Then her first words to him were a direct challenge to his authority and rank. Gilbert Kennedy had at least attempted to suppress his feelings of frustration at being deposed. This lass, on the other hand, went straight on the attack.
So, how was he to treat a hostile bride who was evasive one minute and on the attack the next? Judging by the cracks she was showing in her steel-spined exterior, perhaps his level coldness made her uncomfortable.
After a long silence stretched, he finally spoke, keeping his voice neutral. “Where have you been all evening?”
Damn, the question only seemed to harden her. She crossed her arms over her chest, which caused the thick cloak she wore to fall back over her shoulders. It was the first glimpse he had of her form. She was slender and lithe, though at the moment her posture made her look fierce. Her crossed arms emphasized her breasts, which were high and firm. Though not deep-bosomed, she was endowed with a slim yet womanly figure. He suddenly realized she was tall for a lass. Her head came up to his chin, and he towered over most men.
The silence deepened as she continued to stare back at him, refusing to answer.
“I asked you a question, lass,” he said, no longer trying to hide his irritation.
“And I don’t wish to answer. Will you shake it out of me, as my father would have?” She raised her chin as she spoke, but he didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her bright blue eyes. She was testing him, but because she didn’t know him yet, she wasn’t sure if he was the type of man to use force against a woman.
“I’ll not harm you, lass. But as your future husband and the keeper of this castle, I demand respect for my authority.”
“Isn’t that the difficulty with respect, though? You cannot demand it. It can only be earned,” she retorted.
He felt his teeth clench at her sharp words. “So you refuse to tell me where you have been for the last several hours and why you have arrived looking like a bedraggled servant rather than the daughter of a Laird and the future wife of the keeper of Loch Doon?”
Her head jerked down, seeming to only now realize that her gown was coarse and simple, and that mud spattered her boots and her wool hem. But perhaps he shouldn’t have taken aim at her appearance, for instead of a cold fire in her eyes, she looked up at him with horror and embarrassment.
“I’m sorry my appearance displeases you, my lord,” she said, but her sharpness was gone, to be replaced with a brittleness that belied her fragility.
Bloody hell, what a start they were making.
To try to get things on the right track, he made a show of looking down at his own muddied, disheveled clothes.
“Perhaps we could both use a bath and a night of sleep before we discuss this further.”
A look of surprise, swiftly followed by panic, transformed her face. She thought he was proposing they bathe and sleep together.
“Separately, of course,” he said quickly.
His words seemed to both soothe her alarm and cool her temper.
“Very well, my lord,” she said with a conciliatory nod. She turned toward the stairs leading to the chambers above, but before she took a step, he extended his arm to her.
He wasn’t sure why he did it. Partly it seemed like a husbandly thing to do and would help to further smooth things between them. But he also couldn’t deny that he was curious to feel her slim, white hand resting on his.
She hesitated for a moment, looking between his outstretched arm and his face warily. Finally, she slipped her arm through his, placing her fingers on top of his hand lightly. She allowed him to guide her toward the spiraling stairs and begin their ascent.
They arrived at his chamber first, and before he could take her hand in his, she had pulled away.
“Good night, my lord,” she said, averting her eyes. She didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she dashed farther up the stairs toward her own chamber.
Once he had closed the chamber door behind him, he let his mind puzzle out the strange events of the day—and Rona Kennedy, most strange of all.
The maid Agnes had sent a bathing tub and water before the evening meal. The water had long since grown cold, but Daniel disrobed and bathed anyway. He hoped the cold water would help clear his mind, but instead the memory of Rona’s eyes, bright as a cloudless summer day, kept creeping back to him.
At least she was fair of face and form, he thought, but instead of the sour dissatisfaction he tried to muster, his body felt heated at the images of her floating in his mind.
As he dried himself off and stepped toward the large bed, he forced his thoughts from the lass’s looks. Although he was grateful to the Bruce for bestowing upon him the honor of running Loch Doon and for ordering him to wed a woman who stirred his lust, he silently cursed his King for sending him into such a tangled mess.
Laird Kennedy would likely have to be sent away, lest the castle and the village become divided in their loyalties. Speaking of loyalty, he would have to make it clear to both the Scottish residents and the English who so often lurked in the Lowlands that Loch Doon was firmly in the service of the Bruce and the cause for independence.
And something must be done about Rona, though he didn’t know what. He simply couldn’t have his soon-to-be wife disappearing and refusing to explain herself. Normally he wouldn’t have permitted anyone to speak to him so sharply and with such abandon, but Rona’s tongue and wit intrigued him.
Perhaps he had gotten too used to people unquestioningly following his commands. The lass’s spirited retorts reminded him that he had to prove himself to all at Loch Doon. Just because the King had placed him in charge didn’t mean that these people would automatically respect and follow him. And just because Rona would be his wife didn’t mean that she wouldn’t challenge him.
With that thought, Daniel fell into an uneasy sleep.
HIGHLANDER’S RECKONING
CHAPTER FIVE
For a brief, delicious moment between sleep and wakefulness, Rona had forgotten her impending marriage, the secrets she must keep, and her disastrous first encounter with Daniel Sinclair. Instead, all she remembered, all she felt, was hard, strong muscle flexing under her fingertips, and blue-gray eyes like the sea swallowing her, devouring her.
But then the moment slipped away, and she was left with the weight of her problems. She did notice, however, that a strange awareness, a tingling in the back of her mind, followed her throughout the morning, especially whenever she remembered Daniel Sinclair’s extended arm and his eyes boring into her. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold.
To appease both her father and her future husband, Rona repeated the string of primping and preparing she had been put through the day before. With Agnes’ help, she was whipped back into looking like a lady rather than a—what had he called her?—a bedraggled servant.
Because of the extra time it took to get ready, she descended the stairs to the great hall later than usual. Before she even reached the last few steps, however, she heard loud voices in the hall and the sounds of many people shuffling around.
The sight that greeted her when she stepped into the hall had her jaw slackening.
It looked like the entire population of the castle, and half of the village on top of that, crowded into the great hall and spilled out into the courtyard. Rising on her tiptoes, she peered out the open hall doors to the yard. She had been mistaken. Half the village wasn’t there—nearly the entire population was gathered on the island.
“…And do you swear loyalty to King Robert the Bruce of Scotland?”
Her eyes whipped around to the raised dais where she and her father normally ate. Standing atop the dais was Daniel Sinclair, who had just spoken. There was a small opening in the crowd in front of the dais, and to her horror, Rona realized that her father knelt before the Highlander.
“I do swear,” her father said, loud enough for all to hear.
“Do you swear loyalty to me as keeper of Loch Doon and proxy for our King’s commands?”
“I
do swear.”
The crowd murmured in response to her father’s words, but she couldn’t tell if it was in approval or dissatisfaction.
Her father stood and stepped to the side. Just as Malcolm, her father’s right-hand man, was about to kneel and swear fealty to their new lord, Daniel Sinclair’s head turned and he caught sight of her at the base of the stairs.
She was instantly pinned by his intense gaze. Sensing a change in him, those filling the hall turned to see what held his attention. She cursed silently, hating the feel of all those eyes on her. The crowd parted slightly, making a path directly to where her future husband stood on the dais.
Forcing herself to straighten her spine, she glided forward, telling herself that it was her choice to approach and not the power of his gaze that drew her to him. His eyes raked over her, just as they had last night, yet his face was hard and unreadable. Did her appearance displease him again?
That thought almost sent her spinning on her heels and clambering back to her chamber. She knew she wasn’t pretty the way the fair-haired, petite, milk-skinned girls in the village were. She was too tall—she stood a few inches above her own father—and slim rather than curvaceous. Freckles marred her face, and her hair was unruly and wild. But she also knew that this was as good as she would ever look, cinched into a fine blue gown that brought out the color of her eyes, her hair combed and pulled back around her face, and the circlet of gold Agnes had insisted she wear today resting atop her head.
Trying to soothe her nerves, she halted in front of the dais and looked up at the new lord of Loch Doon. He already would have towered over everyone gathering in the hall, what with his remarkable Highland height, but with the added boost of the dais, he stood at least two feet over her.
“You look well today, my Lady Rona,” he said smoothly—and loud enough for those gathered to hear. Then more quietly, he added, “Though I suppose I should count myself lucky to see you at all, given your disappearance yesterday.”
She flushed at his barb and felt her anger rising.
“And I see that you still wear the kilt of a northern barbarian, my lord,” she said tartly. “I had assumed that those were your traveling clothes, but I see that I should consider this your best attire.”
In truth, he wore a fresh shirt and kilt, the red of the plaid bright and vibrant. She also noticed that his boots were mud-free. He must have brought several clean versions of this outfit. At least he had an appreciation for cleanliness, she thought grudgingly.
“Why do you northerners wear such—” she waved at his kilt, “—such strange garb anyway?”
She waited for his frown at her sharp tongue, but strangely, half of his mouth quirked up as if he were close to smiling. His look made her feel suddenly unsure of herself.
“Because it is far more comfortable than your southern breeches, my lady,” he said wryly. “Lots of…fresh air moving about.”
Her cheeks flared in a blush at his words and his implication about what he wore under his kilt.
Nothing, her mind whispered.
Unbidden, her eyes darted down to his kilt, which was level with her chest. She silently cursed herself again and ripped her eyes back up to his face, which bore a knowing grin. Blessedly, he spoke again, distracting her from her embarrassment.
“Will you take an oath of fealty, as your father has, Lady Rona?” he said, shifting into that clear, commanding voice.
She flushed again and her stomach pinched. Why must it happen so soon, and so publicly? But what else could she do? She couldn’t simply refuse to pledge her loyalty to him and Robert the Bruce—that would set a bad example for her people. As unconventional as she was when it came to serving as lady of the keep, she couldn’t fail them by throwing them into strife with their new lord.
The hall was very silent as they waited for her answer. Finally, she willed herself to speak.
“Aye, I am ready.”
She knelt on the hall floor, thankful that the servants had put down fresh rushes for the Highlander’s arrival. She kept her head lowered as she spoke the words, in effect renouncing her father’s authority at Loch Doon and giving it to this stranger.
As she said the last words of fealty in her loudest voice, she sensed that her future husband had moved on the dais. She glanced up, only to find him half crouched and leaning down toward her.
Without waiting for her to comprehend what was happening, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her into the air. She gave out a decidedly indelicate shriek of shock as he set her on the dais next to him. Sounds of surprise and amusement rippled through the crowd at their new lord’s display of strength.
Rona barely noticed, though. Despite the fact that her feet were solidly on the wooden dais, she still felt like she was floating, with only Daniel’s strong hands to anchor her. All too soon, he let his hands slip from her waist and turned back to the crowded hall.
“Your former lord and lady have sworn their allegiance to Robert the Bruce, and to me in his stead,” Daniel said to those gathered. “And tomorrow, your lady will become my wife.”
The crowd rumbled their approval, but his words hit her like a splash of cold water.
“Tomorrow?” she hissed under her breath at him.
He turned back to her, speaking quietly. “Aye. I decided that it would make the transition for all of us smoother to just do it quickly.”
Smoother? In the span of two days she was expected to meet her betrothed, renounce her father’s position as keeper of Loch Doon, accept this Highlander’s new rule, and be married? She doubted very much that he had a smooth transition in mind. More likely, he wanted to assert his authority—over both Loch Doon and her—as swiftly and definitively as possible.
Despite the frustration that now heated her blood, she tried to keep her voice level and low. “Surely it would be better to get to know each other a bit more before we are wed.”
He shrugged, but his eyes were sharp on her. “It makes no difference how well we know each other, lass. We have been ordered by the King to marry.”
For the first time, she got the impression that he might be just as displeased about their arranged marriage as she was. But then he dropped back into the even coldness that was becoming familiar to her. “As I said, we will wed tomorrow.”
He turned back to the crowd and proclaimed that one at a time, each member of the household staff, each resident of the castle, and each villager gathered on Loch Doon’s island would kneel before their new lord and swear fealty to him and the Scottish King.
Rona stood mutely by his side as the familiar faces, each of whom had been loyal to her father, who had served the Bruce as best he could, pledged their fealty to this outsider. Daniel stood like an unyielding rock on the dais, asking each individual to swear their oath.
By the time the midday meal rolled around, Rona was exhausted from standing rigidly next to Daniel. Her gown was cinched too tightly. She realized that she hadn’t eaten anything all day, and she swayed slightly on her feet, praying she wouldn’t faint up on the dais for all to see. She wasn’t one of those ladies who could skip meals. She had a healthy appetite, and when it was denied, she got woozy.
Daniel finally called a recess in the seemingly endless stream of oath-swearers. He ordered a simple meal of bread, cheese, dried fruits, and meat be passed around to all gathered, with the promise that they would all be invited back for a larger and more festive wedding celebration. Those gathered seemed content with the meal and with a day spent watching the new lord interact with their lady.
Rona raised a shaky hand to her face, trying to steady her legs. If he could be so strong and unbending, so could she. She only closed her eyes for a moment, but the whole room spun when she did.
Suddenly, Daniel’s large hands were around her waist again.
“Are you all right, lass?” he said in a low voice next to her ear.
“Aye, just…not feeling well,” she managed.
He ordered a chair brought over
and held her steady as it was placed on the dais by two servants. He eased her back into the chair, letting his hands slip away from her waist slowly. After he saw bread and cheese placed in her hands and watched her chew hungrily, he knelt by the side of the chair so that their faces were level.
“I apologize, lass,” he said quietly. “I didn’t pay enough attention to you. It won’t happen again.”
For some reason, his serious words stirred her.
“It’s all right. I forgot to break my fast, and then…” She waved at the bustling, crowded hall to indicate the unusual circumstances.
“I have never been a husband before,” he said, his mouth half-quirking as it had before.
Despite her fatigue and the confusing mix of frustration, anger, and fear she felt at the thought of marrying him, she found herself cracking a small smile.
“I’ve never been a wife before.”
“Then perhaps we can find our way together,” he said, taking one of her hands in his. He lowered his dark head over her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Even that faint touch sent a shiver through her.
She nodded, suddenly finding herself at a loss for words. Those gathered in the hall must have noticed what transpired between their lady and their new lord, for a few whistles and chuckles went up, breaking the trance he had cast over her with his touch.
She jerked her hand back from his hold and broke the gaze that was pinning her.
“If you don’t mind, my lord, I’d like to retire to my chamber,” she said.
“Aye, if that’s what you wish,” he said slowly, suddenly more guarded than he had been a moment ago.
Before he could confuse her further with his searing gaze or intimate touches, she stood and stepped down from the dais. She hurried toward the stairs and the sanctuary of her chamber, but even as she reached her chamber door, the memory of his stare still heated her cheeks.
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