The castle had four rectangular towers and walls three feet thick. The surface of the walls was so smooth, no invaders could climb it. He knew that well enough, since he had tried to scale them as a boy.
As they passed by the castle inhabitants, Rhys raised his hand in greeting. Several of the people smiled and bowed their heads as he passed. Lianna held herself so stiffly, he could feel her nerves. It occurred to him that she was not dressed like a noblewoman. Before she was formally presented to Lord Montbrooke, he wanted her to wear a gown that revealed her rank as his bride.
‘Follow me,’ he murmured, taking the reins of her horse. He saw the gooseflesh rising on her arms, partially revealed by the green léine. She had combed her red hair many times this morn, but it was still slightly wind-blown from the journey. Rhys led them into the inner bailey, where a stable lad met them to take the horse. His own soldiers dismounted and followed a short distance behind.
Lianna risked a glance at them, and one offered her an encouraging smile. She had nothing to fear when it came to his personal guards—they would spread the word that she was a lady whom the people of Montbrooke would come to love.
Rhys saw his sister Joan standing at the top of the stairs. She smiled in greeting, folding her hands and waiting for them to approach. His sister was tall and composed in her bearing. Her brown hair was bound back from her face in a severe style, and she covered it with a veil. Her gown was a pure white, and she wore a cross around her throat and a bracelet made of beaten iron to keep the fairies away. Despite her odd manner of dress, she had a warm heart. He trusted her to take care of Lianna and to help her grow accustomed to their ways.
‘I hope you had a good journey, Rhys.’ Joan stepped forward to embrace him. Then she smiled at his bride. ‘You must be Lianna MacKinnon.’
She stared at Joan as if in a panic, but did not speak at all. Rhys switched into Gaelic and said quietly. ‘You can attempt a greeting, Lianna.’
‘I cannot speak the language,’ she insisted. Her face blanched, and she looked as if she wanted to flee from the spot.
Rhys covered for her, telling his sister, ‘She is weary from our travels and would like to refresh herself before meeting our father. Can you find a suitable gown for her?’
‘Of course.’ Joan held out her hand to Lianna. ‘She may also want to bathe beforehand. I can arrange it.’
At that, Lianna took his sister’s hand and followed. Rhys was certain it was the offer of a hot bath that convinced her. She did wash her face and hands daily, and her skin always smelled of herbs and flowers. He liked that about her.
Once she had gone, he caught a slight motion behind him and saw his younger brother Warrick approaching. He gripped the young man in a fierce embrace, and said, ‘I am glad to see you again.’
Warrick was lean, with dark hair and vivid blue eyes he’d inherited from their mother. Rhys’s own eyes were blue as well, but not nearly as striking as Warrick’s. His brother was quiet and kept himself apart from the others. He busied himself on the training field, and it bothered Rhys that his brother did not share the same high status. Their father despised his younger son, and treated Warrick like the dirt beneath his feet, unworthy of anything. No matter how Rhys tried to talk with him, the roots of hatred ran deep.
He wanted to change that. Although he would no longer allow Warrick to wed Lianna, he could send his brother to lead the MacKinnon clan in his stead. The distance and time might ease the severed relationship, giving the man a chance for respect.
‘Your bride does not seem eager to be married,’ Warrick remarked. He glanced over at the two women, who disappeared inside the donjon.
‘She has left her home and family to come here. Anyone would feel uncomfortable surrounded by strangers.’ Rhys walked alongside his brother. ‘But there’s more.’ He revealed what had happened with the failed raid, and the deaths of Ailric and Sían. ‘She blames me for her brother’s demise.’
‘Were they close?’ Warrick joined him as they walked the perimeter of the inner bailey.
Rhys wasn’t certain how to answer that. Although Lianna behaved as if she and her brother had been friends, he didn’t like the way her clan seemed to treat her like a servant. He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But she won’t forgive me for not dying in his place.’
A hint of a smile lifted the corner of his brother’s mouth. They circled back to the stairs, and Warrick added, ‘We’ve guests arriving in the next few days. Our father wanted to announce your betrothal with dozens of witnesses.’
‘Perhaps you’ll find a lady of your own among the guests,’ Rhys suggested. But Warrick only shook his head, as if that were impossible.
The main door opened, and their father emerged at the top of the stairs. At that, his brother turned away to leave. ‘I will see you later, Rhys.’
He didn’t bother asking Warrick to stay, knowing that he was seeking his own escape. Instead, he bade him farewell before he walked up the stairs and greeted his father. ‘Good morn to you, Father.’
Edward acknowledged him, saying, ‘I see you fulfilled your duty and brought your bride home. But where is Alastair MacKinnon?’
‘He had to stay behind,’ Rhys explained. ‘He sent his written permission for the betrothal, and it was signed and witnessed by the clansmen.’
His father appeared satisfied by that. ‘And how do you find your Scottish bride?’
‘She despises me and the very air I breathe.’ Rhys saw no reason to hide the truth. He repeated the details of the attack for his father’s sake and saw the tension lining Edward’s face.
‘You are fortunate that Alastair did not declare war, after you killed his son.’
Rhys folded his arms across his chest. ‘The MacKinnon clan is starving, and they are poor fighters. Alastair knew we would slaughter every last one of them, if they dared to attempt revenge.’
He followed his father inside, noting the contrast between his family’s home and the MacKinnon dwelling. Rich tapestries hung from the walls and silver and gold gleamed from goblets upon the tables. Savoury scents lingered in the air, reminding him of his hunger.
‘I want to meet this bride of yours,’ his father said. He led Rhys up to the dais and bade him sit at his place at the high table. Edward joined him and a maid poured him a goblet of wine, then another for Rhys.
‘This marriage is an important one,’ his father reminded him. ‘It will give our king a place to shelter troops, if we go to war with the Scots.’
Already it felt as if his impending marriage would make him a traitor to the MacKinnons. Rhys took a sip of the red wine, choosing his words carefully. ‘The clan will need our help to survive the winter. They have great need of food and supplies. It is why her father agreed to keep the betrothal—else most of their clan would die.’
‘I won’t ask if you want to wed Lianna MacKinnon. The answer is irrelevant. You will marry her, bed her, and then you can keep her in Scotland if you wish to remain here.’
Undoubtedly that arrangement would suit Lianna well enough. But Rhys didn’t like the idea of being separated from her. ‘I thought I would send Warrick there to govern on my behalf.’
Instantly, his father’s face transformed into fury. ‘I forbid it. He will not touch one acre of land. Not while I live.’
We shall see, Rhys thought. He knew better than to reason with Edward de Laurent. His father was rigid in his thinking, and once he made a decision, he stood by it—regardless of whether it was right. Their relationship was strained, for although Rhys was the eldest son and his father had raised him to be the heir to Montbrooke, Edward was reluctant to accept Rhys’s ideas. Unless his opinions mirrored his father’s, they were ignored.
But he would speak up on his brother’s behalf. ‘Warrick is a strong fighter, and he will protect our holdings in Scotland.’
‘After what your brother did to Analise’s daughter—
’
‘Never speak her name to me.’ Rhys despised the woman with every breath in his body. His father’s second wife had been little more than a witch with her calculating, sly ways. ‘She was a liar, and you never saw her for what she was.’
He had been only fourteen when Analise had begun flirting with him. A grim fury settled over his darkened mood. Right now, he needed a means of expelling the anger, and he rose from his seat. ‘I will eat later. I’ve lost my appetite.’
Edward’s face was red with fury, but he was conscious of the bystanders. In a tight voice, he demanded, ‘Sit down, Rhys.’
He didn’t move. No longer was he a young boy, bound to obey the dictates of his father. He wielded his own power, and for a moment, he faced Edward in silent defiance.
But then Edward’s wife approached the dais, her face filled with smiles. Rowena de Laurent intervened before they could argue further. She took both of Rhys’s hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘I am so very glad to see you, my dear. I think you’ve grown even more handsome over the years. But perhaps not quite so handsome as Edward.’ She patted his cheek and sat down beside her husband. Within moments, she was pouring Edward another cup of wine. ‘Do not quarrel already, when you’ve only just come home.’
The matron seemed to know just how to manage her husband’s moods. With soft touches and a sweet voice, she soothed him. ‘Let Rhys go off and greet his kinsmen. We can discuss the arrangements for the betrothal. Besides, we should eat when Lianna can join us.’ With a discreet wink, she dismissed Rhys.
‘I will join you then,’ Rhys said. The very presence of Lady Montbrooke seemed to ease the frustration between them. He bowed to both of them and strode away from the dais, passing through the Great Hall. At this moment, he needed to cross swords with someone, to release the frustration building inside him.
He left the donjon and walked down the stairs, heading for the training field. Dozens of men were engaged in sparring, sharpening their weapons, while the older guards were instructing the younger men. He saw his brother Warrick standing apart from the others, inspecting one of the swords.
Rhys unsheathed his sword by way of greeting. Warrick raised an eyebrow. ‘Has our father offended you already?’
‘He spoke of Analise.’ Rhys let out a breath. ‘And I decided I would rather spar with you than listen to him speak of a woman whom I hope is burning in hell.’
Warrick’s expression tightened, but he gave a nod. He picked up a shield and tossed it to Rhys in one swift motion before he seized his own. ‘Guard yourself, Brother.’
It felt good to spar after being on horseback for so long. His brother was a strong fighter, despite being younger, and their swords clashed, time and again. Rhys let himself fall into the familiar pattern of swordplay, but he found himself thinking of Lianna, wondering if there would ever be peace between them.
Sweat beaded upon his forehead and his arm ached, but he welcomed the pain. He needed a means of driving out the past and keeping himself focused on the present.
He battled his brother until both of them were fighting for breath. Warrick grunted when he struck his brother’s shield, and at last, Rhys called for a truce. ‘I needed that,’ he admitted.
Now that he had released his restless energy, he found that he was wanting to see his bride again. He wanted to see Lianna garbed in a silk bliaud and veil, wearing jewels and finery as befitted her new role. Perhaps then she might come to understand her new rank.
But he suspected that she would continue to defy him at every turn.
He was about to return to the keep when he saw a young woman standing nearby with a shy smile. Elia rested her hands upon her swollen pregnancy and lifted her hand in greeting.
‘My lord, I bid you welcome. I have been wanting to ask you where my husband is. I hoped to see Ailric, and—’
The blade of grief sliced through him. There were no words of comfort he could give the woman. He could only say, ‘I am sorry.’
For a moment, Elia stared at him in shock. Rhys shook his head and lowered it out of respect. When she grasped his meaning, her anguished cry tore through the stillness. She dropped to her knees, sobbing even as she cradled her arms around the swelling of her unborn child. ‘He promised he would come back to me.’
‘He died bravely in a raid,’ Rhys said. With a heavy heart, he knelt down beside her and took her hand. ‘I promised him that I would provide for you and for his child. You will not go hungry.’
‘But he will never see his son’s face,’ Elia wept. ‘I cannot bear it.’
Rhys comforted the woman as best he could, but words would not console her loss. She poured out her sobs, and the depths of the young widow’s grief made him wonder how much Lianna was suffering after Sían’s death. She had endured each day with no tears, but her pain was silent and deep.
Nothing he could do would bring back her brother. But he intended to be a good husband to her, giving her all the wealth she could dream of. And perhaps one day, she might smile again.
* * *
Lianna followed Joan into a small chamber away from the other guests. The woman had a practical air, which she liked, but the moment she stepped into the room, it felt as if her senses were assaulted. All manner of furnishings were cluttered into the tiny space, and there were at least three trunks scattered around the room. The bed was made, but one side was long, while the other was short. Her hands itched to straighten it.
Joan closed the door and eyed her. ‘Do you understand my words?’
Lianna hesitated, not certain whether to say anything. Her nerves had gathered into a tight bundle, and she said nothing. She knew Rhys’s sister was attempting to be her friend, but it felt wrong to become close to this woman.
She steeled herself and walked towards the window, not answering Joan’s question. If she kept her distance from this woman, it would make it easier to separate herself from Rhys. She wanted him to set her aside and leave her behind in Scotland. Then everything could return to the way it had been before.
Outside, she heard the clang of swords and saw him sparring with another man, perhaps his brother. He moved with a predator’s speed, lethal with each strike. Sían would not have had a chance. Her brother had been a skilled archer, but his hand-to-hand skills were weak.
A fresh wave of sorrow and guilt washed over her. Lianna rested her forehead against the stone, feeling lost and bewildered.
Joan came to stand beside her. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, except that I hope you will be happy here. I will try to help you.’ She rested her hand upon Lianna’s shoulder, and the gesture of comfort made a lump rise in her throat.
She knew she should turn and smile at the woman, but her emotions were so fragile right now, she had to keep a tight rein over them. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed upon the men.
There was no escape from this marriage. She would be bound to Rhys de Laurent, no matter what she might want. He would provide for her people, and she had to surrender her freedom in exchange. The air choked up in her lungs, and she struggled to calm the rising panic.
Joan stepped back and murmured, ‘I will go and find something for you to wear. And I’ll have a servant bring you water for bathing.’
Lianna waited until she heard footsteps retreating and the door closing. Only then did she step away from the window. Her heart was beating fast, and she fought to breathe normally. Panic and fear broke over her, until she dropped down to the floor by the bed, burying her face in her knees.
Dear God, what could she do? She was trapped in this place among strangers, promised to a man who had killed her brother. For the past fortnight, she had shut out every emotion, feigning obedience. But now the frustration and sadness stormed through her, drowning her sense of reason. If she allowed these people to dress her in the Norman style and present her as if she were a pawn, she would have nothing left of herself.<
br />
She fought back the tears and moved towards the bed, adjusting the coverlet so it hung evenly. Would that she could straighten out the edges of her life so easily. Then she dragged one trunk to the opposite side of the room. It was heavy, but she managed to make more space. She moved the last trunk beside it, until all three were out of the way.
The act of clearing the room and straightening it did make her feel better. She could bury herself in this, pushing away her fear and desolation. Though she could not control her fate, nor could she bring back her brother, she could put this room in order.
And perhaps it would alleviate the loneliness and grief.
It infuriated her that she had seduced Rhys, falling prey to his lies. Since that day, she had been acutely aware of his presence and the warmth of his skin beside hers. Lianna wanted to lash out at herself for being attracted to him, especially after what he’d done to Sían. But she simply had no defence against the weapon of his kindness.
A few moments later, there came a quiet knock at the door. Joan had returned with several gowns.
‘I brought you a few gowns,’ the woman said gently. ‘I think the white one would be lovely with your hair. Or perhaps the blue. I haven’t worn it in many years.’ There was a slight catch of emotion in her voice, but she said nothing else.
Another knock sounded at the door, and Joan opened it for the servants, who brought in a small tub of water. ‘I thought you might want to wash after your journey,’ the young woman said. ‘Then I will bring you to meet my father. He has been asking about you.’
Lianna fought to keep her expression emotionless, and she clenched her fingers tight. She didn’t want to do anything just now. And most of all, she could not bear the thought of being put on display.
She wanted to be alone, to gather her courage and to face what lay ahead. But Joan said, ‘I have a scented soap you might enjoy.’
Forbidden Night with the Highlander Page 8