The Highlander's Reluctant Bride

by Cathy MacRae

  But Ranald missed none of them. Air stalled in his lungs as though he’d taken a blow to his stomach. The room darkened around him and blood pounded in his ears. He struggled to regain control, damning himself for not knowing she listened at the door.

  Ridiculous! How could he have known? He’d been angry, nae furious, to know someone had destroyed the innocence she’d been entitled to. To know she’d lived in horror of what’d been done to her and shame she’d been unable to stop the violent assault.

  He stared at her in disbelief. What could she have thought when she heard his words? Did she think he despised her that much?

  With a choked cry, Riona pulled away, yanking her hand from his. Afraid he’d nearly made the biggest mistake of his life, Ranald grabbed her and clung. Pulling her close as she fought his hold, he whispered against her wild protests, kissing away the salty tears streaming down her face.

  “Hush, Ree. I’ll no’ let ye go until ye understand what ye heard.”

  Her head cracked against his chin as she shook it violently. He uttered a soft oath but did not release her. When she stomped her foot he twisted slightly, not knowing what damage she intended, and held her tight. Sorrow squeezed a tight band around his heart.

  His throat burned with what he realized were unshed tears. “Please listen to me, Ree. I know ye are upset. But ye must let me explain.”

  After a few moments, she settled against him, her fists clenched against his chest, her entire body rigid.

  “Did ye no’ mean it?” she asked.

  Ranald sighed. “Nae. I meant it. Then. I was angry and hurt. I wanted ye to trust me, and learning Gilda was yer daughter was a shock. To say I hated the man who raped ye was the truth. It still is. Though there is no way I could have made a difference to ye five years ago, I still feel as though I failed ye. Do ye understand?”

  Riona protested, “How could ye talk to Finlay as though it was my fault?”

  “Dearling, I know it wasnae yer fault. I never said it was.”

  “‘Twas the same thing.”

  “I know it seemed that way to ye. But the anger was for MacEwen for daring to harm ye, and for me, knowing I can do nothing to change what happened.”

  Riona slowly raised her chin, challenging him with a sorrowful stare. “Can ye promise ye will no’ think of him when ye lay with me?”

  “Ree, I wish I could promise ye, but I cannae. But I willnae let it come between us and I will never mention it again.”

  “It is between us, and it ever will be.”

  “Nae. ‘Tis a ghost best banished by living our lives to the fullest. To prove he cannae take the rest of yer life and yer ability to love away from ye as easily as he took yer innocence.” Ranald cupped her face in his hands. “Will ye let me try?”

  Riona’s heart lurched. Was she afraid of loving? She loved Gilda with all her heart, and had since Tavia first laid the red-faced bairn in her arms. The months leading to the birth had been a horror she’d never wanted to repeat, though now she realized shame and uncertainty had robbed her of any happiness she could have experienced.

  The love—or at least the mutual respect Ranald offered—was vastly different. He promised he would take her as wife without mentioning her past or throwing it at her in anger. Could she build the rest of her life now, trusting the fullness of what Ranald offered, or must she admit Morgan triumphed after all?

  She unclenched her hands, flattening them against the solid wall of his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat and the warmth of him through his leine. When she slid her palms across his chest and over his shoulders, his muscles twitched at her touch. Ranald did not move, but his sudden intake of breath as she explored the taut muscles across his stomach caused her lips to curve upward in a tentative smile.

  Not quite ready to explore the full extent of his reaction to her touch, Riona slipped her hands around his back, nestling closer to lay her head against his chest. She breathed deeply of his scent, whisky and soap, now combined with something different, something compelling in a way she’d never known before.

  Warmth curled through her. Though his hands now rested loosely about her waist, no longer trapping her against him, she felt safe, comforted, content. The ridge of his arousal pressed against her belly, and she knew full well what it meant.

  A slight frisson of fear shivered down her spine, but she quelled it mercilessly and tilted her head to face Ranald. “Will ye teach me to love ye?”

  “Aye. Today and every day of our lives. It will be good, Ree. I promise.”

  He gathered her close, and she melted in his arms.

  Pressing kisses along her cheek and down her neck, Ranald stoked the passion he sensed lay beneath the surface of her past. She quivered as his lips explored the bare flesh above the neckline of her shift. He pushed her breasts upward, exposing a bit more of the soft, creamy mounds.

  Impatient to test their fullness, he dipped a hand past the narrow lace. With a choked laugh, Riona reached between them and, with a quick tug, released the tie at the neck of her gown.

  Echoing her laugh ruefully, Ranald brushed the fabric apart, baring her breasts to his gaze. He bent to kiss them thoroughly, circling each nipple with his tongue, feeling it harden beneath his onslaught. Riona’s hands clenched on his shoulders, a tiny groan betraying her pleasure. His mouth lingered against the fine linen of her shift as he knelt and kissed her stomach, teasing her belly until she giggled.

  He straightened and lifted an eyebrow, smiling broadly to have broken through her defenses so completely. “Are ye laughing at me?”

  “Aye.” Riona’s eyes danced and Ranald vowed to never cause them to cloud with fear or uncertainty again.

  She trailed a finger slowly down his chest, but as she neared the band of his trews, she paused. Ranald sucked in a deep breath, feeling his cock strain upward, seeking her touch. With an effort, he reined himself in, afraid she would halt her exploration.

  Then she traced along the ridge beneath his trews. Fire ignited at her touch. Before he could stop himself, he pushed against her hand.

  Riona’s startled gaze flew to his face.

  “Sorry, lass. Some things feel too good to resist.”

  She nodded, a satisfied smile curving her lips.

  By the saints, what is she thinking now? Ranald wasn’t sure he’d keep his promise to not bed her until their marriage if she continued this torture much longer. However, he’d also promised he’d not take her until she was full willing. Perhaps half a promise was better than none. He groaned under his breath, unwilling to disgrace either of them by acting like an unprincipled lad.

  With regret, he snared her hands in his. “I seem to remember I came here for a reason.” He looked wryly from the front of his breeches to Riona’s dancing gray eyes. “Other than that.”

  He led her back to her chair and seated her. Reaching into his shirt, he drew forth a soft leather bag. “I knew there was a chance I’d take the lairdship here, and if I did, I also knew I would marry ye. If it came to marriage, I wanted to give ye something to mark the day.”

  He opened the drawstring mouth of the bag and upended it, spilling a cross into his hand. Firelight glowed against the golden warmth of the pendant. Outlined in delicate filigree, rubies and diamonds sparkled in the lacy edges.

  “This belonged to my mother. ‘Twas a wedding gift from her da. I know she would have liked ye and would be happy for ye to have it.”

  Riona traced the fragile lacework. “‘Tis beautiful, Ranald. And far too fine for me.”

  “Nae. ‘Tis only beautiful because ye wear it.” He spread the thin chain in his hands. “May I?”

  “Of course.” Riona gathered her braid in one hand as Ranald gently settled the chain over her neck. The stones winked in the firelight, resting against the upper curve of her breasts
.

  Riona lifted a hand and laid it gently on the pendant. “Thank ye, Ranald,” she whispered. “I have only known of our wedding for a few days, but I have set the weaver to making a plaide for ye. ‘Twill keep ye warm this winter.”

  “I am humbled ye thought of it. There is no way I can tell ye how it pleases me.”

  Riona peered up at him, an enticing look on her face. “Ye can show me.”

  Chapter 18

  Riona woke, squinting against the thready sunlight beaming through the narrow cracks in the shutters. She sat up, pushing her blanket to her waist. Rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes, she stifled a yawn.

  Glancing at the rumpled bed, she noted Gilda was gone, but she was still too sleepy to worry. The scent of cooking fires trailed on sunbeams into her room, telling her she was about to be late for breakfast. Heat rippled through her as she remembered why.

  Ranald’s determination she understand how much she pleased him the evening before had left her restless, unsatisfied with the hungry kisses and hands that warmed her blood and left her skin tingling. She’d been a long time falling asleep last night, thinking on the day to come.

  Her eyes flew open wide. Today was her wedding day. She shoved the blanket away, freeing her legs from its silken confines. Grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed, she shrugged into it, belting it tight around her waist. She rushed to the window and jerked the shutters open, admitting the watery morning sun into the chamber.

  Shouts and the general bustle of people in the bailey below drifted to her ears. Overnight, a virtual miracle had been wrought. Banners draped from every window, colorful flags flew from the parapet. Gates, flung open wide, received wedding guests as they rode into the bailey.

  Macrory soldiers lined the walls, bristling with weapons. The shimmer of an early frost glinted like diamonds on every surface, creating sparkling magic on the massive stones and blades of grass. The air was fresh and cold, and though she knew the sun would soon fill the bailey with warmth, Riona smiled to think of the day, not too far off, when she would see snow on the Highland peaks in the distance.

  “Ma! Look what I brought ye!” Gilda crossed the room slowly, carrying a silver tray covered with a linen cloth. A young woman stooped beside her, hands outthrust to help her steady the tray. Tavia and another lass also entered the room, but Riona was too fixed on Gilda’s attempt to lift her burden to the table top to pay attention to the others.

  With the woman’s discreet help, Gilda settled the tray. She swept off the napkin and grinned broadly at her accomplishment.

  “I brought ye breakfast!”

  Riona clapped her hands in appreciation, her gaze moving from Gilda’s glowing face to the tentative smiles of the two young women beside her.

  Then a shriek of joyous recognition rose in her and she sailed across the room, her arms open wide. “Agnes! Brigit!”

  The three met in tearful reunion, their hugs and laughter excluding Gilda who tugged on Riona’s robe. She turned to her daughter. “Gilda, these are my two best friends in the whole world. Agnes lives in the village with her ma and her da and a wee nephew named Ian. Brigit lives further away and has a wee lass of her own, now.”

  Brigit, her hair a more brilliant red than Riona’s, smiled at Gilda. “Aye. My lass is a few months younger than yerself. Her da is bringing her to the castle anon. Would ye like to play with her while yer ma gets ready?”

  “Can I stay here?” Gilda cocked her head and took a step closer to Riona, tugging at her robe.

  Riona stroked Gilda’s hair. “I need some time, mo chroi. Ye can come back later for yer bath.”

  Brigit leaned toward Gilda. “Wee Aimie would feel better if she had a big lass like yerself to play with. Only for a bit.”

  Gilda nodded slowly, and allowed Brigit to take her other hand and lead her away. With a parting glance over her shoulder, she disappeared through the doorway.

  Agnes clapped her hands. “Oh, Riona, we’ll have such fun preparing ye for yer wedding!”

  As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door and Tavia opened it to admit six strong lads, two carrying a tub between them, the others hauling buckets of steaming water. A tall, dark-haired form trailed behind the lads, and Riona sucked in a startled breath. Before she could rebuke Ranald for appearing before the wedding, the man ducked his head and entered the room.

  “Eaden?”

  He smiled at her, and she recalled the charming youth she’d once known.

  “I have a gift for ye. My wife, Mairi, sent it. I dinnae look, but she told me it would make ye feel like a bride tonight.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks as she accepted the silk-wrapped package he held out, clutching it to her chest. “Then I’ll no’ open it in front of ye, if ye dinnae mind.”

  Eaden laughed. “I wouldnae suggest such a thing.” He leaned forward and kissed her brow. “I wish ye all the best in the world, lass. My brother is a lucky man.”

  “Thank ye. I will try to be a good wife to him.”

  “Ye need have nae worry on that account. Ye will be a blessing to him.”

  With a broad smile, Eaden took his leave of the ladies and disappeared down the hallway, whistling happily.

  Tavia directed the settling and filling of the tub, while Agnes busied herself setting out jars of lotions and oils from a small leather-bound box she’d brought with her.

  “I ken ye like lavender. ‘Tis such a romantic scent.” Agnes angled a bottle over the tub, allowing several drops of oil to escape. They clustered on the surface with a mirroring effect, and she smiled. “‘Twill soften yer skin and make ye smell so verra sweet.”

  She motioned Riona forward with one hand. “Pull off yer robe and get in the tub. Ye can munch on a bit of breakfast whilst ye soak. Yer wedding is close, and we dinnae want yer groom to fash himself waiting on ye.”

  Riona slipped out of her robe and chemise, dropping them across a nearby chair. She climbed into the tub and lowered herself until she sat on the bottom, the surface of the water lapping about her shoulders. She leaned her head against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes.

  “Here, now. Keep yer hair out of the water. I’ll use clear water to wash it,” Agnes instructed. Her hands were gentle as she unbraided Riona’s hair, finger-combing it until the snarls slipped free.

  Riona felt the soft tug as her friend washed and rinsed her hair, and reveled in the unaccustomed pampering. “How long has it been since I’ve seen ye?” she murmured.

  “Well, after Kinnon went away, ye seemed to be too busy to see yer friends.” Agnes placed a hand on Riona’s shoulder as she sat up in protest. “Not that yer da dinnae need ye, but Brigit and I missed ye.”

  Sighing, Riona settled back into the tub. “I dinnae have time to think.”

  “After ye found yerself with child, I would imagine ye dinnae want to think.”

  “Nae. I dinnae. I tried everything I could think of to forget.”

  “Ye ken Brigit and I still love ye?”

  Riona’s eyes burned with sudden tears. “Aye. Though I was afraid ye wouldnae.”

  “Oh, Riona! We were sad for ye, and we wanted so much to tell ye so. Then Brigit wed, and my ma fell ill.”

  “Thank ye, Agnes. I am verra glad ye both are here with me today.”

  Agnes smiled and shook her dark head. “After seeing yer handsome husband-to-be, we figured ye needed all the help ye could get.”

  Ranald paced the floor, facing north, then he turned and paced the floor to the south. He reached the end of his measured path and pivoted on his heel, sending his woolen cloak billowing.

  “Ye’ll wear a hole in the floor if ye dinnae stop,” Finlay sighed.

  “I dinnae see why I have to remain in here.”

  Finlay shrugged. “Yer brother said to keep ye in here, so I am.”


  “I’m laird here.” Ranald narrowed his eyes at his captain, a growl to his voice.

  “Aye,” was all Finlay would say.

  With a snort of aggravation, Ranald resumed his pacing. Back at the north end of the room, he whirled again to face Finlay. “I’m going out for a breath of fresh air. This room is stifling me.”

  “I cannae let ye do that.”

  “Why not?” Ranald’s voice, bordering on petulance only a moment before, became angry.

  The door opened and Eaden entered the room, pausing mid-stride between the two men. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Nae. Finlay was just about to open the door for me.”

  “I’d say he was about to tell ye why ye couldnae leave the room.”

  “Explain it to me.” Ranald growled the words, his patience gone.

  “‘Tis bad luck to see yer bride before the wedding.”

  “My bride is almost certainly upstairs in her room being readied for the nuptials. I, on the other hand, am suffocated the floor below her, at the hands of two arrogant bastards who think it amusing to have me trapped here.”

  “Temper, Ranald! I’ve never seen ye in such a mood.”

  “I have,” Finlay interjected. “Yesterday, in the boat. The laird dinnae look so happy then, either.”

  Eaden chuckled. “Nae. My brother hasnae improved his sailoring skills.”

  Ranald snarled and elbowed past Eaden, shoving him more than was necessary to move him from the doorway.

  Eaden tottered on one leg but recovered, pushing Ranald to the side in response. “Wheesht, Ranald. We’re supposed to keep ye under lock and key so ye dinnae get cold feet.”

  “I’d say King Robert pretty much cut my cold feet off at the knees,” he retorted, a gnawing feeling of helplessness fraying the edges of his temper.

  Eaden clapped a hand to his shoulder. Ranald irritably shrugged it off. Eaden gestured to the chair by the fire and the bottle of whisky on the table beside it. “I’ll pour ye a mug to calm yer nerves.”