by Cathy MacRae
Ranald quelled Finlay’s ire with a pointed look. “He will leave here empty-handed, but alive. Riona’s da was as angry as ye, and Riona devastated to hear his terms. Seems she would have accepted his offer had he agreed to raise Gilda.”
“They were close?”
Ranald shrugged. “Friends. I don’t think there was any more to it. Many marriages are arranged with less.”
Finlay nodded. “So, has Riona agreed to marry ye?”
“Aye. I will make the announcement at dinner tonight.”
The great hall buzzed with speculative voices. Ranald eyed the group. He had told his steward to make known all who felt able were invited to the hall for supper, that the laird had an announcement. So much had happened in the past few days, little wonder the hall was crowded.
The storm blew over and evening settled in. Gilda was in high spirits as she entertained those near her with fluttering eyes and giggles.
Ranald covered Riona’s hand with his. “Ye look beautiful tonight. Did I tell ye that?”
Riona flushed. “Aye. Ye said so when I came to supper.”
“Then I must have meant it, no?”
Riona laughed. “I suppose ye must.”
Gilda leaned across Riona, showing off the shell necklace Tavia had helped her make that afternoon. “I look pretty, too, don’t I, Ranald?”
“Ye are the prettiest thing here, next to yer ma.”
“She’s pretty, too. Do ye want me to make ye a necklace, Ranald?”
Finlay snorted, but Ranald ignored him. “I dinnae wear such, Gilda. But I thank ye for asking. The shells look much prettier on ye than they would on me.”
Gilda nodded. “Ye might break them in a fight.” She sat back in her chair, pulling the strand of shells away from her neck to better see them.
Shaking his head in amusement, he gave Riona’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Gazes turned in his direction and voices shushed others as the noise died away. Within moments, he gained the attention of everyone in the hall.
“Much has happened in Scaurness of late. Some of it sad as we bade farewell to the laird who ruled with passion and honor. Some of it still to be tested as I begin my time as laird.” He stole a look at Riona who stared straight ahead, her body held arrow-straight.
“Tonight I wish to announce something that gives me great pleasure. Lady Caitriona has honored me by agreeing to be my wife. We will wed four days hence.”
The silence in the hall was deafening and Ranald felt a moment of apprehension. Finlay had warned him the people loved and protected Riona and Gilda. Surely they would not take their betrothal amiss?
Benches slid back on the stone floor in an explosion of sound. Hands lifted and voices rose in approval. Ranald needed a moment for the clan’s endorsement to register, still confused by their initial silence.
He took Riona’s hand, pulling her to her feet. She rose gracefully, and Ranald was pleased to note the smile on her face. She stood next to him as the noise in the great hall achieved deafening levels, before facing him with an impish grin on her face.
“Shall we seal the bargain and call it well-met?”
His chest constricted as he considered what she offered. Riona stood before the people who knew her darkest secret, willing to show them the shadow had been lifted, and he was the one with whom she desired to spend the rest of her days. She braced her hand on his arm for balance.
Before the Macrory clan, he kissed her.
One of the doors to the great hall swung open, allowing pale, watery light into the room, the promise of peace after the storm. Ranald turned to the evening sunshine, needing all the good omens he could get.
And he watched Manus Macrory’s plaide flare wide as he strode quickly through the door and out of the hall.
Chapter 12
Gilda’s brow wrinkled with confusion. “I don’t need a da. I have a ma.”
“Mo chroi, most bairns have both a ma and a da.” Riona tried again to gently explain.
Gilda’s red-gold hair flew about her face as she shook her head in disagreement. “Jamie doesnae. Jamie’s da’s an angel.”
Riona hid a smile. Jamie’s da had most certainly not been an angel, but she knew it was her daughter’s way of dealing with death.
She sank into the chair next to Gilda and took the lass’s small hands in hers, running her thumbs across her soft palms. “A stor, Ranald and I will marry in a few days. He will be yer da.” She tugged gently on Gilda’s hands. “D’ye no’ like him?”
Gilda shrugged. “Ranald is fun,” she admitted grudgingly, but she would not meet Riona’s gaze.
“Then, what is the problem, mo chroi?”
“Jamie says his da fought with his ma all the time.” She glanced up, and Riona’s heart constricted at the worry on Gilda’s face. “Will ye and Ranald fight?”
“Nae, mo chroi.” Riona kept the concern from her voice, ignoring the lie. The question wasn’t if they would disagree, but when, and how often. Their history certainly did not point to a worry-free life together. She would deal with that as it came, and make a point of not arguing with Ranald in front of her daughter. For now, nothing mattered but Gilda accepting the facts of the wedding and Ranald’s new position in their lives.
She stroked the child’s hair gently. “Dinnae worry yer head. Ranald is a very nice man, and ye will like him.”
Gilda nodded vigorously. “I like him. He took me to the beach and saved me—”
Her commentary was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Riona called.
The door opened and Ranald poked his head inside the room. “Is all well?”
Gilda spun in her chair, her lower lip pushed out, her pretty face crumpled in a petulant glower. “I dinnae want ye to fight with my ma.”
Riona rolled her eyes and sighed as Ranald drew back, startled. Motioning with her free hand, Riona welcomed him into the room and allowed a slight smile as he appeared reluctant to take her up on her offer. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked across the floor and hunkered down in front of Gilda.
Bracing a hand on the arm of her chair, he gave her a stern look. “What’s this about fighting with yer ma?”
Gilda peered at Riona. She nodded encouragingly at her wee daughter. “Go ahead, lass. He may as well learn the rules, now.”
Gilda chewed her upper lip as she eyed Ranald. “I dinnae want ye fightin’ with my ma.”
“I have no plans to, lass. But, why would ye think such a thing?”
“Jamie says his da fought all the time with his ma. He said it made his ma cry.”
Ranald groaned and opened his arms, beckoning Gilda to him. She slipped from her chair and threw herself against him, her arms winding about his neck. He gently stroked her back, his eyes closed tight.
Ranald spoke against the child’s shiny red-gold curls. “I’ll no’ make yer ma cry, dearling. I’ll do my best to make us all happy. I promise.”
Gilda nodded and leaned back in the circle of his arms. Ranald quirked an eyebrow at her, a half-smile on his face. “Better now, lass?”
Gilda’s face split into a huge grin, her eyes dancing happily, changing moods with lightning speed.
“Anything else?” Ranald’s voice was teasing.
“Will ye take me to the beach again?”
Ranald tweaked her nose. “Ye know I will.”
“Will ye let me play with Senga and Pol?”
“Aye.”
“Can I ride Hearn again?”
“Only if I’m with ye.”
Gilda touched Ranald’s cheek with a finger, running it down the line of his beard. With a giggle, she patted his face. “Will ye take me sailing?”
Ranald groaned.
His beard tickled and she giggled with a half-hearted attempt to pull her hands away. “Stop, now. We’ll wake Gilda.”
“We certainly dinnae want to do that. How many faerie stories does it take to put a wee lass to sleep?”
“Usually I hold her to one, but ye, Laird Scott, are a pushover.”
“Aye. Finlay warned me I was.”
“Did she wear ye out?” Riona teased him with a smile.
Ranald’s gaze darkened and he stepped closer, his thighs brushing hers through the fabric of their clothing. He dropped their hands to their sides, fingers still entwined. “Nae.”
Heat rushed through her, and she managed a shuddering breath. His desire for her was evident and left her confused and nervous, her throat tight. “Would ye step back if I asked ye?”
“Aye.” He nuzzled the side of her head. “Will ye?”
“Will I what?”
With Ranald’s face so tantalizingly close to hers, Riona had already forgotten what she’d asked. She tightened her grip on his hands. He kissed her forehead and she raised her face, inviting his next kiss.
He did not disappoint as he touched his lips to hers, and a hunger such as she’d never known grew in her, chasing away the lingering uncertainty. Ranald released her fingers and brought his palms up to frame her face.
Riona breathed deeply, her heart fluttering. She wrapped her arms around his neck, twining her fingers in the clubbed hair at the back of his head, tugging the lacing free. His tongue gently pressed against her lips and she parted them, feeling a stirring deep within as his tongue lazily dueled with hers.
She moaned when he increased the pressure against her mouth, and her eyes flew open, startled to have voiced the passion heating her.
Ranald tore himself away, sliding his lips around to her ear. “We willnae wake Gilda, but we might create a different interest here in the hall.” His murmured words bespoke his rising passion.
Appalled to think anyone walking past would have seen them, she stiffened.
“Nae. Dinnae worry. No one has come by.” His breath against her skin sent delicious shivers through her and she softened again, trusting him to protect her.
“Will ye walk with me beneath the stars this night?” he asked.
“Would we just walk?”
Ranald chuckled. “Nae.”
Raindrops sparkled white and silver as they dripped from the leaves and glistened on the grass. Dark filaments of clouds wafted across the moon, scarcely dimming its light. Ranald had no interest in anything but the slender girl walking trustingly beside him, her hand in his. Passion stirred so deeply in him, he marveled he could think straight. The far wall loomed ahead, its stone a hulking presence in the darkness. He steered straight for it, pulling Riona along.
Guiding her shoulders, he backed her against the wall, pressing into her, his hunger evident as his swollen manhood pushed against her thigh. His heart pounded in his chest, echoed in the throbbing ache between his legs. Riona placed her palms on his chest and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought she would push him away.
Then her fingers curled and relaxed, and curled again, like a contented cat kneading a cushion. He lowered his head and seized the lips she offered. He drank hungrily, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. Part of him shouted to slow down, the rest clamored for release.
Bringing his hands together, he stroked her throat, fingers sliding across bare skin, over the lace edge of her bodice and down to the swell of her breasts. Riona’s quick intake of breath pushed her breasts upward, into his hands, and he rubbed his thumbs across the peaks that rose, pebble-like beneath the thin layers of fabric.
When her body tensed and he felt her pulse leap in her throat, Ranald eased away slightly, his breath rasping in his throat. “What do ye want, Riona?”
She shook her head, mute.
“Tell me, Ree. Do ye want me to stop?”
Her voice was no more than a whisper, but it flooded his body with renewed heat. “Nae.”
He pressed his cock against her and groaned. “Ye dinnae know what ye do to me.”
“What do I . . . do?”
“Ye are soft and sweet and I want to bury myself in ye. Do ye know what I mean?”
Riona slowly nodded. “Aye.”
“I want ye to want me the same way.”
“Why?”
Ranald chuckled deep in his chest. “Because it will be so much better that way. I want ye to wonder what I mean, and to want to find out.” He bent his head to kiss her again. Her lips trembled against his, and he drew back, observing fear lurking in her eyes.
He could hear the way her breathing had quickened. “I’m sorry, lass. I will slow down.” Pulling her closer, he cradled her soft body, stifling the groan that threatened as she curved within his embrace. She is afeared. Be gentle, he reminded himself.
At last, Riona relaxed with a sigh, and Ranald released her, bracing his hands against the wall alongside her head. Though he allotted her a few inches of space, still he found himself hovering close.
“I think we need to walk for a wee bit.” He perused the pathway winding through the garden, bathed in moonlight and shadow. Giving Riona a last quick kiss, he pushed away from the wall and gestured for her to precede him.
A shout from the garden gate pulled him quickly around, a muttered curse hissing from his lips.
“Laird!”
He could not ignore the summons and offered Riona a wry smile of apology. She nodded her understanding and, he hoped, her disappointment. Stepping onto the path, he deliberately shielded her from the direct view of the two men striding toward him.
“What the hell is going on?” Ranald couldn’t keep the sharp tone from his voice, though the worried look on Finlay’s face was apology enough for the interruption.
“They’re gone.”
“What do ye mean, ‘gone?’”
He nodded to the man just behind his shoulder. “The guard on the east tower was tasked to keep an eye on the beach below. It was impossible to see anything during the storm, but as it cleared, he saw no one there. The beach is empty.”
Ranald stared at him, his brow furrowed. “Did the man no’ say he had a matter to discuss with me?”
“Aye. And they’d stay the night on the beach and come up to speak with ye in the morning.”
Ranald rubbed the back of his neck. “‘Tis no’ unlawful to leave, saying naught, but I dinnae like this, Finlay.”
“I agree. It makes no sense for the MacEwen to leave like this.”
“I wondered why he dinnae accept my offer to shelter with us in the castle tonight, and . . .”
Slender hands grasped him from behind, pulling urgently at him. Ranald twisted around, annoyed at the interruption. Riona’s wide, terrified eyes met his.
He caught her fingers. “What is it, Ree?”
“Ye invited the MacEwen to shelter here tonight?”
“Aye. But he dinnae—”
“And he has disappeared?” she interrupted.
Ranald worried at the shrill quality of Riona’s voice and tried to pull her to him to soothe whatever fear gripped her. “Hush, lass. I will take care of things.”
Riona jerked away. “Ye amadan! He’s here!”
Ranald spun around, puzzled. There was no alarm from the guard on the wall, no sound of voices or clash of weapons. What, by St. Andrew’s teeth, was Riona upset about?
“There is nae danger, Ree . . .” Ranald turned to reassure her.
She was gone.
Riona’s
breath whistled, her throat constricting with fear. She plunged past the ornamental trees on the far side of the garden, heading for the narrow gate to the kitchen. Wrenching open the door, she redoubled her efforts, feet flying as she vanished up the back staircase.
He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. It was the only assurance she could hold to which kept her from screaming aloud. Never, in four years, had she allowed Gilda to remain in the castle if the MacEwen laird was known to be anywhere nearby. Never, in more than five years, had she pointed a finger at him, knowing he would take his revenge.
No one at Scaurness knew how much she feared him, or how hard it was to keep Manus, captain of the Scaurness guard and a MacEwen on his mother’s side, from discovering the truth.
She stumbled on the stair. With a choked cry, she grabbed at her skirts, picking herself up and completing the final turn to the third level. She nearly fainted with relief as she noted the guards posted at the top of the stairs, alert, but not alarmed. Pushing past them, she darted down the hallway to her room.
The door was closed.
Ranald caught a glimpse of movement on the far side of the garden; heard the door to the kitchen open and slam shut.
“What the hell?” In an instant, he was in pursuit, Finlay and the guard a scant step behind. They burst through the kitchen door, startling the cook’s boy sweeping the floor. Ignoring him, they rounded the corner, pounding up the winding staircase. With a sense of where Riona had gone, Ranald did not hesitate as he spiraled up to the third story. He crashed between the two guards posted at the stairwell, sending them rebounding against the wall as Finlay and the other man shouldered their way through.
Ranald sprang through the doorway into Riona’s room, skidding to a complete halt at the scene before him.
Riona sat on her bed, a sobbing Gilda crushed to her chest as she rocked back and forth. Fresh alarm shot through him, and Ranald crossed the room in three quick strides. Without hesitation, he slid onto the bed, encircling the girls with his arms, drawing them tight against him. As best he could, he searched them over for injury, unable to see much in the dim light.