by Carmen Caine
She winced.
“Ach, now, lass,” Reenan’s voice startled them both. “Ruan never loved that beastie. She was a blunder he’ll nae repeat and that was over three ago!”
Ruan swore under his breath.
“He’s mended his lustful ways, lass.” Reenan continued blithely. “Ye’ve nothing to fret over.”
“Be done, Reenan!” Ruan frowned in her direction.
“She should know Lorna and the others mean nothing to ye,” Reenan replied stoutly. “They were a scheming lot, foolish lad. Ye still canna see how much of a victim ye truly were, ye blind fool!”
“Others?” Bree murmured, rankled.
“Reenan!” he barked. “Ye’ve said plenty!”
“Ach, nae nearly, and ‘tis only right she knows. She’s yer wife,” Reenan snorted. Then, her voice lowered, teasing, “I’ll have ye know, I almost believed ye, ‘I’ve no time for love-’”
“Keep your tongue behind your teeth, woman!” Ruan thundered.
Reenan clucked her tongue, raising a wicked brow. “Only if ye speak with Bree, ‘tis only right.”
He gritted his teeth. “I’ve had precious little chance! Ye gab worse than a fishwife!”
“No need to fash yerself,” Reenan hummed, unperturbed, and with a pert grin.
“Fires of Hell!” Ruan lost control and shouted. “’Tis no small wonder Sean leaves at every chance!”
“I’ll be running along,” Reenan continued as if Ruan hadn’t spoken. “Now, don’t be shy telling him what he deserves to hear. I’ve long warned him he’d pay the price of his folly.”
“By the Saints, woman!” Ruan pleaded. “Away with ye!”
Reenan puckered her lips, and with a decided sparkle in her eye, she gathered her plaid close and set off back toward her croft.
To Bree’s relief, he abruptly let her go. She took a step back and rubbed her wrists.
“Forgive me.” The softness in his voice startled her, and she looked up, surprised.
“I…did nae mean to hurt ye,” he grimaced, indicating the red marks on her skin with a slight nod. He reached out.
She turned her head away.
“Aye,” Ruan’s brow darkened. “I’m a man of all manner of sin, beyond redemption. I’ve no desire to remember the past and there’s naught I can do about it now. ‘Tis done.”
Bree held her breath. It didn’t sound as if he were eager to rush into Lorna’s arms. The thought was pleasing, even as she was struck by jealousy that he had rushed into her arms in the past. She frowned, lifting her chin a little.
He lifted an inquisitive brow.
They locked gazes for a moment, and then Ruan swayed a little on his feet.
“Come,” he said gruffly. “I’d best be getting back whilst I can.”
He set off toward the croft, and she followed. The crunch of his boots on the rocks was the only sound to break the silence between them.
When Ruan lifted the latch of the door, he was deluged with excited, squealing children.
From the corner of her eyes, Bree searched for Lorna, but to her relief, the woman was not there. And then, she was being pulled inside by Isobel and set to work slicing onions and cabbage for the fish stew already bubbling in the cauldron over the fire.
Ruan slouched on a stool near the fire, playing with the brood of children at his feet. Jiggling the smallest on his knee, he tickled the others as they clambered around. After a time, they settled down at his feet as he recounted stories of faraway places.
Shutting out the sound of his lilting voice, Bree helped Reenan ladle the stew into wooden bowls, and then Isobel called them all to eat.
The meal was boisterous and the croft filled with the laughter, but Bree found it difficult to participate. She sat quietly, eating her stew, observing the scene with what she finally acknowledged was outright envy.
She was jealous of everything, jealous of the happiness around her, and jealous of Ruan’s relationship with Reenan. She was definitely jealous of Lorna and the fact Ruan had kissed the woman and had never kissed her. She blushed hotly at the thought and focused on her food.
For the first time in her life, she admitted what she’d never allowed herself to think before. She wanted what Reenan had, a cottage of her own with healthy, happy children. Her attention shifted to Ruan. If she were honest, she wanted a real husband. But she wanted a husband who would love her alone. One who was never tempted by exquisite women with willowy figures and soft, red hair, and with the name of Lorna.
She must have been staring, for Ruan lifted a quizzical brow her direction and for several, long moments their gazes locked again, and then, she glanced away. She spent the remainder of the meal, fidgeting and playing with her food until Ruan excused himself and left the croft without explanation.
Bree drew a deep breath, trying not to be upset, but failing miserably. She sat, frowning into her cold stew until Reenan shoved a bucket into her hands.
“Ach, I’ve forgotten the sheep,” the woman announced. “Milk the ewes, lass. They’re in the back, four of them. Best get at them afore ‘tis too late.” She moved away to boot her children playfully. “To bed with ye, young ruffians. ’Tis an early morning for the lot of ye, time to gather hay!”
“Aye, we might be in for a spell of bitter weather,” Isobel chimed in as she began to stack the wooden bowls on the table.
Grasping the bucket, Bree slipped outside, grateful for the excuse to escape. She took several steps toward the pen before she realized she didn’t have a clue how sheep were milked.
“It can’t be much different than a cow,” she muttered crossly as she tried to avoid all thoughts of Ruan. Apparently, he was not done with Lorna. He’d obviously left to seek her out. In all likelihood, he was kissing her in a heated passion that very minute. He was supposed to be ill.
Gripping the bucket tightly, she clambered over the low rock wall and into the sheep pen. It was dark, but the clouds were rapidly moving away to uncover the moon. The silvery light cast an eerie atmosphere about the place.
From nowhere, tears threatened, and Bree frowned at herself. Biting her lip, she resolved to protect her foolish heart and focus on her task. She sought out the nearest ewe.
Suddenly, she heard voices. She hesitated, searching in the darkness and then Ruan’s deep laugh filtered from behind the gnarled oak at the far end of the pen. The sound of the soft, dulcet tones in reply filled her with anger and humiliation.
It was one thing to imagine him with Lorna. It was quite another to hear the proof.
Then, Ruan swore. His voice was loud, angry.
Against her better judgment, she cautiously crept forward.
“Yer cruel. Why have ye changed so?” Lorna’s voice was thick with tears.
When silence greeted this question, Bree crept closer, peering through the thicket.
In the moonlight, she could see Ruan standing with his feet planted widely apart and his arms folded.
Lorna moved closer and tried to slide her arms about his neck, but he pushed her away with a gesture of annoyance.
“Do ye want to see me beg?” Lorna snapped, before assuming a sultry pout. She trailed a finger over his chest. “Ye’ve seen me do many things, have ye not?”
Bree creased her brows in a frown.
“I’d rather nae see ye at all,” Ruan retorted, batting her hand away. “I’m done with ye. I was three years ago.”
A feeling of elation fought with jealousy within Bree’s heart, as she huddled behind the tree.
Lorna’s mouth hardened. “A heartless wretch that is what ye are! What can ye see in that horrid lass?”
“Bree is my wife,” Ruan replied, in a voice edged with steel.
“Wife!” Lorna repeated haughtily, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Aye, so, ye got a bairn on her, is that how ‘tis? Forced to wed her?”
“I’m done with ye and that includes speaking,” Ruan said, with a derisive snort. “I’ll grant ye the courtesy no more, though I will say one last
thing—I’m grateful.”
“Grateful?” Lorna repeated softly, a sly smile playing about her lips.
“Aye.” Ruan nodded once.
Bree winced.
“Aye,” Ruan repeated, sidestepping as Lorna advanced again. “For showing me how dangerous a net can be woven when a man is nae mindful what bed he lies in. I’ve nae made that mistake again.”
Lorna jerked as if slapped.
Ruan slowly folded his arms, glaring down at the red-haired woman before him in the silence that followed.
Finally, Lorna gathered her shawl close. “The bairn wasna yours,” she hissed. “I doubt ye can even father one!”
When he remained silent, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the thickening mists.
Bree held her breath, ashamed to be eavesdropping, but pleased Lorna was gone, and then Ruan moved. Guiltily, she bolted, and ran through the soft, warm bodies of the curious sheep. They bleated, stamping their feet.
“Who is there?” Ruan called out.
Bree leapt over the low wall and burst wildly into the croft.
Isobel and Reenan glanced up from the table, startled.
“What is it, Bree?” Isobel asked, concerned.
Bree paused for a moment, catching her breath with a pounding heart, and then she blushed furiously. She could hardly admit she’d been spying. Not knowing what to do, she covered her warm cheeks with her hands.
“The milk, lass?” Reenan prodded gently and with a mystified smile of encouragement. “Ach, then, go on and fetch it.”
Fumbling with the latch, Bree stepped out once again into the falling darkness. The air felt cool to her flaming cheeks.
When a careful perusal showed no obvious signs of Ruan, she expelled a deep breath of relief as she climbed back into the pen and moved toward the tree to retrieve the bucket. She hefted it up and turned, running headlong into a dark figure.
Screaming instinctively, she swung the bucket above her head.
Chapter 17: Attacked by a Bucket
While not prepared for the attack, Ruan managed to lift his good arm to ward off most of the blow. The bucket only grazed his cheek. Aye, he should have known the lass would attack. Her nerves were as taut as a bowstring. With a muffled curse, he wrenched it from Bree’s hand and lunged forward to subdue her as a matter of self-preservation.
He caught her about the waist and pinned her against the tree.
“Fires of Hell, but ye are hard on a man!” he shouted, as the beguiling green eyes filled with the shock of recognition. Aye, he examined her appreciatively; she made a man hard as well. Succumbing to his baser instincts, he pushed against her harder.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
Aye, he quite liked her there. “You’re a wee vicious thing, aren’t ye?” he breathed, his pulse quickening at the softness under him.
“What do you expect?” Bree responded, a little breathlessly. “Attacking me in the dark?”
“Me? Attacking?” Ruan touched his cheek gingerly. “I wasna the one wielding that bucket as a weapon!”
“Be thankful it wasn’t your …!” She faltered, moving to pat her skirts, searching for the sgian dubh he’d given her.
“Aye, this?” Ruan grinned, shifting his weight to unsheathe the small knife in question. “’Tis twice now ye’ve lost it. ‘Twill do ye no good with me. But then, perhaps I’d best keep it.” He twirled it, eyeing her with deep amusement. “I might live longer in comfort that way.”
She glowered in an obvious attempt to intimidate him, but succeeded only in appearing fetching, like a kitten drawing its tiny pink mouth in an endearing hiss. He focused on her mouth and her full lips. They were lips that he wanted nothing more than to claim.
Sweet Mary, what ailed him? Why couldn’t he remember he had naught to his name. He shook his head as if to clear, it but found himself staring into her eyes. They were interesting eyes, brewing deep with emotion.
All at once, he forgot what he’d wanted to say.
She was holding still beneath him and he could feel her heart beating rapidly, but then, it might have been his own. He moved closer. Her skin was so warm. His lips almost touched her ear.
“Ruan?”
Reenan’s voice cut through the darkness. A shaft of light fell on them through the croft’s open door.
“Aye,” Ruan pulled back, clearing his throat.
Bree moved away to jump over the low wall of the pen, and he followed.
“Ach, there ye are,” Reenan said with a nod, stepping back as he loomed up behind Bree. “I was a wee bit worried about Bree, though needlessly, it seems.”
He followed Bree into the croft.
With blue eyes dancing in open merriment, Reenan eyed him and subjected Bree to the same intense scrutiny.
He scowled.
“I’ll find the bucket and milk the sheep, lass,” Reenan said, with a knowing grin. “I did nae mean to intrude.”
Ruan saw Bree flush hotly.
He turned away, inexplicably finding he was doing the same.
Aye, he knew the truth. He wanted her to be his wife, not just in name. Somehow, she’d grown on him, though, in all likelihood, she didn’t feel the same. Aye, the wee lass had never wanted to be wed at all. He’d heard himself from her that all she wanted was to live with Afraig in a cottage by the sea.
A cottage was not even something he could afford to give her. He clenched his fists, ashamed that he had nothing to give.
“Ye should rest, lad,” Isobel said, rising from the low stool and beckoning him to the fire. “And I’ll be looking to that wound now. We canna have ye ill with another fever.”
Ruan watched impassively as Isobel changed the dressing once again and Reenan returned with the milk, and then tucked her brood securely under their covers.
Pulling a heather-filled pallet close to the dying fire in the center of the croft, Reenan said, “Ye’ll sleep there with Bree. Merry and Isobel can join me.” She blew out the candle.
The room fell into darkness, the only light a dull, warm glow from the open hearth. The giggling snorts of the children gradually lessened until they were finally asleep.
Ruan remained as he was, seated on the stool, thoughts fixed on Bree.
She glanced nervously his direction several times, but when he made no move to join her, finally settled on the pallet and burrowed under the covers.
It would be a mistake to sleep next to her.
He waited.
When she fell into a pattern of soft, rhythmic breathing, he rose to peer down at the slight form of his wife.
He was exhausted. His shoulder ached, and the prospect of sleeping on the cold floor was less than appealing. At least, he tried to convince himself that was the reason as he slipped in next to her. Bree tensed immediately, and he pulled her close, telling himself he sought only to prevent an attack.
Her hair tickled his cheek.
Her spine was rigid and he was sure she was holding her breath.
Moving onto his back, he wondered what she was thinking, but was oddly too shy to ask. He scowled. Aye, in all likelihood, she was already planning what she’d do once their marriage was annulled. He winced at his stupidity. What was he dreaming of? The lass didn’t care for him.
With his brows drawn in a dark line, he prepared for a miserable night, but, surprisingly, sleep found him quickly.
Only a short time later, the sun streamed through the open door to warm his face.
Reenan was busy at the table.
Bree was nowhere to be seen.
“Ach, yer awake, ye muckle fool,” Reenan smiled in greeting.
“Aye and a braw morning to ye as well,” Ruan scowled, leaning up on an elbow.
“’Tis afternoon,” Reenan dusted her hands clean and came around to stand at the foot of the pallet. “Ye should just kiss her and have done, ye great, foolish beast.”
Ruan’s eyes widened in surprise as he rose to his feet.
“Aye and I know ye heard,” Reenan pers
isted, laying her hand on his arm. “She canna see how smitten ye are, and–”
“She has no reason to love me,” Ruan said. He shook her off, aggravated. “And can ye blame her? I’ve nothing to offer!”
“Ach, ye’ll sort that out soon enough, lad,” Reenan replied, and placed her hands on her hips. “No lass could have a more loyal or gentle husband.”
“Aye, I’ve sense enough to see that loyalty and gentleness are poor companions in the cold of winter if ye’ve naught to eat and nae peat to burn! I’ve nae roof, nae land, and certainly nae love left in me. The likes of Lorna have seen to that as well!” Ruan found himself shouting. He glared, and then added, “Besides, I’ve no doubt Bree loathes me.” With a shrug, he signaled the matter done.
Reenan burst into a hearty laugh. “How can ye be so blind? A lass that watches ye like she does feels many things, and none of them is near loathing. Open yer eyes, man. ‘Twill take only a wee bit of wooing, and–”
To his utter relief, Reenan’s brood burst inside to smother him with hugs and to push him outdoors. Thankful to escape their prying mother, he followed them to find Bree and Merry unloading bundles of hay from the cart under Isobel’s guidance.
He moved to help, but all three sent him a stern look.
“Ye’ll be leaving soon enough,” Reenan said, appearing to push him onto the nearby rock wall. “Sit and rest now. Ye’ll be needing yer strength sooner than ye like, I’ll warrant.”
He sighed, hearing the wisdom of her words, and closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth of the sun.
After a time, Isobel bundled the children into the cart to gather more hay, leaving Bree to stack the bundles against the croft.
It suited him well. He folded his arms, observing her from half-closed lids.
Fleetingly, he allowed himself to forget his concerns and to wonder if Reenan could be right. Maybe the lass didn’t loathe him at all. She’d held still in his arms, not once, but twice last night. What would she do if he did kiss her? Would she strike out, or would her lashes close and her lips part?
His pulse raced and he found himself standing next to her, bending down to lift one of the bundles with his good arm.
“You should be resting,” Bree said. She frowned, reaching to snag it from his grasp. “Reenan said you should sit!”
