
Ra
nald rubbed his forehead with one hand. It was no use. Being firm with Riona got him nowhere. She was too upset, and he didn’t trust her not to call up an escort of soldiers and ride to the king to petition against their marriage.
Better to not retrace the argument. “Ye can take the next few days to plan the wedding,” he told her. “Whatever ye want to wear, whatever ye’d like at the wedding feast—’tis yers.”
Riona met his magnanimous gesture with obvious distaste. Ranald wondered if she would be the first bride to wear sackcloth and ashes to her own wedding.
He held out his hands in invitation to help her mount her horse, indicating their conversation was at an end. Riona hiked her skirts over her knees and, with a practiced hop, landed in the saddle, disdaining his help.
With a philosophical shrug and an unexpected interest in the slender length of leg she displayed, Ranald caught Hearn’s bridle as Riona sent her horse bounding toward the castle gate, leaving him to follow.
He came close to losing his temper when Hearn snorted and turned a tight circle as he tried to mount. With a lunge that owed its success more to luck than accuracy, Ranald landed a foot in a stirrup and swung his leg over Hearn’s back. Settling quickly, he scarce had to urge the horse to follow Riona along the path to the castle.
Spying Finlay at watch upon the wall earned Ranald more frustration. Despite his intentions and his own caution to Riona about leaving the castle without a proper escort, he’d done just that. The new laird of Scaurness and the old laird’s wealthy heiress daughter had spent more than a few moments beyond castle safety, without so much as a single soldier for protection.
Riona disappeared into the stable and Ranald drew Hearn to a halt in the bailey, deciding the long, wooden-beamed building wasn’t big enough for both of them right now. Finlay appeared at his side, a hand on Hearn’s bridle as Ranald dismounted. A young stable boy scuttled from the barn to take the horse’s reins and lead him away.
