The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride

by Cathy MacRae

  Ryan shook his head ruefully. For all that Gilda was now a married woman, she scarce seemed older than his sister. With a tilt of his head, he sent four soldiers after the two women.

  A prim cough from Mairead interrupted his thoughts. “I dinnae want to sit here unsheltered. ’Tis unfair to ask it of me. My skin will burn in this wind and sun.”

  Then why, by St. Andrew’s teeth, did ye come? Ryan grumbled to himself as he prepared to meet Mairead’s complaint.

  * * *

  “Look! They are setting up a shelter for Mairead!” Lissa pointed to the white canvas fluttering from four rough-cut timbers. The slender poles swayed gently and Gilda gritted her teeth, damping down the image of the entire structure caving down upon Mairead and her ceaseless harping.

  “Wheesht, and it will be nice to eat our lunch in a bit of shade, won’t it?” Lissa’s unladylike snort answered Gilda’s question. She patted her partially-filled cubbie. “I am getting hungry. Let us settle and eat our lunch. We will then have time to finish filling our baskets before returning to the castle.”

  “I wish we could stay out longer,” Lissa whined. “I havenae seen a pirate or anything dangerous all morning.”

  “I am sure yer brother has better things to do than nursemaid us,” Gilda answered tartly, ignoring the longing in her own heart to bask in the open air and freedom. She grasped Lissa’s hand and tugged her along. “We must not put the men in danger by staying out past gloaming.”

  They reached the rigged shelter and sank down on the blanket spread beneath, dropping their baskets beside them.

  Curled on a large blanket, Mairead leaned forward and peered at the berries. “Were there no more than that?” Her question was little more than a plaintive sigh. “That willnae make many pastries at all. Hardly worth the time and effort.”

  “At least ye dinnae get yer gown soiled,” Gilda replied as she popped a juicy berry in her mouth. She heard Lissa’s small gasp and a pang of guilt went through her at baiting Mairead so. Especially at Mairead’s look of horror which sent a warring feeling of smug satisfaction through her middle.

  “’Tis not my gown,” Mairead said with a tiny shudder. Her long, delicate fingers plucked at the coarse linen. “I asked for a rag to wear so my clothing wouldnae be soiled or torn. I dinnae have such an item in my chests, but I felt sure one could be garnered.” She turned her dark gaze directly on Gilda. “From ye.”

  Heat traveled up Gilda’s neck and along her arms, prickly as a rash. Her hands trembled but she forced her fingers to pluck another berry from the basket.

  “I wouldnae ask ye for a thing, Lady MacLaurey.” Gilda ate the berry in her hand and flashed Mairead a mirthless smile. “Ye have nothing I need, and everyone knows ye cannae gather berries off a whinbuss.”

  Ryan’s knife thudded onto the blanket and she knew she’d shocked him with her two-sided proverb.

  I dinnae care. She is an ill-tempered besom and I wouldnae ask a favor of her if my life depended on it. Gilda smoothed her hands on her skirts and rose to her feet. “Lissa and I have baskets to fill. If ye would excuse us, please.”

  There was a murmured chorus of eager assent from the nearby soldiers. “Aye, lass, and I look forward to the pastries tonight—”

  “They are my favorite, they are—”

  “Ye are kind, Lady Gilda—”

  With a flurry of movement, Mairead stood. “I will help ye, Gilda.”

  Lissa tugged at Gilda’s sleeve. “What is she about? She doesnae know how to pick berries.”

  “She dinnae like us getting all the thanks,” Gilda whispered as she bent to pick up her basket. “Bothersome besom.”

  No longer shocked at Gilda’s words, Lissa snickered. They filed from under the shelter and toward the berry patch.

  “Race ye to the berries!” Lissa shouted. Gilda hiked her skirts above her boots as she took up Lissa’s challenge.

  “Wait!” Mairead demanded as she stumbled on the rocky ground. “I cannae leap about like a wee cutty. Ye are disobedient and mischievous and ’tis a wonder the men of this clan dinnae stripe the both of ye.”

  Without remorse, Gilda and Lissa faded into the shadows of the edge of the forest. Gilda watched as soldiers fanned out around Mairead, far enough from her to dampen the sound of her complaints, close enough they would still be seen to guard her. Faith, but she could not summon the decency to feel sorry for the woman.

  As Mairead fisted her hands on her hips, Gilda stepped into her line of vision. “The best berries are deeper. Where ’tis harder to reach. The others have either been picked already or are smaller and less plump.” With that bit of information, Gilda slipped among the bushes and began to fill her basket.

  “I am glad I am not wearing one of my good gowns,” Mairead grumbled as she tugged her skirt free of the brambles.

  “I am, too,” Gilda admitted, “but ’twas not nice of ye to insist on one of mine.”

  “Mayhap not, but what else have ye offered me other than cold hospitality?”

  “Cold hospitality?” Gilda sputtered. “Are ye never satisfied? ’Tis a sorry day to find yer betrothed marrit to someone else, but ye arenae making things easy, either.”

  “I dinnae have to make things easy for ye. Ye stole my husband!”

  “And I would have to say he is glad I did!” Gilda glared at Mairead then whirled away, grasping the basket handle tight enough to throttle it had it been the other woman’s neck. She stomped deeper into the thicket, yanking berries from the slender branches, flinching as she pricked her finger on a bramble.

  Mairead followed close on her heels. “Ye insufferable child! Ye will never be the lady of Ard Castle!”

  “Well, I am Ryan’s wife, so we shall have to see, aye?” Gilda retorted.

  “I am so thankful to be leaving! I hope it is tomorrow!”

  “Ye couldnae pack yer bags fast enough to suit me.” Gilda slid effortlessly through the thicket and out the other side. She didn’t bother to stifle a grin when she heard Mairead’s startled yelp. Plucking more berries, she waited for the woman’s next grievance. There was only silence. Curious, Gilda stole back into the thicket.

  Mairead stood rigid, fear etched into every line of her body. Coldness washed over Gilda as she peered into the thicket and the fey eyes that stared back at her.

  Chapter 18

  Gilda’s heart skipped. The amber eyes glowed unwaveringly from the darkness of the thicket. Black-tipped gray fur cloaked the young wolf’s lithe body. Gilda stared at the motionless beast, unsure its intent, unable to make the first move. Something about the animal seemed familiar, however, and Gilda’s gaze fell to the wolf’s front paw, resting lightly on the ground. The initial jolt of fear lifted as she recognized the wolf as the one she’d set free from a trap only a few weeks earlier.

  “Step behind me, Mairead,” she called in a low voice, praying the woman would do as she was told without questioning. Mairead appeared to be frozen to the spot and didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.

  “He willnae hurt ye if ye move slow.” Gilda held out a hand, palm up, motioning for Mairead to come to her.

  Her movements dreamlike, not tearing her gaze from the ferocious-looking beast, Mairead reached for Gilda. She stumbled and the wolf let out an anxious whine.

  “Gilda!” Mairead’s plaintive voice sliced through the still air and Gilda grimaced at the sound.

  “Dinnae fash, Mairead. I know this wolf. He is a good lad.” Please let it be so, she added under her breath. Let him remember me.

  With measured tread, Gilda edged toward Mairead, meeting her several feet from the wolf, still caught in his unwavering gaze. Mairead grasped Gilda’s arm, her fingernails digging into the flesh. Gilda winced at the pain. Willing to believe the forceful grip unintentional, Gilda patted Mairead’s shoulder gently to get her attention.

  “Ye are shaking, Mairead,” she chided. “And ye will draw blood if ye dinnae loosen yer fingers.”

  “I…ye…’tis a wolf!” the other wom
an hissed. Rather than release Gilda’s arm, Mairead pulled her closer.

  Gilda forced a smile and managed to work her arm free. “Wheesht, he’s no’ but a wee wolf. It would take him several bites to eat ye.” She bit her lip as Mairead’s skin blanched white. It really was bad of her to tease so. “Come. Let us get back to the others. I am sure there are other woodland creatures the wolf would find better sport than a girl like ye who cannae run verra fast.”

  “Ye are mad!” Mairead sputtered, her eyes wild, her tongue suddenly loosed in panic. “I am glad ye married Ryan Macraig! Glad, do ye hear me? ’Tis a horrid, damp, ruin of a castle, full of pirates and wolves…” Her voice hitched and she glared at Gilda through red-rimmed eyes. “I willnae stay here a day longer! I want to go home!”

  Grimacing at her tone, Gilda relented. “Ye are in no danger. Come along. I will take ye back to the wagon.” She caught Mairead’s sleeve and tugged, urging her to follow.

  With a screech, Mairead jerked away. “Dinnae touch me, you wretched girl!” Her demand ended on a sob and she whirled, plunging through the thicket, heedless of the brambles that tore at her skirts and snagged her hair.

  “St. Columba’s bones, but she is a right girn, so she is! I can truly say I am glad I rescued Ryan from her peevish complaining.” Gilda fisted her hands on her hips. “And she has no regard for a perfectly good dress.”

  A rustle of leaves interrupted her indignant recital and she spied Lissa peering through the branches.

  “Gilda?” The girl’s voice was a frightened squeak.

  “Och, dinnae tell me ye are afeared of this poor beastie, too.” Gilda harrumphed.

  “’Tis a wolf!” Lissa’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

  “I am not so daft as to walk over there and pet it like a dog.” Gilda tossed her head. “But I released it from a trap a couple of weeks ago and fed him a wee bit. I have seen him since, and he has never threatened me.”

  Lissa peeked at the animal dubiously. The wolf’s gaze slid from one girl to the next before he settled and began licking his paw.

  “See? The swelling in his foot is almost gone. Poor lad. I suppose one or more of the bones were broken as well as the skin. But he appears to be healing well.”

  Shaking her head, Lissa smiled. “Ye are brave, Gilda. I would have been too terrified to try to help him.”

  Deciding to keep a generous distance between herself and the wolf despite a slight feeling of friendship, Gilda began plucking berries from the bushes, keeping one eye on the beast as she worked. “Let us hurry. ’Twill be getting dark soon, and the men will want to leave. I dinnae want them to find the wolf. They may think him dangerous.”

  “If Mairead has anything to say about it, they will be here quickly.”

  Suddenly there was a crashing sound in the brambles. With a horrified gasp, Mairead plunged through the thicket, landing with a sprawl at Gilda’s feet. From behind her, a man leaped into the little clearing, his eyes gleaming, a dirk clenched between his teeth. The tang of sweat and salt assaulted Gilda’s nose even as she noted his stained clothing and the band of cloth wrapped about his forehead.

  She released a soundless gasp.

  Pirate!

  * * *

  Ryan surveyed the open area above the sea cliffs. No suspicious birlinns or other sailing vessels had been sighted in several days along the coast, but he was not foolish enough to assume Acair MacEwen and his men had merely drifted away. Reason told him they would plunder up and down the shoreline for supplies before returning to Macrory land. His gut demanded they would not be gone long and Macraig land abutted that of the Macrory clan. Something needed to be done, and soon.

  Around him, soldiers leaned or reclined casually, the quiet talk among them carried away by the breeze sweeping the rocky plateau. Ryan peered at the sky, his attention on the clouds building in the west. A possible storm was brewing, but that was not uncommon. A day without rain, such as this one, was much less common. The warm day pleased him, as though he were able to gift his wife with one last beautiful autumn day before winter arrived with winds crying off the firth, bringing ice and frigid temperatures to permeate the ancient Macraig castle.

  This winter, however, he would have a willing wife to warm his bed and heat their nights. The thought cast a broad smile to his face. He settled on the ground, his back against a boulder shedding warmth from the rays of the sun. ’Tis a ferlie thing to be marrit. Truly a marvel and a wonder.

  His gaze roamed the little shelter where the women had rested as they ate. A frown of distaste tugged at his lips as he marked the spot where Mairead had sat. But only when marrit to the right woman. Sending up a short prayer of thanks for deliverance from the bossy MacLaurey woman, Ryan closed his eyes and indulged himself with thoughts of a slender Macrory lass with fiery curls.

  I need to start breaking camp. The words formed somewhere in the back of his mind, but Gilda’s saucy image danced before him, and he shifted his shoulders, seeking a more comfortable position. In a moment, he allowed as the warmth building within him began to vie with the heated rock he leaned against. In the distance the cry of gulls could be heard, blending with the sound of crashing waves below the edge of the cliffs.

  A feminine shriek split the air.

  Ryan leapt to his feet, sword in his hand. Around him, Macraig soldiers took up battle stance, forming a shield of drawn swords around the perimeter of the area.

  “Where are the women?” Conn shouted, racing toward him from across the field.

  “Four men are with them at the edge of the woods.” Ryan’s reassurance rang flat as the sound of the shriek rang through his head. Together he and Conn sped toward the trees. Hoarse shouts from behind them spun Ryan around.

  Unknown men swarmed over the edge of the cliffs, weapons in hand, their war cries sending a frisson of dread down Ryan’s spine as they engaged the Macraig soldiers. Steel clanged as grunts and curses filled the air.

  He caught Conn’s arm in an iron grip.

  “Find the women. Do whatever ye have to, but get them safe to the castle.”

  Conn faced him with a look of surprise. “Those are pirates, Ryan! I could—”

  Ryan squared his jaw. “I know. Save the lasses. Dinnae fash about me.” He sensed Conn’s indecision and he released his friend’s arm with a forced laugh. “Ye will have the bigger fight on yer hands dealing with the lasses.”

  With a scowl that told Ryan their long friendship had just been seamlessly repaired, Conn nodded briskly and pelted up the slope to the forest, leaving Ryan and the remaining six men to battle the pirates.

  * * *

  Gilda stared at the man, her limbs frozen. Run! She thought wildly, but the words would not pass her lips.

  The man wiped the dirk on his kilt as his gaze roamed over the three girls. “What have we here? Lovely lasses picking berries, aye? And no one to run to or call for help.”

  “Our guard…” Gilda managed to utter the words, her throat tight with fear. At her feet, Mairead choked on a sob. Gilda jerked her gaze to the woman and saw tears streaking her face. Denial ripped through her as she looked back to the man. His grin taunted her knowingly.

  “There were Macraig soldiers, lass. The only men left now are mine.”

  “That…that isnae possible,” Gilda stammered. “There were—”

  “Four,” the man interrupted. “Four men in the woods, eight more on the cliff. But dinnae fash. My men will have dealt with them in a moment.” His manner became serious. “The three of ye come with me, now.”

  Hands clutched Gilda from behind. “Dinnae let him take us, Gilda,” Lissa whimpered.

  The man quirked an eyebrow. “Ye are Gilda, aye?” His eyes roamed over her assessingly. “Laird Macrory’s daughter?”

  “I am Ryan Macraig’s wife.”

  Shaking his head, the man grinned. “Ye willnae claim the Macrory as yer da, then. Mayhap because it is known the MacEwen sired ye?

  Dizziness swept through Gilda. Mairead stumble
d to her feet, clutching Gilda’s arm. Lissa clung to her other side. Gilda swayed. Her vision darkened, narrowed to the evil leer of the man before her.

  “Who are ye?” The words slipped from her, scarcely heard even in the suddenly silent glen.

  “I am Acair MacEwen. Yer half-brother.”

  Chapter 19

  Gilda’s thoughts flew back to the clan gathering at Scaurness castle only a few weeks earlier to discuss an alliance against the marauding pirates. Acair MacEwen, the pirate, was her half-brother? The man who had sworn vengeance against Ranald Macrory? Her breath caught.

  His father is my father. Is that why Da killed him?

  “Gilda?” Lissa leaned into her shoulder.

  Sensing the girl needed reassurance, Gilda patted Lissa’s cold hand. With all the disdain she could muster, she pulled herself together. “This man is nothing but a pirate. He doesnae like my father,” she added, deliberately stressing the word, daring the man to contradict her. “But he willnae take us with him.”

  “Think ye no?” His face turned thunderous as he advanced on them. Gilda’s courage faltered as the other girls shrank against her.

  “Ye will be my hostage and I will beggar yer da before I am finished with him,” Acair MacEwen boasted. “He will live long enough to see his children starve, his woman reduced to selling herself to the meanest bilge rat to put bread on the table.”

  Gilda’s breath caught in her throat as hatred transformed the man before her. His mocking attitude gone, he was suddenly a darker evil than she had ever envisioned, his face twisted with a venom that appeared to eat him from within. His lips snarled as he spoke and spittle beaded in the mustache that drooped to frame his mouth. The greasy, unkempt braids on either side of his face swung against his shoulders as he advanced, his sheer malevolence frightening. Looming over them, he blocked the sunlight filtering through the trees.