Moonstone

by Olivia Stocum

  “Contrary woman.” He rattled the chair. “Sit.”

  “Please,” Alice said, straining the words until Rhiannon reached for the chair and sank into it. She kept her gaze on William in a non-verbal warning.

  He pulled up the other chair and sat before her, then cleaned the needle and thread with spirits from the flask. “Have you ever had stitches before?”

  “Once, when I fell off a horse. My father stitched the cut on my leg.”

  “Were the two of you close?” He moved to tip her face up, but Rhiannon jerked back before his fingers made contact.

  He wasn’t sure how to reach the real woman beneath her pain. Words meant little to one who couldn’t trust, and touching her was sketchy at best.

  “Alice,” he said. “Hold her head steady.”

  “Aye, my laird.” She stood behind Rhiannon, her hands on either side of Rhiannon’s face. William wondered if the maid’s tiny fingers were strong enough. “Dinna let go.”

  Alice nodded and William threaded the needle. He took up the flask, bringing it to Rhiannon’s mouth. “Drink first.”

  “Nay.”

  “I know your mouth is sore and it will sting your lip, but this will hurt.” He held up the needle.

  “I prefer to keep my wits about me, thank you.”

  “Why is that? So I willna take advantage?”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “Aye.”

  “Could you have stopped me last night? Could you have stopped me today, in the woods, if I had wanted to hurt you?”

  Her eyes widened.

  William chided himself. How would he live with her for the rest of their lives if he lost his patience so soon? “I hate what Geoffrey has done to you.”

  Rhiannon tried to shrug, but Alice was still holding her face. “He believes I am his.”

  “He believes many things that are not true.” William lifted the flask. “Please drink.”

  “Go on, my lady,” Alice said. Then she scrunched her face and belatedly let go of Rhiannon’s head. “Sorry.”

  Rhiannon’s expression hardened to stone. “Nay.”

  William set the flask aside. “Verra well. I can do this with one stitch. Alice?”

  She nodded and took Rhiannon’s face in her hands again. “I have her, my laird.”

  Rhiannon’s mouth looked so soft, and would no doubt taste very sweet. And he’d scarred her. He stalled, uncomfortable with hurting her further. “I will be as careful and as fast as I can.”

  “Just get on with it.”

  William pierced her lip with the needle. She twisted, loosening Alice’s hold. William cupped the back of her head in his free hand and pulled her lip together with a single stitch. He cut the needle free with the scissors Alice had provided. “I still have to knot it.”

  Rhiannon’s eyes were open and on his face, glossed over. William carefully knotted the ends together, and then cut free the excess thread.

  “Leave me,” Rhiannon said.

  “Nay.”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits and shot at him like arrows out of twin crossbows. “Go away.”

  Shaking his head, William took up a fresh strip of cloth.

  Rhiannon pushed to her feet and staggered to the door. William watched her grasp the edge for support. “Go away.”

  He set the cloth aside and stood. “Contrary, and stubborn, aren’t you?” He waited a moment, then crossed the room when her knees began to give way, catching her. Exhausted, she surrendered against his chest and William swung her up.

  “You have a high tolerance for pain,” he said. “But you are far too weak for this. Just let me take care of you. How much did you eat this morning?”

  “Enough.” Her words were slurred around her stitched lip.

  “How much are you able to eat?”

  She shrugged.

  He carried her cold, slender body back to her chair and lowered her into it. Then he reached down and pulled her hands up, laying them on the table. He sat in the other chair and wiped away dried blood.

  “Here is some salve, my laird,” Alice said. She set a small clay pot on the table.

  “Thank you, lassie.”

  He cleaned and dressed Rhiannon’s scratches, aware of her cautious eyes on him.

  She examined the bandages and flexed her fingers. “You have done this before.”

  “Aye.”

  Her brow puckered as she continued to look at her hands.

  He smiled at her expression. “I will need to clean your face.”

  “Alice can.”

  “He is much better at this than I am,” Alice said, sitting on the edge of Rhiannon’s bed.

  “Fine then. I will do it myself.” Rhiannon reached for a strip of cloth.

  William stopped her. “’Tis my fault you’re hurt.”

  “I don’t want you touching my face.”

  Was that because of the way Geoffrey had touched her, forcing her to look at him?

  William breathed deeply until the urge to get up, track down Geoffrey, and break every bone in his body passed. Then he wet a strip of cloth, carefully wrung it out, and handed it to Rhiannon.

  While she washed her face, he spoke in Gaelic, reciting random verses to songs as they came to mind, glad again that she couldn’t understand him, since they were mostly lullabies his mother use to sing.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, he saw tears form on her lashes.

  A single drop rolled down her cheek. Rhiannon whimpered when it touched her scratched skin and he gently brushed it away with his thumb. She flinched.

  “One day you will trust me,” he said. Lord willing. He wished he were as confidant as his blathering mouth.

  “I will see to your scratches, my laird,” Alice said. She wrung out a strip of cloth.

  “Wait.” Rhiannon’s hand came over Alice’s. “Give it to me.”

  Alice handed Rhiannon the cloth, smiling.

  Rhiannon turned to William. “Do not look at me while I do this.” Her tone broached no argument.

  He averted his eyes.

  “I understand the risk you take in helping us,” Rhiannon said.

  He nodded.

  “Any liberties taken will not be tolerated.”

  He nodded again.

  “And, I do thank you.”

  “Did you say . . .”

  “I will not repeat it. Look away.”

  He looked at the wall. Her long hair painted his forearm as she bent over him.

  “I have ministered to men before.” Her hands froze for a moment. “If my brother counts.”

  He blinked into reality. “Brother?” Why didn’t she say so before? “You have a brother?”

  She talked carefully around her swollen lip. “He left two years ago on pilgrimage to the Holy Land and disappeared. I know not if he lives.”

  “But if he does, I can find him and bring him home, then we can see that Reginald is evicted.”

  “Assuming he lives.” She tilted her face and cleaned a scratch along his jaw.

  “I’ll send some men out to look for him, as soon as we can be away from here.”

  She paled, her hands freezing in place. He wondered if she was breathing.

  “Lassie?”

  “You said we,” Alice said.

  Ah, William realized. He was moving too fast for her. But it wasn’t as if they had any choice. He couldn’t exactly delay the duel and spend the next month courting her.

  Rhiannon shook herself, then went back to work. Her auburn hair curtained her shoulder as she bent over him. It glided along his forearm, slowly, and soft as silk. This close, she smelled of more than just ginger, but of warmth and woman. Her loose shirt slid against her unbound breasts.

  He’d dealt with plenty of temptation, and found it within himself to survive, but she was his personal siren. A wedding would make no difference. There was no way to know if she would ever trust him enough to share her body with him.

  Och, but what if she did?


  His mind wrapped around that thought, fed it to his body, and then grew a full-fledged fantasy, complete with Rhiannon calling out his name as he lost himself—

  William stood. “I’m hungry. I mean we need to eat. You need to eat.” He blew out a breath. “Blast it.” William crossed the chamber. “Change into a gown, please.”

  He left her, closing the door behind him.

  William took a moment to rein himself back in. He turned to Connor. “Go get us some food, will you?”

  “Aye, my laird.” Connor turned away, but William stopped him.

  “What am I supposed to do about her? She is in no position to deal with a husband.”

  A slow grin spread over his face. “Deal? Nay, you were in the great hall when she was brought in for a reason.” Connor clapped William on the shoulder before walking away.

  He leaned back against the door, then realized he’d left his weapons inside.

  Stupid.

  He needed food and sleep.

  And Rhiannon in his bed. But it would be easier to arrange to have a hole drilled through his daft head.

  He gave her some time to dress, then knocked at the door. It opened and she looked up at him, wearing the same green linen gown as the night before.

  “Do you not have any other gowns?”

  “I was not allowed to bring them.” She turned away, cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

  “Not your fault.”

  Rhiannon moved toward the window, then turned to face him. “Alice is asleep.”

  She was curled into a ball on Rhiannon’s bed, a blanket draped over her. He turned his attention back to Rhiannon. The sun shone down on her cape of hair and teased it to a rich, wine-red.

  William took one step forward, but didn’t dare come any closer. “Connor will return with food. Eat with me?”

  Her jaw flexed. “Leave the door open?”

  “I will.”

  “Then I suppose I can.”

  Chapter Five

  There was something about William’s voice that reminded Rhiannon of silken threads reaching out for her, trying to tangle her into a web, as if he were a spider and she his next victim.

  She wondered if a venomous spider could take his victim painlessly.

  Rhiannon didn’t have many options available to her. She could marry the man who had robbed her of her parents and her joy, or she could take a chance with this stranger who offered her honey.

  Rhiannon took a deep breath of fresh air. It was nice to be outside for a change. She was feeling stronger today. Her shoulder was a little sore, her scratches itchy as they healed, and her lip only bothered her when she tried to eat—which her stomach didn’t care for anyway.

  She crinkled her nose when a maid appeared at a window and dumped the contents of a chamber pot onto the street where they were walking.

  “We should have gone to the gardens,” Rhiannon said.

  “They would have smelled better.” Alice scooted past the offending substance.

  Rhiannon’s skin crawled as if she were being watched. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder because William was behind them. Her face flushed. Yes, she was being watched. He watched her far too closely. Running away would be impossible now.

  Alice had no such reservations however, and arched her neck around to see him. “The serving maids think Laird William is handsome,” Alice said. “Some have tried to solicit him.”

  “By the saints, is that an appropriate topic?”

  “None have succeeded. He has only noticed you. They hate you.” She was still watching him, her expression curious.

  “The wenches? I care not what they think of me.”

  “Do you find him handsome?”

  Rhiannon’s pulse beat against her sternum. “A little louder, perhaps he has not heard you.”

  “Who?”

  “William!” Rhiannon groaned and covered her face with her hand. “See what you made me do?”

  “And I am not nearly as sorry as I should be. He is beautiful. You are fortunate.”

  “He could have three heads and breathe fire for all I care.”

  “But he does not. Are you telling me you have not noticed him? Not at all?”

  Yes, she did. She noticed the sound of his voice, and the Gaelic song verses that seemed to slip absently into his head and out of his mouth.

  “You will not have to marry Laird Geoffrey.” Alice leaned closer. “That is reason enough to rejoice.”

  “I rather not marry at all.”

  Alice glanced at William again, then turned back. “I may not be experienced, but I hear the serving maids talk, and they like men. They find them pleasurable.”

  Rhiannon’s stomach churned. “I do not.”

  “But wouldn’t it be different if the man were gentle with you?”

  She leveled a gaze on Alice. “And what about our secret?”

  Alice blanched.

  “Precisely.”

  “We will think of something. Go walk with him. It would do you good.”

  “It would do me no such thing.”

  “If you walk with him, then I can walk with Connor.” Alice smiled.

  “Connor? Why?” Rhiannon halted in her tracks. “Oh, nay.”

  “Please?”

  “To what end?”

  “None, I suppose. But he is so handsome. I just want to walk with him.” Alice blinked long innocent lashes. She even went as far as to stick out her lower lip.

  Rhiannon gave in. “Very well, but do be careful. Make sure he has no opportunity to be alone with you.”

  “Aye, my lady.” Alice skipped ahead to catch up with Connor.

  He smiled so wide when he saw her that Rhiannon thought his face might crack in two. “Just what we need right now,” she muttered.

  Rhiannon walked alone, hyperaware of William behind her. Alice looked back and gestured for her to walk with him. She shook her head. Then she sensed him edging up next her, heat radiating off him in the cool air. She recognized his scent, leather and spice.

  “Winter comes,” he said.

  She cleared her throat. “Aye. ’Tis colder here than it is at my home.”

  “Even colder in the Highlands.”

  Alice smiled her approval and turned her attention back to Connor.

  “Where exactly do you live?” Rhiannon asked.

  “North.” Leather creaked as he walked. “The end of the world.”

  Rhiannon didn’t remind him that north wasn’t an exact location. Neither was the end of the world. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.

  “Perhaps we should go back inside.”

  “I do not wish to go in. That chamber might as well be a prison cell.”

  Her life had become one long prison sentence. She looked over the squat stone cottages lining the street. Two boys in long-shirts, with rope belts and bare feet, sat dangling a string over a dirty cat. A hammer rang from the blacksmith’s three-sided building. The tang of steel was in the air.

  Rhiannon’s gaze drifted over William. She couldn’t imagine him forcing himself on her. But what would she do about Geoffrey’s child? Could she fool William into thinking that it was his? Did she even have it in her to deceive him thusly?

  Her gaze shifted down his torso. He was taller and wider than Geoffrey. Likely his male parts would be larger, too. Causing her even more pain than Geoffrey had. Unless Alice was right, and a gentle man could make all the difference.

  Her stomach ached at the very thought. Nay, she couldn’t let William do that to her.

  “Fey lassie,” he whispered.

  He knew she’d been perusing him. She was horrified. “Stop saying that. Do you think I do not know what fey means?”

  “I hadna meant-”

  “It means doomed, cursed, destined to tragedy. Even an English woman knows that.”

  His face softened, as well as his voice. He ducked his head in apology. “I willna call you that again.”

  William’s gray eyes drew her in. They w
ere hard to ignore, so light in color against his tanned skin and dark hair. He was quiet now, save the squeak of his leather jerkin as he shifted a little closer.

  Rhiannon pulled her gaze away. It landed on Alice, who was making doe eyes at Connor. “We have trouble.”

  “Is that trouble?”

  “What if Geoffrey sees them?”

  “They are a maid and a guard. No one will care. Dinna worry so much.”

  She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off.

  “Mo leannan.”

  It meant my darling. Her mother used to call her that. Of all the things he could have called her, why that?

  She was speechless. Rhiannon watched his mouth as if she expected him to take it back at any moment.

  “We should keep walking,” he said. “Geoffrey is coming this way.”

  “Perfect,” she muttered.

  “Show him no fear. He feeds on it.”

  Rhiannon nodded, doing her best to pretend she couldn’t see Geoffrey walking down the street toward them. She watched a peddler roll through with his rickety cart, his old gray nag straining against the harness, his wares clanking together.

  The spider would poison the lion, she told herself. The fly need not fear the lion any more.

  William didn’t so much as twitch a muscle.

  She hoped the spider would poison the lion.

  Connor and Alice parted to let Geoffrey through. Worry creased Alice’s brow.

  “My dove.” Geoffrey reached for Rhiannon. She backed away, her eyes darting in search of escape.

  “Walk with me.” Geoffrey grasped her by the elbow. She winced, and the stitch on her lower lip pulled. She glanced at William and he shook his head, his face dark. Geoffrey had brought six guards with him. They stood off to the side, eyes trained on William and Connor, hands over sword hilts.

  “How is my darling bride today?” Geoffrey asked.

  Lord, how she wanted to fight him, but that had gotten her nowhere in the past. She had a knife hidden in a secret pocket in her skirt, but she dared not draw it with six guards watching.

  Geoffrey yanked her arm, and she bit back a cry of pain. “I asked you how you were.” His breath reeked of ale and pipe tobacco.

  “I have been better,” she managed. She wished William would do something. Anything.