by Gayle Callen
Maggie glanced over her shoulder back the way they’d come, and Riona wondered if she was looking for Brendan. Riona silently berated herself—she should have waited to initiate this discussion. Maggie didn’t know her at all. Or maybe she didn’t want to show her brother in such a poor light.
As Lady McCallum ascended the stairs to the entrance to the great hall, Maggie caught Riona’s arm. “Wait a moment, could ye? Let’s go sit in the kitchen garden and talk.”
Riona tried not to get her hopes up—Maggie had already ended the discussion about Hugh’s past. But once they were seated side by side on a little bench overlooking the greenery of carrots and turnips, she watched Hugh’s sister expectantly.
“I know this is a strange request,” Maggie began slowly, “but how is Owen?”
She didn’t use his honorary title as the heir, Viscount Duncraggan, which implied a familiarity that surprised Riona. Maggie thought Owen was Riona’s brother, of course, rather than her cousin, but still . . . “He is well, last I knew, cutting a dashing figure in London while still attending his favorite science lectures.”
Maggie nodded, but didn’t smile. “That makes sense,” she murmured.
“You know him? I did not think our families had intermingled much once the contract was agreed upon.”
Maggie gave her a piercing stare, and Riona wondered if she’d made a mistake.
“Well, there’s a little history to that,” Maggie explained. “When Hugh discovered at thirteen that his future was decided, he . . . had trouble with it.”
“I know. He told me about his reckless behavior, and the incident with the redcoats.”
Maggie’s tense shoulders relaxed. “Oh, good. Our mother was desperate to help him, and she decided to renew contact with Lady Aberfoyle, the better for our families to know each other. Though your mother never returned from England, as ye know, Owen and your father occasionally did. We had several dinners together. Very uneventful.”
Uneventful? Riona thought, her curiosity aroused. If it was so uneventful, she wondered why Maggie would be asking about Owen after all these years.
Maggie cleared her throat. “I just . . . wondered how he was doing. So he’s not married?”
The latter was said with such false brightness that Riona had to withhold a smile. “No, he’s still unspoken for.”
Maggie nodded and rose suddenly. “I hope he finds happiness soon.”
“Are you still unspoken for? Hugh hasn’t mentioned a betrothal for you.”
“I am yet quite the independent young lady of Edinburgh,” Maggie said with determination. “I possess a tocher and another small inheritance from my mother. I have time to decide my future.”
“I’m glad.”
But as they headed into the castle, Riona continued to wonder if there was more to the story about Maggie and Owen. Apparently the Duffs and the McCallums were connected in more ways than one . . .
“Let me teach ye Gaelic,” Maggie suddenly said.
Startled, Riona eyed her.
“I saw how difficult it was for ye last night,” Maggie continued. “Ye have Hugh or Samuel to translate, of course, but wouldn’t ye like to be able to understand some of it on your own?”
“I would,” Riona said slowly, her certainty growing. “It is a kind offer I gladly accept.”
Maggie clapped her hands together. “Good. I know not how long we’ll be here, but I’ll help as much as I can.” She twined her arm through Riona’s. “This will be fun. I’ve always wanted a sister!”
Riona’s “fun” drained away with those words.
THAT afternoon, a tailor arrived from Stirling to make Riona several gowns. All of it had been arranged for by Hugh, and both Lady McCallum and Maggie loved reminding Riona of his thoughtfulness. And it was thoughtful, she knew. Over the next two days, Riona posed for fittings and learned Gaelic words for basic items around the household. Maggie discovered Riona could play the spinet, begged her to play for Lady McCallum, only to make the older woman cry. Maggie privately confessed that her mother’s melancholy was growing worse with every year, but her mother wouldn’t speak of the reason for it. Riona privately thought it was something more than her estrangement with Hugh—although maybe it was related.
On the third day since Hugh’s departure, Riona decided to ride to the village with Maggie and Samuel and call upon the Rosses. Samuel had acquiesced easily, and Maggie was excited to meet up with all the villagers she hadn’t seen in a while.
As they rode past the alehouse, Riona was happy to see the elder Mrs. Ross sitting outside, watching her grandchildren play. She smiled upon seeing Riona and rose to her feet unassisted.
“Lady Riona,” the old woman cried, waving. “Look at me, outside with the wee bairns.”
Riona and Maggie dismounted and came to sit with her, while Samuel disappeared into the alehouse on the pretext of looking for Donald.
Before long, Maggie was telling Mrs. Ross about the musical gifts Riona had honed entertaining her sister, and a blushing Riona was asked to sing for the children. Three songs later, a little crowd of women and children and the elderly, those who hadn’t gone on the hunt, had formed around her, seated on rocks and tufts of grass. Mrs. Ross was beaming as if she’d taught Riona herself.
It felt . . . strange and rather wonderful to have so many fresh, upturned faces look upon her with happiness. The usual wary suspicion of her as a Duff or a Sassenach seemed gone, even if only for a little while. Or perhaps they were coming to accept her as their chief’s future wife. But that was a stab of pain she put aside. This life was not hers but Cat’s, and though that seemed more and more bittersweet, Riona had never been one to live in a fantasy. But she tried to enjoy the moment, and take comfort in being admired for a skill she’d worked hard to perfect.
And then there was a shout from the hillside above the village, and a young man came stumbling over the crest, falling to his knees and lurching back to his feet. He shouted something in Gaelic, and the crowd surged apart as if lightning had struck directly in the center.
Though Riona knew only a few words of Gaelic now, Maggie had taught her these: cattle thieves. Maggie translated the gasping boy’s account of six men stealing away dozens of cattle. Then she and Maggie practically flew to their horses, where Samuel met them.
“Do you know where Hugh and the gentlemen are?” Riona demanded.
“Aye, they send missives every day, along with all the carcasses of the beasts they’ve killed.”
“Then take word to him about the raid. He’ll need to know.”
Solemn, Samuel nodded, mounted his horse, and headed uphill, away from the village, away from the castle.
Riona watched him go, then accompanied Maggie back to Larig to await Hugh.
CHAPTER 17
Hugh returned by mid afternoon to find preparations already being made to leave at dawn to take back their cattle. Riona awaited him in the great hall, looking concerned. Then her expression altered with determination when she saw the men following him, wearing haphazard bandages.
“Mrs. Wallace,” she called, “I need your help!”
Hugh watched in surprise as Riona, Maggie, and Mrs. Wallace tended to the mild injuries sustained by his men—a gash from a dirk through a man’s hand, a sprained ankle, and a musket ball through an arm when another man had wandered in the way of a hunter’s shot.
Riona worked with a kind efficiency that surprised him. He was so used to her reluctance and wariness that he sometimes forgot she hadn’t always needed to be that way. She knew people’s names now, and he could have sworn he heard her use a word or two of hesitant Gaelic. She seemed like the mistress of the household—like his wife.
It was some time before he realized his mother wasn’t with the other women, and then only as an afterthought. It had been ten years since she’d betrayed him, ten years of her condemning silence. He’d grown used to putting her out of his mind, and it was still very easy to do.
Dermot came to let him and A
lasdair know what had happened, that the Buchanans had used the absence of the hunting men for their raid. Dermot’s tone grew cooler as he said, “I could have handled this, of course, for there were enough men for a chase, but Lady Riona alerted ye without consulting me.”
“She was simply concerned for our property and people,” Hugh said mildly. “’Tis better if we give them a show of force since I’m the new chief. I’ll lead the party myself.”
Now it was Alasdair who frowned. “As your war chief—”
“I ken, ye’d normally go on my behalf. But as I said, I’m the new McCallum, and I need to project strength. Ye’ll accompany me, of course.”
“As will I,” Dermot said.
Hugh debated keeping his tanist at home, but the odds of death were not great. “Very well. And when we return, Alasdair, give me details on the state of our security. But for now, let us assemble the men in an hour at the training yard and see to preparations.”
Both Alasdair and Dermot turned away stiffly, silently, and Hugh held back a sigh. But then Riona came to him, drying her hands upon a cloth, lifting the gloom that had surrounded him. Dermot didn’t bother to hide the frown he bestowed on her as he left.
Riona looked over her shoulder at Dermot, then turned to Hugh. “He’s upset with me.”
“Ye played the part of my wife too well,” Hugh said lightly. “Ye ruffled Dermot’s feathers by sending for me without consulting him.”
He glimpsed a flicker of worry in her green eyes. “You know I did not mean to overstep my bounds.”
“Ye cared about McCallum cattle—that’s not overstepping your bounds.”
But she continued to stare with concern at the door through which Dermot had disappeared.
To distract her, he asked, “Everyone will live?”
She gave a small smile. “They will, even the ones I cared for myself.” Her smile faded again. “I heard Dermot and Alasdair talking with you. You’re not very popular right now, either, are you?”
He snorted.
“Come, eat some food before you must rush outside.”
She cut meat from the platters of mutton and hares herself, dished him cabbage and kale, nettles and garlic, and as she was pouring him a goblet of wine, noticed that he was staring at her.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, turning around as if to look behind her.
“Nay, nothing. Ye’re simply so . . . agreeable.”
Maggie overheard them, and he saw Riona blush.
“Agreeable?” Maggie echoed. “Ye should have seen her in the village this morn. Mrs. Ross is feeling much better after Riona’s advice and care—”
“Maggie,” Riona said with exasperation.
Like they were already close friends, Hugh thought in wonderment and a growing feeling of hope.
“And then she started singing for the children,” Maggie continued. “Singing! I knew she played the spinet beautifully, but her voice—”
“Ye play the spinet?” Hugh asked Riona.
She shrugged. “Remember how my parents liked me to entertain.”
He studied her as if he couldn’t get enough. And for these three nights away, it had seemed like it. During the days he’d been busy, but at night under the stars he’d thought of nothing but Riona, her smile, her kisses, the hope that she’d at last want to marry him and have children together.
Alasdair came bounding in the wide open double doors. “Hugh! We’re waiting. Ye said ye needed to be out here with the men.”
Hugh rose to his feet. “I’m coming.” To his sister and Riona, he said, “Thank ye both for your help and for thinking to alert me when the raid happened.” His eyes lingered on Riona even as he said, “Until the evening then.”
And Riona blushed as if he’d said he’d meet her in bed.
RIONA paced in her room that night, knowing Hugh would not remain in the great hall for long, since they were leaving before dawn to take back their cattle.
She wasn’t used to thinking of men she knew in this sort of danger. Oh, there were always footpads in London, or a hunter’s mistake at a country estate, but this . . . Not that “this” was open battle, but it could be. Hugh had fought British soldiers not that long ago and barely survived.
And she thought of what she’d overheard, that Dermot was unhappy she’d notified Hugh about the raid without consulting him. She realized she’d made that decision without dwelling on it, letting her instincts take over. More and more she was trusting herself, taking for granted that her decisions would be accepted. She couldn’t control much about her situation, but she was learning to appreciate what control she had. And when her decisions were met with acceptance and respect? It was a heady feeling.
But the decision to bypass Dermot might have cost her her chance to have him listen to her story objectively. Why would he want to go to Hugh at her side, privately, when he could embarrass both of them by revealing the truth to the entire clan?
When the door opened and Hugh walked in, freshly washed and shaved after days in the mountains with his men, even seeing the scar on his chin gave her a soft feeling of tenderness. God, keeping herself distant was going badly.
And then he smiled at her, crooked and endearing, and her reaction was a deep pleasure that was also a pain, right in her heart. Talking, she had to keep talking, or she would run to him to be swept up into his arms. She would forget the future and the risks. How could she have fallen for the man who’d kidnapped her? The man who could never be her husband?
He cocked his head. “Ye’re giving me a strange look.”
“Am I?” she asked, forcing a lightness to her voice as she went to pour him a goblet of wine. But of course that meant approaching him, but she did so, full of trepidation and yearning. When he took the wine and saluted her with it before taking a sip, she asked, “I know the hunt was successful as far as the meat was concerned, but did it go well in . . . other ways?”
“Other ways?”
“You and your clansmen, you and Alasdair . . .”
“Are ye asking if we were good little laddies and started no fights?” he asked with faint sarcasm.
She sighed. Why was she asking about this? Or was she simply delaying? “I’m being silly, I know. We women think more about everyone having no conflict.”
“Ye’re not silly,” he said softly.
He cupped her face with one palm, and a shiver moved through her. It had been a long time since it was a shiver of fear. She stepped away, forcing a smile, and poured herself some of the wine.
Hugh stared for a moment into the fire as he sipped his wine, before saying, “Alasdair and I will return to our old ways someday. He is still having difficulty with me ‘usurping his role,’ or whatever he believes I’ve done. As if I shouldn’t lead our men in their search for justice. But he’s been here all these years and knows the men—as he points out to me. And I agree. I’ve promised to take that into consideration more.”
“It’s a start.”
“Now tell me how things went while I was gone. Did I hear you speaking Gaelic?”
He sat down in the cushioned chair before the fire, which eased her trepidation. She took the chair opposite him.
“‘Speaking’ is not how I’d term my use of Gaelic,” she answered wryly. “Maggie is helping me learn a few words.”
“We’ll have ye feeling more like a Highlander in no time.”
She nodded, knowing it would be far too easy. “My parents denied me a part of my heritage, and it does feel good to learn what it’s like to be Scottish. I like the stories the old men tell at night, and the superstitions Mrs. Wallace swears by. I was a little put off by how distant all the shops I take for granted are now—it seemed like my way of life was gone. But it was very thoughtful of you to send a tailor.” She spread her skirts wide. “My new gowns are lovely.” The only way she’d been able to tolerate their making was knowing someone else would have use of them someday.
His eyes shone as they studied her. “Ye look bonny. That
deep green matches your eyes. I’d told him to look for that.”
“You did not.”
“I did,” he said, hand over his heart.
“I appreciate you thinking about my comfort. Next you’ll be telling me you’re a poet.”
Good Lord, she was teasing and flirting now. It was so easy with him. The pain of it was sharp, bringing on a grief she hadn’t anticipated. She could fall truly in love with him, and was sliding down the slope toward it.
He smiled. “I’m not a poet. I simply appreciate fine eyes.”
She could get lost in his. To stop herself, she asked, “What do you know about Maggie and Owen?”
He frowned. “My sister and the heir to Aberfoyle? Why do ye even link their names together?”
“Because she asked me about him, if he’d married.”
His frown intensified. “I ken little except that my mother and Maggie used to attempt an acquaintanceship with your family. It was awkward and eventually abandoned.”
“What about when you were at university? Maggie was maturing into a young woman then. I get the feeling that something else happened.”
“She didn’t tell me. If he tried to harm her—”
“You mean kidnap or seduce her?” Riona interrupted, irony lacing her words. “What should a brother do when that happens?”
Hugh sat back in his chair, the goblet dangling from his hand as he studied her. “Ye still think to make me embarrassed by what I’ve done—and I’m not. A contract was entered into in good faith.”
She waved a hand. “I know I can’t change your mind, and I didn’t mean to start in on it, not when you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Ye don’t want to send me away with an argument?” he teased.
“No, but . . . maybe you’ll still want to argue when I tell you what else happened while you were gone.” She watched him intently.
“Go ahead,” he said, taking a fortifying swig of the wine.
“I was walking with your mother and Maggie when we met up with Brendan.”
She paused, studying his face. Instead of displaying anger, his expression smoothed out into something neutral and impassive.
