But velvet often chafed, and gold rings had a tendency to catch on limbs when she climbed trees.
“Ye have chosen well,” Roderic said, rising to his feet. “William will make ye a fine husband.”
“But—”
He kissed her cheek and turned away. “Good night, daughter,” he said, and stepping into the hall, closed the door behind him.
“But I did not choose,” Shona whispered to the empty room.
Shona awoke to a pounding headache. Nightmares had plagued what little sleep she had gotten.
Nightmares of a silver-eyed rogue who lay wrapped in the arms of a wealthy duchess.
But even as she dreamt it, she could not believe it was real. True, Dugald could seem shallow sometimes. He was far too concerned about his looks, and he was vain beyond words. But sometimes she felt something more in him, a slash of sharp power, an ocean of depth.
There was more to him than met the eye, of that she was certain. And if she could just draw that forth, see it in the full light of…
Shona jerked herself out of bed. What the devil was wrong with her? She didn’t want to draw anything out of Dugald Kinnaird. She did not even like him.
She chanted those words like a mantra as she got dressed, then hurried down the steps, eager to find a distraction.
But the noise of the hall only hurt her head more.
Needing time and fresh air, Shona skirted the crowd and hurried outside.
She walked alone all that morning, wandering along the burn’s serpentine course and trying to sort out her thoughts. But the effort did little more than relieve a bit of excess energy.
By the time she returned to Dun Ard, the swordsmanship contest had already been played out.
William, his tunic decorated with the tassel she had given him, had competed well. But Boden Blackblade had won the sheath that was the award.
The noon meal passed without incident. Shona fiddled with her herbed ptarmigan then tried to sneak off alone, but Kelvin galloped up to her before she reached the stairs.
“Are ye ready for the hunt?” he asked, all but panting with excitement.
“The hunt?”
“Surely ye have not forgotten. The men are saddling the mounts even now. Might Dugald ride with us?”
“Lady Shona,” William said, bowing near her elbow. “I took the liberty of saddling your mare for you.”
She blinked at him.
“You did not forget that you promised to ride with me, did you?”
She turned guiltily toward Kelvin. “I fear I—”
“I heard you say you had promised the lad, too, but I think myself man enough to manage to share you for the afternoon.”
“Hurry,” Kelvin called, seeming unconcerned by this turn of events as he danced toward the door. “The day is fleeting.”
They rode out as a large company, perhaps two score of men and a dozen women. Beneath her, Lochan Teine pranced and tossed her flaxen mane, eager to be off.
Kelvin glanced up from the back of his mount. His white pony was shaggy-maned and stout, a dependable gelding that stood only a hand or so beneath Shona’s refined mare.
“Ramsay told me of wolves spotted in the west woods,” Kelvin said.
“Mayhap it was nothing more than Maggie’s Dog,” Shona countered.
“Twas wolves,” Kelvin argued importantly. “Do ye suppose we will come across them?”
“Tis unlikely, since we are heading east,” Shona said, as she shifted the quiver of arrows at her back.
“Are ye scared of wolves, Lady Shona?”
She smiled down at him. “Are ye offering to be my protector, Kelvin?” she asked.
He smiled, showing multiple gaps in his teeth. “Aye,” he murmured, leaning closer as he eyed the man on the far-side of her. “Unless ye would rather have Lord William defend ye.”
“A lady can never have too many brave protectors,” she said, and they rode on.
The day was warm and still. The new leaves were a green so bright it all but hurt the eyes to look upon them. There should have been bountiful game, yet they saw little.
But once Shona thought she caught a glimpse of a narrow girl flitting through the woods. Only a little farther on, the shadow of a wolf crossed her path. Maggie, she thought suddenly. Could Sara’s little lass have come out to scare off the game? But no. Shona quickly set aside that thought, for even Shona herself would be unlikely to do such a foolhardy thing.
Still she could not help but smile, for if the truth be told, Shona did not much care if they found any game or not. Kelvin was at his most charming, entertaining her with stories and riddles as he jabbered on at his jovial best. As for William, he seemed content to merely stay at Shona’s side, offering a few words now and then.
But by mid-afternoon, Kelvin’s dialogue had slowed down. He sat slumped atop his pony, his narrow shoulders rounded.
“The lad looks tired,” William said, leaning toward her so that Kelvin did not hear.
Shona nodded. “Mayhap I should take him back to Dun Ard.”
“And hurt his manly pride?” William asked. “What would his friends say?”
She watched him in silence for a moment. “Ye are kind to think of his feelings.”
“It may be hard to believe, but I, too, was young once.”
“Not difficult at all,” she countered. “And from your experience, what would ye suggest for wee Kelvin?”
“When my own sons grew weary I would oft take them to the water’s edge and let them rest.
There is something about the sound that is soothing. On my way to Dun Ard, I came upon a bonny spot.” He glanced about as if looking for that place. “I think it is not far from here if you’d like to break off from the group.”
If she was not mistaken, he was speaking of the very spot where Dugald had found her fishing.
Something in her shied from going there with William, but she berated herself for those feelings and smiled. “Tis a fine idea,” she said; then turned to Kelvin. “I fear I am in need of a rest, lad. Would ye mind terribly if we tarried for a spell by the burn?”
Kelvin looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. “If we must,” he said with a yawn.
She smiled. “We must.”
In a matter of minutes they had reached the stream. It burbled pleasantly along.
“There is a sheltered place just a ways ahead,” William said.
Shona followed him through the trees, and Kelvin followed her, until at last they came to a lovely place only a short distance from where she had found the trout some days before. Shallow water glistened over silvery stones and the sun peeked happily through low-hanging branches, dappling the verdant earth below.
William helped her dismount. Kelvin, awakened by such a magical place, hopped off his gelding on his own.
“Might I wade in the water?” he asked.
“I think mayhap ye should rest,” Shona said, and set her bow upon the grass to prop her hands on her hips.
“Twas ye that needed to stop,” he reminded her.
Shona laughed, and finding no likely argument, helped him out of his footwear before sending him off to play in the water’s edge. Then she turned Teine loose to graze.
“There is a copse of berries not far downstream, lad, if you are hungry,” William said.
Kelvin wandered off, splashing up geysers of water with his bare toes as he went.
William settled onto the grass as he watched. “You are kind beyond words to care for him as you do, Lady Shona.”
She watched Kelvin play in the water for a moment, then turned her attention to William. “Tis strange. If he were my own child none would think me kind for giving him care. But since someone else gave him life, I am considered a martyr.”
“Tis the way of the world, I suppose. But mayhap ye would understand it if ye had children of your own. My own Deirdra, God rest her, wanted a dozen children. But the good Lord saw fit to take her after the second was born.”
“I am sor
ry.”
He nodded. “I too. But she was not very strong. Not like ye. Ye would not…” He paused.
“What?” she asked, eager to learn more about this man her parents favored.
“Ye will have no trouble bearing children,” he finished, but somehow she was certain that was not what he had meant to say.
The thought bothered her, though she could not put her finger on why. She glanced at Kelvin again. “Truly, I am not certain I could love him more if he were of my own flesh.”
“With the Lord’s blessing ye will soon find out.”
There was a blank silence, which she hurried to fill. “Ye say ye have sons?” she asked, feeling a need to turn the conversation aside.
“Two,” William said.
“And where are they today?”
“I hate to remind you of my age, but they are no longer children. They have responsibilities of their own,” he said, and proceeded to tell her of his children, of his life.
Shona settled her back against a tree not far from William and watched the water trickle over its stone bed. Memories of her own childhood came to mind, memories of hours spent with her cousins in a spot much like this. Memories of sitting on her father’s knee, listening to his outlandish tales, feeling the thrill of the love her parents shared. She had felt that same thrill first hand when Dugald touched her, had felt the earth shiver and her soul ache.
Memories, warm and titillating as wine swept through her, memories of firm muscles and low laughter, of kisses like licking flames.
Time trickled away like the water.
“Am I boring you, Lady?” William asked.
“Oh.” Shona shook herself from her reverie, feeling guilty for her wayward thoughts. “No. Not atall. Ye were right about the water. Tis very soothing. And I suppose I am somewhat sleepy myself.”
“I canna blame you. After all, you are hardly older than the lad. Mayhap—”
But his words were cut short by a distant scream.
“Kelvin!” Shona snatched her bow from the ground, trying to ascertain his direction, but William was already on his feet and running, racing through the woods, his sword in his hand.
Shona lunged after him, her heart pounding with terror. “Kelvin!” she screamed again, but just then she caught a glimpse of him racing through the woods. For a moment she saw nothing else, but then she heard a snarl. The bracken rustled in a path behind him.
“No!” Jolting to a halt, Shona fitted an arrow to her bow and loosed it.
The whir of its release alerted Kelvin. “Shona!” he shrieked, and seeing her, spun in her direction. The wolf pivoted with him, and the arrow, meant to pierce its heart, sliced its shoulder, leaving a bloody path.
It snarled in rage, but did not stop.
Kelvin sobbed as he glanced behind him, but just in that instant, his toe caught on a vine and he fell.
Shona reached for another arrow just as William lunged forward. Jumping over the child, he slashed at the beast’s neck. It leapt clumsily sideways. Blood sprayed everywhere. But William did not delay. Lunging in, he stabbed his sword through its heart.
It died with a whimper of protest.
“Kelvin!” Shona stumbled forward.
The boy rose with a sob and threw himself into her arms. There was blood on his arms and hands, but she couldn’t immediately determine the source.
“What happened?” said William approaching quickly.
“I w—was…” He hiccupped. “I was picking berries. I didn’t… see it in the brush at first. Then I thought it was dead; it was so still.” He hiccupped again, still trying to peer past William at the wolf.
“Was it… was it wounded already?”
“Come,” William said. “We’d best take him quickly to Dun Ard, before he loses more blood.
Shona, fetch our horses. I’ll carry the lad.”
Shona gently swept Kelvin’s hair back from his face and remained kneeling beside his bed. She had been there for more than an hour now, watching him sleep, making certain no nightmares plagued his dreams. But he seemed peaceful and comfortable after Fiona’s ministrations. Shona smoothed her knuckles gently across his cheek, letting his presence soothe her soul. His right arm was bandaged just below the elbow, and around his narrow chest another strip of cloth was tied where the wolf had clawed him, but he was well. He was fine, she assured herself. Still, if William hadn’t been there…
Her thoughts shuddered to a halt. Dear God, Kelvin had nearly been killed. Her hands trembled at the thought. She had failed him. And why? Because her mind had wandered, because even far from the castle, thoughts of Dugald had plagued her, making her forget her responsibilities, her vows to protect Kelvin. She’d been so immersed in memories—the feel of Dugald’s skin, the sound of his voice, the taste of his kiss—that everything else had faded to unreality. Even her ultra-sharp senses had failed her. And tragedy had struck. But William had come to the rescue, had risked his life to save a boy he didn’t even know; William, who she found boring and remote. William, whose patient attentions she had ignored for so long.
Her parents were right; she was wild and undisciplined. She must not choose someone who would insult her, then inflame her, who made her forget all but her own selfish desires. Who had no concern for her or Kelvin except how they might aid his cause. Indeed, Kinnaird had never denied that his only interest was in finding a rich bride. In fact, he was not even interested in her in that regard, but on an even lower level, a level so primitive that Shona had never known she possessed such feelings. He had said, with his usual arrogance, that someday her mind and body would be in accord and she would come to him. But he was wrong. Instead, she would choose someone staid and steady, someone mature, who would quell her unruly spirit, who could improve her nature, for it was not just herself she had to care for now. She had vowed to protect the lad with her life, vowed on her honor, and failed! Had it not been for William’s quick wit and selfless courage, Kelvin’s life would surely have been forfeited.
Guilt gnawed at Shona like a hungry beast; fatigue wore at her soul. But she had one more thing to do before she found her own bed. Rising to her feet, Shona turned and strode resolutely out of the room and down the winding stone stairs.
The hall grew hushed when she entered it. She clasped her hands together, praying for strength, for forgiveness for her weaknesses, “I would beg your attention for a moment,” she called.
The place grew still as faces of family, friends, and strangers turned toward her.
“As ye have all probably heard, Kelvin was attacked by a wolf this day. I failed…” Her voice broke, but she cleared her throat, pushing away the horrid images of what might have happened had William been a little slower, had his mind wandered as hers had. “I failed to keep him safe. Were it not for Laird William…” She turned toward him, feeling weak and small. “Twas a very brave and selfless thing he did.” She paused a moment, steadying her own mind. “For that I would thank ye, William…and accept your offer of marriage.”
Chapter 17
Shona awoke slowly. The hour was yet early, the sun not quite over the horizon. The world was still cast in a predawn pearlescent gray, but she felt no need to sleep longer. Neither did she wish to awaken. Instead, she wanted nothing more than to lie in oblivion, to forget her obligations as well as her shortcomings. But neither would be forgotten.
She had promised to keep Kelvin safe and she had failed in that mission. She had been distracted, careless, drawn away into her disturbing thoughts of Dugald.
Aye, she had failed. But she would not fail again. She would be the epitome of good sense and self-control, and she had already taken the first step: she had become betrothed to William.
Shona closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the reactions to her announcement the previous night. Her parents, regardless of their own recommendations to marry William, had looked shocked. Sara and Rachel had uttered dutiful congratulations, Hadwin had been sober, and Stanford had wept openly. She had scanned the
hall, but Dugald had been nowhere to be seen. And a good thing, too, for he was surely the last person she needed to muddle her thinking. Not that she was unsure of her decision.
William was a good man. Solid, steady, fatherly. Still, something inside her ached with her decision.
She had gone to bed soon after her announcement, but Dragonheart had hung cold and heavy against her skin, making her rest fitful and frustrating. Finally she had slipped it from her neck and hung it over a peg on the opposite wall. She could see it now, its ruby glowing like a single angry eye. She remembered how warm it had been at other times, how it would almost purr with a strange, sensual joy when Dugald was near. When he touched her, his hands like magic— No! She would not think of that. She would not! Sitting up quickly, she lunged from her bed.
Twas not too early to begin the day. The festivities were nearly over. There would be guests to whom to bid adieu, and preparations to make for her wedding.
Going to Dragonheart, she slipped it from the peg and around her neck, then turned toward her window. The shutters stood slightly ajar, allowing her a gray-shadowed glimpse of the bailey, the courtyard and the stables beyond. She remembered where Dugald slept as vividly as she recalled her own name. Was he awake? Was he thinking of her? Had he heard of her plans to wed? Did he, even now— God’s wrath! Slamming the shutters closed, she jerked angrily about. Twas thoughts of him that had made her neglect Kelvin before. She would not do so again.
Yanking her door open, she hurried down the hall to check on the lad. His portal opened with only a slight creak. Upon the wide straw-stuffed mattress, a plethora of boys slept, arms and legs spread everywhere. But Kelvin was alone on a small pallet, giving his wounds a chance to heal. He lay on his side with his lips slightly parted and his hair tousled. For a moment she was tempted to cross the floor and smooth the hair from his brow, to make certain he was still breathing. But such would be folly. There was no need to wake the child. Fiona had said that he needed nothing more than sleep and time to help him mend completely.
She retraced her steps to her room and closed the door behind her.
Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) Page 21
