by Cathy MacRae
Fighting on a heaving surface was an unknown to him, but he suspected the MacEwen had won many a battle on such footing. The shorter man was well-built for such action, and his stocky legs kept effortless balance as the skiff rolled back and forth. Ranald grabbed the mast for leverage, his position precarious at best.
In sudden inspiration, he grasped a handful of the skiff’s rigging, hanging limp and lifeless without the wind behind it. Wrenching it from the mast, he wrapped part of the sail around his forearm, leaving a portion trailing.
MacEwen nodded at Ranald’s defensive move, and with a grin slipped free his sgian dubh. The blade winked at Ranald as if to mock him. Ranald’s eyes darted to the weapons in MacEwen’s hands. Though shorter in length, the sgian dubh was potentially as deadly as Ranald’s slender-bladed dirk.
He motioned with his sail-wrapped arm. “Come, then, MacEwen. Let us finish this.”
“The better man gets the lass?” MacEwen mocked.
Ranald’s eyes narrowed. “The loser goes to hell.”
Riona’s head pounded. Her vision was spotty, the two men separating into four wavering, sparring figures before merging back to their original forms. Ranald staggered as the skiff heaved, and her heart stopped in her chest. He was no sailor and had never fought as such. MacEwen held every possible advantage.
The sun seemed impossibly bright to her eyes. For a moment, the sail hung between her and its glare. With a ripping sound, the sail fell, and she blinked as she forced her watering eyes away.
When she looked back, Ranald crouched, a portion of the sail wrapped about his arm, the rest billowing down. MacEwen now wielded two knives, and Riona could not tear her gaze away as the two men circled each other, the mast between them.
Ranald heaved to the side, waving his wrapped arm back and forth, ready to foil the MacEwen’s blade within the cloth. MacEwen flexed his fingers on his dirk. The air was still, even the gulls were silent, as Riona struggled to draw a breath.
Suddenly MacEwen crouched and leaped, his weight causing the skiff to list. As Ranald struggled for his balance, MacEwen closed in, his knife slicing through the fabric of Ranald’s sleeve.
Ranald spun about, placing the mast at his back. His arm rose as MacEwen swung his sgian dhub in an upward arc, aimed for a killing blow beneath Ranald’s ribs.
With a twisting move, Ranald captured the short blade in his makeshift drapery. A quick jerk and the sgian dhub clattered to the planks. Ranald kicked it away.
MacEwen covered the fleeting surprise in his eyes with a nod. “Clever move. But ye willnae best me.”
A small, feral smile, the first Riona had seen, curved Ranald’s lips. “We shall see.”
He mimicked MacEwen’s crouching stance again, taking the roll of the boat in his legs. Although Riona breathed easier, she knew MacEwen was a dirty fighter who attempted nothing he did not think he could win.
MacEwen rushed forward, his knife drawn back for a powerful thrust. Ranald slid to the side, around the mast, the edge of the hull behind his knees. As MacEwen’s blade arced through the air, Ranald jumped to the narrow ledge, his boots scrambling for purchase on the water-slicked wood. MacEwen leapt nimbly after him, and Ranald was forced to retreat into the belly of the boat, a lucky swipe of his knife drawing a curse from MacEwen and a line of blood across the back of his hand.
Then Ranald slipped on the wet boards, and Riona’s cry of despair mingled with MacEwen’s shout of triumph as he lunged after him. Riona lashed out with one foot, tripping the over-eager pirate. Both men crashed to the boards. Hands braced against the planks, Ranald rolled away. His grunt of pain reached Riona’s ears as MacEwen’s next thrust went home. As MacEwen leapt away, red bloomed through the fabric of Ranald’s shirt. He grasped his arm and staggered to his feet, blood oozing between his fingers.
“Have a nice time in hell,” MacEwen mocked, his triumphant grin wide. He grabbed Ranald’s wound in a vicious grip and drew his knife back, its blade dark with blood, pausing as he savored the moment.
With a snarl, Ranald shoved upward with his injured arm. “You first.”
MacEwen gazed downward, his eyes wide with shock. The handle of his own sgian dubh protruded from his belly, the blade buried deep within. Ranald rotated his wrist, opening the wound in MacEwen’s abdomen, hastening his death as blood poured forth. Slowly the pirate’s knees buckled and he slumped to the planks.
Ranald staggered, his breath in harsh gasps. With a grunt, he heaved MacEwen’s body over the side of the skiff and watched it float face down on the waves. He turned to Riona and she read the battle-lust still raging within.
She drew back, but he approached her, his knife drawn. He slid the blade beneath the cord binding her wrists and with a jerk, freed her.
Riona winced as she brought her arms in front of her. Long hours with them locked behind her had cramped her muscles, and a burning numbness replaced feeling. She rubbed her wrists, looking away from Ranald.
“Can ye swim?” His voice came to her harsh and distant.
She glanced at him. Hand above his eyes, blocking the sun, he stared out over the water. She followed his gaze and saw the dinghy bobbing on the waves a short distance away.
A shout rang out across the water. Both she and Ranald turned to see a small boat lowered over the side of the MacEwen birlinn. She stiffened.
Intent on the battle between Ranald and MacEwen, she’d forgotten the pirates.
Chapter 31
Ranald grabbed Riona’s hand and rushed the edge of the hull, launching from it into the water. They clove the waves in a clean arc and struck out toward the dinghy. For a moment, Riona kept pace, but her gown, saturated by sea-water, quickly dragged her under. With a gasp, she floundered, gulping sea-water as a wave slapped her face. She choked and lost her bearings.
Water closed over her head and she panicked, kicking her feet wildly to push back to the surface, tangling in the wet fabric of her dress. Waves buffeted her from side to side, and her chest burned as the need to breathe grew. She fought the sensation, clenching her teeth to keep from opening her mouth and swallowing the sea.
She pushed toward the light. Her head broke the surface and she gasped, dragging air and sea spray deep into her lungs. She choked on the salty, misted water and slipped downward again.
“Ranald!” Her voice was weak, lost in the cries of gulls and the crash of the waves.
Something grabbed her wrist and she jerked in surprise. An arm wrapped about her middle, pulling her above the surface of the water. She collapsed against the firm support behind her and did not struggle as she was dragged through the waves.
Ranald caught the edge of the hull. “Can ye help me?”
Riona tried, but her fingers couldn’t hold and she panted weakly. He slapped a hand on her rump, kicking his feet to give himself purchase in the water as he shoved her upward. She spilled into the boat, thudding gracelessly to the floor. A moment later, Ranald joined her.
He landed on his injured shoulder and rolled. The wind caught the little boat, tossing it on the waves. Ranald swallowed the nausea eating a hole in his stomach.
Riona staggered to her knees and looked out across the firth. “They have stopped to pull the MacEwen from the water.”
With an effort, Ranald rose, adjusting his weight to keep the dinghy from listing to the side. The boat launched from the MacEwen birlinn sat beside the skiff, some distance away. Ranald retrieved the oars and set them in the locks on either side. Flexing his arms, he dug into the water, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm.
Riona gripped the side of the boat and sat on the bench facing Ranald. He stared past her for a moment, intent on his efforts, watching the pirates row back to the birlinn. His gaze slid to his wife. She huddled, her grip on the seat tenacious at best, obviously cold and uncomfortable. He wondered what she
was thinking. Did she worry about Gilda? About what she would find when she got back to the castle? Was she wondering about him?
Nonsense. She’d turned her back on him. Her distrust of him was clear. His stomach twisted again, but this time with the knowledge he’d failed her. She sat silently, her softly curling hair now stiff with salt water, straggling down her back. The curves that delighted him only a day before were now displayed beneath a dress clinging wetly to her, its tatters showing abuse.
Gone was the glow of happiness. She closed in on herself, silent and withdrawn, and it broke his heart to see her thus.
“Gilda will be glad to see ye,” he offered.
Riona’s eyes met his, and Ranald flinched at the haunted look within their depths.
“Aye,” was all she said.
They drifted in silence.
Riona blinked back tears. Her heart was full to bursting and she longed to know if Ranald still blamed her for her actions. He’d acted so bitter toward her earlier, but yet he cared enough to hunt for her and risk the seas to save her. And all he could say was Gilda would be glad to see her.
She knew she looked a mess. She wasn’t normally vain about her appearance, but as he stared at her, his eyes changed. If he was moved to touch her now, it would be from pity, not love. Riona gathered her hair in her hands and pulled it over her shoulder, trying to finger-comb it into some semblance of order. She stared at Ranald again, but his face remained a mask, inscrutable.
Joyous sounds of barking split the air. Ranald and Riona jerked their attention to the beach as Senga and Pol raced toward them. An unguarded look of relief bloomed on his face as he watched the dogs frolic in the waves.
The dinghy bumped gently against the beach and Ranald grasped the edge of the hull on either side, crouching low as he moved forward. He slipped over the side and dragged the little boat onto the shore. The dogs leaped around him.
“Get by, dogs.” He swatted at them good-naturedly, dodging their wet paws as they crowded close. He ruffled their ears affectionately.
He turned back to the boat, offering Riona his hand. She rose carefully, accepting his help. His hand was warm on hers, and it felt wonderful. He pulled her forward, caught her by her waist, and lifted her to the ground. Sniffing once at Riona’s feet, the dogs left for more interesting prey.
They stood on the beach, barely a pace apart, though Riona felt the distance acutely. She tugged at her torn neckline and rubbed her palms nervously over her dress. Then jerked, startled, as Ranald laid his hands atop hers.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
“I’m . . . I’m such a mess.” We’re such a mess, she added silently.
Ranald seemed to understand. He gently closed his fingers about her hands, his touch light yet intimate. “I dinnae want to take ye back to the castle until we talk, Ree. Will ye stay and talk with me?”
Riona’s throat clenched and she nodded.
They both started at once. “I’m sorry . . .”
A slight smile tugged Ranald’s lips. “Let me go first, aye?”
He took a deep breath and clasped her hands together, bringing them to his heart and encouraging Riona to step closer. “I’m sorry I failed ye, Ree. It was never my intention to endanger Scaurness, least of all sweet Gilda. Many men lost their lives defending her and the castle, and my guilt for that will never lessen. Now yer brother is home, and I’m no’ sure what will happen.”
Riona tried to tell him of Kinnon’s vow, but Ranald shook his head, silencing her. “I would no’ change my time with ye for anything in the world. But ye dinnae trust me enough to save Gilda. I know we dinnae know each other well, and dinnae get along well as children, but if we cannae trust each other, what are we doing?”
Riona stared at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. She took a deep breath. “I know ye dinnae understand my decision. I know ye told me to stay on Hearn, and for me to let MacEwen divide us as I did . . .” She swallowed and lifted her gaze, blinking hard to stall the tears burning the backs of her eyes. “But Gilda . . .”
Ranald pulled her against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I understand ye were frantic, worried about Gilda. Yer decision made things harder. On ye. On Gilda. Me.”
“How can ye blame me for wanting to save my daughter?” Riona sobbed and shook, even with Ranald’s arms wrapped around her.
“Wheesht, lass. I dinnae blame ye for being afraid for Gilda. I want to know if ye trust me.” He tilted her head up with a finger beneath her chin. “And if I can trust ye.”
Riona drew a deep, shuddering breath. “‘Tis true. Even though ye vowed to call her yer own, I dinnae trust ye to love Gilda enough. I saw her as a pawn being used between us and MacEwen, and I couldnae see another way out.”
“Ye dinnae give me a chance. Ye trusted that bastard to keep his promise to turn Gilda over to me and give us safe passage, but ye dinnae trust me to save what I hold most dear.”
Riona averted her face, and Ranald sighed. “Did he touch ye, Ree?”
She shook her head. “He tried. I hid a table leg beneath my pillow and set the metal ewer by the door. He had no’ let me see Gilda and I was afraid . . .” Riona closed her eyes, trying to block the memory. “I was so afraid.”
Ranald smoothed a hand down the back of her head. “I was afraid, too. Dearling, I’m still afraid.”
Riona drew back to gaze at him. “Of what?”
“Of losing ye. Of not being able to hold onto what we had, what we were starting to build.”
“Did ye come for me out of love, or duty?”
“I admit marrying ye was a duty the king had given me to fulfill if Scaurness’ laird died without an heir. I’ve since learned ye are a delight and a source of much pleasure and fulfillment for me, both in our bed and out of it. I admire yer spirit and yer heart, and whether I remain as laird here or no’, I would want ye at my side.”
He caressed the side of her face with a slow drift of his fingers. “I love ye, Ree. Both ye and Gilda are my life. What say ye?”
“Kinnon doesnae want to be laird. He says he is taking vows and will enter a monastery.”
“Aye? And do ye think he’ll abide by his decision?”
“Ye have seen him. He isnae well.” Her voice caught. “I want him to stay home so I can nurse him back to health.”
“That might no’ be possible, Ree.”
“I know.” She sighed brokenly, feeling miserable.
“What else do ye want, love?”
“I want what we had. I want to feel loved and safe. I want ye.”
“Will ye truly feel safe with me?”
“Aye. I was terrified when I defied ye. I was verra upset to know he held Gilda, but nothing went right after I left ye.”
Ranald brushed his lips across her temple, the simple touch igniting warmth deep inside her. She crowded closer, wanting to crawl inside him and never leave his presence again. She lifted her face, not sure if he would kiss her, but needing to feel him claim her, to know she was still his.
He bent his head, taking her offer. She stretched up on her toes, winding her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. Everything within her welled into the kiss. Her hurt, her fear, her apology. She felt his hunger as his lips devoured hers, his tongue stroking hers, blending them together as one.
Ranald sighed, ending the kiss. “Ye are my heart, Ree. Never doubt it.”
“I love ye, Ranald. I swear to trust ye and never give ye reason to doubt me.”
She felt him shift against her. “Will ye obey me?”
The idea jarred something inside her, and she opened her mouth to retort, but stopped, sensing the smile in his voice.
“Aye.” Rubbing slowly against him, she felt him harden against her. Her head against his chest, she heard his heartbeat quicken, felt
his sharp inhalation of breath. His hands slid to cup her breasts. She breathed deeply, filling his hands.
“Everything?” he breathed.
Riona smiled.
Epilogue
Ranald hoisted Gilda to one shoulder, grimacing as she shrieked with delight. He only half-listened to her excited babble, too aware of what was taking place in the laird’s bedroom two flights above. Or, perhaps unaware, he decided as he handed his daughter abruptly to Finlay. It had been too long since Tavia had sent word to him about Riona. He could wait no longer.
Without a backward look, he strode purposefully to the stairs. He would have ignored any protest for him to stay, that it was improper for him to attend Riona as she labored to deliver their child. But no one had the heart to stop him. The people in the hall wanted to know, too.
Doors opened, voices murmured, growing louder as footsteps echoed overhead. His foot touched the first riser and Ranald halted uncertainly. He tried to climb the stairs, but his legs would not move beneath him, and he gripped the twisted balustrade with whitened knuckles.
“Laird!”
He lifted his gaze from the scrubbed stone at his feet and stared upward. His vision clouded and for a moment he fought the dizziness betraying his fear.
Riona’s young maid hurried down the stairs, her braid bouncing across her back. “Laird!” She drew to a halt before him, a broad smile across her tired face.
Ranald struggled against muscles suddenly lax with relief. “Aye?”
“Yer wife, Lady Caitriona, has been delivered of a son!”
Behind him, the room erupted in cheers. Ranald’s eyes bore into the maid’s. “My wife?”
“She is well and would like t’ see ye.”
