by Cathy MacRae
He straightened and lifted an eyebrow, smiling broadly to have broken through her defenses so completely. “Are ye laughing at me?”
“Aye.” Riona’s eyes danced and Ranald vowed to never cause them to cloud with fear or uncertainty again.
She trailed a finger slowly down his chest, but as she neared the band of his trews, she paused. Ranald sucked in a deep breath, feeling his cock strain upward, seeking her touch. With an effort, he reined himself in, afraid she would halt her exploration.
She traced along the ridge beneath his trews. Fire ignited at her touch. Before he could stop himself, he pushed against her hand.
Riona’s startled gaze flew to his face.
“Sorry, lass. Some things feel too good to resist.”
She nodded, a satisfied smile curving her lips.
By the saints, what is she thinking now? Ranald wasn’t sure he’d keep his promise to not bed her until their marriage if she continued this torture much longer. However, he’d also promised he’d not take her until she was full willing. Perhaps half a promise was better than none. He groaned under his breath, unwilling to disgrace either of them by acting like an unprincipled lad.
With regret, he snared her hands in his. “I seem to remember I came here for a reason.” He looked wryly from the front of his breeches to Riona’s gray eyes. “Other than that.”
He led her back to her chair and seated her. Reaching into his shirt, he drew forth a soft leather bag. “I knew there was a chance I’d take the lairdship here, and if I did, I also knew I would marry ye. If it came to marriage, I wanted to give ye something to mark the day.”
He opened the drawstring mouth of the bag and upended it, spilling a cross into his hand. Firelight glowed against the golden warmth of the pendant. Outlined in delicate filigree, rubies and diamonds sparkled in the lacy edges.
“This belonged to my mother. ’Twas a wedding gift from her da. I know she would have liked ye and would be happy for ye to have it.”
Riona traced the fragile lacework. “’Tis beautiful, Ranald. And far too fine for me.”
“Nae. ’Tis only beautiful because ye wear it.” He spread the thin chain in his hands. “May I?”
“Of course.” Riona gathered her braid in one hand as Ranald gently settled the chain over her neck. The stones winked in the firelight, resting against the upper curve of her breasts.
Riona lifted a hand and laid it gently on the pendant. “Thank ye, Ranald,” she whispered. “I have only known of our wedding for a few days, but I have set the weaver to making a plaide for ye. ’Twill keep ye warm this winter.”
“I am humbled ye thought of it. There is no way I can tell ye how it pleases me.”
Riona peered up at him, an enticing look on her face. “Ye can show me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Riona woke, squinting against the thready sunlight beaming through the narrow cracks in the shutters. She sat, pushing her blanket to her waist. Rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes, she stifled a yawn.
Glancing at the rumpled bed, she noted Gilda was gone, but she was still too sleepy to worry. The scent of cooking fires trailed on sunbeams into her room, telling her she was about to be late for breakfast. Heat rippled through her as she remembered why she lingered abed.
Ranald’s determination that she understand how much she pleased him the evening before had left her restless, unsatisfied with the hungry kisses and hands that warmed her blood and left her skin tingling. She’d been a long time falling asleep last night, thinking on the day to come.
Her eyes flew open wide. Today was her wedding day. She shoved the blanket away, freeing her legs from its silken confines. Grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed, she shrugged into it, belting it tight around her waist. She rushed to the window and jerked the shutters open, admitting the watery morning sun into the chamber.
Shouts and the general bustle of people in the bailey below drifted to her ears. Overnight, a virtual miracle had been wrought. Banners draped from every window, colorful flags flew from the parapet. Gates, flung open wide, received wedding guests as they rode into the bailey.
Macrory soldiers lined the walls, bristling with weapons. The shimmer of an early frost glinted like diamonds on every surface, creating sparkling magic on the massive stones and blades of grass. The air was fresh and cold, and though she knew the sun would soon fill the bailey with warmth, Riona smiled to think of the day, not too far off, when she would see snow on the Highland peaks in the distance.
“Ma! Look what I brought ye!” Gilda crossed the room slowly, carrying a silver tray covered with a linen cloth. A young woman stooped beside her, hands helping her steady the tray. Tavia and another lass also entered the room, but Riona was too fixed on Gilda’s attempt to lift her burden to the table top to pay attention to the others.
With the woman’s discreet help, Gilda settled the tray. She swept off the napkin and grinned broadly at her accomplishment.
“I brought ye breakfast!”
Riona clapped her hands in appreciation, her gaze moving from Gilda’s glowing face to the tentative smiles of the two young women beside her.
Then a shriek of joyous recognition rose in her and she sailed across the room, her arms open wide. “Agnes! Brigit!”
The three met in tearful reunion, their hugs and laughter excluding Gilda who tugged on Riona’s robe. She turned to her daughter. “Gilda, these are my two best friends in the whole world. Agnes lives in the village with her ma and her da and a wee nephew named Ian. Brigit lives further away and has a wee lass of her own, now.”
Brigit, her hair a more brilliant red than Riona’s, smiled at Gilda. “Aye. My lass is a few months younger than yerself. Her da is bringing her to the castle anon. Would ye like to play with her while yer ma gets ready?”
“Can I stay here?” Gilda cocked her head and took a step closer to Riona, tugging at her robe.
Riona stroked Gilda’s hair. “I need some time, mo chroi. Ye can come back later for yer bath.”
Brigit leaned toward Gilda. “Wee Aimie would feel better if she had a big lass like yerself to play with. Only for a bit.”
Gilda nodded slowly, and allowed Brigit to take her other hand and lead her away. With a parting glance over her shoulder, she disappeared through the doorway.
Agnes clapped her hands. “Oh, Riona, we’ll have such fun preparing ye for yer wedding!”
As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door and Tavia opened it to admit six strong lads, two carrying a tub between them, the others hauling buckets of steaming water. A tall, dark-haired form trailed behind the lads, and Riona sucked in a startled breath. Before she could rebuke Ranald for appearing before the wedding, the man ducked his head and entered the room.
“Eaden?”
He smiled at her, and she recalled the charming youth she’d once known.
“I have a gift for ye. My wife, Mairi, sent it. I dinnae look, but she told me it would make ye feel like a bride tonight.”
Heat rose in her cheeks as she accepted the silk-wrapped package he held out, clutching it to her chest. “Then I willnae open it in front of ye, if ye dinnae mind.”
Eaden laughed. “I wouldnae suggest such a thing.” He leaned forward and kissed her brow. “I wish ye all the best in the world, lass. My brother is a lucky man.”
“Thank ye. I will try to be a good wife to him.”
“Ye need have nae worry on that account. Ye will be a blessing to him.”
With a broad smile, Eaden took his leave of the ladies and disappeared down the hallway, whistling happily.
Tavia directed the settling and filling of the tub while Agnes busied herself setting out jars of lotions and oils from a small leather-bound box she’d brought with her.
“I ken ye like lavender. ’Tis such a romantic scent.” Agnes angled a bottle over the tub, allowing several drops of oil to escape. They clustered on the surface with a mirroring effect, and she smiled. “’Twill soften yer skin and make ye smell so
verra sweet.”
She motioned Riona forward with one hand. “Pull off yer robe and get in the tub. Ye can munch on a bit of breakfast whilst ye soak. Yer wedding is close, and we dinnae want yer groom to fash himself waiting on ye.”
Riona slipped out of her robe and chemise, dropping them across a nearby chair. She climbed into the tub and lowered herself until she sat on the bottom, the surface of the water lapping about her shoulders. She leaned her head against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes.
“Here, now. Keep yer hair out of the water. I’ll use clear water to wash it,” Agnes instructed. Her hands were gentle as she unbraided Riona’s hair, finger-combing it until the snarls slipped free.
Riona felt the soft tug as her friend washed and rinsed her hair, and reveled in the unaccustomed pampering. “How long has it been since I’ve seen ye?” she murmured.
“Well, after Kinnon went away, ye seemed to be too busy to see yer friends.” Agnes placed a hand on Riona’s shoulder as she sat up in protest. “Not that yer da dinnae need ye, but Brigit and I missed ye.”
Sighing, Riona settled back into the tub. “I dinnae have time to think.”
“After ye found yerself with child, I would imagine ye dinnae want to think.”
“Nae. I dinnae. I tried everything I could think of to forget.”
“Ye ken Brigit and I still love ye?”
Riona’s eyes burned with sudden tears. “Aye. Though I was afraid ye wouldnae.”
“Oh, Riona! We were sad for ye, and we wanted so much to tell ye so. Then Brigit wed, and my ma fell ill.”
“Thank ye, Agnes. I am verra glad ye both are here with me today.”
Agnes smiled and shook her dark head. “After seeing yer handsome husband-to-be, we figured ye needed all the help ye could get.”
* * *
Ranald paced the floor, facing north, then he turned and paced the floor to the south. He reached the end of his measured path and pivoted on his heel, sending his woolen cloak billowing.
“Ye’ll wear a hole in the floor if ye dinnae stop,” Finlay sighed.
“I dinnae see why I have to remain in here,” Ranald complained.
Finlay shrugged. “Yer brother said to keep ye in here, so I am.”
“I’m laird here.” Ranald narrowed his eyes at his captain, a disgruntled rumble to his voice.
“Aye,” was all Finlay would say.
With a snort of aggravation, Ranald resumed his pacing. Back at the north end of the room, he whirled again to face Finlay. “I’m going out for a breath of fresh air. This room is stifling me.”
“I cannae let ye do that.”
“Why not?” Ranald’s voice, bordering on petulance only a moment before, became angry.
The door opened and Eaden entered the room, pausing mid-stride between the two men. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Nae. Finlay was just about to open the door for me,” Ranald growled.
“I’d say he was about to tell ye why ye couldnae leave the room,” his brother countered.
“Explain it to me.” Ranald bit out the words, his patience gone.
“’Tis bad luck to see yer bride before the wedding.”
“My bride is almost certainly upstairs in her room being readied for the nuptials. I, on the other hand, am suffocated the floor below her, at the hands of two arrogant bastards who think it amusing to have me trapped here.”
“Temper, Ranald!” Eadan chided. “I’ve never seen ye in such a mood.”
“I have,” Finlay interjected. “Yesterday, in the boat. The laird dinnae look so happy then, either.”
Eaden chuckled. “Nae. My brother hasnae improved his sailoring skills.”
Ranald snarled and elbowed past Eaden, shoving him more than was necessary to move him from the doorway.
Eaden tottered on one leg but recovered, pushing Ranald to the side in response. “Wheesht, Ranald. We’re supposed to keep ye under lock and key so ye dinnae get cold feet.”
“I’d say King Robert pretty much cut my cold feet off at the knees,” he retorted, a gnawing feeling of helplessness fraying the edges of his temper.
Eaden clapped a hand to his shoulder. Ranald irritably shrugged it off. Eaden gestured to the chair by the fire and the bottle of whisky on the table beside it. “I’ll pour ye a mug to calm yer nerves.”
“I dinnae have trouble with my nerves until the two of ye brought me here and locked the door.”
“Ye cannae blame us for keeping ye away from yer bride on yer wedding morn.”
“I dinnae keep ye away from yers.”
Eaden nodded. “Aye. And look at the trouble it caused me.”
“Ye stole yer bride,” Ranald countered. “And the wrong one at that. Ye couldnae have bought good luck with all the gold in Scotland.”
“Be that as it may, I but wish to keep my wee brother from making the same mistake.”
“I only want out to get some fresh air.”
With a snort, Eaden looked at Finlay. “Open yon window. The laird wishes fresh air.”
* * *
“My husband-to-be? When have ye seen him?” Riona demanded.
Agnes sighed dreamily. “As I came here. Another man, almost as tall, just as dark and handsome, walked with him into the laird’s chamber and shut the door behind them. Brigit pointed him out to me. She knows everyone.”
Riona nodded. “Aye. That likely was his brother, Laird Scott, Earl of Craigievar. He came as emissary from the king to see the wedding done.”
“The king has bid ye marry? So, ’tis true?”
Riona’s gaze narrowed. “What is being said about the marriage?”
“Och, only that ye needed a husband now yer da is dead, and since the new laird is young and good-looking, some say ye both desired the marriage, others that the king commanded it.”
Riona furrowed her brow in thought as Agnes helped her from the tub.
“Well, which is it?”
Riona stepped over the rim and onto the thick rug on the floor. “The latter.” She noted Agnes’s moue of disappointment at the claim. “And possibly the former as well,” she added softly.
Agnes beamed and held the heavy velvet robe for Riona to slip into. “I’d hoped so. Ye deserve a nice, handsome man for yer husband.”
“Who says he’s nice?” Riona teased.
Agnes gathered Riona’s hair and wrapped it in a towel, squeezing moisture from it. “Well, he is, I’m sure,” she replied stubbornly, clearly wishing to believe it.
“He visited here a few times when we were both verra young. I dinnae like him. He vexed me and I probably wasnae so nice to him.” Riona smiled. “I like him much better now.”
“Does yer lass like him?”
“Och, aye. She’s already got him wrapped around her wee finger.” Riona sighed. “And he seems to truly like her, too.”
“There. I told ye he was nice.”
Riona laughed. “I suppose he is.”
A knock sounded on the door. Before Riona could respond, Agnes bustled over and opened it a crack to peer out. “Brigit! And wee Gilda, too.”
Gilda darted inside the room and climbed into Riona’s lap. “Ma! I played with Aimie. She’s a wee bairn. But she liked me.”
“I’m sure she did, mo chroi.” Riona stroked Gilda’s bright head. “Are ye ready for yer bath?”
Gilda squirmed down to the floor. “I dinnae want a bath.”
“Ye cannae wear yer new dress without a bath.”
As Gilda stomped a foot, Riona raised a brow. “’Twould be a shame to watch the wedding from up here.”
Gilda grabbed her sleeves, pulling at them in a temperamental attempt to undress.
“Let Tavia help ye, lass.” Riona caught her by a shoulder to still her actions until she could be unlaced from her dress and settled in the tub.
“I’ll smell like Ma!” Gilda exclaimed as she wallowed through the water like a floundered fish, sending waves splashing near the lip of the tub.
Riona
gave her a fond smile, but the sight of her wedding dress hanging on a peg caught her attention. It was almost time.
Agnes brushed her hair dry as Brigit slathered scented lotion into Riona’s pale skin. With each stroke of the brush, her pulse quickened. Despite the warm fire, her skin chilled from anticipation that soon grew unbearable. She fought the urge to spring to her feet and pace the floor.
Agnes motioned for her to rise. “Let’s dress ye, then I’ll finish yer hair.” Brigit held the gown high and settled it over Riona’s head, sheathing her arms in heavy cream satin. The cool fabric created instant warmth along her skin.
“Turn toward me, lass,” Tavia murmured, a hitch in her voice. “I helped yer ma into this dress, and now ye.”
Riona did as asked. “Thank ye, Tavia, for all ye’ve done. Ye are more than family to me.”
The seer nodded. “I gave my heart to ye the day ye were born. It would complete my life to see ye wed happy.”
Riona’s eyes misted and her throat tightened to remember the times the old woman had stood behind her.
Tavia laid a hand gently on her arm, giving it a light squeeze before attending to Gilda. “Wheesht, lass, hold still. I cannae scrub ye wiggling like a sea-sprite.”
Slumping her shoulders forward, Gilda froze in place, her eyes squinting mischievously as Tavia completed her bath.
Riona stood before the silvered glass, comparing the bejeweled vision in the reflection with the plain young woman she knew herself to be. The cream-colored satin glowed in the light of the candles, and the jewels winked their ancient secrets. Beyond the costly fabric, her skin flushed a faint, rosy pink. A section of her hair was twisted at the crown where a wreath of late summer flowers nestled. The rest of the heavy curls fell down her back to her waist like molten fire.