She handed him the baby, William taking the wee bairn only because Triona pushed her at him.
“Can you not take her with you?” he asked.
“Shhh . . . You will wake her, and then what will you do?” Triona left him, smirking over her shoulder.
William squinted at the tiny girl-child wrapped in a kitted blanket, then tucked her securely against his chest. He wouldn’t want to drop her, after all.
His cousin would never forgive him.
Chapter Sixteen
Rhiannon smoothed her hands over the pale yellow linen of her new skirt. Her arm was still bound, but it no longer required a sling.
“I will leave this loose,” Triona said as she tightened the laces on the back of Rhiannon’s bodice. “Since you might want to breathe.”
Rhiannon felt stiff, having grown accustomed to wearing nothing save her chemise. “I’m already lightheaded.” She pressed her hand against her heavily embroidered bodice. “I need to go for daily walks so that I can regain my strength. Your cousin makes it difficult for me to do anything.”
“His protective nature gets the best of him sometimes. Truth be told, I think he likes carrying you around.” She winked. “Try a compromise. Let him carry you outside, as long as he lets you walk on your own feet once you’re there.” Triona tied off the laces.
Rhiannon looked herself over. The bodice, sleeves, and hem were embroidered with blue and green thread. She traced a Celtic knot with her finger. “This gown is too pretty for a walk in the garden.”
“’Tis perfect.” Triona worked the silver hairbrush through Rhiannon’s waves. “He will love it.”
But was she ready for him to? “Perhaps I should wear something else.”
“You are reeling now, because Mora just examined you. I felt the same way after Brian was born. I thought I would never want Ronan to touch me again.”
“This is different.”
“I understand.” Triona gathered Rhiannon’s hair into sections with deft fingers, then picked up a mother-of-pearl comb and tucked it into place. “I did not want it to be like that between us though.” She took up another comb. Rhiannon hadn’t had her hair dressed since her parents died. Not that Alice hadn’t tried, but Rhiannon hadn’t seen the point.
“Ronan has had numerous ballads written in his name,” Triona said. “He is known as Blackhawk by many, because his sword-skill is considered otherworldly.” She smiled. “But I know the real man. And flawed as he is, he is also capable of great tenderness.”
“And I am no innocent, worried only about what I do not understand.” Rhiannon was aware of how bitter she sounded, but she didn’t have the strength to be anything else.
Triona had the grace not to flinch. “You are still innocent.” She turned Rhiannon around so they faced each other. “You did nothing wrong. How can you be aught but innocent?”
“I meant . . .”
“I know what you meant.” She shook her head. “All you can do is try.”
Easy for her to say. How could Triona, or Alice, or William understand what was really going on inside her head?
Something was stirring, a need that made her eyes linger on William, and made her wonder what it would be like to lie in bed next to him with absolutely no barriers between them.
She wasn’t ready for what she was feeling, but she couldn’t deny it either. Rhiannon was at war with herself.
And she didn’t like it.
* * *
The little lass sprouted tears.
William tried rocking Heather, but she cried all the harder.
He patted her on the back like he’d seen Ronan do, and an ear-splitting wail issued from her tiny pink mouth. William thought his ears would start bleeding. He held her out in front of him, looking her over, wondering what made her transition from sleeping peacefully, to wailing like a banshee.
Heather stuck her fist in her mouth and began sucking frantically on it.
“Ah.” William cleared his throat. “I canna help you there, lassie. Perhaps we can find your father.” He grinned.
The door opened and William moved Heather to one side, still held out before him.
Triona’s brows narrowed. “Hand her over.”
“Gladly.” He passed the hungry child to her mother. Heather squirmed against Triona, mouth in search.
“I need to go,” Triona said.
“I will see you later,” Rhiannon said, sounding composed. She looked composed. She looked fantastic. Rhiannon touched the combs in her hair. “Triona’s idea.”
He wanted to tell her everything she did to him, but he didn’t know how, and it burned him inside. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “She . . . didna dress you warmly enough.” He rubbed her arms as if trying to prove his point.
“Do you not like the gown?”
“Aye, mo leannan. I like you in the gown.”
Her brow furrowed for a movement, and then she smiled.
Rhiannon had filled out, that was for sure. Her new gown hugged her curves, making him wonder if she really would be better off in her own chamber.
But he didn’t want to give her up.
Even though a sensation stronger than acute hunger pains assaulted him when he was with her.
Rhiannon eyed him. “What is it?”
“Contemplating starvation.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he realized she had taken it the wrong way. “I must look a lot different now.”
“That was not what I meant.” He was more anxious around her than he should have been, considering they’d shared a chamber for the last fortnight. “Let us make sure you dinna freeze.”
She followed him without a word as he pulled out a plaid. “Turn around.”
He pinned it into place, the swath of green with blue stripes cascading down her back.
“You can wrap yourself in it when we get outside. Can you walk?”
“Will you let me?”
He pretended to assess her, blowing out a breath. “I suppose I can.”
He offered his hand. She took it as they began slowly but steadily down the corridor, then the stairs, and out to Triona’s private garden. It was covered in snow.
“I have definitely missed the fall blooms,” Rhiannon said, letting go of his hand and fingering a crackled brown leaf. She straightened, then turned to face him, taking a deep breath as if to reaffirm herself. William had the sickening feeling that he was in for something more than a walk. “I want to talk to you.”
“Aye . . .”
“I want to suggest a compromise.”
“What kind of compromise?” He shifted, snow compacting under his boots.
“I would like to go back to my chamber.” She held up a hand before he could speak. “Just for a little while, to sort through some things.”
He lowered his voice. “I dinna want us in separate chambers. We dinna have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
She took a step closer. “Just let me do this. I need time. I’ll come back to you, and when I do, I swear I will submit my body to yours.”
He winced, feeling like she’d slapped him. “I dinna want your submission.” Disappointment washed through him, tasting like stagnant water.
She didn’t want him.
He’d never been with a woman who had wanted him for who he really was. William. Not Laird William. Not chieftain of the clan MacAlastair. Just William, scars and all.
Her gaze flicked over his face, then her eyes welled. “It is like that for me.”
“I dinna want you like that.”
“I don’t want it to be that way either, but at first it will have to. I just need you to let me do this, please.”
“You have made up your mind.”
“Yes.”
“Fine then.”
“William . . .”
From the moment he’d first seen her, she’d imbedded herself under his skin, like a bur that dug in a little deeper every day. He couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t be strong for her.
He turned and walked away, nearly running into Connor and Alice as he turned the corner around a row of evergreen shrubs.
“My laird?” they said in unison.
William ran his hands through his hair. “You will find Rhiannon down the path, please accompany her until she has finished her walk, and then escort her inside.”
* * *
Several days later, Rhiannon sat in Triona’s solar, rocking Heather in her arms and wondering what Geoffrey’s child would have looked like. Maybe not at all like him. Maybe like her father, or her mother.
What if that child had been her only chance at ever having a baby? After the way she’d miscarried, Rhiannon couldn’t be sure whether or not she was still fertile.
She wasn’t sure whether she’d made the right choice in putting some distance between herself and William, either. Like the miscarriage, at the time, she thought it was necessary.
But now she missed him, and it was miserable.
Not to mention how tired she was. She hadn’t realized how much better she slept with him next to her. When he was there, she knew she could close her eyes and drift off without fear, because he would never let anyone hurt her. It surprised her just how much she also missed looking at him, especially when he crossed his arms over his wide chest, unwittingly emphasizing the play of muscles across his torso.
The air felt warmer all of a sudden.
Triona set aside her needlework and peeked at Heather in Rhiannon’s arms. “Is she asleep yet?”
“Yes.” Rhiannon continued rocking her, even though it wasn’t necessary. “I don’t know if I should have left William’s chamber. I must have gone about it all wrong. You should have seen his face when I told him. He has not said more than five words to me since.”
“What five words did he say?” Triona smiled, likely trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t working.
“He said three of his men have volunteered to go in search of my brother.”
“That is more than five words.”
Rhiannon ignored her. “He also said that if I wished to send along a missive for Alec, should they find him, I needed to do it today, because he willna have his men waiting on a fickle woman.” Rhiannon hated that her anticipation at the prospect of seeing her brother again was tainted by a grouchy husband. “I hope they can find Alec.”
“So do I.” Triona lifted Heather up and went into the next room, where Annie, a freckle-faced red head was watching the rest of her children. Triona handed Heather over. “I will go out to the lists and break his nose for you,” she said, returning. Her dark green eyes sparkled. “That gives me an idea.” She walked across the room and opened a trunk, then pulled out a dagger in its sheath. “Can you use one of these?”
“My brother taught me.”
“Good.” Triona pulled out a second dagger, along with two tooled leather belts.
Rhiannon stood. “Are those both yours?”
“Aye.” Triona held one up. “This was my husband’s idea of sweeping me off my feet.” She handed the second dagger off to Rhiannon. It had a mother of pearl hilt with a steel button on the end of the grip. “He gave me that for our first anniversary. I swear the man has naught but steel in that head of his.” Triona fitted the belt around her waist. “Don your gear, my lady. We are going to challenge the men.”
“Will it help?”
“It always works on Ronan. I imagine it will work on William too. Just be ready, because it does tend to have a rather . . . profound effect.”
Rhiannon strapped on the belt. “But am I ready for profound?”
“Aye.”
Rhiannon eyed her.
“What would you rather do? Sit here with me day after day, sighing and blushing when you think no one can see you?”
“I do not . . .” Yes, she did.
Triona nodded. “Come, my lady. It is time you claimed your man.”
Chapter Seventeen
William parried aside Ronan’s arcing sword, turned, and then elbowed him in the stomach. Ronan grunted from the impact. Then his eyes focused over William’s head, something catching his attention. He lowered his sword arm to his side.
“Look,” Ronan said.
William turned. Triona and Rhiannon were standing side-by-side, their cloaks rippling in the breeze. Rhiannon tapped her foot as if she’d been waiting for ages.
Ronan sheathed his sword, grinning. “I love it when my wife arms herself.” He started across the field toward Triona.
William followed at a slower pace. He was having a difficult time being near Rhiannon now.
Submission. An act of wifely submission? After everything they’d been through, was that all he was to her?
Ronan wrapped his arms around Triona’s waist, lifting her feet right off the ground. She laughed as he carried her off like that, disappearing to parts unknown.
So much for Triona actually using that dagger. All she had to do was strap it on and Ronan lost his head.
William had long-since stopped analyzing whether or not he was jealous, because he knew very well that he was. Not of Ronan per say, although there was a time when that plagued him as well. Now he was jealous of them, of what they had together.
He stopped before Rhiannon.
“My laird.” She ducked her head. “I have come to challenge you.”
William laughed. Then he found the tip of her dagger in his face.
“Draw you dirk,” she said, her voice husky.
“You have been convalescent. And your arm is not yet healed enough for this.”
“I have two arms, do I not? And I have been walking for an hour every day with Alice.”
“You’ve been what?”
“You would know this, if you had bothered to speak to me.” Her brows arched.
Was that what this was about? Did he not give her the distance she’d asked for? The way he saw it, he was the one who had the greater right to be angry.
“Go inside,” William told her. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. The problem was that he didn’t know how to relate to her anymore. William turned away, his head pounding.
A sharp pinch in the middle of his back got his attention. William turned, fingers feeling around for the point of attack. When he brought his hand back he saw blood. Only a flesh wound, but she had driven her dagger straight through his leather jerkin.
“Now you will have to accept my challenge,” she said primly.
“And why should I?”
Green eyes met his. “Because if you win, you . . . get me in your bed.” She nodded. “Is that enough incentive?”
It took William a moment to find his breath. “You’re a woman,” he managed. “You canna challenge me over blades.”
“I do believe, my laird, that I am the only one who really can.”
She did have a point, aside from the one that had stuck him in the back.
“Will you accept?” she asked.
By all that was holy, how could he refuse? He closed his eyes and prepared himself. She would not be able to do more than literally sleep with him, but to be near her would have to be enough. It was certainly better than having her in the next room. “I will get a dull short sword.”
“As you wish, my laird.” She dropped him a curtsy.
William sifted through the assortment of practice weapons in a bin, finding one suitable.
“Out on the field,” she said when he’d finished. Gesturing with the tip of her dagger, she marched him across the field, men grinning at them. William glared at each in turn until they looked the other way. “Now you may stop,” she said, taking a defensive stance.
“Rhiannon, I dinna want to do this with you.”
She swiped her blade under his nose. “You might want to defend yourself.”
He did.
She was stronger than he gave her credit for. Faster too. He blocked her serpentine attacks, watching the wild look in her eyes. It took him an embarrassingly l
ong time to figure it out what he saw in them. Once realization dawned, it hit him like a jolt through his already scattered awareness.
William stepped back and held up his hands in complete and utter surrender.
“Do you yield?” she asked.
“Aye, lassie, I yield to you.” He tossed the dirk aside. “Today, tomorrow, forever. And in every conceivable way.”
Her eyes widened and she sheathed her dagger. Her chest rose and fell under ivory linen, the top of her bodice creasing where once it would have gaped against her sternum. One, two, three pulses pounded behind his ears before he lurched forward and pulled her into his arms. She was warm and soft.
“Why do you fight me so hard?” he asked.
“Because you do not want me.” She averted her eyes, dark auburn lashes cast over her cheekbones.
“Not want you?” She was the one who had moved out of their chamber.
“You do not look at me. You do not talk to me.”
“Do you want me to look at you?”
She blushed and shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You told me once that you look at me.”
She nodded, her face pinched.
“And it scares you?”
“Of course it scares me!” Her fingers clutched his arms in a death grip. “I cannot sleep without you next to me. I wake up afraid of every noise, and I miss the sound of your breathing, and the way you tuck your arm around me, as if reminding me that you’re right there and you’re not going anywhere. And I think . . . I think I want more of you.” Her voice dropped by an octave. “A lot more.”
Her back was arched now, pressing her more fully into him. His leather jerkin might as well have melted away, because he felt her every curve. He turned her face into his, then lowered his head, giving her a moment to pull back. When she didn’t, he kissed her.
Moaning, Rhiannon wrapped her arms around his neck. Heat burned, raging through his veins as she clung to him. William lifted his head and scooped her into his arms. He wasn’t sure how she would react once they reached their chamber, but he knew that he had to get Rhiannon alone. And now.
William took her inside and up the stairs, ignoring every person they passed. He finally set her down inside their room and kicked the door closed behind him.
Moonstone Page 14
