Seducing a Scottish Bride

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  But when they rode through the pend of Castle Dare’s gatehouse less than an hour later, pulling up in the cold, mist-swept bailey, some of her bravura slipped.

  The tongue-waggers hadn’t lied.

  Castle Dare was a gloomy rickle o’ stanes.

  Menacing, too, with unusually high curtain walls and soaring machicolated towers. Gelis shivered, her nape prickling when she caught her first glimpse of the great square keep. Its dark bulk frowned down on them, the thick walling relieved only by the narrowest arrow-slits. Silent, weapon-hung men-at-arms clustered everywhere, their gazes assessing, their steel gleaming in the smoking torchlight.

  Like scores of unfriendly eyes, the cross-shaped arrow-slits seemed to assess her as well, their blank stares making her shiver again. She reached to pull her cloak higher against her throat, but the instant her fingers brushed against her breasts, she lowered her hand. Putting back her shoulders, she ignored her uneasiness and moistened her lips, wanting to look her best when the Raven strode out to meet her.

  Not for nothing had she chosen her most flattering gown, a rich emerald-green affair, its dipping front piece made even lower by her own clever hand. Richly banded by an exquisite gold border, the bodice displayed the swell of her breasts in all their abundance, including a very deliberate glimpse of the top rims of her nipples.

  She meant to whet the Raven’s appetite, not hide her charms beneath the folds of a heavy woolen cloak.

  Even if Castle Dare’s forbidding countenance did send a few chills down her spine. Lucky for her, she’d been weaned on dark looks and scowls.

  Glancing at her father, she wasn’t at all surprised to see him still looking as sour as if he’d bitten into something bitter.

  “You could at least frown less fiercely.” She smiled brightly just to annoy him.

  “Be glad I am only frowning.” He looked at her, his expression darkening even more. Dismounting near the keep stairs, he tossed his reins to a stable lad. “The Raven should have been on the steps to greet you.”

  Gelis gave a light shrug. “He’ll be here anon.” She made the words a statement, swinging down onto the bailey’s wet cobbles before her father could contradict her.

  Only the raven dared, staring down at her from his perch on a high turret, the piercing focus of his beady, black eyes leaving no question of his interest in her.

  His intensity and need.

  Then he vanished, his sleek black form swallowed by a swirl of mist.

  Her heart thumping, Gelis hitched up her skirts and started forward, mounting the stone steps to the keep with a bold swiftness that carried her halfway up the stairs before the heavy, iron-studded door swung open and a huge, thickset man of years appeared, a wash of yellow torchlight spilling out from behind him.

  “Ho! The MacKenzies — at last!” he boomed, planting his hands on his hips as he stood looking at them.

  Strong-featured and with a shock of thick, gray-streaked hair and an equally wild-looking beard, he filled the arched doorway, his plaid thrown back to reveal a great, two-handed sword hanging at his side from a wide, elaborately tooled shoulder-belt.

  “A fine e’en to you, my friends,” he added, his bearded face splitting in a grin. “Welcome to Dare. Lady Gelis” — he stepped aside, almost losing his balance as several large, shaggy-coated dogs shot past him, bounding down the steps to greet her, their plumed tails wagging — “you are even more sparkling than the prattle-mongers claim.”

  “She is a maid beyond price.” Duncan placed a possessive hand on her elbow. “Only my honor brings her here, Valdar. As well you know. She knows it, too.”

  The older man raised a brow. “Ahhh . . . so you told her of Corryvreckan?”

  Duncan nodded. “She needed to know. Why I consented as well as what dangers lurk here. She also knows I view my debt as repaid by agreeing to this union.” Escorting her up the remaining steps, he paused on the landing, standing almost nose to nose with his old friend. “Know that, and be wary. If any harm comes to her, I will wreak a more terrible vengeance on you than even Maldred could have conjured.”

  “Father!” Gelis could feel her face flaming. “You swore you wouldn’t —”

  “Your father has your best interests at heart.” Sir Marmaduke joined them on the landing, his usually benign expression as grim as her father’s. “There were unholy things in that glen, and leaving you here, in the midst of such terrors, is beyond —”

  “ Pah-phooey! The only terrors here are the looks on your two faces.” Gelis glared at them, aware that her own eyes were blazing, but uncaring. “Father gave his word —”

  “Whate’er I said ceased to matter when we rode into Glen Dare.” Ignoring her, he kept his gaze on Valdar. “The place is passing strange, MacRuari. More so than I remember. I have half a mind to return to Eilean Creag now, without even entering your hall, and my daughter with me. Honor be damned.”

  “But you will not.” Valdar curled his hands around his belt and looked him up and down. “Not as I know you.”

  “Perhaps he should take her back to the safety of his own keep.” A deep voice spoke from the shadows and Gelis’s Raven appeared, the whirling mist cloaking him in a swirl of silvery-gray. “She is fair and well-dowered. Many are the men who would take her, and gladly.” He paused. “Good men whose homes aren’t plagued by darkness.”

  Gelis’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Every bright and airy word of greeting she’d practiced fled her mind and she could only stare, wide-eyed and speechless. His voice spooled through her, honeyed and rich, and although he spoke from the shadows, she’d almost bet his gaze was sliding over her. She could feel its heat scorching her. Hot and appraising, it stole like a slow-moving caress over her breasts and then down to her hips.

  She took a few deep breaths, but something inside her kept winding tighter, each whirling twist warming her more, making her entire body tingle.

  “I’m thinking Dare is too dark for her.” Her father’s voice sounded distant.

  Gelis blinked, then frowned at him. “Nae, it isn’t.”

  Dare was perfect and the Raven exceeded her wildest dreams. His voice alone sent silken heat spilling through her and she could scarce breathe standing so close to him. Already she could feel his touch and imagine his kisses, hear him murmuring love words in her ear.

  “Humph.” Her father grunted. “You dinna know what’s good for you.”

  “Och, but I do.” She kept her attention fixed on the Raven.

  Tall and splendid, he stepped forward then, his piercing gaze now on Duncan. “Kintail, I would sooner you slay me here, where I stand, than that I should bring harm to your daughter.” Flicking a look at Gelis, he whipped out his sword and tossed it into the air, catching it at midblade before offering it, hilt-first, to Duncan. “I, too, have honor, sir. I will not see it compromised.”

  “ No-o-o!” Gelis flung herself between them, her arms spread wide. She stared at her father, the hot blaze in his eyes chilling her. “Don’t you dare touch that blade!” she cried, backing up until the sword’s jeweled pommel stone jabbed into her back. “I’m no longer your daughter if you do.”

  “You are more my daughter than you know.” The fury fading from his face, Duncan shoved a hand through his hair.

  Then he smiled.

  A tight, uncomfortable sort of smile, but a smile all the same.

  Gelis held her ground, not yet ready to cede.

  Duncan looked out over the mist-hung bailey, then back at her. “Well met, lass, but rein in your temper. I gave the MacRuaris my word and willna retract it.” Reaching around her suddenly, he seized the sword’s blade, returning it in like fashion. “Sheath your brand, Raven, and be glad I have such a high-spirited daughter. For two bits, I would’ve run you through.”

  “The devil you would have.” Valdar looked pleased, his eyes twinkling. “Never in a thousand years.”

  Duncan glared at him. “I’ve been called a
devil, and worse. With reason, as you ken.”

  The older man threw back his head and laughed. “So you would have spilled blood on my doorstep? Ruining the feast I’ve arranged for you? By glory, laddie, I’ll not believe it.” Still laughing, he slung an arm around Duncan, steering him through the door arch, into the well-lit hall. “Now you see why I wanted your girl. She has your fire and passion and, I hope, a good dose of her mother’s compassion.”

  Duncan snorted at that and then the two men were gone, disappearing into the throng inside the great hall, Sir Marmaduke and the other men in their party with them. All lured by the tempting aromas of roasting meat and wood fires, the chance to rest weary bones and quaff well-filled cups of ale and wine.

  The Raven didn’t budge.

  His dark eyes narrowed on her, her world seeming to narrow even more, the whole of it closing in on her until nothing remained but the cold, damp stone of the landing and the fierceness of his stare.

  Gelis’s heart pounded, her breath coming hard and fast after the spectacle she’d made of herself. Not that she wouldn’t do it again if need be.

  She would.

  Especially if her boldness earned the Raven’s favor. Something she had yet to notice.

  “Do not think I would have done that for just anyone.” She searched his face, not missing the muscle working in his jaw. “My father’s sword arm is faster than the wind, his wrath greater than thunder.”

  The Raven arched a brow, annoyingly unimpressed.

  Unnervingly silent.

  Towering over her, he looked down at her with the same unswerving intensity as the raven on the turret. Torchlight glinted off his golden neck torque and sleek black hair, but his face was hard as stone, his eyes unwelcoming.

  “I thought you wanted this match,” she blurted, angling her chin.

  “Me?” He sounded skeptical. “Lady Gelis, I was wed twice before. My second wife, God rest her soul, is barely cold in her grave, our stillborn son with her. Is it so difficult to think I am not desirous of a third marriage?”

  “I am not afraid of childbearing.” Gelis stood back and patted her hips, proud of her generous curves. Certain she’d guessed the reason for his discomfiture. “You needn’t concern yourself for me. Why, Devorgilla, the great wise woman of Doon, once told me I have the perfect form for birthing. She assured me I would have many fine and strong sons.”

  “And I hope you do.” He folded his arms and looked at her, his expression giving the impression that he hoped she’d bear those sons to a different man.

  Displeasure and a cold, black anger poured off him, stealing inside her like thousands of tiny, ice-coated fingers, each one squeezing her heart.

  Crushing her dreams.

  Hoping she was mistaken, perhaps overtired from the journey, or that he was simply upset by her father’s rudeness, she brushed at her cloak, causing its closure to open. The Raven’s sharp intake of breath upon seeing the bared swell of her breasts encouraged her and she drew a deep breath, deliberately enhancing his view.

  But rather than the appreciation she’d expected, his eyes grew more shielded, the set of his jaw looking tight enough to crack.

  Confused, she hitched up her bodice, covering the top rims of her nipples. Unfortunately, the movement made her breasts jiggle, which only served to deepen his scowl.

  The wind freshened, too — a damp, gusting chill bringing the scent of rain while low, scudding clouds proved a fitting backdrop for cold miens and clipped words.

  For the Raven’s frosty indifference.

  “I do not understand.” She kept her chin lifted, met his gaze full on. “Your courier said —”

  “My grandfather’s man, not mine.”

  “Yet you did not hinder us in coming here.” A surge of triumph swelled inside her. Now she had him. “You could have sent your own messenger, telling us you had no interest in our union.”

  “And dash the hopes of an old man? Causing you shame in the by-going?” He shook his head. “I think not, my lady. As I told your sire, I, too, have my honor.”

  “You have an odd way of showing it.” She flicked a raindrop off her cloak. “Even your grandfather greeted me gladly.”

  “My grandfather is always glad-hearted in the company of women. He is overfond of them.”

  “And you are not?”

  Rather than answer her, his mouth tightened into a straight hard line.

  “That, you do quite well.” Gelis eyed him hotly. “If there were a Highland prize-giving for frowning, I vow you would win it.”

  His dark eyes glinting, he gave her a look that would have made a lesser female’s belly quiver. “That should not astonish you. If you would know the truth of it, it’s been forever since I’ve smiled.”

  A sudden gust of wind caught his plaid then, lifting its edge and riffling his hair, making him appear as untamed as the night around them. Gelis’s breath caught in her throat. He truly was magnificent.

  She swallowed, furious that he so affected her. That each time the torchlight fell across his face, he seemed to grow more handsome.

  Dark, fierce, and dangerously dashing.

  Even his scent had its way with her. A heady blend of leather, plaid, and wild, wide-open moorland, full of wind and rain, the scent was so like she’d imagined it would be that her pulse leaped and her throat began to burn, filling with a painful thickness she refused to acknowledge.

  He was her raven and he should need and desire her as much as she wanted him. After all, it was he who’d come to her. Not the other way around, though she had sought him with old Devorgilla’s scrying bowl. Remembering the day, she shivered. And when he finally stepped before her, barely a breath separated them.

  “Come, let us go inside.” His expression softened for a moment. “You are cold and it’s beginning to rain.”

  “Aye, so it is.” Gelis lifted her face, letting the light drizzle mist her cheeks. “I do not run from the weathers or angry, frowning men!”

  He arched a brow. “Even so, I will not see you catch a chill.”

  She blinked, too stubborn to dash the raindrops from her eyelashes. “You fash yourself over a chill, yet would plunge me into embarrassment in the hall by announcing there will be no wedding.”

  He touched her face, using the backs of his fingers to smooth away the moisture. Despite her annoyance, a flash of excitement whipped through her.

  “I did not say that.” His fingers stilled, barely hovering above her cheek, so tantalizingly close, spirals of warm, silky pleasure spun through her, a sweet deliciousness settling low in her belly.

  “Then what did you say?” She looked at him, wondering if he knew how thrilling she found his touch. That his mere fingertips were making her tremble and burn in wicked places. “Please tell me, for I cannot make sense of your words.”

  “That, too, should not surprise you. It hasn’t been my custom to converse with fetching young females. Not many are bold enough to set foot in Glen Dare.”

  “Foolish chits.”

  “Many would say otherwise.”

  Gelis started to argue, but he touched his fingers to her lips, silencing her. “Did you not know that those who peek beneath rocks often see what they wish they hadn’t?” He lowered his hand. “Our betrothal ceremony will take place shortly. In the great hall, this very e’en, just as you expected.”

  “And our wedding?” Gelis was persistent. “Your courier said it should take place at the soonest.”

  “My grandfather’s man,” he reminded her. “Nevertheless, I’ve a plan that will satisfy everyone.” He tucked her hand into his arm and led her toward the door arch. “My grandfather and your father will not lose face, both keeping their honor, while you will come to no harm. Dare’s darkness will be spared you.”

  Gelis bristled. “And you? You mention everyone else.” She glanced at him as they entered the crowded hall. “Are you the only one who won’t be satisfied?”

  “I, fair lady, shall be best served of all.” Ronan
steeled himself against the twisted truth, not mentioning that it was his conscience alone that would profit.

  She lifted a brow. “You don’t —”

  “We’re expected at the high table.” He guided her through the crush, ignoring how her eyes had widened when he’d interrupted her.

  If his plan was to succeed, he’d have to be far more rude than cutting her off midsentence.

  A prospect that made a tight coil of anger pulse in his gut as he pushed a way through the boisterous kinsmen carousing in the hall’s wide center aisle.

  “Why are these men in such high spirits and the ones in the bailey so grim-faced and silent?” She tugged on his arm; started dragging her feet. “The men outside —”

  “Are on duty, my lady.”

  “But tonight —”

  “Is no different from any other. Not for the men guarding these walls.” He looked at her, willing her not to press him. “I require them armed and prepared at all times. As you saw, they know it well.”

  She glanced back toward the door. “Surely on such an occasion —”

  “There are no exceptions.” Ronan tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Not at Dare.”

  Color rose in her face. “But . . . oooh!”

  A clansman stumbled into her, his ale-flushed face shining even brighter as he bowed near double in apology before lurching away to join his fellow revelers.

  Men clearly enjoying the reprieve in Dare’s usual evenings of silence and gloom.

  Only the MacKenzie guardsmen sat quiet, their solemn ranks lining four trestle tables against the far wall. Paying no heed to the rich food and drink laid out before them, they kept their eyes on their lady. Eyes shaded with disapproval when, just before the dais steps, she stopped to shrug out of her traveling cloak.

  Ronan’s own eyes narrowed. “That was unwise.”

  She smiled.

  A flashing, triumphant smile that proved her to be a woman of even greater spirit than he’d already surmised. Disturbed by the discovery, Ronan’s mood darkened with his worst temper since he’d learned of her imminent arrival and the reason for her coming.