by Cathy MacRae
She dressed quickly, not meeting the eyes of the guard at the door when she opened it again. Instead she nodded quickly to each of the burly men stationed in the hallway as she passed. She fairly flew down the stairs, needing to find Gilda, torn between the sweet feeling of Ranald entertaining her daughter, and the dread of Gilda entertaining him. There was no telling what the lass would say or do, and Riona feared Ranald’s patience, while admittedly greater than most men, would quickly wear thin beneath Gilda’s determined assault.
She found Gilda curled in a chair next to Ranald as he sat at his desk, intent on a piece of parchment before him. Gilda spied her first and jumped to her feet.
“Ma!” Her happy voice pierced the silence, and Riona bent to catch the lass as she launched herself from the chair. She looked toward Ranald, and for the instant it took for her presence to register, she saw his dark head bent over his desk and his broad shoulders, well-defined beneath the fabric of his leine. Those strong hands touching the parchment had held her close the night before. When he raised his head and noticed her, his lips curved into a warm smile. Riona’s cheeks heated.
Ranald set his work aside and rose. He circled his desk, stopping before Riona, Gilda between them.
“It’s good to see ye, Riona.” He gave her a critical look. “The nap agreed with ye.”
She didn’t know how to respond to his teasing tone and felt the heat of embarrassment tingle beneath her skin. Choosing to ignore his notice of her appearance, she inquired, “Ye need me to take Gilda off yer hands?”
Ranald cupped her face in his hands and edged close, his breath against her ear. “I’m glad to see ye.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Her heart quickened as he drew back. He lingered only inches away, and, without thinking or considering her actions, Riona leaned forward and kissed him.
She felt his indrawn breath as her lips touched his and knew she’d surprised him. His hands tightened on either side of her face, drawing her closer as he deepened the kiss. She parted her lips, suddenly impatient to feel the play of his tongue on hers. She forgot where she was, forgot everything but the fire coiling deep within, her hands reaching for his shoulders for balance.
“Ma! Ranald is taking me outside.” Gilda’s voice fell like a deluge of icy water.
Ranald released her and cool air hit her cheeks where his warm palms had been. The tug of a small hand on her skirt brought Riona sharply back to reality. Through glazed eyes she saw her daughter’s smiling face, still clinging to her gown in the inches separating her from Ranald.
“Outside? Is that a good idea?” Riona struggled to remember Ranald’s remarks earlier in the day. Was it safe?
His soft chuckle told her he’d noticed her daze. She wanted to frown at him, to deny he’d had such a devastating effect on her. But it would be a lie, and she’d told him she was not a liar. So she held back the truth, that she wanted him to kiss her again, and forced a smile to her swollen lips as she tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
“. . . and with yer permission, I’ll take the wean for a walk around the bailey, perhaps play with Senga and Pol.” Ranald’s voice still hinted at his amusement. “Would ye care to join us?”
“I—well, I think so,” Riona stammered, slightly shocked she’d allowed herself to forget Gilda was in the room, nae, standing between them, when she’d kissed Ranald.
He bent over Gilda’s head. “I’ll steal another kiss from ye when she isnae watching.”
Gilda grasped them each by a hand and bent forward, as though she pulled two great weights, heading toward the door. “Come on,” she demanded. Riona and Ranald exchanged looks as she dragged them behind her.
He winked at her. “Maybe two kisses.”
Chapter 14
Preparations were underway for the wedding, three days hence. Word had gone out, certain to bring the local lairds and their entourages back to Scaurness in time to witness the nuptials. Riona spared Ranald a half-smile as she hurried past.
He swung about on his heel to follow, catching her in two long strides. “Why are ye rushing around so?” His question, while well-intentioned, was met with a withering stare as Riona came to a reluctant stop.
“There will be many people here and rooms must be prepared.”
“Ye dinnae prepare extra rooms when yer da . . .” Too late, Ranald realized what he said, and frowned. At the sudden, hooded look to her eyes, he closed the space between them and touched her shoulder in sympathy.
Riona took a deep breath and seemed to accept his apology as she explained, “This time, wives will attend. While the men will be content to wrap in their plaides in a drunken stupor after the feasting and such, the women must be provided with rooms upstairs, away from the intoxicated louts.”
Ranald grinned. “What a low opinion ye have of men.”
Riona shot him a glare. “Men are no’ known for their exemplary behavior after a round or two of drinking.”
Realizing he’d stuck his foot in it again, Ranald drew her close. “I willnae be plaistert and drunken after our wedding.” He lifted her hands and planted a lingering kiss on their backs as a reminder of how their relationship would change.
At least he hoped it would. Riona had been full-willing for his kisses, but since the night in the garden, there had been no opportunity to rediscover her limits. Which was why he’d sought her out this morning.
Riona’s face softened, but there was a faint line between her brows and Ranald didn’t know if it was tiredness or worry. He drew a thumb across her forehead.
“I know.” Her lips curved in a brave smile. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.
Rising on her toes, she placed a quick kiss on his lips. “I must go. Ye should join the hunt. We will need venison, rabbit, grouse . . .”
“I think that is a good idea, Ree. I’ll help fill the table. ‘Twill be good to have something useful to do.” He’d rather pull her back against him, take her somewhere they could be alone. He damped down his eagerness.
A hunt was as good an outlet as any for the tension coiling within him. Perhaps not his first choice, but it was apparent his desire for Riona would have to wait. He smiled reassuringly at her, hiding his disappointment, and kissed her cheek, trying to ignore her sweet smell as he released her and headed to the door.
A light sheen of sweat glistened on the horses’ hides as they approached the castle gate. A half-dozen rabbits hung from his saddle, and Finlay’s horse, as well as those of the soldiers who’d ridden with them, were similarly laden with grouse and pheasant. The pack horses, with three does, plump from a summer of plentiful grazing, and a large stag shared between them, lagged behind with the huntsmen, the haul up the side of the hill testing their surefootedness as well as their stamina. Eager to return to their stalls, they tossed their heads and champed their bits.
Pol and Senga, invigorated by the hunt, rollicked through the heavy, open castle gates and into the outer courtyard. Instantly, the dogs went on alert, ears forward, heads up. A challenging bark rumbled from Pol’s chest, and Ranald and Finlay kicked their mounts into a canter, anxious to determine the cause of the commotion. A hoof beat behind, soldiers urged their horses after them, crowding the gate.
To one side of the bailey, a restless crowd gathered around a post sunk in the ground. The post had many functions, though its most immediate task was to hold upright a middle-aged man. Manus gripped the man by a shoulder, pressing him hard against the scarred wood. Shouts and jeers rent the air, and, even from a distance, Ranald could see the man’s skin blanched an unnatural white, his eyes as wide as the bell of a goblet.
Ranald yanked Hearn to a halt, hooves scrambling for purchase on the packed dirt of the yard. The horse squealed in protest of the demand, jerking his head against the violent tug of the bit. Heads swiveled in their direction.
Manus looked up, but did not release his prisoner. Finlay reined to a stop after Ranald, pulling his horse at an angle behind Hearn, covering their backs and side from approach.
“What the hell goes on here?” Ranald demanded, swinging to the ground with a swirl of his cloak.
The rumble of voices subsided, but did not completely fade. Manus shouted to be heard over the din. “This man has admitted to opening the postern gate, leaving the castle vulnerable to attack.”
As the prisoner’s head fell backward and his body slackened, Manus held him erect. Had he not, the man would have slumped to the ground.
The Macrory captain’s lips lifted in a snarl of disgust. “He is a traitor.”
Before Ranald or Finlay could react, Manus drew the blade of his knife across the man’s bared neck. Blood spurted from the mortal wound, spilling the man’s life across his chest in a crimson flood. Manus released his grip and the body collapsed to the ground.
Ranald blinked in shock. His own blood pounded in his ears as he realized what Manus had done. Caught in a flash of white-hot rage, he stormed across the ground, a pathway opening magically in the crowd before him. The force of his anger propelled him before Manus. Blind fury let fly a blow to the man’s jaw capable of felling a bull. Manus staggered backward, catching himself against the pole as his feet slid from under him.
Ranald grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, dragging him back to his feet. “Ye willnae play high steward and executioner in my castle!” Ranald snarled, barely able to form the words.
“He confessed.” Manus spat the words through a gashed lip, his eyes glittering darkly with hatred.
“I dinnae give a damn what he confessed,” Ranald lashed hotly. His hand gripped Manus’s shirt tighter, his knuckles white, unable to control his rage or the impulse to choke the life from the man that very instant.
“Laird.” Finlay’s voice pitched to pierce the fog enveloping Ranald. He heard his captain’s voice, but it took another long moment for him to suit the implied request to a deed. With a growl of loathing, Ranald flung Manus away, releasing him to sprawl in the dirt at the feet of the crowd.
Ranald stalked the prone man, looming over him, his anger only partly appeased. Clenching his jaw, he straightened, casting a look over his shoulder at the Scott soldiers a few scant steps away. “Take him to his barrack. I will speak with him later. Dinnae let him leave again without my permission.”
From the balcony, Riona heard the doors to the great hall slam shut with enough force that the vibration rattled the crockery on the tables. She ran to the railing, shocked to see Ranald striding across the floor, fury radiating from the squared set of his shoulders, fists clenched at his sides.
A quick check told her Tavia still minded Gilda in the kitchen, the lass seated at a table, folding freshly washed linen napkins. Picking up her skirts, Riona scurried down the stairs, propelling herself around the curve of the newel post as she hastened after Ranald’s disappearing form.
“Ranald! Wait!”
For a moment she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her or not, but Finlay peeled away from the group of soldiers flanking Ranald and met her advance. Raising a hand, he stopped her. She rose to her toes, trying to peer around him.
“Leave him, lass.”
“What has happened?”
“Manus is back. Dinnae get in the middle of this.” With a stern look meant to keep Riona from following him, Finlay turned back to his duty. Within moments, he disappeared into the laird’s chamber. The door closed with a thud of finality.
Riona stared at the wooden door, longing to kick it to relieve the indignation at being summarily dismissed. If Manus’s return engendered such a reaction from Ranald, she needed to know why. Squaring her shoulders, she gripped the latch and opened the door.
Ranald jerked around at her intrusion. His disapproval burned through her and Riona belatedly realized, no matter her need to know, Ranald was in no mood to entertain her questions. Shocked silence filled the room at her presence, and Riona’s blood ran cold.
Yet within her, a stubborn flame burned, and she did not retreat. “I want to know what has happened.”
“I will speak with ye later.”
Ranald’s voice was barely civil and Riona’s muscles clenched as though he’d physically struck her. She stared from one man to the next, but only Finlay met her gaze. His look told her ‘twould have been far better had she saved her questions for later. Oh, how she hated to admit he was right.
Slippered feet rooted to the spot, Riona stood before the gathered clansmen, looking for a way to leave the room without appearing like the chastised child she felt. Her face burned and she hated the pale skin she knew showed her emotions all too clearly.
Without moving his gaze from hers, Ranald spoke to the men. “Step back.”
Riona bristled. He would speak with her, but without sending the men away? Anything he said would be clearly heard and Riona couldn’t believe for the life of her he had anything nice or even polite to say.
Ranald beckoned her close. Lifting her chin, Riona stepped to him.
“This is my business and I will discuss it with ye later,” he stated.
Riona couldn’t hide her temper. She remembered his fulsome argument to get her to agree to their marriage. “So this is how it will be? Ye promised we would govern the people together. Work together for their good. Yet at the first opportunity to prove this to me, ye tell me to be gone? To sit and wait patiently until ye decide to tell me what goes on?”
Ranald’s eyes narrowed. Obviously her argument had not improved his mood. She bit her lip.
“This is no’ something I wish to discuss, Riona. This is a matter for men, no’ women.”
She sucked in a breath of disbelief. Though she knew her words had only worsened the issue, she had not expected him to draw the line between them so clearly. Her mouth opened to deliver a blistering reprimand, forgetting the men behind her, close enough to hear every word of exchange between herself and Ranald.
But before she could speak, Ranald grabbed her arm and dragged her to the narrow window overlooking the bailey. Shoving her directly in the opening, he held her there, bent close to her ear. His breath fanned warm on her skin, but goose bumps rose on her skin.
“See the yard? See the post to yer left? The stain on the ground is the blood of the man Manus killed in front of me and thirty other people. Do ye want to know how he did it?” Ranald’s voice was an icy whisper, but Riona heard every word.
She longed to take back all she’d hurled at him. She wanted to close her eyes to the sight of the dark puddle in the dirt, close her ears to the sound of Ranald’s voice, wishing the air didn’t smell of death.
She couldn’t move. Her body went rigid, incapable of responding to the silent command in her mind.
“He dragged a man there, and with arrogance and disregard for his laird, slit the man’s throat.”
A moan escaped her. Horrified, Riona swallowed the rest, struggling to remain silent. Her knees trembled. “Why?”
Ranald eased his grip on her arm and Riona slumped against the wall, her back to the window slit. “He said the man confessed to opening the postern gate to allow the attackers entry.”
She straightened. “What will ye do?”
“When I am able to speak without killing the man, I will hear his story.”
“Will ye release Manus if the man was truly guilty?”
“Nae.”
“Why?”
“Guilty or no’, Manus acted without my permission.”
“Then what will ye do?”
“‘Twas a treasonous act, Ree.”
She stared at Ranald as her mind rebelled. The penalty for treason was death.
Gilda slid from her chair and skipped across the room, intercepting Riona
as she entered the room. She gave her child a quick hug and caught one of her hands, swinging it between them as she led her to the stairs, her nerves still crackling from her encounter with Ranald.
“I want to help Finlay feed Senga and Pol,” Gilda announced.
“I’m not sure Finlay is in charge of feeding the dogs, mo chroi.”
Gilda nodded her head emphatically. “Yes, he is. He told me I could help.”
“Then he will ask for ye when it is time. There are other things on his mind right now.”
Gilda sighed heavily.
“Dinnae fash, Gilda. There will be time to teach ye to help with the dogs.”
With a characteristic change of mood, Gilda darted to a new topic. “Can we look at my new dress? The one for yer wedding?”
Yer wedding. Riona’s step faltered. How could she have forgotten the wedding? She considered Ranald’s actions. He’d snarled at her, frightened her, and humiliated her before his men. Riona frowned. Had she obeyed Finlay’s dictate, Ranald would have done none of these things.
Though her body still resonated with the sting of her interview with Ranald, she admitted she should have handled her anger differently. Used to commanding instant respect from the people of Scaurness, she would temper her reactions and thus learn discretion.
With a sigh, Riona squeezed Gilda’s hand. “Yes, we have time to sew before supper. Do ye think ye can stay still if I let ye do a bit of embroidery?”
Gilda nodded happily. Still swinging her arms, her fingers twined with Riona’s, she skipped down the hall. They entered the solar where four women huddled over their tasks. Laid carefully on benches across the room, were the pieces of her wedding gown.
Gilda dropped Riona’s hand and ran to the shimmering cloth. She touched the fabric with the tip of one finger. Riona nodded approval as Gilda’s restraint proved she remembered the earlier admonishment.