Moonstone

by Olivia Stocum

  “Ingenious.” Ronan’s eyes gleamed.

  “And you stopped him?” Triona said over Ronan.

  “Aye.” William’s voice sounded like gravel. “I stopped him.”

  Rhiannon looked at her soup bowl. Her appetite had vanished.

  “And?” Triona asked.

  “And I married her instead.”

  Triona came around the table, sitting next to Rhiannon. “I am so sorry about your parents. William did precisely as he needed to. Some alliances are not worth having.” She carefully hugged Rhiannon. Triona smelled like heather and primroses. “Welcome to our family.”

  “Thank you.” Rhiannon felt an odd mix of relief and anxiety. She was relieved that they acknowledged her marriage. But she was scared about the rest.

  Specifically in regards to sleeping arrangements.

  Ronan came around the table, smacking William on the back. Rhiannon prayed the giant wouldn’t talk to her.

  “You have no idea how long we’ve waited for you,” Triona said, glancing at William. The two of them exchanged a look Rhiannon didn’t understand. “I knew you were out there somewhere.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Triona leaned in. “I will tell you later.”

  “What I want to know,” Ronan asked in his deep baritone, “is how you allowed yourself to be ambushed in the first place?”

  “I was distracted.”

  “No doubt,” Triona said. She lifted her brows at Rhiannon.

  “Why did you let them disarm you?” Ronan asked.

  William winced, and Rhiannon felt for him. “A guard broke Rhiannon’s arm,” he said. “I heard it crack.”

  Ronan cleared his throat. “Aye, that would distract me as well.”

  “Humor me, mo leannan,” William said to Rhiannon, standing. “Bring yourself closer to the fire and sit with me.” He looked at Ronan and Triona. “Alone.”

  Rhiannon took up her wine. “I have had enough to eat, thank you,” she said to Triona.

  “You must be hungry.”

  “I am fine, really.” She turned and followed William to the hearth. “Enough family for now?”

  “They are always like that.” He grinned and sat in a chair, Rhiannon taking the seat next to him. William laced his fingers over his stomach “I need to bathe. I’m disgusting.”

  She took in his well-defined legs, stretched out before him. “Aye . . .”

  He frowned.

  “I mean, we both are.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Triona, have a bath drawn in my chamber.”

  “Aye, my laird,” she called.

  “William?” Rhiannon set her goblet on a side table.

  “Go.” He leaned closer. “Have my cousin show you the way. I will leave you in peace. I’m sure you’re eager to be rid of me?”

  She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. She needed his protection, but she was definitely not interested in his bed.

  Triona spoke with one of her maids, who then scurried off.

  “Walk me to your chamber,” Rhiannon said to William. The hall was large, and no doubt there were a number of long, dark corridors. Anything could happen in them. “Please.”

  William regarded her for a moment, then stood and held out his hand. She tucked her fingers in his, grateful. Rhiannon wondered what Triona must think of her. She couldn’t care less about what servants thought, or most people for that matter, but this was William’s family, and she’d hoped to leave a better impression than she was thus far.

  He led her up the stairs and down a corridor, Triona silent behind them. Then he pushed open the door to his chamber and took her by the shoulders. “You’re safe,” he said, kissing her forehead.

  Rhiannon watched him walk away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rhiannon stepped through the doorway and into William’s chamber. Alice wasn’t there, but Rhiannon knew she had been, because the saddlebag they shared sat empty next to a pine trunk.

  She looked around the chamber. There was a granite hearth, like the ones below, only smaller. The window at the far end of the room was arched and had a built-in seat. An oak desk resided against one stone wall, a sizable trunk to one side of it.

  The small circular table near the center of the chamber drew her attention. There was only one chair, and that made her smile.

  Then her gaze flicked over the generous four-posted bed, and she noted the contradiction between the two.

  “I am glad you found him,” Triona said.

  Rhiannon shook herself. “I think he found me.”

  “Aye, I suppose he did. Either way, I’m happy for him. William and I have always been close.”

  Just how close, Rhiannon wondered.

  “When I married Ronan, it changed things, and William has suffered for it.” Triona sat on the edge of the bed. “He doesna like to admit to it, but he is lonely. I can see it.”

  Rhiannon’s stomach soured as if she’d just swallowed something bitter. Triona was very nice to look at, and had probably been as pure as new snow on her wedding day.

  “Are you well?” Triona asked.

  Rhiannon forced herself to answer. “Yes, of course. I am fine.”

  “A new marriage is a lot for any woman.” Triona’s brows lifted.

  Rhiannon’s gaze flicked over the bed. More for some than others.

  “William is a well respected man. And he takes good care of his own.” Triona smiled. “Verra good care.”

  Rhiannon was just sure he did. He likely took very good care of Triona too.

  The servants arrived with a wooden bathing cask. Alice followed on their heels, her I’m-in-love smile firmly in place.

  Rhiannon turned to Triona, keeping her voice down so that Alice wouldn’t overhear. “What do you know about a man named Connor?”

  “As in the captain of William guard? I know him well.”

  “He has shown a decided interest in my maid.”

  “’Twas a productive journey, wasn’t it?” Triona laughed. “He is a good man. She could do no better.”

  “Thank you.”

  Triona took her hand. “Join me in my solar later?”

  She wasn’t entirely comfortable with Triona yet. “I should . . . wait here for William.”

  “You are welcome to join me anytime. ’Tis on the third floor. Follow the noise and you will find me.”

  “Noise?”

  Triona rolled her eyes. “I thought it would be a grand idea to build the nursery next to my solar.” She sighed and walked to the door. “Enjoy your bath.”

  The servants filled the cask with efficiency and filed out of the room, closing the door behind them. Rhiannon bolted it and turned to Alice.

  “Do you need me right now?” Alice asked before Rhiannon could say anything.

  “I . . . suppose not.”

  “I would like to give your underclothes a good laundering, and try to mend them.”

  “Of course. Go ahead.”

  Alice helped her out of her sling, then removed her tattered sleeves, bodice cover, and skirt. Rhiannon slipped out of her shoes and stockings. Alice removed her linen petticoat and chemise.

  “My lady?” Alice eyed the pile of soiled clothes.

  “I know. And I know. I shall have to remain here until you’re finished with them.” Rhiannon dipped her fingers into the steamy water.

  “Your husband has a fresh plaid and shirts in the trunk.” Alice pointed to it. “I saw them when I put his things away.”

  It was better than nothing. “Thank you, Alice.” Rhiannon slipped her feet into the hot water, wincing as her skin grew accustomed to the temperature. Slowly, she sank in.

  “I shall be back to check on you.” Alice left with Rhiannon’s clothing, whistling to herself.

  Rhiannon stared at the inside of the unbolted door, fear prickling her skin despite the hot water.

  She didn’t want to pad naked across the floor. Exposing herself like that made her uncomfortable. But she couldn’t relax with the
door unbolted. Rhiannon took a deep breath and gathered her wits. Just do it, you coward. She stepped out of the tub.

  Focusing on her breath, she dripped across the wooden floor and reached shaky fingers toward the bolt, sliding it into place.

  Relieved, and proud of her accomplishment, she sank back into the warm water.

  She smelled ginger.

  Alice always remembered the ginger.

  * * *

  William returned to the great hall to find Ronan in the chair Rhiannon had vacated. William took up his wine, eyeing Ronan from over the rim. “You’re not as pretty.”

  Ronan dusted himself off as William sat. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Seriously, your lady wife, I am sorry.”

  “Aye.”

  Ronan was silent for a moment before he continued. “She looks half-starved. What did they do to her?”

  “You dinna want to know.”

  “She speaks Gaelic fluently.”

  “Her mother.”

  “The lady returns to her roots.” Ronan lifted his goblet.

  “I wish it were that easy.” William wiped his hand over his face. He was tired. His shoulder ached. “I wanted to kill Geoffrey. I was itching for the opportunity.”

  “I dinna blame you. Rhiannon will recover from her ordeal. The lass has spirit. With a spirited woman you always know where you stand, even if it means sleeping in the nursery. Which I never do.” Ronan shrugged sheepishly and changed the subject back to Rhiannon. “She seems to trust you.”

  William wanted to tell Ronan more, but couldn’t without betraying Rhiannon’s confidence.

  “She looks at you with . . . desperation,” Ronan said. “As if she is afraid to be out of your sight. You make life safe for her again.”

  William lifted his brows at Ronan.

  “I do know a few things about women. I see a similar look in Triona’s eyes whenever I have to leave for an extended period.”

  William wondered if Rhiannon was attached to him, specifically, or if she were simply in need of a hero. No woman had ever wanted him for him. There was always an ulterior motive. William set his cup aside and ran his hands through his hair. “I was the one who split her lip. She stole my horse. I had no idea it was her.”

  “Aye, I noticed your handwork. You set a neat stitch.” Ronan would know. He had enough of the crisscrossed scars on his own body to prove it.

  “I had to reset her arm out on the moor.”

  “No wonder she is afraid to be away from you. Rescuer, healer, guard.”

  Aye, everything, but . . .

  Ronan straightened in his chair, wood creaking. “Stay with us as long as you need. Perhaps Triona can help her in ways you canna.”

  “I hoped she could. That’s why we are here. And I wanted the two of you to meet her.”

  “Just how much of this match was based on chivalry, and how much of it was your choice?”

  “Geoffrey thought nothing of using her to bait me. The man knew me all too well. And I took the bait easily, grinning all the way.”

  Ronan laughed. “He’s hated you since you bested him in the lists. How old were you?”

  William shrugged. “Thirteen.”

  “You humiliated him in front of his father.”

  “He engaged, and I defended myself.”

  “Speaking of.” A familiar gleam shone from Ronan’s eyes. “Come to the lists. You could use the distraction.”

  “I don’t know. I canna be sure what Rhiannon will do if she canna find me.”

  “You cannot be with her all the time.”

  Perhaps William could spare an hour. He needed the distraction. “Aye, I will.”

  * * *

  Even more tired than before, William made his way back inside and to his chamber. He stopped at his door. He couldn’t just open it, not when Rhiannon was on the other side. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated, wishing he could walk in on his own wife and not feel like an intruder.

  He knocked. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

  “Coming,” she said. The door opened part way. “Were you able to salvage my . . . You’re not Alice.” A blush crept over her high cheekbones. A bare shoulder, rained with tawny freckles, peeked from behind the door.

  Rhiannon shoved the door at his face.

  He stopped it with the toe of his boot. “Wait. Let me in.”

  Cat-green eyes flicked over him, then slowly she backed away. William slipped inside.

  “I had nothing else to put on,” she said.

  Rhiannon was wearing just his plaid, wrapped around her lean form like a sheath and knotted between her breasts. The scent of ginger laced the air. Her burgundy waves hung damp around her, begging to be touched.

  He should’ve left the chamber before he did something stupid. He didn’t. He should’ve looked away before he scared her. But he couldn’t.

  “Close the door,” she said.

  William wasn’t about to argue. He closed the door behind him and turned to face her. Rhiannon hesitated, and then walked to the window seat, took up one of his shirts, and began to stitch up a rip in the seam. She was using her broken arm.

  “Why didn’t you have Alice bind your arm?” He reached for the shirt, unsure whether it was fair to out rightly chastise Rhiannon for carelessness when the blame was really on Alice, who should have taken better care of her in the first place.

  Frowning, she shoved the shirt at his chest.

  He tore it into strips.

  “What are you doing? Other than the seam, it was a perfectly fine shirt.”

  “Now it is a perfectly fine sling.”

  He tossed aside the scraps and sat next to her. There was just enough room on the window seat for the both of them. Her hip was snug against his.

  “Give me your hand,” he ordered. William winced. Why was it he lost control every time he thought something might harm her?

  She blew out a breath and laid her arm over his leg. William wrapped it, carefully, so he wouldn’t hurt her. “Dinna leave this unbound.”

  “I did not mean to make you angry,” she said.

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I. Am. Not.”

  She shrugged.

  “It’s not your fault when I am angry.”

  “Then whose is it?”

  “Anyone or anything who has ever hurt you.”

  Silence.

  William looked up and caught her watching him with wide eyes. He thought about what Ronan had said, about the way she looked at him.

  Like he was her hero.

  He slid to his knees before her, his chest tight with emotions he wasn’t sure how to process. She smelled fresh, ginger surrounding her like an aura. The shutters were closed. Firelight bathed her face and bare shoulders. He tied the sling into position, then with tremendous effort, backed away.

  William took a moment to sort himself out. Otherwise, he was likely to grab Rhiannon and kiss her until neither of them could remember their names. And then he would carry her to his bed and roll her beneath him—

  He unbuckled his sword harness and shrugged out of it, trying and failing not to finish his own thoughts. He pulled up a chair, unable to sit next to Rhiannon on the crowded bench.

  “You’re staring at me,” she said.

  He cleared his throat. “I know.”

  “Can you control the thoughts that are seeping from your head?”

  Was he that obvious? “Nay. I canna.”

  Her fingers twisted in wool, then released again.

  “My thoughts may be rampant, but I’ve control over my actions.”

  She nodded, sighing as if glad to be reminded. At least she believed him now. The nights they’d spend on the moor together were not in vain.

  “I should put one of your shirts on over this.” She gestured to the plaid.

  “Do not.” He said it with too much force, making her brows arch. “It willna kill me to look.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed again.
Her brows drew together and her gaze slid over him. He didn’t want to flatter himself, but he thought he was beginning to understand why she did that. She really was sizing him up. He wished he knew how to make her realize that sharing a bed with him would not be the horrifying experience she thought it would.

  “It doesna have to hurt,” he whispered.

  Rhiannon’s gaze came back to his face. She reddened, and then she looked away altogether. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

  “Aye, you do.”

  Her jaw worked. “Very well, then. But I am not talking about this.”

  “I warned you that we would. Talk. About a lot of things.”

  “You also promised not to force me into anything, right before you had my maid stand in proxy for me at my own wedding.”

  “That was her idea.”

  “You are mixing words.”

  “Aye. I am.” It was time to change the subject. For now. They had a few hours before bed. He would gauge the situation then. Not that he thought she would be ready tonight, but he had to decide whether encouraging her to sleep alongside him in an actual bed would be good for her, or terrifying. “I have been away too long,” he said. “My shoulder hurts. Too many nights spent sleeping on the ground.”

  She looked at him from under her lashes with a small, but genuine smile. Then her brow furrowed as if she couldn’t decide how best to articulate her thoughts. “Now that sounded like something my father would have said to my mother.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I remember little of my parents, only snatches. The sound of their voices, the color of my mother’s hair, and the songs she used to sing.”

  “You were young then?”

  “Aye. And then my uncle lost his wife when I was eleven. The only example I’ve had is Triona and Ronan.” William hoped she understood what he was getting at.

  She nodded.

  “All I know is how it felt to walk down the corridor just now, knowing you were here behind my door.” He wanted to touch her, wondered if he should risk it. Should he give her space? He really should wait for her to come to him.

  He might die if he waited for her.

  “Can I touch you?” he asked.

  “Not like this.”