by Cathy MacRae
He leaned over her, hands on either side, elbows locked. His breath came hot and hard as he shuddered from the aftereffects of their loving. Riona gripped the crumpled bed clothes in her fists, lingering waves of pleasure washing through her. Slowly she relaxed, her legs sliding to the bed as she released him.
“I think we should nap before we eat.” A smile warmed his words.
“Are ye sure we won’t do this again when we wake?”
Ranald chuckled. “Let’s see how hungry we are by then.”
Riona swatted a hand feebly at his chest. “I’m starving.”
He pushed his hips against her. “I thought ye felt fairly well satisfied.”
“Different appetite, my love.”
Ranald stilled. Riona sensed his eyes on her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. Ranald slid to the bed beside her. He gently turned her face to his and kissed the tip of her nose.
“I havenae heard ye say that before.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Did ye mean it?”
With a deep breath, she considered her answer. “Aye.”
* * *
Riona peered around the small cottage. Everything was in place, the crockery washed and tucked away, the burned parritch cleaned from the hearth. She spied her bag of belongings, packed and leaning against the chair leg. Their two days alone had flown past, and she wasn’t sure if she knew how she would face everyone at the castle, certain they would understand the languid, satisfied movements of her body. The way her heart quickened every time she glanced at Ranald, heard his voice, anticipated his touch.
“Are ye ready, love?” Ranald ducked his head as he entered the cottage, blowing on his hands.
Her heart raced just to look upon him.
Cold air drifted through the door with him and Riona huddled closer to the banked fire, gaining little warmth from the graying embers.
“I’ll miss the cottage,” she sighed.
Ranald cupped her chin and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll miss having ye all to myself.” He smiled warmly at her. “We may have to move Tavia to the castle permanently.”
Riona bent to pick up her belongings, but Ranald proved quicker. He hefted the strings of both bags over his shoulder and curved a hand above the swell of her hip. Even the light, possessive touch sent shivers through her, and she released a longing breath.
“Ree.”
She halted at the doorway and turned. Ranald opened his arms and she fell against him. His mouth sought hers, and Riona met his desire. She arched, wanting to feel him again, to know how much she affected him. With a groan, Ranald ended the kiss, and buried his face in her hair. Wrapped in his arms, she put off the moment of leaving.
A knock sounded on the portal an instant before Finlay stuck his head inside. “Yer escort is ready, Laird.” He nodded toward her. “Lady.”
Heat flamed in her cheeks. Riona picked up her skirts, moving toward the door.
“Ye look well, my lady,” Finlay observed as she passed him.
“Thank ye,” she answered in a hushed voice, embarrassed to be caught entwined in Ranald’s arms.
“Gilda will be glad to see ye,” he added.
Riona’s lips curved happily at the mention of her daughter. “Thank ye for caring for her. Ye know she likes ye.”
“Aye. She’s a right sonsie lassie, she is.”
“I hope she hasnae caused any trouble.”
Finlay chuckled and reached for the bags Ranald held out for him. “Nae. But she now has a preference for Eaden’s storytelling.”
Ranald ushered Riona out the door, Finlay following. “Eaden?” he grunted. “I dinnae ken he could tell faerie tales.”
“Perhaps he’s been practicing for the wee bairn his wife soon expects.” Finlay closed the door behind him. “He seems quite taken with the idea.”
They rode the trail in silence, but the guard at the tower raised the alert as soon as they broke tree cover. Horns blared a welcoming tattoo and the gates swung open. The portcullis raised with the creak of heavy ropes and metal, but even this cacophony couldn’t hide the shrill piping voice rising with excitement.
“Ma!”
* * *
“Leave? Why would we leave?” Riona’s voice was high and tight.
“We could escort Eaden part of his journey home.” Ranald saw the confusion and rejection for the idea in Riona’s eyes. His plan to get her away from the castle and their responsibilities for another few days was slipping away. “We would be back in less than a sennight.”
Riona frowned and shook her head. He could almost see the word nae forming on her lips.
“Perhaps less,” he added.
“What about Gilda?”
“She wouldnae come with us.”
“Why not?”
Ranald ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Because she would be safer here, and I want ye to myself.”
Riona gave him a blank stare. “How would we be alone if we’re riding with Eaden and the soldiers? There will be Scotts and Macrorys filling the woods at night,” she pointed out.
“But not in our tent.”
“Close enough.”
“Och, Ree, dinnae ye want to go?”
Riona exhaled on a note of exasperation. “Ranald, I want to be alone with ye. But to leave again so soon, and to have so many around . . .”
“Gilda will be fine with Finlay and Tavia to care for her.”
“But she’s my daughter.”
“And I’m yer husband.”
“Are ye asking me to choose?”
Ranald blew out a breath, aware he sounded angry, unsure how the conversation had gotten so out of hand. “Nae. I only want ye to take this trip with me.” He longed to hold her and cuddle away her pique, but the stormy look in her eye didn’t bode well for such plans.
“Give me time to think. Ye’ve surprised me, is all. I want to help Gilda adjust before leaving her again.”
“Ree, Eaden is leaving in the morning. I swear Gilda will be fine here.”
“I know.” Riona appeared distinctly unhappy. “There is a part of me that doesnae want to leave her again so soon.” She closed the distance between them and laid a palm flat against Ranald’s chest. “When we were at the beach, we were still close. Now that Morgan MacEwen knows about her, I am reluctant to ride so far away.”
Ranald took her hand from his chest and turned it over, seeing the pinkish skin she no longer kept bandaged. He kissed each finger, feeling her relax as her attention shifted to the promise of his caress.
“Dearling, ye have my word. She will be safe here at Scaurness. I wouldnae leave otherwise.”
Riona sighed again, a hum in the back of her throat signaling her surrender. “I’ll see about packing a change of clothing and be sure Cook puts together some food for us.”
Ranald moved his kisses to her neck and upward, trailing his tongue along the curve of her ear. “Later,” he whispered.
Chapter Twenty Two
Riona smoothed Gilda’s hair from her forehead and brushed a kiss to her cheek. Her daughter snuggled against her pillow, a faint smile on her lips.
“I willnae wake her,” Riona whispered to Tavia. “’Twould only upset her again.”
The old woman nodded. “Aye.”
Riona sighed. “I know my responsibilities have changed. But it seems as though I’m abandoning her.”
“Nae. Ye dinnae have time to be with her all the time any more. She’s old enough to play with the other bairns, and ye need to be free to spend time with yer new husband.” She patted Riona’s shoulder with a gnarled hand. “Come, now. ’Tis time to leave.”
Riona nodded, casting a final look over her shoulder at Gilda’s sleeping form as Tavia ushered her out the door.
Ranald met them in the hall. “We need to be on our way. Eaden wants to be ready to cross the firth to Grainaig by nightfall.”
“’Twill be a long day.”
“Aye. And a hard one. Are ye ready?”
Riona nodded and led the way down
the stairs and into the misty morning light.
* * *
The horses’ harnesses jingled merrily as they champed their bits and stamped their metal-shod hooves. Steam rose from their nostrils as their warm breath met the cold morning air. Waiting for their journey to begin, reluctant excitement began to form in Riona as her guilt at leaving Gilda behind faded to anticipation at the prospect of spending more time with Ranald. She rose in her stirrups, surveying the other riders as they finished gearing up before the long ride.
With a creak of leather and a murmur of low voices, the soldiers mounted their horses and turned to the castle gates. Ropes groaned and the metal portcullis rattled as it lifted in the air. Banners carried by the standard-bearers clung to their staffs, heavy morning fog dampening them so they could not rise.
Ranald clasped Finlay’s arm. “Keep the dogs for protection and to warn ye if there is trouble. Watch the wee lass closely. She’ll have ye carrying her cubbie to the beach if ye arenae careful.”
Finlay nodded and Riona ignored the tightening in her chest as they prepared to leave Gilda behind.
At a silent signal, the retinue rode forward, Eaden and Ranald at their head and Riona, on her sturdy gelding, between them. They skirted the coastline inland, picking the simplest route around lochs cutting deep fingers from the mountains to the firth. By the end of the day, they would cross the bay on boats to Grainaig.
Wind off the firth lifted tendrils of her hair, teasing it from its braid. She shifted her arisaid over her head, fastening it securely beneath her chin. Gulls screamed overhead, and the mists fled into the foothills as the sun crept higher. To the south, birlinns broke from their moorings, heading to the sea, their colorful sails unfurling to catch the wind. Riona idly noted each one. A dark red sail snapped on the breeze.
“Ranald.”
He reined Hearn in, allowing Riona’s gelding to come alongside. “Aye?”
She laid her palm against Ranald’s knee and nodded to the boats, on their way to the open sea. “Yon birlinn has a red sail.”
Ranald squinted, shielding his eyes against the morning sun with one hand. “It might.”
Her hand tightened on Ranald’s leg in sudden urgency. “The MacEwen birlinn has a red sail.”
“‘Tis not the MacEwen’s birlinn, laird.”
Ranald didn’t like the twist in his gut telling him he shouldn’t doubt the Macrory soldier before him. He glanced at Riona, also not liking the paleness to her face, her too-wide eyes as she waited anxiously for his decision. He jerked his head in Eaden’s direction, waving him to a private area beyond the ears of the others.
“I dinnae know what to think. I want to be able to trust the Macrorys as much as I do the Scott soldiers I brought with me,” he said as soon as Eaden pulled alongside him.
“Ye have reason to doubt, for the lack of respect Manus showed ye. But when ye sent a Macrory to do yer bidding, ye made yer decision to trust him. If ye dinnae, ye should have sent others.”
Ranald rubbed his forehead. “Ye are right. I will send him and another back to Scaurness to be sure they are warned.” He cut his gaze to Riona again. “And to appease my wife.”
Eaden arched a brow but said nothing. Ranald turned in his saddle and addressed the men. “I need two men to ride to Scaurness and warn Finlay a red-sailed birlinn has been sighted too far from MacEwen territory.”
Two Macrory soldiers urged their horses forward. “We’ll go, laird.”
Ranald pinned each one with a hard stare. “Ye know how important this is?”
“Aye.”
With a nod, he released them from the retinue and watched as they galloped away. Turning to Riona, he judged her reaction. “Every precaution has been taken, Ree. Yon birlinn was not a MacEwen ship.”
She nodded, color returning to her cheeks. “Aye. And Finlay and Hamish are in charge, are they not?” She lifted her chin, a determined smile on her face.
“I wouldnae leave her if I thought there was danger, Ree.”
Riona’s smile faded. “There’s always trouble at Scaurness,” she murmured, too softly. But Ranald heard.
* * *
The tiny village of Grainaig lay on the southern shoreline of the Firth of Clyde. Fishing boats plied the waters, and larger birlinns hired out as ferries to cross the water. The local chieftain offered them the comfort of his modest home for the night.
Eaden peered around the cottage. “As tempting as yer offer is, I will stay the night with my men.” He gestured to Ranald and Riona. “These two may wish a bed such as ye might have.”
Riona felt the heat in her cheeks, knowing it wouldn’t be long before she found herself in Ranald’s arms.
The chieftain beamed at her and Ranald. “Och. There’s a fine bed beneath the rafters, all nice and warm from the chimney near.” He gave Riona a broad wink. “Though I’m thinking ye willnae need a peat fire to stay warm this night.”
Eaden ducked his head, hiding what Riona thought looked suspiciously like a grin before he moved away. He strode through the door, stifling a cough. Riona swung to Ranald.
He winked at her before he addressed the chief. “We will take ye up on yer offer. My wife isnae looking forward to sleeping on the ground.”
“Ye poor lass.” The chieftain’s wife bustled to Riona’s side. “Ye must be cold and tired. Pay nae attention to the men. They are no judge of what is proper for a young lass like yerself.”
With a helpless shrug, Riona followed in the woman’s wake. She was grateful for the quick wash, starved for a hot meal, and her head completely awhirl at the woman’s quick, disjointed speech.
“Aye, ye’ll have a quick meal in ye, then a good rest. Wheesht, Una, dinnae burn the bread! Mind ye bring up the best wine for our guests. Grab that jug there, dearling, that’s right.” She caught Riona’s attention. “Come along and let’s get ye seated at the table. I’ll not have ye fallin’ down, dead on yer feet.”
By the time the simple but hearty dinner was over, Riona was exhausted. Stifling her third yawn, she kicked Ranald beneath the table.
Thankfully, he caught her hint and spoke up. “’Tis time we turned in. My brother would like an early start tomorrow.”
“Ye think to make Glasgow?”
“Angus!” his wife admonished, rising to her feet. “The laird and his poor lady need their rest. Ye’ve held them here long enough.”
Riona climbed the narrow stairs to the upper storey where a tiny room nestled beneath the eaves. She opened the door, the lamp she carried with her casting a weak light along the scarred wood floor. With a faint cry, she spied the narrow bed and the sight gave her a jolt of energy. She crossed the floor with quick steps and set the lamp on the low table by the window. Fumbling with the laces of her dress, she tugged at the cords.
“Here, Ree. Let me do that,” Ranald murmured close to her ear.
Too tired to be startled at the sudden, close sound of his voice, she swayed gently as Ranald untied her laces.
“Ye are very tired,” he said, an apologetic note to his voice. “I dinnae mean for the trip to be a burden.”
Riona splayed her hands against his chest, a slight smile on her lips beneath heavy-lidded eyes. “I havenae slept much these past few nights.”
Ranald folded her into his arms with a soft chuckle. “Then sleep, love, and we’ll not scandalize our good hosts this night.”
Though exhausted, Riona nevertheless felt herself falling into the sensual trap he wove around her. She hung heavily in his arms, transferring what strength she had left to him. Ranald kissed her cheek, and she felt him stir against her. He sucked in his breath and, taking her upper arms in his hands, set her a pace from him.
Gently stripping her gown away, he laid it across the single wooden chair, leaving her in her thin shift. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, settling her beneath the woolen blanket.
“There’s scarcely enough room in here for both of us, Ree. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
R
iona scooted as close to the edge as possible. “Nae. There’s enough room. Just don’t toss and turn.”
“Once my eyes are closed, I willnae move again.”
“Hurry to bed and close yer eyes,” she teased. “Ye need yer rest.”
Ranald grinned as he slid into bed behind her. He shifted once and then again.
She hissed in admonishment. “Ranald. Be still. I thought ye said ye wouldnae move again once ye closed yer eyes.”
He pulled her against him. Her eyes flew open wide to feel his hard heat against her buttocks.
“There is the problem, my love. I cannae close my eyes.”
* * *
In the wee morning hours, Ranald peeled the blanket back from Riona’s nose, smiling as she ducked her head in protest. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
The urge to join her beneath the covers was strong. He ruffled the top of her head, drawing a groan from her as she slipped a hand free of the blanket to swat at him. “I’ve let ye sleep as long as I can.”
“Ye’ve let me sleep verra little,” Riona groused, her voice thick and low. Rolling to her back, she stretched her arms high above her head, her eyes tightly closed. Unable to resist, Ranald tugged the blanket further, baring her to her waist. With a gasp, Riona sat up, grabbing at the covers as he twitched them out of her reach.
“Ranald . . .”
Covering her mouth with his, he stole the protest from her. He leaned over her, one hand straying across her shoulder to cup a breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb before dipping lower. Slipping a finger through the curl of hair between her thighs, he probed gently, feeling her moist and hot against his palm. She moaned as he swept his finger back and forth, stroking her to a fevered pitch. She stiffened suddenly, her muscles clenched him and he pushed gently against her with the heel of his hand. She cried out, the sound muffled between them.