by Cathy MacRae
“Why?”
“For killing the man without request or permission from me.”
Eaden halted the next morsel to his lips. “Ye’ve a bit to straighten out.”
Ranald rose from his seat and rounded the corner of his desk, stopping to perch a hip on the edge. “I have the Macrory captain under guard, an unknown man with his throat slit being readied for burial. The Macraig laird claims he was betrothed to Riona, and wants recompense. Riona has a child I dinnae know about until recently, and it took a storm and a surprise visit from the MacEwen laird to force her to tell me who’d fathered the lass.”
Eaden choked on a piece of bread. “What?”
“She was raped five years ago.”
“By whom?” Eaden’s voice was a rumbling, deep boom, echoing the thud of Ranald’s heart as he recounted the offense against Riona.
“Morgan MacEwen.”
Gilda clung to Riona’s skirts, petulant and out of sorts. Neither she nor Riona had slept well the night before, and with the work still to do, Riona was fast approaching her limits, even at this early hour.
“Mo chroi, run and play with yer doll for a bit, please?” Riona attempted to disengage Gilda’s fingers from her gown, but Gilda flung herself against Riona’s legs and held tight.
“Would ye like a rag to help clean with?”
Gilda shook her head violently.
“Ye are hindering me, lass, and I’ll no’ tolerate it. If it is a nap ye need, hie upstairs and I’ll come check on ye in a bit.”
In response, Gilda released Riona’s legs and collapsed to the floor, silent tears streaming down her face. Concerned, Riona knelt beside her, cupping the lass’s face in her hand, feeling the heat and texture of her skin with a mother’s gentle touch.
“What is it, mo chroi? D’ye no’ feel well?”
“I can take her outside, if ye’d like.”
Startled by the boyish voice, Riona glanced up. Brian, Ranald’s ghille, shrugged. “The laird is off with his brother and I dinnae have anything else to do.” He squatted, eye level with Gilda. “‘Sides, I know where the ginger cat hid her kittens.”
Gilda swallowed and stared at Brian, her tears drying to a slow roll. She sniffed once and wiped her face with the back of a hand. “D’ye really?”
“Aye. But ye’d have to promise to come quietly. I dinnae want to scare her off. She might leave a kitten behind if she moves them again.”
Gilda shot Riona an appealing look. “Can I go?”
Riona considered the request. Brian was often a handful, but seemed to have grown up noticeably in the week since Ranald had taken him as ghille.
“All right. But have her back by dinner. She will be twice as cranky if she misses her meal.”
Brian nodded. “I will.” Gilda smiled and accepted his help to rise. “Come on, then. Ye must promise no’ to tell any of the others where the ginger cat’s kittens are. Just ye and me, aye?”
Riona marveled at the magical transformation of her daughter from a clingy, stormy-eyed wean to an obliging, sweet-tempered lass with the mention of kittens to play with.
Relieved, she rose to her feet and turned her attention back to the tasks at hand.
The horses picked their way down the hillside path, Senga and Pol leashed to the saddle to keep them close. Ranald’s gaze never left the horizon, searching constantly for signs of danger. The clank of harnesses rang loud in the misty air, the threat of rain only a few hours away.
“I still dinnae understand how she kept his name a secret all these years,” Eaden said.
“I told ye. She feared retribution on both sides and dinnae want any blood on her hands. She also feared he’d try to take the bairn if he knew ‘twas his.”
“‘Tis no’ too late to avenge this.”
Ranald sighed. “Eaden, I promised her I’d no’ sit justice until after the wedding. We’ll discuss this afterward, as well.”
“Nae. I willnae stay around after the wedding. The king tasked me to see his order fulfilled and to be sure ye had things under control. I’ve a wife and bairn of my own to see to.”
Ranald nudged his horse close to Eaden. “I would ask ye a boon, if ye can grant it.”
Eaden lifted an eyebrow. “Name it.”
“I would like to take Riona away after the wedding, two or three days. Understand, she has some fears to overcome, and I dinnae want the distraction of the castle and Gilda on our wedding night.”
“What can I do?”
“The seer’s cottage on the beach is secluded and easily protected. Tavia is willing to let me borrow it, though I asked she no’ mention it to Riona. She sent kitchen lasses to clean and freshen things a bit. But Riona won’t go if she is worried about Gilda.”
“Will Auld Tavia no’ care for the lass?”
“Aye, and Finlay will be in charge of the castle. But she would likely feel better if ye were here to help, as well.”
“‘Tis an easy enough request. I will remain for a few days. Perhaps the two of ye could ride with me and see me a day or so into my return journey.” Eaden formed a wolfish grin. “‘Twould give ye some days together before picking up yer responsibilities here. Arrange for a tent or a discreet guard and think of nights beneath the stars with yer new bride.”
Ranald smiled, though he doubted Riona would be comfortable with guards around, discreet or not. “I thank ye. I, too, will feel better knowing both ye and Finlay see to the protection of Scaurness. If Riona agrees, we will travel with ye a piece when it is time for ye to leave. I cannae speak for her.”
They arrived on the beach and Ranald released the hounds to romp. He stared out to sea, marking the fishing vessels, searching for single-masted birlinns that should not be in his cove. Finding nothing amiss, he dismounted and took a deep breath, stretching the kinks from his back.
At a shout from Eaden, Ranald looked up, startled to see his brother hailing a man pulling a boat to shore.
“What are ye doing?”
“Going to take ye fishing.”
Ranald recoiled in mild horror. “Nae. I dinnae like boats.”
“Ye are laird of a people who fish for a living. Ye need to learn. Besides, I promised Riona I’d keep ye out of her way.”
Ranald flashed his brother a dark look. “I can accomplish that by doing a hundred things other than fishing, Eaden. I dinnae like the up and down movement. Ye know this.”
“Och, Ranald. Ye’re getting wed tomorrow. Ye need to o’ercome yer aversion to the up and down movements.”
“Get aff! ‘Tis no’ what I’m talking about, and ye know it,” Ranald replied angrily.
“Aye, well, we can stand here arguing in front of the fishermen and yer soldiers, or ye can get in the boat and pretend ye know what ye’re doing.”
From the corner of his eye, Ranald saw several heads turned in his direction. The morning’s catch was being hauled in and more and more boats had beached, their nets full of fish for the banquet tomorrow. Senga and Pol raced across the rocks and leapt into the boat at Eaden’s side, rocking the wooden structure against the roll of the waves.
Eaden pointed to Senga and Pol. “Even the dogs dinnae fear the boat.”
“What do ye plan to do if I get in the boat?” Ranald asked suspiciously.
“Sail a short way around the point and look for ships flying the MacEwen standard.”
Riona checked the great hall and then the kitchen. No one had seen either Brian or Gilda, and she fought the rising worry creating a knot in her stomach. People gathered in the hall, awaiting the noon dinner, and Riona knew she’d have to begin the meal if Ranald did not return in time. She remembered Eaden’s vow to keep Ranald too busy to bother her this day, but she wanted to ask him if he’d seen Gilda. And she longed to feel the comfort of his presence.
She sighed. Eaden had said he would take Ranald fishing. That certainly did not bode well. Ranald had assured her he wouldn’t be plaistert on their wedding night, but he hadn’t promised her he wouldn’t be seasick. What was Eaden up to?
Riona turned again, sensing movement behind her. Gilda traipsed into the hall, a happy smile lighting her face. Riona caught the lass against her, relieved to see her safe and sound.
“Did ye find the kittens?” She leaned back to view Gilda’s dirt-smudged dress.
“Aye. There are four of them. Two like their ma, and one black and white, and one all black.”
“Did ye thank Brian for taking ye?”
“Aye. He might take me again.”
“Well, mo chroi, we will be verra busy in days to come. Best wait until the kittens are bigger, anyway.”
“I’m hungry.” Gilda pushed away and darted to the table. Brian sauntered over and filched a piece of bread from a covered basket.
Riona followed Gilda to her chair and helped her into it, wondering at the sudden change of subject. What was the lass not willing to discuss? Riona eyed her daughter narrowly as Gilda folded her napkin across her lap with exaggerated care. “Ye willnae go mucking about the auld stable without permission, Gilda.”
Riona’s words fell on angelic ears as her daughter gifted her with a beatific smile. “I dinnae muck about, Ma,” she replied with breezy dignity.
Chapter 17
Riona drew the hairbrush through her hair. She should be tired, exhausted, unable to think or remember. The castle was in order, rooms filling with guests, plenty of food prepared—she hoped—and whisky and wine retrieved from the buttery. Young girls from the village had gathered heather and other flowers to decorate the great hall.
The priest arrived a few hours ago, and spent time deep in conversation with Ranald, reading and re-reading the betrothal contract signed by the king. Her dress hung from a peg in the wall, freshly pressed and tailored to fit her perfectly. Gilda’s new velvet gown draped along the back of a nearby chair, tiny matching shoes tucked nearby.
Gilda moaned softly in her sleep, shifting beneath the covers. Riona frowned. How was she to send the lass away tomorrow, the second time in two weeks, to stay with Tavia? She’d considered letting the lass remain in the castle after the wedding, but she was too used to roaming where she pleased, and they had always shared a room. Riona would move to the laird’s chambers tomorrow and Gilda wouldn’t understand why she could not follow.
Next to the fire, Tavia nodded in her chair, less-than-delicate snores attesting to her slumber. Riona slid her seat away from her dressing table. One leg caught on a ridge on the wooden floor and scraped noisily, startling Tavia awake.
“I’m sorry, Tavia. I dinnae mean to wake ye.” She cast a peek at Gilda, unmoved by the wooden screech. “Would ye stay here a bit longer? I think I’ll see if Cook has left anything I could nibble on.”
“Are ye hungry?”
Riona shrugged. “Nae so much. Restless.”
Tavia nodded. “Take a walk, then, lass. Get some fresh air. 'Twill help ye sleep.”
Riona opened her bedroom door and peered through the portal. Guards lined the hallway in both directions. The soldier to her right lifted an eyebrow. Riona stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
“I’m going to the kitchen for a bite.”
The man nodded, indicating he would follow. Riona sighed at being so closely guarded in her own castle, but knew he only followed orders. Ranald’s orders.
With a last glance to be sure none of the others left their posts, Riona strolled through the hall, not really hungry, neither anxious to reach the kitchen nor return to her room. She was jittery, her nerves strung tight.
Trying to ignore the man trailing her, she descended the stair. With a hand on the curved newel, she paused on the last step, staring at the decorated hall. Hundreds of candles, awaiting the touch of a taper, filled the elaborate candelabras, freshly polished for the ceremony on the morrow. The room would glow with their radiance, lending the enormous room a faerie quality of twinkling lights. Heather scented the air, their pink blossoms hanging from every available surface and filling huge jars atop each table.
Snores drifted from the slumbering guests rolled in plaides on the floor. Riona crossed the room, stepping carefully around the sleeping bodies. She crept to the kitchen, lit by the banked cook fires. Scullery staff lay across benches and sprawled on the floor. Riona scanned the tables. She pursed her lips in consideration, seeing nothing of interest.
Entering the storeroom, she filched a berry-filled pastry and, wrapping it in a linen napkin, slipped from the room. She cast a glance over her shoulder, but her guard remained behind her. There was no place in the great hall to be alone, so she moved to the laird’s chamber, hoping Ranald and the priest were no longer there. She tapped gently on the door and waited, listening for sounds within. Silence. Laying her hand on the latch, she noted the crack of space under the door was dark.
With a smile of relief, she opened the door and eased inside. The faint glow from a torch in the hall cast enough light in the room, and she crossed the floor to the two chairs and table between them. Setting her wrapped pastry on the surface, she poked the fire to flickering life. Pulling one of the chairs closer to the hearth, she sank onto the tufted cushion, resting her feet on the raised stone hearth.
The scent of smoldering peat mingled with whisky and oiled leather reminded her of her da, bringing a mixed sense of peace and sorrow. She stared into the embers as they breathed among the ashes. Breaking off a piece of the pastry’s crust, she popped it in her mouth, idly chewing.
Thoughts of the morrow caused her undue anxiety, and she veered away from dwelling on her wedding, only a few hours away. Nor did she wish to ponder the night ahead. Mentally, she listed the stores in the pantries, pretending it was a simple feast she helped prepare. She lifted another morsel of pastry to her mouth, savoring the ripe, sweet berries, banishing her fears in the tang of denial. A trail of juice slid down her chin, and she sat up quickly, wiping the errant drops away before they could stain her gown.
“So, Gilda isnae the only one with a sweet tooth?”
Startled, Riona met the amused expression on Ranald’s face. She wiped her hand on the napkin, leaving a purple stain on its white perfection. Ranald smiled and took the linen from her. Holding her chin, he quickly finished the job.
Warmth slid through her, mingling with the beginnings of panic at the hunger on his face.
Ranald lost himself in her wide, smoky gray eyes, their centers dilated. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, and though he fervently wished she desired him, he knew she merely masked her uncertainty. Riona’s breath quickened, and he knew his stare unnerved her.
His fingers still on her chin, he applied gentle pressure, persuading her to rise to her feet. She did, slowly, hesitantly, obviously not knowing what he wanted from her. Hell, he wasn’t sure, himself. Or perhaps he did, but it was too much, too soon, with no clear way to bridge the gap between them.
Drawing her against him, he bent his head and kissed her. The flavors of the fruit pastry lingered on her mouth, and he ran his tongue around its contours, tasting the sweetness there. Riona parted her lips, and he chased the bouquet of berries and honey. He wrapped his arms around her, one about her shoulders, the other pulling her against his erection as he cupped her bottom. The heavy velvet of her robe parted, leaving only her thin shift to shield her against him.
Riona twined her arms about his neck, her fingers twisting the hair at his nape. The sensation prickled all the way to the base of his spine, creating even less space in his trews for his growing passion. His hands moved up and down, gliding over the curves of her hips and sides. They slid to the front, palming her breasts. Riona shivered, but did not pull away. Encouraged, Ranald ran his thumbs across her nipple
s, groaning as they pebbled beneath his touch.
“Tell me when to stop, Ree,” he murmured against her mouth.
A half-laugh, half-gasp escaped her. “Stop?” The word was a question as well as a statement.
Ranald chuckled. “Ye’ll have to do better than that. Have ye lost yer fear?”
“I dinnae fear ye. Ye have treated me with respect and kindness since ye arrived. I fear only one thing.”
Ranald eased away, enough to see her face. Her cheeks had pinkened and a pulse beat at her temple, but her eyes held worry.
“Ye needn’t fear me. I’ve told ye this.”
Riona nodded slowly. “I must tell ye, though. I dinnae want ye to take me to wife, unable to forget I was raped.”
Cold reality washed over Ranald, dousing his passion as effectively as a plunge into a wintered loch. He hesitated, not knowing if he should free her to explain or pull her closer to banish the clouds gathering in her eyes.
His hands slid down her arms, and he squeezed her hands reassuringly. “What is it, Ree?”
She dropped her gaze, worrying her lip in obvious indecision. With a suddenness that startled Ranald, she blurted, “I heard ye in yer room the other night.”
Ranald stared at her. What, by the saints, is she talking about? What does she think she heard?
“I heard ye talking to someone—Finlay, I suppose.” Riona shrugged, dropping her gaze again.
Ranald brought his hand to her cheek and trailed his fingers along her soft skin, coaxing her to look at him. “Tell me, lass,” he entreated.
“Ye told him ye would ever . . .” Her voice broke and Ranald groaned to hear the painful hesitation.
He dropped a kiss to her brow. “Ever what?”
Riona collected a deep breath. “Ye would ever see him, grunting atop me.” The words erupted in a rush.
