by Cathy MacRae
Benches slid back on the stone floor in an explosion of sound. Hands lifted and voices rose in approval. Ranald needed a moment for the clan’s endorsement to register, still confused by their initial silence.
He took Riona’s hand, pulling her to her feet. She rose gracefully, and Ranald was pleased to note the smile on her face. She stood next to him as the noise in the great hall achieved deafening levels, before facing him with an impish grin on her face.
“Shall we seal the bargain and call it well-met?”
His chest constricted as he considered what she offered. Riona stood before the people who knew her darkest secret, willing to show them the shadow had been lifted, and he was the one with whom she desired to spend the rest of her days. She braced her hand on his arm for balance.
Before the Macrory clan, he kissed her.
One of the doors to the great hall swung open, allowing pale, watery light into the room, the promise of peace after the storm. Ranald turned to the evening sunshine, needing all the good omens he could get.
Manus Macrory’s plaide flared wide as he strode quickly through the door and out of the hall.
Chapter Twelve
Gilda’s brow wrinkled with confusion. “I dinnae need a da. I have a ma.”
“Mo chroi, most bairns have both a ma and a da.” Riona tried again to gently explain.
Gilda’s red-gold hair flew about her face as she shook her head in disagreement. “Jamie doesnae. Jamie’s da’s a n’angel.”
Riona hid a smile. Jamie’s da had most certainly not been an angel, but she knew it was her daughter’s way of dealing with death.
She sank into the chair next to Gilda and took the lass’s small hands in hers, running her thumbs across her soft palms. “Mo chuisle, Ranald and I will marry in a few days. He will be yer da.” She tugged gently on Gilda’s hands. “D’ye not like him?”
Gilda shrugged. “Ranald is fun,” she admitted grudgingly, but she would not meet Riona’s gaze.
“Then, what is the problem, mo chroi?”
“Jamie says his da fought with his ma all the time.” She glanced up, and Riona’s heart constricted at the worry on Gilda’s face. “Will ye and Ranald fight?”
“Nae, mo chroi.” Riona kept the concern from her voice, ignoring the lie. The question wasn’t if they would disagree, but when, and how often. Their history certainly did not point to a worry-free life together. She would deal with that as it came, and make a point of not arguing with Ranald in front of her daughter. For now, nothing mattered but Gilda accepting the facts of the wedding and Ranald’s new position in their lives.
She stroked the child’s hair gently. “Dinnae worry yer head. Ranald is a very nice man, and ye will like him.”
Gilda nodded vigorously. “I like him. He took me to the beach and saved me—”
Her commentary was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Riona called.
The door opened and Ranald poked his head inside the room. “Is all well?”
Gilda spun in her chair, her lower lip pushed out, her pretty face crumpled in a petulant glower. “I dinnae want ye to fight with my ma.”
Riona rolled her eyes and sighed as Ranald drew back, startled. Motioning with her free hand, Riona welcomed him into the room and allowed a slight smile as he appeared reluctant to take her up on her offer. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked across the floor and hunkered down in front of Gilda.
Bracing a hand on the arm of her chair, he gave her a stern look. “What’s this about fighting with yer ma?”
Gilda peered at Riona. She nodded encouragingly at her wee daughter. “Go ahead, lass. He may as well learn the rules, now.”
Gilda chewed her upper lip as she eyed Ranald. “I dinnae want ye fightin’ with Ma.”
“I have no plans to, lass. But, why would ye think such a thing?”
“Jamie says his da fought all the time with his ma. He said it made his ma cry.”
Ranald groaned and opened his arms, beckoning Gilda to him. She slipped from her chair and threw herself against him, her arms winding about his neck. He gently stroked her back, his eyes closed tight.
He spoke against the child’s shiny red-gold curls. “I willnae make yer ma cry, dearling. I’ll do my best to make us all happy. I promise.”
Gilda nodded and leaned back in the circle of his arms. Ranald quirked an eyebrow at her, a half-smile on his face. “Better now, lass?”
Gilda’s face split into a huge grin, her eyes dancing happily, changing moods with lightning speed.
“Anything else?” Ranald’s voice was teasing.
“Will ye take me to the beach again?”
Ranald tweaked her nose. “Ye know I will.”
“Will ye let me play with Senga and Pol?”
“Aye.”
“Can I ride Hearn again?”
“Only if I’m with ye.”
Gilda touched Ranald’s cheek with a finger, running it down the line of his beard. With a giggle, she patted his face. “Will ye take me sailing?”
Ranald groaned and Riona laughed.
* * *
Riona leaned against her bedroom door. Ranald took her hands in his, bending close. It was suddenly hard to draw a full breath, and she glanced shyly at him from beneath her lashes. He drew her hands to his lips, brushing a kiss to the back of each.
His beard tickled and she giggled with a half-hearted attempt to pull her hands away. “Stop, now. We’ll wake Gilda.”
“We certainly dinnae want to do that. How many faerie stories does it take to put a wee lass to sleep?”
“Usually I hold her to one, but ye, Laird, are a pushover.”
“Aye. Finlay warned me I was.”
“Did she wear ye out?” Riona teased him with a smile.
Ranald’s gaze darkened and he stepped closer, his thighs brushing hers through the fabric of their clothing. He dropped their hands to their sides, fingers still entwined. “Nae.”
Heat rushed through her, and she managed a shuddering breath. His desire for her was evident and left her confused and nervous, her throat tight. “Would ye step back if I asked ye?”
“Aye.” He nuzzled the side of her head. “Will ye?”
“Will I what?”
With Ranald’s face so tantalizingly close to hers, Riona had already forgotten what she’d asked. She tightened her grip on his hands. He kissed her forehead and she raised her face, inviting his next kiss.
He did not disappoint as he touched his lips to hers, and a hunger such as she’d never known grew in her, chasing away the lingering uncertainty. Ranald released her fingers and brought his palms up to frame her face.
Riona breathed deeply, her heart fluttering. She wrapped her arms around his neck, twining her fingers in the clubbed hair at the back of his head, tugging the lacing free. His tongue gently pressed against her lips and she parted them, feeling a stirring deep within as his tongue lazily dueled with hers.
She moaned when he increased the pressure against her mouth, and her eyes flew open, startled to have voiced the passion heating her.
Ranald tore himself away, sliding his lips around to her ear. “We willnae wake Gilda, but we might create a different interest here in the hall.” His murmured words bespoke his rising passion.
Appalled to think anyone walking past would have seen them, she stiffened.
“Nae. Dinnae fash. No one has come by.” His breath against her skin sent delicious shivers through her and she softened again, trusting him to protect her.
“Will ye walk with me beneath the stars this night?” he asked.
“Would we just walk?”
Ranald chuckled. “Only if ye wish.”
* * *
Raindrops sparkled white and silver as they dripped from the leaves and glistened on the grass. Dark filaments of clouds wafted across the moon, scarcely dimming its light. Ranald had no interest in anything but the slender girl walking trustingly beside him, her hand in his. Passion stirr
ed so deeply in him, he marveled he could think straight. The far wall loomed ahead, its stone a hulking presence in the darkness. He steered straight for it, pulling Riona along.
Guiding her shoulders, he backed her against the wall, pressing into her, his hunger evident as his swollen manhood pushed against her thigh. His heart pounded in his chest, echoed in the throbbing ache between his legs. Riona placed her palms on his chest and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought she would push him away.
Then her fingers curled and relaxed, and curled again, like a contented cat kneading a cushion. He lowered his head and seized the lips she offered. He drank hungrily, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. Part of him shouted to slow down, the rest clamored for release.
Bringing his hands together, he stroked her throat, fingers sliding across bare skin, over the lace edge of her bodice and down to the swell of her breasts. Riona’s quick intake of breath pushed her breasts upward, into his hands, and he rubbed his thumbs across the peaks that rose, pebble-like beneath the thin layers of cloth.
When her body tensed and he felt her pulse leap in her throat, Ranald eased away slightly, his breath rasping in his throat. “What do ye want, Riona?”
She shook her head, mute.
“Tell me, Ree. Do ye want me to stop?”
Her voice was no more than a whisper, but it flooded his body with renewed heat. “Nae.”
He pressed his cock against her and groaned. “Ye dinnae know what ye do to me.”
“What do I . . . do?”
“Ye are soft and sweet and I want to bury myself in ye. Do ye know what I mean?”
Riona slowly nodded. “Aye.”
“I want ye to want me the same way.”
“Why?”
Ranald chuckled deep in his chest. “Because it will be so much better that way. I want ye to wonder what I mean, and to want to find out.” He bent his head to kiss her again. Her lips trembled against his, and he drew back, observing fear lurking in her eyes.
Her breathing quickened. “I’m sorry, lass. I will slow down.” Pulling her closer, he cradled her soft body, stifling the groan that threatened as she curved within his embrace.
At last, Riona relaxed with a sigh, and Ranald released her, bracing his hands against the wall alongside her head. Though he allotted her a few inches of space, still he found himself hovering close.
“I think we need to walk for a wee bit.” He perused the pathway winding through the garden, bathed in moonlight and shadow. Giving Riona a last quick kiss, he pushed away from the wall and gestured for her to precede him.
A shout from the garden gate pulled him quickly around, a muttered curse hissing from his lips.
“Laird!”
He could not ignore the summons and offered Riona a wry smile of apology. She nodded her understanding and, he hoped, her disappointment. Stepping onto the path, he deliberately shielded her from the direct view of the two men striding toward him.
“What the hell is going on?” Ranald couldn’t keep the sharp tone from his voice, though the worried look on Finlay’s face was apology enough for the interruption.
“They’re gone.”
“What do ye mean, gone?”
He nodded to the man just behind his shoulder. “The guard on the east tower was tasked to keep an eye on the beach below. It was impossible to see anything during the storm, but as it cleared, he saw no one there. The beach is empty.”
Ranald stared at him, his brow furrowed. “Did the man not say he had a matter to discuss with me?”
“Aye. And they’d stay the night on the beach and come up to speak with ye in the morn.”
Ranald rubbed the back of his neck. “It isnae unlawful to leave, saying naught, but I dinnae like this, Finlay.”
“I agree. It makes no sense for the MacEwen to leave like this.”
“I wondered why he dinnae accept my offer to shelter with us in the castle tonight, and . . .”
Slender hands grasped him from behind, pulling urgently at him. Ranald twisted around, annoyed at the interruption. Riona’s wide, terrified eyes met his.
He caught her fingers. “What is it, Ree?”
“Ye invited the MacEwen to shelter here tonight?”
“Aye. But he dinnae—”
“And he has disappeared?” she interrupted.
Ranald worried at the shrill quality of Riona’s voice and tried to pull her to him to soothe whatever fear gripped her. “Hush, lass. I will take care of things.”
Riona jerked away. “Ye amadan! He’s here!”
Ranald spun around, puzzled. There was no alarm from the guard on the wall, no sound of voices or clash of weapons. What, by St. Andrew’s teeth, was Riona upset about?
“There is nae danger, Ree . . .” Ranald turned to reassure her.
She was gone.
* * *
Riona’s breath whistled, her throat constricted with fear. She plunged past the ornamental trees on the far side of the garden, heading for the narrow gate to the kitchen. Wrenching open the door, she redoubled her efforts, feet flying as she vanished up the back staircase.
He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. It was the only assurance she could hold to which kept her from screaming aloud. Never, in four years, had she allowed Gilda to remain in the castle if the MacEwen laird was known to be anywhere nearby. Never, in more than five years, had she pointed a finger at him, knowing he would take his revenge.
No one at Scaurness knew how much she feared him, or how hard it was to keep Manus, captain of the Scaurness guard and a MacEwen on his mother’s side, from discovering the truth.
She stumbled on the stair. With a choked cry, she grabbed at her skirts, picking herself up and completing the final turn to the third level. She nearly fainted with relief as she noted the guards posted at the top of the stairs, alert, but not alarmed. Pushing past them, she darted down the hallway to her room.
The door was closed.
* * *
Ranald caught a glimpse of movement on the far side of the garden; heard the door to the kitchen open and slam shut.
“What the hell?” In an instant he was in pursuit, Finlay and the guard a scant step behind. They burst through the kitchen door, startling the cook’s boy sweeping the floor. Ignoring him, they rounded the corner, pounding up the winding staircase. With a sense of where Riona had gone, Ranald did not hesitate as he spiraled up to the third story. He crashed between the two guards posted at the stairwell, sending them rebounding against the wall as Finlay and the other man shouldered their way through.
Ranald sprang through the doorway into Riona’s room, skidding to a complete halt at the scene before him.
Riona sat on her bed, a sobbing Gilda crushed to her chest as she rocked back and forth. Fresh alarm shot through him, and Ranald crossed the room in three quick strides. Without hesitation, he slid onto the bed, encircling the pair with his arms, drawing them tight against him. As best he could, he searched them over for injury, unable to see much in the dim light.
He tucked Riona’s head under his chin. “Wheesht, now, lass,” he murmured. “Dinnae fash.” He rocked his body in time with her movements, seeking to comfort her. “Nae one will harm ye or Gilda.”
In response, Riona burst into tears. Sobs shook her body, and Gilda’s wails spiraled higher. At a loss, Ranald glanced up and saw Finlay standing impotently in the doorway. With a sharp jerk of his head, he motioned for the man to enter. Gingerly, clearly more in favor of fighting off a horde of Vikings single-handed, Finlay crossed the room.
Ranald nodded at Gilda. “Take the wean.”
Eyebrows raised in alarm, Finlay thrust out his hands. Gilda pulled away from Ranald and Riona’s grasp and gained her feet, tottering across the mattress, her eyes streaming tears as she launched herself into Finlay’s arms.
“Wheesht, lass,” he rumbled softly. “Ye cannae hear the story of the sea swine if ye greet so.”
The promise of a story stopped Gilda’s tears, and Finlay, visibly relieve
d, carried her to a comfortable chair near the fireplace. As he settled her on his lap he crooned, “There once lived a princess in a far-away land . . ..”
Ranald pressed his lips against Riona’s hair, soothing her as he rubbed her back in long, soothing strokes. Her sobs died away, fading into snuffling gasps, and at last into shuddering sighs.
Picking up a corner of the velvet coverlet, he dried her cheeks.
Relief warring with anger at her earlier outburst, Ranald took a calming breath before he spoke. “D’ye care to tell me what happened downstairs?”
Riona took a deep breath of her own. “Morgan MacEwen was on the beach this morning?”
“Aye.”
She lifted a devastated gaze to him. “And Gilda was with ye?”
Ranald nodded.
“Did he see her?”
Understanding streaked through him, and his stomach churned. He clenched his jaw, knowing to speak too hastily would ruin the tentative bond they’d formed.
“Is he the one who raped ye?”
Riona did not answer, but her eyes told Ranald what he needed to know.
He turned to Finlay, noting the story of the sea swine had ceased. “Find Manus. Double the guard. Send men to search every corner, every stair, every possible inch of the castle.”
The guard in the doorway stepped forward, his young face stark white in the darkened room. “Laird. Nae one knows where Manus is. He hasnae been seen since supper.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sentries flanked either side of Riona’s door. More guarded the stairwells and doorways, halls and every nook and cranny of Scaurness Castle. Morgan MacEwen would have to climb the sheer rock in order to reach Riona or Gilda. With a sense of foreboding, Ranald peered over his shoulder at the window slits high above his head.
“Position guards to watch the tower. I dinnae want MacEwen scaling the walls.”
“There are guards at every point of the castle, Laird. I’ve sent six men to patrol the beach to the north, six along the coast to the south. I’ve kept half the men in reserve to replace those on duty.” Finlay grasped Ranald’s shoulder, compelling him to meet his solemn gaze. “We are pledged to protect them, Ranald. The MacEwens willnae get into the castle.”
