by Cathy MacRae
Lady Riona and I have been close since childhood.
She and I have always cared for each other.
I want to honor the laird’s last wishes and take her home where she will be loved and cherished all her life.
Ranald ground his teeth as Riona’s face danced before his memory.
But I dinnae like ye.
I am betrothed to no one.
He remembered her eyes she stared at Laird Macraig at her father’s funeral feast. There was a connection, of that Ranald was certain. Why had Riona lied to him?
A tentative knock on the door dragged him from his thoughts. “Enter.”
The door opened and Riona stood framed in the portal. Her porcelain skin glowed against her dark blue gown, her auburn hair neatly twisted in a braid hanging to her hips. Her gray eyes, wide beneath gracefully arched brows, regarded him with question. She stood before him demurely, her hands clasped before her, the cuffs of her sleeves, embroidered in pale blue and silver, reaching nearly to the floor.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
She lied to me.
Ranald’s perusal warmed her, and a flush rose to Riona’s cheeks. She was glad she’d taken Tavia’s advice and dressed in one of her best gowns. She wanted to make a fresh start with Ranald, and his openly appreciative gaze made her heart race with hope.
Then he scowled. Riona’s breath hitched. What had she done? Was there something wrong with the way she looked? Did he have bad news for her? Kinnon? Her knees threatening to buckle, she grabbed for the door behind her.
“Sit.” He indicated a nearby chair.
On shaking legs, Riona crossed to the chair and sank gratefully onto its cushioned seat. She smoothed her features, but her heart would not cease its frantic pounding. She clasped her hands together tightly, using the pain to redirect her fear.
Ranald strode slowly to his desk. He perched a hip on the edge, staring at the floor, ignoring her until she thought she would scream from the tension singing through her. She longed to question him, put a stop to the torture he put her through, but her dry mouth would not form the words.
At last, he looked at her, a weary frown replacing the approval she’d seen in his eyes earlier. Her heart sank lower and her stomach churned.
“This morning ye said ye were ready to announce our betrothal. That ye’d no’ gainsay me,” he began.
Riona nodded her head and cleared her throat. “Aye.”
“Yesterday ye said ye were bound to no other man.”
What did he mean? Was he referring to her as bound to the man who’d raped her five years ago? Was he looking for a way out of their betrothal?
“I remember. I-”
“Why did ye lie?”
Riona blinked, stunned. Anger surged through her and she uncoiled from her chair with a suddenness that made Ranald draw back, surprise on his face.
“If ye want to be released from the betrothal, say so. I’m sure the king could be persuaded to allow ye to set me aside once ye’ve told him about Gilda,” she choked out.
He had lied to her. He had said Gilda was not a pawn to be used between them. Leaning forward, she poked a finger in Ranald’s chest. “But don’t ever call me a liar again. I dinnae mean to have ye find out about Gilda the way ye did. But I wouldnae have lied to ye.”
Ranald caught her wrist in a merciless grip, and Riona’s eyes flashed with anger. Furious, she tried to tug her arm away, but he held her as easily as he would a child.
He growled, “I have seen the way ye and Macraig look at each other. He has just left here, asking me to uphold the claim he has on ye.”
Cold fear replaced the hot anger surging through her veins, and Riona ceased struggling. The room swam around her and she dropped back into her chair, scarcely noting as Ranald gave her a slight shove so she would not miss the seat. She gasped, her chest suddenly feeling heavy and tight. His muttered curse sounded far away and swirled nonsensically in her head.
A strong hand forced her head into her lap. “Breathe, damnit, Ree. Breathe.”
She drew a shuddering breath, and then another. The warp of the fabric of her gown swam into view and she blinked, focusing on the threads as though they held the key to her sanity. The pattern became clearer, and so did the strain of being forced into such a position.
Irritably, she shoved Ranald’s hand away. “Leave me alone.”
“No’ until ye’ve answered my questions.”
“Ye no longer have the right to ask me questions.”
“I am yer laird. Ye will answer me.”
Riona glared at him, embarrassed she’d nearly fainted.
“Who is Laird Macraig to ye?”
“He was one of my da’s trusted friends.”
“Was?”
“Aye. They had a falling out more than a year ago.”
“Do ye know why?”
“Aye.”
Ranald rubbed a hand across the back of his neck in a frustrated gesture. “Damn it, Ree. Tell me. Dinnae make this harder than it has to be.”
“Harder for whom? For ye?”
“For both of us. What did yer da and Macraig quarrel about?”
Riona flashed him a look of loathing. “Me.”
Chapter 11
Was he missing something? Ranald puzzled over what Laird Macraig had sworn, that he and Riona had been betrothed, though only a verbal agreement between himself and the old laird.
“Had they resolved their quarrel before yer da died?” Ranald queried.
Riona shook her head. “Nae. I was with him nearly all the time in the weeks before his death. Laird Macraig dinnae visit the castle.” She stopped and gave Ranald an earnest look. “That was why I stared so at him. He had not been here since they quarreled, and I was startled to see him in attendance.”
“It was yer da’s funeral banquet,” Ranald reminded her dryly.
“He still had gall to show himself here.”
“Why?”
Riona sank back into her chair and took a deep breath. “Laird Macraig had asked for my hand.”
Ranald frowned, banked fury beginning to stir again. “Ye said ye werenae betrothed.”
“I’m not. We aren’t.”
“Explain.”
Riona jumped to her feet, putting the chair between them. “Not long after Gilda was born, Latharn came to Scaurness to ask Da permission to marry me. We have known each other since we were bairns. Their lands are to the northeast. His wife had died a year earlier and he had a three-year-old son needing a mother.” She threw Ranald a pleading look. “Understand. I was very young and a new mother. Unwed. Under duress to name the father. I would have said ‘aye.’”
Ranald’s heart clenched. Her story made sense, but he still did not understand why Laird Macraig believed they were betrothed.
“Why did ye no’ accept him?”
To his surprise, tears welled in Riona’s eyes, turning them to liquid silver. “He dinnae want Gilda.”
“What?”
“He said he dinnae want to raise another man’s bastard. Because of the way she was conceived, he thought I would be glad to be rid of her, that I would want to give her to someone else to raise.”
Ranald swore. No wonder her feelings for the laird, whatever they had been, were gone. “What did yer da want ye to do?”
“It enraged him to hear Latharn call her a bastard. They argued, but I would no’ have married him even had he agreed to raise her. Not after he showed his true feelings.”
Riona paced slowly around the chair. “Da threw him out of the castle and warned him to never return. That was why I was surprised to see him here the other night. I wondered what he was about.”
“There was no chance of a reconciliation betw
een yer da and Laird Macraig just before he died?”
“Nae. At the end, Da couldnae talk. I could ask Fergus. If I was no’ with Da, he was. He would know if Latharn visited the castle without my knowledge. But there is slim chance he ever did.”
Ranald rubbed his chin. Riona’s reaction when he’d told her the laird’s declaration was not false. She had truly been horrified, shocked to think the man might have claimed her. He looked up from his musings and noticed her standing before him, unshed tears bright in her eyes, fear lurking in their luminous depths.
He swiveled, still perched on the desk, but fully facing her, feet braced apart. Motioning with his hands, he bade her come closer. Riona advanced until she stood only a few inches away.
Ranald drew the back of his fingers down the length of her cheek. Without guile, she leaned into his touch and he reversed his hand to cup her face.
“I am sorry for my doubt, Ree. Ye have been distant from me from the start, and though I am beginning to learn the why, ye must forgive me. The king’s command replaces anything Laird Macraig tries to claim.”
He drew her closer, settling her between his legs. “Will ye have me?”
Riona nodded. “Aye. I will have ye.”
“As yer true husband?”
The muscles in her jaw clenched and released, as though forcing herself to agree. “Aye.”
“Then seal the bargain with me and we’ll put this behind us.”
“How?”
“A kiss, sweet lass. A simple kiss.”
A moment of hesitation, another nod. Riona closed her eyes and offered her lips to him. Ranald smiled. Leaning forward, he gently touched her cheek with his own lips, fluttering them across the silky softness of her skin.
Riona’s eyes flew open, her mouth open in surprise. Catching the opportunity he wanted, he kissed her lips, gently tasting the outline of them with his tongue.
Riona drew back, startled, taking a half-step away.
“Settle, lass. I will no’ force ye. But we have only a few days before the wedding and a lot to discover of each other.”
“Ye mean to touch me before our wedding night?”
“Touch ye, hold ye, make love to ye, aye. But I willnae bed ye until we marry and ye are full willing.”
Riona seemed to consider his statement. “Will ye kiss me again?”
Ranald hid a satisfied grin. “Aye. Come closer.”
She stepped closer.
He eyed her intently. “Closer.”
With her final step, the warmth of her licked through him with hungry flames. His entire body went instantly on alert, and he caught his breath.
Riona’s eyes widened. “Too close?”
Ranald forced a tight laugh. Surely he could lie to her this once. “Nae. Just right.” He encircled her with his arms, and her body tensed. He set his cheek against her hair, breathing in the womanly fragrance. “Say the word and I will release ye.”
Riona nodded her head again. A faint gasp escaped her as Ranald bent to nuzzle her neck. Her pulse quickened beneath his lips. Lifting her heavy braid from her shoulder, he gave himself better access to the long column of her neck, slowly devouring every delectable inch.
She sighed and arched against him.
Riona’s heart raced even as her muscles relaxed, her brain the first part of her to surrender to the warmth sliding through her. She could form no coherent thoughts, no strength to tell him ‘nae’ even should she wish it. She staggered backward a little but his arms tightened, drawing her closer, releasing her from the necessity to stand on her own feet.
Draped over his arms in this manner gave him access to the low-cut bodice of her dress, and his lips and tongue raised ridges of fire across the exposed tops of her breasts. Suddenly, her dress felt too tight, and a moan escaped her as she tried to draw an even breath.
She grasped his shoulders and burrowed against him, nestling her cheek in the hollow of his neck. He was a wonderful mix of hard body and soft lips, burning her skin. He smelled of horses and sea salt, and tasted of smooth whisky. She accepted his next kiss without hesitation.
His fingers ran roughly through her hair, pulling strands free of the confining braid. His short beard prickled against her palms when she raised them to his cheeks. His tongue tangled with hers, and she caught her breath, but the sensation was too new, too unexpected, and her head whirled with excitement.
His hands moved across her shoulders and around to cup her breasts. Suddenly fearful, remembering another grip, painful and humiliating, Riona pushed them away.
“Dinnae be afraid of me, lass.” His voice, a deep rasping sound, soothed rather than frightened. He slid his grip to her waist, holding her lightly, his fingers massaging gently, easing her fears. But the mood was broken, her abandonment marred with a return to reality.
“I dinnae fear ye,” she whispered. Yet she could not voice the dread flowing over her, paralyzing her, leaving her unable to respond to him further.
Ranald leaned his forehead against hers. “‘Tis too soon. There is plenty of time.”
Riona eased away, staring at him. “But ye said our wedding is at the end of the week.”
He surprised her by kissing the tip of her nose. “Aye. But there is nae need to worry. Ye’re doing fine.”
Riona tripped lightly up the stairs. Her head still swam from the myriad of emotions she’d experienced, both in Ranald’s arms and out of them. He certainly had the ability to push her to the very limits of her tolerance, something that had not changed since he was a lad. That much was the same. The difference was the attraction she now felt for the pesky lad now grown to manhood.
She reached the upper hall and slowed her pace, remembering Ranald’s touch. Her face burned, not with embarrassment, but with the tantalizing memory of his lips on her skin. To her consternation her breasts tingled in a way they never had before. She lifted a hand, touching herself lightly, wondering at the new sensitivity. Could there be a chance to give herself to Ranald without fear? Without cringing, leaving behind the memory of her first experience at the hands of a violent man?
Riona stopped at the portal to her room and released the latch, leaning carefully on the door, opening it quietly lest she waken Gilda. Light from the hall sconces fell into the room, landing on the angelic face of the lass as she slept. Riona smiled. Her sweet babe was safe—Ranald had promised her, and she believed him. They were both safe, and her heart filled with gratitude and a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
With a soft sigh, Riona entered the room, latching the door behind her. The day, only half gone, had taxed her. She’d not worried about Gilda’s safety with Ranald, but once the storm blew in, she’d waited impatiently for their return, knowing Gilda would be distraught.
Moments ago, Ranald had forced her to remember the way Latharn had scorned Gilda, the way he’d offered marriage—at a price. She sighed past the hesitation lodged beneath her heart. She couldn’t believe Ranald would show interest in Gilda once he had children of his own. She prayed he didn’t break the child’s heart when that day came. Her eyes lingered on her sleeping daughter as she slipped out of her dress, the cool air piercing the thin fabric of her chemise.
She slid quickly beneath the soft velvet covers of the bed, pulling Gilda against her. The lass grunted and snuggled close, but did not waken. Riona was soon fast asleep.
A knock at the door pulled Ranald’s attention from the report his steward had left on his desk cataloguing the castle’s inhabitants and their respective jobs. The old laird’s steward, an elderly man who had done very little to change the way the castle or town was run in the last few years, had seemed only too glad to turn his job over to the man Ranald had brought with him. The new steward, once a warrior in Eaden’s personal guard, had been seriously wounded a year ago, and Ran
ald doubted the man would ever again see active service. But he had a quick mind and grasp of the intricacies of castle life, and had leapt at the chance to make himself useful again. Ranald was pleased with his choice.
“Yes?”
Finlay entered the room. “What news of our guest?”
Ranald laid the parchment aside and nodded toward the half-filled bottle on the low table. “Pour us both a glass of whisky and I’ll tell ye.”
Always agreeable to savor the laird’s good whisky, Finlay measured the rich amber liquid into a pair of mugs, handing one to Ranald. He nudged the chair closer to the desk with his foot and seated himself before taking an appreciative quaff of the fiery liquid.
He licked his lips as he looked up expectantly. “Tell me about Laird Macraig.”
“He claimed to be betrothed to Lady Caitriona.”
Finlay’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he sat straighter in his chair, losing his indolent slouch. “King Robert has decreed otherwise. Will he object to yer claim?”
“He wasnae happy.”
Finlay snorted. “Of course he wouldnae be. Is there any truth to it?”
“Riona says he asked for her in marriage a year or so after Gilda was born.”
“That had to have been a couple of years ago. Did her da favor a long betrothal?”
“Nae. Her da refused his offer.”
“Why? Laird Macraig would have a good claim with his lands bordering Scaurness to the north.”
“He refused to take Gilda.”
Finlay’s eyes narrowed and raw fury crossed his face. A snarl broke from his lips. “The bastard.”
“His point exactly. He dinnae want to raise another man’s bastard.”
“I can yet kill him. He has no’ left the castle.”
