Lianna approached the soldiers and took the food from the Normans without a word. With her own dagger, she began cleaning the meat and the fish. She worked steadily, and though Rhys tried to pretend he wasn’t watching, he saw that she paid close attention to the details. She saved the hare skins and expertly spitted the meat, bringing it towards the fire. Rhys helped her support two larger branches with stones, on opposite sides of the fire, with the spit mounted between them.
‘Your woman seems to know what she’s doing,’ one of his men remarked. It was meant as praise, but he saw Lianna’s shoulders stiffen. She might not admit it, but Rhys was convinced that her father had taught her the Norman tongue.
‘She does,’ he answered.
When the meat had finished cooking, Lianna brought each of the men a generous serving, giving Donagh and Tamhas MacKinnon the best pieces, before she took the last portion for herself. She chose a seat far away from the others, but Rhys would not allow her to separate herself.
‘Come and sit by me,’ he commanded. ‘We eat together.’
‘You may eat with them,’ she insisted. ‘But I have no place among you.’
‘You will be my wife and their lady one day,’ he corrected. He reached down and took her wrist, pulling her to stand. ‘Do as I command.’
The look of fury on her face was matched only by his own. She might want to exert her power over him, but he would never allow that. Only once in his life had a woman held dominion over him—when he was an adolescent boy, forced to obey the bidding of his stepmother. Never again would he let himself be ruled in such a way. A hard resentment curled within him at the memory.
‘And if I don’t obey you?’ Lianna tried to pull her wrist free of him.
His answer was to pick her up, bringing her towards the men. She pummelled him with her fists, demanding in Gaelic, ‘Put me down.’
Her strength was no match for his, but he lowered her to sit on his lap, trapping her fists so she could do nothing.
His men laughed at her, and Lianna turned crimson. Rhys knew that he had humiliated her, but he was not about to let her behave like this in front of his men. He lowered his mouth to her ear. In Gaelic, he murmured, ‘Behave yourself or I will punish you. I will touch you all night long until you beg me to thrust inside you.’
She paled at his threat, and immediately stopped. His men were still laughing, and Rhys sent them a dark look. ‘That’s enough. You will respect Lianna as my future wife.’
They obeyed, and one raised a flagon of wine in a silent toast to her. ‘The food is delicious,’ one said, by way of apology.
But Lianna only looked at her hands, ignoring the compliment.
‘She does not speak our language well,’ Rhys lied. He raised a bit of meat to her mouth, silently warning her not to protest. There was a quiet fury in her eyes, but she did eat. He could almost read her thoughts, and if she could have set him afire with her eyes, she would have done so.
When the meal was finished, she went to each of the men and took the remains of their food, disposing of the bones. She adjusted the fire again, working tirelessly until their camp was immaculate.
Then she glanced back at him. ‘I am going to wash. You need not follow.’
Rhys had no intention of letting her go out alone but reached for his sword belt and trailed her. He kept a short distance from her, and she knelt beside the stream, washing her hands and then her face. She remained on her knees for some time, her shoulders hunched over.
‘Please go,’ she whispered. ‘I want a moment to myself.’ Her voice sounded fragile, as if she were barely holding her emotions together. But he could never let a woman remain unprotected. Especially one in his care.
‘It isn’t safe for you to be alone. I will stand guard until you are ready to go to our tent.’
At that, she scrambled to her feet and turned to face him. Her face held horror at the idea. ‘Our tent? We are not sharing a sleeping space.’
‘We will be married soon enough,’ he said. ‘And though I trust my men, I intend to keep you by my side, where it is safer.’
‘I cannot share a tent with you,’ she protested. ‘It would not be right. They would...talk about us.’
‘It matters not any more, Lianna. They know that nothing will end this marriage. You might as well already be my wife. Where you sleep will not change it.’ He took a step closer, noting that the droplets of water on her face strongly resembled tears.
‘You ask too much. Have I not lost everything already? My home, my freedom. There is nothing for me any more.’
He closed the distance and took her hands in his. ‘I’ve said it once, and I will say it again. You are not my enemy, Lianna. And if you want to make this a marriage based upon friendship, it is possible. We can start again.’
‘You will never be my friend,’ she swore. ‘Would to God I had never let you touch me.’
Her words were a fierce weapon that infuriated him. He had done all he could to treat her kindly, and she had thrown it back in his face. Instead of responding to her, he folded his arms across his chest and stared hard.
She met his gaze with her own rebellion, and in the moonlight, her features were alluring. Her red hair was wet and dark, her lips silver in the darkness. For a moment, she froze in place, uncertain of herself. No doubt she was trying to anger him so much he would stay away from her. He recognised her tactic, but he would not stand down or let her go.
Behind this woman’s hatred lay a vulnerable girl who had lost her only brother and now, her freedom. She was fighting a war she could not win, and both knew it.
Finally, she strode past him, returning to the camp. He followed, keeping a close watch over their surroundings. When she reached the circle of tents, her expression turned stony. He took her hand and said to the men, ‘Philip and Gilbert, take the first watch. I will take the last one.’ He did not trust her kinsmen to guard the camp and did not include them in those duties.
He leaned into Lianna. ‘I will lead you to our tent now. Do not cause a scene, and I will leave you alone when we are inside.’
She raised her brown eyes to his, studying him as if she could not tell if he was being truthful. But he meant what he’d said.
Releasing her hand, he walked towards one of the tents and pulled the flap back. When he studied her, he saw the anxious look in her eyes, as if she were still afraid. But he wanted only her obedience just now. He had no intention of forcing her against her will, for he was not that sort of man at all.
He knew, too well, what it felt like to be unwilling, manipulated by someone in a position of power—and he would not do that to her.
Lianna glanced around at the other men before finally entering the tiny shelter. Rhys nodded to the others and then joined her. Once he was inside, he started to unbuckle his sword belt. She straightened the ground cover before she sat upon it and withdrew a comb from her belongings.
He was fascinated by the sight of her long red hair spilling over her shoulders. She combed it slowly, and the locks held a slight curl. The urge came over him to touch the spun silk of those strands, but he did not. He lost count of how many times she combed her hair, but at last, she unfastened her brat and gathered it around her like a blanket. She lay with her back to him, not speaking a word.
‘I know it has been a difficult day for you,’ he said softly. ‘And despite what you may think of me, I will never force you to share my bed. You always have a choice.’
She turned to face him. ‘You will never touch me again, de Laurent. Not even if we are forced to marry.’ Her bitter words were laced with sadness, and he knew not what to say. Time was the only thing that could heal her wounds.
Instead, he leaned back beside her. ‘It is a long journey to Montbrooke, but I think you will like it there. Though you will have to speak our language.’
‘I do not know it,’ she lied, b
ut he did not contradict her. Her face gave away her emotions too much for her to be ignorant of the Norman tongue.
‘You will learn,’ he said. ‘My sister will help you.’ His tension softened at the thought of Joan. ‘She is like you, in many ways.’ His sister took care of the household, though she was unusually superstitious, given the tragedies she’d suffered years ago. Even so, Joan would enjoy taking Lianna under her wing.
He told her of the castle, of his father’s forces, and a little about his younger brother Warrick. But his bride said nothing, pretending to sleep. Her shoulders did not rise and fall in a natural rhythm, so he knew she heard every word he spoke.
‘I am glad you are a strong woman,’ he said softly. ‘You will have need of it to face what lies ahead.’
* * *
Lianna closed her eyes, but the burning ache would not leave her. She knew she had spoken rudely to Rhys and to his men this night, but her control felt as fragile as an eggshell. His kindness had been her undoing. There was a rawness inside her, as if the world she had known had been torn asunder. And no amount of sweeping would tidy up the mess of her life.
Rhys left her in the middle of the night for several hours to keep watch. And when he was gone, the loneliness closed over her. Tears would not solve her problems, nor would they make her feel better. In the darkness, she tried to make sense of this new life, hoping in vain to force it back into order.
Several hours later, Rhys returned. Lianna held herself motionless when he lay beside her. She kept her eyes closed, even when he drew her body against his for warmth.
A flare of desire pooled within her skin, and she bit her lip to ward it back. But Rhys held her in his arms, resting his face against her hair.
Why was he insisting upon this marriage? It did nothing for him. If he was heir to both Eiloch and a Norman castle, he could have any woman of his choosing. He did not need her as his wife. Why, then, would he stay?
She didn’t understand why he was treating her this way, as if he wanted to wed her. It confused her that he was being kind. Not that he had been lenient towards her in any way, no, but he had not forced her to share his bed. At least, nothing save the silent request that she lie in his arms while they slept. It bothered her to admit that she enjoyed being in his embrace.
His warm body pressed against hers, and she could feel the heat of his breath upon her nape. Her skin tightened at the memory of his kiss upon her flesh. Only one night ago, he had tasted her nipples through the veiled fabric of her shift. She bit her lip in memory of the heavy pleasure.
Her body was such a traitor to her brother’s memory.
Rhys’s arms remained around her waist, and though his breathing was even, she was aware of his arousal pressed to her spine. She could almost imagine him sliding her shift to her waist, caressing her intimately before he sheathed himself.
God above, the very thought made her go liquid inside. She needed to move away from this man, to avoid his unholy temptation.
Lianna gritted her teeth and realised that she would not sleep much longer. She started to move away, but Rhys kept his hand at her waist. She sat up and saw him staring at her. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I intend to prepare a morning meal for the men.’ The activity and purpose would help push away the errant thoughts swarming within her mind.
He let go of her waist, saying nothing. She knew better than to imagine he would go back to sleep, but he did not follow her outside the tent. Two of the men were seated upon logs near the fire, holding spears in their hands.
Lianna went to her belongings which had been laid beside one of the trees. She withdrew oats, salt, and other ingredients for bannocks from the heavy sack. Then, she took a wooden bowl and mixed it all together, along with honey for sweetness and a little rendered fat she had saved. The men watched her with interest, and she set up an iron pan over the fire to heat. Then she greased the pan with the fat and poured the batter on it to cook.
One of the men smiled at her. ‘It smells good, my lady. Thank you for preparing the food.’
His compliment was spoken in the Norman tongue, and though she understood all of it, she wanted to feign ignorance a little longer. Instead, she replied in Gaelic, ‘It is no trouble at all,’ knowing he would not know her words. Then she smiled and nodded.
When the cakes were done, she gave him one, and then a second cake to the other soldier keeping watch. She cooked the remainder of the bannocks, making a few extra for their journey this day. It would take nearly a fortnight to reach Montbrooke, and she had measured the oats carefully when she’d packed, knowing that they would grow weary of meat and fish.
Rhys had joined the men, sitting upon a log while he drank a cup of mead. She gave him a warm bannock and turned back to gather her utensils to clean them. But Rhys stood and interrupted her, breaking off a piece of his bannock. He raised it to her lips. ‘You have not eaten, Lianna.’
‘I will eat later,’ she started to say, but he insisted, forcing her to bite off a piece. The warm bannock tasted delicious and she enjoyed the hint of honey she had added. Perhaps if she could find berries along their journey, it might add another flavour the men would enjoy.
But then her mood faltered. Why should it matter if she cooked food that was pleasing to the Normans? They had killed her kinsmen.
Her heart faltered, for she could not deny her brother’s guilt. He had commanded the raid, attacking without warning. What had Sían been thinking? He had led them to their deaths. A dark grief took hold of her mood, but she was distracted by Rhys.
‘I will not have you putting yourself last,’ he said, brushing his thumb against her lip to wipe a crumb away. ‘You are their lady. And mine.’ He dropped a kiss upon her mouth, startling her with the sudden affection. He walked over to her belongings and began to prepare her horse for the journey.
Her mouth felt as if he’d laid a brand across it, and she understood that he was waging a silent battle. But he would not win. Kiss or no kiss, there was nothing to bring them together. She gathered the soiled bowl and started to reach for the iron pan, when Rhys called out, ‘Use this.’
He tossed her a heavy piece of wool to protect her hands. She nodded her thanks and then lifted the hot iron away from the fire. With her bowl under one arm and the pan clutched in the other with a woollen rag, she made her way back towards the stream. This time, Rhys did not follow, but she saw him lead her horse from the trees, keeping watch over her.
Lianna busied herself with washing the dishes in the stream, trying to push away the tangled threads of emotion. Inwardly, she grieved for the loss of her brother and his men...and yet, she understood that they had provoked the Normans.
If Rhys had attacked her kinsmen and the Scots had killed him, she would feel no guilt over his death. It would only be what they deserved.
Confusion reigned over her heart, and she locked away the feelings. The mindless work of scouring the soiled dishes was what she needed now. The water washed away the dirt, and made everything clean and bright again. She would not think of the days that lay ahead, nor of the attention she would receive as Rhys’s bride.
And most especially, she would not lower her defences against this man. For he was a warrior who knew exactly how to lay siege.
Chapter Five
Rhys led their travelling party to the top of the hill overlooking the lands of Montbrooke. He felt Lianna stiffen against him, her fear evident as they approached his home. No doubt she would be uneasy about her place here.
Over the past fortnight, they had fallen into a pattern. She had slept in his tent every night, always far away from him. It had been a constant torment to share a private space with her and yet not claim her body. But Lianna had not forgiven him for Sían’s death, and he knew better than to push the boundaries. It was a battle of control between them. Rhys would never yield against his own pride, nor wo
uld he admit any wrongdoing. He had defended his life, and her brother had died in the fight. He would not beg her forgiveness because he had lived and Sían had not.
In turn, Lianna behaved as if he were invisible. She barely spoke to him, and never would she let him touch her. But in the mornings, he would often awaken to find her curled up in his arms. Only then was her expression soft and content. Sometimes he imagined what it would be like to see her smile at him in the morning. Or better, to awaken her by kissing her, trailing a path down her bare skin. He would push aside the léine and her shift, cupping her breasts and stroking her sensitive nipples. But she would never admit her own desires.
Instead, he had given her space, watching over her as she kept the camp immaculate, neatly stacking firewood and preparing a meal for them each night. He’d never known how well she could cook, and her innate attention to detail brought its own rewards. One morning, she had asked him to stop for a moment. He had given the command, and she had picked blackberries for them to share. Later that night, she had mixed the berries with honey, a little flour, and God only knew what else. The cakes had been a rare treat that all the men had enjoyed.
Though she maintained the frigid demeanour towards him, she showed no trace of animosity towards his men. She looked after them, always ensuring that they had enough to eat. Her quiet presence made camp life comfortable, and because of it, the soldiers adored her. Lianna would indeed make a good lady of Montbrooke, for she put the people’s needs first.
‘You will meet my father this morn,’ he told her, when he drew their horses to stop at the hillside. ‘If you have need of anything, tell me, and it is yours.’ Her face paled, and he reached out to squeeze her hand with reassurance. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
But she pulled her hand away. ‘I am not afraid. Let us go, if we must.’
Rhys nudged their horse forward, and soon he saw her staring at the serfs working in the fields. Montbrooke was ten times the size of Eiloch, and she drank in the sight of everything as they approached the path leading to the drawbridge.
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