The Highlander's Reluctant Bride: Book 2 The Highlander's Bride series

by Cathy MacRae

  At last, he looked at her, a weary frown replacing the approval she’d seen in his eyes earlier. Her heart sank lower and her stomach churned.

  “This morning ye said ye were ready to announce our betrothal. That ye wouldnae gainsay me,” he began.

  Riona nodded her head and cleared her throat. “Aye.”

  “Yesterday ye said ye were bound to no other man.”

  What did he mean? Was he referring to her as bound to the man who’d raped her five years ago? Was he looking for a way out of their betrothal?

  “I remember. I—”

  “Why did ye lie?”

  Riona blinked, stunned. Anger surged through her and she uncoiled from her chair with a suddenness that made Ranald draw back, surprise on his face.

  “If ye wish to be released from the betrothal, say so. I’m sure the king could be persuaded to allow ye to set me aside once ye’ve told him about Gilda,” she choked out.

  He had lied to her. He had said Gilda was not a pawn to be used between them. Leaning forward, she poked a finger in Ranald’s chest. “But dinnae ever call me a liar again. I dinnae mean to have ye find out about Gilda the way ye did. But I wouldnae have lied to ye.”

  Ranald caught her wrist in a merciless grip, and Riona’s eyes flashed with anger. Furious, she tried to tug her arm away, but he held her as easily as he would a child.

  He growled, “I have seen the way ye and Macraig look at each other. He has just left here, asking me to uphold the claim he has on ye.”

  Cold fear replaced the hot anger surging through her veins, and Riona ceased struggling. The room swam around her and she dropped back into her chair, scarcely noting as Ranald gave her a slight shove so she would not miss the seat. She gasped, her chest suddenly heavy and tight. His muttered curse sounded far away and swirled nonsensically in her head.

  A strong hand forced her head into her lap. “Breathe, damn it, Ree. Breathe.”

  She drew a shuddering breath, and then another. The warp of the fabric of her gown swam into view and she blinked, focusing on the threads as though they held the key to her sanity. The pattern became clearer, and so did the strain of being forced into such a position.

  Irritably, she shoved Ranald’s hand away. “Leave me alone.”

  “Not until ye’ve answered my questions.”

  “Ye no longer have the right to ask me questions.”

  “I am yer laird. Ye will answer me.”

  Riona glared at him, embarrassed she’d nearly fainted.

  “Who is Laird Macraig to ye?”

  “He was one of my da’s trusted friends.”

  “Was?”

  “Aye. They had a falling out more than a year ago.”

  “Do ye know why?”

  “Aye.”

  Ranald rubbed a hand across the back of his neck in a frustrated gesture. “Damn it, Ree. Tell me. Dinnae make this harder than it has to be.”

  “Harder for whom? For ye?”

  “For both of us. What did yer da and Macraig quarrel about?”

  Riona flashed him a look of loathing. “Me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Had he missed something? Ranald puzzled over what Laird Macraig had sworn, that he and Riona had been betrothed, though only a verbal agreement existed between himself and the old laird.

  “Had they resolved their quarrel before yer da died?” Ranald queried.

  Riona shook her head. “Nae. I was with him nearly all the time in the weeks before his death. Laird Macraig dinnae visit the castle.” She stopped and gave Ranald an earnest look. “That was why I stared so at him. He had not been here since they quarreled, and I was startled to see him in attendance.”

  “It was yer da’s funeral banquet,” Ranald reminded her dryly.

  “He still had gall to show himself here.”

  “Why?”

  Riona sank back into her chair and took a deep breath. “Laird Macraig had asked for my hand earlier.”

  Ranald frowned, banked fury beginning to stir again. “Ye said ye werenae betrothed.”

  “I’m not. We arenae.”

  “Explain.”

  Riona jumped to her feet, putting the chair between them. “Not long after Gilda was born, Latharn came to Scaurness to ask Da permission to marry me. We have known each other since we were bairns. Their lands are to the northeast. His wife had died a year earlier and he had a three-year-old son needing a mother.” She threw Ranald a pleading look. “Understand, I was very young and a new mother. Unwed. Under duress to name the father. I would have said aye.”

  Ranald’s heart clenched. Her story made sense, but he still did not understand why Laird Macraig believed they were betrothed.

  “Why did ye not accept him?”

  To his surprise, tears welled in Riona’s eyes, turning them to liquid silver. “He dinnae want Gilda.”

  “What?”

  “He said he dinnae wish to raise another man’s bastard. Because of the way she was conceived, he thought I would be glad to be rid of her, that I would want to give her to someone else to raise.”

  Ranald swore. Long and fluently. No wonder her feelings for the laird, whatever they had been, were gone. “What did yer da want ye to do?”

  “It enraged him to hear Latharn call Gilda a bastard. They argued, but I wouldnae have married him even had he agreed to raise her. Not after he showed his true feelings.”

  Riona paced slowly around the chair. “Da threw him out of the castle and warned him to never return. That was why I was surprised to see him here the other night. I wondered what he was about.”

  “There was no chance of a reconciliation between yer da and Laird Macraig just before he died?”

  “Nae. At the end, Da couldnae talk. I could ask Fergus. If I wasnae with Da, he was. He would know if Latharn visited the castle without my knowledge. But there is slim chance he did.”

  Ranald rubbed his chin. Riona’s reaction when he’d told her the laird’s declaration was not false. She had truly been horrified, shocked to think the man might have claimed her. He looked up from his musings and noticed her standing before him, unshed tears bright in her eyes, fear lurking in their luminous depths.

  He swiveled, still perched on the desk, but fully facing her, feet braced apart. Motioning with his hands, he bade her come closer. Riona advanced until she stood only a few inches away.

  Ranald drew the back of his fingers down the length of her cheek. Without guile, she leaned into his touch and he reversed his hand to cup her face.

  “I am sorry for my doubt, Ree. Ye have been distant to me from the start, and though I am beginning to learn the why, ye must forgive me. The king’s command replaces anything Laird Macraig tries to claim.”

  He drew her closer, settling her between his thighs. “Will ye have me?”

  Riona nodded. “Aye. I will have ye.”

  “As yer true husband?”

  The muscles in her jaw clenched and released, as though forcing herself to agree. “Aye.”

  “Then seal the bargain with me and we’ll put this behind us.”

  “How?”

  “A kiss, sweet lass. A simple kiss.”

  A moment of hesitation, another nod. Riona closed her eyes and offered her lips to him. Ranald smiled. Leaning forward, he gently touched her cheek with his own lips, fluttering them across the silky softness of her skin.

  Riona’s eyes flew open, her mouth slack in surprise. Catching the opportunity he wanted, he kissed her lips, gently tasting the outline of them with his tongue.

  Riona drew back, startled, taking a half-step away.

  “Settle, lass. I willnae force ye. But we have only a few days before the wedding and a lot to discover of each other.”

  “Ye mean to touch me before our wedding night?”

  “Touch ye, hold ye, make love to ye, aye. But I willnae bed ye until we marry and ye are full willing.”

  Riona seemed to consider his statement. “Will ye kiss me again?”

  Ranald hid a sa
tisfied grin. “Aye. Come closer.”

  She stepped closer.

  He eyed her intently. “Closer.”

  With her final step, the warmth of her licked through him with hungry flames. His entire body went instantly on alert and he caught his breath.

  Riona’s eyes widened. “Too close?”

  Ranald forced a tight laugh. Surely he could lie to her this once. “Nae. Just right.” He encircled her with his arms, and her body tensed. He set his cheek against her hair, breathing in the womanly fragrance. “Say the word and I will release ye.”

  Riona nodded her head again. A faint gasp escaped her as Ranald bent to nuzzle her neck. Her pulse quickened beneath his lips. Lifting her heavy braid from her shoulder, he gave himself better access to the long column of her neck, slowly devouring every delectable inch.

  She sighed and arched against him.

  Riona’s heart raced even as her muscles relaxed, her brain the first part of her to surrender to the warmth sliding through her. She could form no coherent thoughts, no strength to tell him nae even should she wish it. She staggered backward a little but his arms tightened, drawing her closer, releasing her from the necessity to stand on her own feet.

  Draped over his arms in this manner gave him access to the low-cut bodice of her dress, and his lips and tongue raised ridges of fire across the exposed tops of her breasts. Suddenly, her dress felt too tight, and a moan escaped her as she tried to draw an even breath.

  She grasped his shoulders and burrowed against him, nestling her cheek in the hollow of his neck. He was a wonderful mix of hard body and soft lips, burning her skin. He smelled of horses and sea salt, and tasted of smooth whisky. She accepted his next kiss without hesitation.

  His fingers ran roughly through her hair, pulling strands free of the confining braid. The bristle of new beard prickled against her palms when she raised them to his cheeks. His tongue tangled with hers and she caught her breath, but the sensation was too new, too unexpected, and her head whirled with excitement.

  His hands moved across her shoulders and around to cup her breasts. Suddenly fearful, remembering another grip, painful and humiliating, Riona pushed them away.

  “Dinnae be afraid of me, lass.” His voice, a deep rasping sound, soothed rather than frightened. He slid his hands to her waist, holding her lightly, his fingers kneading gently, soothing her fears. But the mood was broken, her abandonment marred with a return to reality.

  “I dinnae fear ye,” she whispered. Yet she could not voice the dread flowing over her, paralyzing her, leaving her unable to respond to him further.

  Ranald leaned his forehead against hers. “’Tis too soon. There is plenty of time.”

  Riona eased away, staring at him. “But ye said our wedding is at the end of the week.”

  He surprised her by kissing the tip of her nose. “Aye. But there is nae need to worry. Ye’re doing fine.”

  * * *

  Riona tripped lightly up the stairs. Her head still swam from the myriad emotions she’d experienced, both in Ranald’s arms and out of them. He certainly had the ability to push her to the very limits of her tolerance, something that had not changed since he was a lad. That much was the same. The difference was the attraction she felt for the pesky lad now grown to manhood.

  She reached the upper hall and slowed her pace, remembering Ranald’s touch. Her face burned, not with embarrassment, but with the tantalizing memory of his lips on her skin. To her consternation, her breasts tingled in a way they never had before. She lifted a hand, touching herself lightly, wondering at the new sensitivity. Could there be a chance to give herself to Ranald without fear? Without cringing, leaving behind the memory of her first experience at the hands of a violent man?

  Riona stopped at the portal to her room and released the latch, leaning carefully on the door, opening it quietly lest she waken Gilda. Light from the hall sconces fell into the room, landing on the angelic face of the lass as she slept. Riona smiled. Her sweet babe was safe—Ranald had promised her, and she believed him. They were both safe, and her heart filled with gratitude and a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

  With a soft sigh, Riona entered the room, latching the door behind her. The day, only half gone, had taxed her. She’d not worried about Gilda’s safety with Ranald, but once the storm blew in, she’d waited impatiently for their return, knowing Gilda would be distraught.

  Moments ago, Ranald had forced her to remember the way Latharn had scorned Gilda, the way he’d offered marriage—at a price. She sighed past the hesitation lodged beneath her heart. She couldn’t believe Ranald would show interest in Gilda once he had children of his own. She prayed he didn’t break the child’s heart when that day came. Her eyes lingered on her sleeping daughter as she slipped out of her dress, the cool air piercing the thin fabric of her chemise.

  She slid quickly beneath the soft velvet covers of the bed, pulling Gilda against her. The lass grunted and snuggled close, but did not waken. Riona was soon fast asleep.

  * * *

  A knock at the door pulled Ranald’s attention from the report his steward had left on his desk cataloguing the castle’s inhabitants and their respective jobs. The old laird’s steward, an elderly man who had done very little to change the way the castle or town was run in the last few years, had seemed only too glad to turn his job over to the man Ranald had brought with him. The new steward, once a warrior in Eaden’s personal guard, had been seriously wounded a year ago, and Ranald doubted the man would ever again see active service. But he had a quick mind and grasp of the intricacies of castle life, and had leapt at the chance to make himself useful again. Ranald was pleased with his choice.

  “Yes?”

  Finlay entered the room. “What news of our guest?”

  Ranald laid the parchment aside and nodded toward the half-filled bottle on the low table. “Pour us both a glass of whisky and I’ll tell ye.”

  Always agreeable to savor the laird’s good whisky, Finlay measured the rich amber liquid into a pair of mugs, handing one to Ranald. He nudged the chair closer to the desk with his foot and seated himself before taking an appreciative quaff of the fiery liquid.

  He licked his lips as he looked up expectantly. “Tell me about Laird Macraig.”

  “He claimed to be betrothed to Lady Caitriona.”

  Finlay’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he sat straighter in his chair, losing his indolent slouch. “King Robert has decreed otherwise. Will he object to yer claim?”

  “He wasnae happy.”

  Finlay snorted. “Of course he wouldnae be. Is there any truth to it?”

  “Riona says he asked for her in marriage a year or so after Gilda was born.”

  “That had to have been a couple of years ago. Did her da favor a long betrothal?”

  “Nae. Her da refused his offer.”

  “Why? Laird Macraig would have a good claim with his lands bordering Scaurness to the north.”

  “He refused to take Gilda.”

  Finlay’s eyes narrowed and raw fury crossed his face. A snarl broke from his lips. “The bastard.”

  “His point exactly. He dinnae want to raise another man’s bastard.”

  “I can yet kill him. He hasnae left the castle.”

  Ranald quelled Finlay’s ire with a pointed look. “He will leave here empty-handed, but alive. Riona’s da was as angry as ye, and Riona devastated to hear his terms. Seems she would have accepted his offer had he agreed to raise Gilda.”

  “They were close?”

  Ranald shrugged. “Friends. I don’t think there was any more to it. Many marriages are arranged with less.”

  Finlay nodded. “So, has Riona agreed to marry ye?”

  “Aye. I will make the announcement at dinner tonight.”

  * * *

  The great hall buzzed with speculative voices. Ranald eyed the group. He had told his steward to make known all who felt able were invited to the hall to sup, that the laird had an announc
ement. So much had happened in the past few days, little wonder the hall was crowded.

  The storm blew over and evening settled in. Gilda was in high spirits as she entertained those near her with fluttering eyelashes and giggles.

  Ranald covered Riona’s hand with his. “Ye look beautiful tonight. Did I tell ye that?”

  Riona flushed. “Aye. Ye said so when I came to supper.”

  “Then I must have meant it, aye?”

  Riona laughed. “I suppose ye must.”

  Gilda leaned across Riona, showing off the shell necklace Tavia had helped her make that afternoon. “I look pretty, too, don’t I, Ranald?”

  “Ye are the prettiest thing here, next to yer ma.”

  “She’s pretty, too. Do ye want me to make ye a necklace, Ranald?”

  Finlay snorted, but Ranald ignored him. “I dinnae wear such, Gilda. But I thank ye for asking. The shells look much prettier on ye than they would on me.”

  Gilda nodded. “Ye might break them in a fight.” She sat back in her chair, pulling the strand of shells away from her neck to better see them.

  Shaking his head in amusement, he gave Riona’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Gazes turned in his direction and voices shushed others as the noise died away. Within moments, he gained the attention of everyone in the hall.

  “Much has happened in Scaurness of late. Some of it sad as we bade farewell to the laird who ruled with passion and honor. Some of it still to be tested as I begin my time as laird.” He stole a look at Riona who stared straight ahead, her back held arrow-straight.

  “Tonight I wish to announce something that gives me great pleasure. Lady Caitriona has honored me by agreeing to be my wife. We will wed four days hence.”

  The silence in the hall was deafening and Ranald felt a moment of apprehension. Finlay had warned him the people loved and protected Riona and Gilda. Surely they would not take their betrothal amiss?