by Cathy MacRae
Slowly her breathing returned to normal, and he released her to slide limp upon the bed. She cracked her eyelids open, a languid expression on her face. “I think I’ll need a bit more time to get dressed.”
Ranald laughed softly, thrilled to have pleasured her, to know she enjoyed his caress.
“I can stall them, but I doubt for long.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “We’ll make up for it tonight.”
Riona sighed. “I doubt it.”
* * *
The Macrory soldier patted his lathered horse’s neck. “Nae need to worry, laird,” he assured Ranald. “All was fine when I left. We rode hard back to Scaurness, delivered the message to Finlay and Hamish, then I swapped horses and headed back out.” He took a deep breath, looking every bit as tired as his horse. “There were nae problems at the castle or in the village. And we could find nae MacEwen birlinns along the coast.”
Ranald nodded, pleased. “Well done. I appreciate knowing things are well.” He tossed the man a coin and waved a hand in the general direction of Grainaig. “Ride back to the town and rest there. Lady Caitriona and I will spend another night along the trail with my brother and come back for ye here.”
“Aye.” Gratitude for the respite colored his voice. He reined his tired horse down the path and was quickly lost from view.
He turned to Riona. “There is nae need to travel much further, Ree. We’ll see Eaden to the end of today and turn back tomorrow. We’ll be back at Scaurness before ye know it.”
* * *
Muffled sounds woke Gilda and she sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes. Though it was still dark, she could make out the shapes of the furniture in the room, outlined in silvered moonlight. She missed her ma, the smell of her, her warm, comforting presence beside her. She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember when she would be back.
The sounds from below increased in pitch, angry, shouting, frightening. A shriek rent the air and Gilda scooted back until she was against the wall. Her heart raced and a bad taste rose in her mouth.
“Ma?”
Her tiny voice made scarcely a noise at all, and Gilda swallowed against the lump in her throat. How was she to summon help if she couldn’t yell louder than that? She was supposed to be brave. Her ma had called her a brave lass many times—like when she’d skinned her knee and not cried even though she’d wanted to.
She sucked in a lungful of air then let it out in a silent whoosh.
What if I cry out and Ma doesnae come? What if someone else does?
Gilda waited, hoping the noises would go away. But new sounds mingled with the angry voices, clanking metal and sharp cries of pain. With a moan of fear, she scrambled from the bed, her bare feet soundless as she crossed to the door. Her hands fisted at her sides as she wrestled with the decision before her.
A sudden shout startled her and she grabbed for the latch. Pulling against it with all her trembling strength, she opened the door.
Chapter Twenty Three
The Greenock road churned with mud, the horses’ hooves making sucking sounds as they lifted them from the mire. Riona stared at the scene around her. Men’s faces lifted to the early sun as the horses trudged along the trail, ducking their heads as they struggled with their footing.
They’d said goodbye to Eaden earlier as they broke camp, and the parting had been bittersweet for Riona. Renewing their acquaintance had been a boon, but remembering the way he’d teased her anxiety away the morning of the wedding as he offered to escort her before the priest brought a tear to her eye.
“What has ye so solemn this morning?” A half-smile lit Ranald’s face as he raised a brow in query.
“Och, ’tis nothing.” She shrugged. “I enjoyed Eaden’s company and it sounds as though he has a lovely wife. I cannae wait to meet her one day.”
“Aye. She’s a sonsie lass, our Mary. Eaden’s a lucky man.” Ranald reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “And so am I.”
Riona smiled, his words and touch warming her all the way to her toes. She gave a quick look around to be sure she was not overheard. “I dinnae mind the rain with ye holding me.”
“I dinnae feel the cold, neither. I had other things on my mind.”
Wickedness rose in her. “But the warmth shrank a wee bit when the tent slipped its moorings.”
Ranald threw his head back and laughed. “Aye. The bite of cold rain on my bare arse sidetracked me for a moment. I admit I’d given it nae thought beyond the sound of it on the cloth. That rain fell like an icy finger between my buttocks.”
“Wheesht, Ranald! They’ll hear ye.”
“Aye. And think less of me unless ye admit we rallied well together after.”
“I’m sorry I brought the subject up.” She rolled her eyes, though with no real heat to her words.
“I’m not sorry.”
Riona gazed at him quizzically. “Why?”
“Because it means ye can laugh about something ye used to fear. And it warms my heart to hear the sound.”
Heat coiled deep inside, and Riona marveled at the sensation. She met Ranald’s gentle, knowing grin and eased forward to meet his kiss.
The soldiers rode past as Hearn and Riona’s gelding slowed to a stop. A pair of Scott guards kept a discreet distance, their watchful eyes trained on the land around them, not on their laird and lady who, for a moment, forgot anyone else existed in the world.
* * *
Gilda crept to the landing, peeking through the railing at the chaotic sight below. Terrible sounds crashed around her, louder now without the closed door to protect her. She had seen men practicing with their swords and shields in the field outside the castle before, but she’d never seen them do this inside the great hall. And there were so many of them.
A man leapt to the dais where the laird’s family sat for meals, his dark hair streaming around his shoulders, his sword black and gold in the torch light. He faced her and she melted from the snarling grimace on his face. But not before she recognized the captain of the Macrory soldiers.
Manus.
She crouched in the shadows, unsure and scared to approach him. Then a loud crash startled her, and Gilda crawled to the railing again. Men sprawled at the foot of the stairs, and Manus pointed with his sword. “Find the brat! Bring Gilda to me!”
Folding herself into the smallest shape possible, Gilda pressed against the broad wooden column at the top of the stairs. The corner between it and the railing had proven an excellent hiding place when playing hide-and-seek with the other children, and, terror choking her, she automatically slipped into the dark space. Making no sound, she watched men rush past, their dripping swords creating dark patterns on the floor.
Doors crashed open and closed, women screamed, their muffled babble high-pitched, frightened. Gilda backed deeper into her hiding place.
“Where is the lass?”
The roaring, angry voice was answered by sobs. The noise cut off abruptly with a clatter of sound Gilda did not understand. Had someone dropped some dishes?
Wails erupted, quickly silenced. Gilda hugged her knees against her chest and waited, clenching her teeth to still her trembling.
* * *
Ranald let the horse’s hoof drop to the ground. He hefted the small rock in his hand, feeling the sharp edge that had wedged beneath the metal shoe. Straightening, he patted the gelding’s shoulder.
“Such a tiny thing to cause such a big problem.” He turned to Riona. “Ye can ride with me, but we will have to take it slow. His hoof is bruised and he will be sore for a day or so.”
Riona nodded, stroking the horse’s forehead. “Poor thing. At least he’ll start to feel better now.”
“Archie, lead milady’s horse. Mind his limping. I dinnae want him worse when we get home. We’ll cut across the land, get away from this cursed road. The mud will lame all our horses if we arenae careful.”
Lifting Riona within reach of Hearn’s stirrup, Ranald supported her with a palm to her rear as she scrambl
ed to swing a leg across the warhorse’s broad back. She settled carefully, both hands gripping the cantle for balance.
Ranald mounted in front of her, looking over his shoulder. “Are ye well?”
Riona transferred her grip to either side of Ranald’s quilted coat, feeling much more secure with her arms about him. “Aye.”
“Mind where ye put yer hands or we’ll be even later getting to Scaurness,” he teased gently.
Riona jerked her hands away, her cheeks flaming as she realized they’d rested nearly in his lap. The sound of his chuckle drifted to her ears as he urged Hearn forward.
* * *
A soft sound jolted Gilda awake. Her body ached from staying tucked behind the column at the head of the stairs. The pain reminded her why she was there, and sharp fear sliced through her again. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to brush them away, but she didn’t dare move.
“Gilda.”
It was Brian’s voice, and Gilda sucked on her lip to keep from replying. She’d seen Manus in a rage, heard him send men after her, listened as the women in the rooms near hers screamed and sobbed, unable to tell the men where she was. She’d heard the denial in their voices, the pleading, the keening in the silence. Why should she trust Brian?
A whisper of shod feet on the wooden floor drew her attention to the opening of her hiding place. A pair of brown eyes, nearly black in the low light, appeared at her level. A gentle smile touched Brian’s lips as he held up a finger, warning her to silence. Grateful the decision was taken from her, Gilda nodded.
Brian slipped next to her in the small space, folding his long legs out of sight. “I knew ye’d be up here still,” he whispered. “The MacEwen has taken the castle and wants ye for a hostage. Do ye understand?”
Gilda shook her head, her eyes stretched wide in fear.
“We need to hide ye until the laird returns. Will ye come with me?”
Gilda started to shake her head again, but slowly nodded, feeling braver now with someone to help her.
“Where is Auntie Tavia?” Her voice was a tense, whispered squeak.
Brian patted her shoulder awkwardly. “She’s been hurt and cannae talk right now. She’d want ye to hide from the MacEwen, too. Ye need to be brave, Gilda. Can ye do that?”
Of course she was brave. Her ma said she was. Gilda placed her hand in Brian’s and together they slipped into the upper hall.
* * *
“We should reach the crossing soon and Scaurness late tonight if we dinnae stop again.”
Riona squeezed Ranald’s hand as they walked side-by-side, Hearn trailing behind them. “I wasnae a good traveler at first, though I believe I’m getting used to it. I don’t mind another night as long as it doesnae rain again.”
They continued in silence for a bit, the men walking while they rested their horses.
The crossing loomed before them and Ranald prepared to board the little ferry, not letting his apprehension show to those around him. Loading the horses onto the boats, the men and Riona found a place along the bow. A horse neighed nervously as the boat rocked beneath his feet, but quieted as his master soothed him with a word and a gentle touch.
Dense trees bordered the shoreline, seagrass and rocks swept outward in both directions. Three cottages clustered in the open area on the sheltered beach and a man strolled out to take his place on the dock. Muscles in his arms and chest rippled as he grabbed the boat, pushing and pulling to land it square against the planks. He completed his job without raising a sweat and helped unload the horses.
Ranald disappeared for a few minutes as the unloading proceeded, the sweat on his brow from neither warmth nor exertion. Riona kindly chose to say nothing about the drawn look to his face when he returned, and, instead, stroked his cheek fondly as he canted a quick look at her.
He laced his fingers together, ready to help her to Hearn’s back. “Mount up.”
The banners snapped merrily in the breeze as they prepared for the next stage of their journey. The trees quickly swallowed them, blocking most of the sun and the gentle wind. Riona leaned her cheek against the warmth of Ranald’s back, contentedly breathing the scent of him.
Smoke from the campfires mingled with the smell of damp fabric. Idly, she imagined getting him into the largest tub at the castle, not caring how difficult it proved to lug up the stairs to their bedroom. She could almost feel his skin sleek beneath a layer of lather as she bathed away the grime and grit of travel.
“What are ye thinking about?”
Riona rested her chin between his shoulder blades, a smile on her lips. “Ye will have to wait until we are home to find out.”
Ranald shifted in the saddle. “I am intrigued, my lady. Does it involve warm water and lavender-scented soap?”
“How did ye guess?”
He chuckled. “My lady hasnae had a complete wash since we left. And ’tis my fondest wish to bathe ye.”
Riona punched his shoulder and he yelped. “At the rate we’re going, we willnae make it to Scaurness before morning. And the fires will have to be stoked to heat the water. ’Twill be a long time, Laird, before ye get me in a tub.”
“Perhaps I should send a man ahead to warn the castle of yer wishes?”
“Perhaps we could ride ahead and arrive before the kitchen fires die down.”
She waited as Ranald considered his response, then coaxed, “We are on clan land . . ..”
He shook his head.
“Please, Ranald. The others could follow with my horse and some could ride with us.”
“It wouldnae be safe.”
Riona sighed in disappointment and pressed her cheek against his back.
After a moment, she felt him heave a sigh. He reined Hearn to a halt and turned to face the men. “Lady Caitriona and I wish to reach Scaurness before dark. Neel and Sim will follow with Archie and the gelding.”
The laird’s retinue bounded forward at a word from Ranald, leaving the standard bearer, two soldiers and a lame horse behind.
* * *
Gilda and Brian crept down the hallway to one of the narrow stairwells leading to the servants’ areas of the castle. Scarcely wide enough to admit a serving tray or a tub, they led only to the kitchen and storerooms. Keeping to the shadows, they moved from one doorway to the next, pausing to listen for sounds of discovery or pursuit.
Gilda whimpered. “I gotta pee.”
Brian carefully opened the door beside them and shoved her into the room. He quietly shut the door behind them and looked around the floor. “There’s a pot. Be quick.”
Gilda cautioned, “Don’t watch.”
Full to bursting after her long huddle behind the pillar, still she waited until Brian’s back was to her before she lifted her skirt and sank onto the chamber pot.
“I’m through,” she hissed as she hurried to Brian’s side.
“Let me check the hall before we go out, aye?”
Gilda’s heart beat rapidly as his hand reached for the latch. He opened the door just enough to stick his head through and stared carefully up and down the hall. He ducked back inside the room, pushing the door closed. Placing a finger to his lips, he forestalled Gilda’s question. The sound of booted feet grew louder then receded.
Brian breathed a sigh of relief and waited a few moments before he checked the way again. “Come on.”
Gilda grabbed his hand and followed him from the room. They skirted a fallen soldier and rounded the corner to the servants’ stair. There were no torches lit here, and Gilda and Brian stepped carefully, fingers touching the wall for guidance.
Light from the kitchen fire seeped up the bottom few steps and the pair halted inside the stairwell. Soldiers harassed the kitchen staff with shouts and cuffs, demanding food and drink. Gilda tugged at Brian’s hand, darting her worried gaze to the door on the far side of the room.
Brian squeezed her hand reassuringly and climbed a brace of steps back, taking them out of sight and sound.
“I want ye to muss yer hair and
look like a wee scullery maid, aye? When we walk into the kitchen, grab the first thing ye see and act as though ye’re about to either wash it, cook it, or serve it. Can ye pretend?”
Gilda nodded vigorously, pulling strands loose from her braid.
“Good. Carry it to the kitchen door and go outside as though ’tis a normal day. Stay between me and the wall as much as ye can. Ignore the men. Aye?”
She frowned.
“There isnae other way out, lass. We cannae go through the hall.”
Brian entered the kitchen first and grabbed a pot of vegetable peelings, Gilda on his heels. She picked up a basin of hot, soapy water. It was heavy and she struggled with it, the water sloshing inside. Together, she and Brian edged around the room, their heads down, concentrating on their tasks.
Gilda stumbled, splashing water onto her hands and she cried out. Dropping the basin, it crashed to the floor, turning every head in their direction.
“The lass!”
Brian threw his pot at the closest soldier and shoved Gilda through the open door.
“Run!”
Chapter Twenty Four
Gilda darted through the door, skidding to her right and hugging the wall as she burst into the kitchen garden. She ducked behind a rosemary bush along the castle wall, releasing its savory scent as she brushed against its leaves.
“Spread out! Dinnae let her escape!”
Squatting low on her heels, she peeked over her shoulder. The bad men would be after her in a moment. She glanced at the bailey gate. Two soldiers ran past, halting the search as they questioned the others. With their back to the gate, Gilda took her chance.
Jumping to her feet, she dashed across the path and through the gate. She plowed directly into another soldier she hadn’t seen coming, causing him to stagger to one side, a curse exploding from him as he fell against the wall. Gilda rebounded and fled across the bailey, disappearing into the darkness. Shouts followed on her heels.