The Highlander's Reluctant Bride

by Cathy MacRae

  “I dinnae have trouble with my nerves until the twae of ye brought me here and locked the door.”

  “Ye cannae blame us for keeping ye away from yer bride on yer wedding morn.”

  “I dinnae keep ye away from yers.”

  Eaden nodded. “Aye. And look at the trouble it cost me.”

  “Ye stole yer bride. And the wrong one at that. Ye couldnae have bought good luck with all the gold in Scotland.”

  “Be that as it may, I but wish to keep my wee brother from making the same mistake.”

  “I only want out to get some fresh air.”

  With a snort, Eaden looked at Finlay. “Open yon window. The laird wishes fresh air.”

  “My husband-to-be? When have ye seen him?” Riona demanded.

  Agnes sighed dreamily. “As I came here. Another man, almost as tall, just as dark and handsome, walked with him into the laird’s chamber and shut the door behind them. Brigit pointed him out to me. She knows everyone.”

  “Aye. That likely was his brother, Laird Scott, Earl of Craigievar. He came as emissary from the king to see the wedding done.”

  “The king has bid ye marry? So, ‘tis true?”

  Riona narrowed her eyes. “What is being said about the marriage?”

  “Och, only that ye needed a husband now yer da is dead, and since the new laird is young and good-looking, some say ye both desired the marriage, others that the king commanded it.”

  Riona furrowed her brow in thought as Agnes helped her from the tub.

  “Well, which is it?”

  Riona stepped over the rim and onto the thick rug on the floor. “The latter.” She noted Agnes’s moue of disappointment at the claim. “And possibly the former as well,” she added softly.

  Agnes beamed and held the heavy velvet robe for Riona to slip into. “I’d hoped so. Ye deserve a nice, handsome man for yer husband.”

  “Who says he’s nice?” Riona teased.

  Agnes gathered Riona’s hair and wrapped it in a towel, squeezing moisture from it. “Well, he is, I’m sure,” she replied stubbornly.

  “He visited here a few times when we were both verra young. I dinnae like him. He vexed me and I probably wasnae so nice to him.” Riona smiled. “I like him much better now.”

  “Does yer lass like him?”

  “Och, aye. She’s already got him wrapped around her wee finger.” Riona sighed. “And he seems to truly like her, too.”

  “There. I told ye he was nice.”

  Riona laughed. “I suppose he is.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Before Riona could respond, Agnes bustled over and opened it a crack to peer out. “Brigit! And wee Gilda, too.”

  Gilda darted inside the room and climbed into Riona’s lap. “Ma! I played with Aimie. She’s a wee bairn. But she liked me.”

  “I’m sure she did, mo chroi.” Riona stroked Gilda’s bright head. “Are ye ready for yer bath?”

  Gilda squirmed down to the floor. “I dinnae want a bath.”

  “Ye cannae wear yer new dress without a bath.”

  As Gilda stomped a foot, Riona raised a brow. “‘Twould be a shame to watch the wedding from up here.”

  Gilda grabbed her sleeves, pulling at them in a temperamental attempt to get them off.

  “Let Tavia help ye, lass.” Riona caught her by a shoulder to still her actions until she could be unlaced from her dress and settled in the tub.

  “I’ll smell like Ma!” Gilda exclaimed as she wallowed through the water like a floundered fish, sending waves splashing near the lip of the tub.

  Riona gave her a fond smile, but the sight of her wedding dress hanging on a peg caught her attention. It was almost time.

  Agnes brushed her hair dry as Brigit slathered scented lotion into Riona’s pale skin. With each stroke of the brush, her pulse quickened. Despite the warm fire, her skin chilled from anticipation that soon grew unbearable. She fought the urge to spring to her feet and pace the floor.

  Agnes motioned for her to rise. “Let’s dress ye, then I’ll finish yer hair.” Brigit held the gown high and settled it over Riona’s head, sheathing her arms in heavy cream satin. The cool fabric created instant warmth along her skin.

  “Turn toward me, lass,” Tavia murmured, a hitch in her voice. “I helped yer ma into this dress, and now ye.”

  Riona did as asked. “Thank ye, Tavia, for all ye’ve done. Ye are more than family to me.”

  The seer nodded. “I gave my heart to ye the day ye were born. It would complete my life to see ye wed happy.”

  Riona’s eyes misted and her throat tightened to remember the times the old woman had stood behind her.

  Tavia laid a hand gently on her arm, giving it a light squeeze before attending to Gilda. “Wheesht, lass, hold still. I cannae scrub ye wiggling like a sea-sprite.”

  Slumping her shoulders forward, Gilda froze in place, her eyes squinting mischievously as Tavia completed her bath.

  Riona stood before the silvered glass, comparing the bejeweled vision in the reflection with the plain young woman she knew herself to be. The cream-colored satin glowed in the light of the candles, and the jewels winked their ancient secrets. Beyond the costly fabric, her skin flushed a faint, rosy pink. A section of her hair was twisted at the crown where a wreath of late summer flowers nestled. The rest of the heavy curls fell down her back to her waist like molten fire.

  She collected the golden cross Ranald had given her from the table, and Tavia’s gnarled hands took it from her.

  “Let me, lass,” she said, lifting it carefully to avoid tangling it in Riona’s hair.

  The pendant lay on her breast and she stared at its reflection in the mirror, remembering the warmth of Ranald’s hands as he placed it against her skin.

  “Look, Ma! I’m pretty, too.”

  Riona’s gaze slid to Gilda who stood next to her, scrubbed clean, her hair combed and tied back with a green velvet ribbon matching her gown. Gilda twisted about, holding her skirt as she preened.

  “Ye are the prettiest thing I’ve seen, a stor,” Riona assured her.

  “I like Ranald,” Gilda announced. “Can I marry him, too?”

  Riona laughed. “Ye are too young, and he may only marry one of us.”

  Gilda sighed. “Can I call him ‘Da?’”

  Riona blinked back sudden, emotional tears. “Aye,” she managed softly.

  Chapter 19

  Standing at the head of the stairwell, Gilda gripped Riona’s fingers. A sea of faces turned to view the soon-to-be Lady of Scaurness. With a gentle tug to Gilda’s hand in encouragement, Riona slowly descended the stairs.

  They reached the bottom step and Riona bent to whisper, “Ye remember what to do?”

  Gilda nodded, eyeing the mass of people before her.

  Stepping in from the side, Eaden settled a large palm on Gilda’s shoulder. “Go on, lass. I’ll take care of yer ma.”

  Gilda squared her shoulders and accepted the woven basket of flowers from Brigit, who then handed Riona her own bouquet of heather bound with golden ribbon. The wee lass walked slowly across the room, the path before her widening as people moved to let her pass.

  Riona met Eaden’s smile as he bowed. “With yer permission, milady, I’ll walk ye down the aisle.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She missed her da at this moment so much, she’d not given a thought to asking someone else to walk her to the priest, giving her to her new husband. With a grateful smile, she laid her hand on Eaden’s proffered arm.

  He set his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. “‘Tis all right. I took Ranald out in a boat yesterday, but I believe he’s over his seasickness, now.”

  A tiny snort of laughter escaped Riona at Eaden’s unexpected words. She bit the inside of he
r lip to stifle her mirth.

  Eaden patted her hand, the mournful notes of a bagpipe swelling as they assumed a stately pace. Heady with the scent of candles and heather, the rest of the room receded from her reality. Ahead, standing calmly beside the priest, was all Riona could think about . . .

  Ranald.

  He looked wonderful with his beard closely trimmed and his dark hair clubbed neatly. His smile bloomed, gentle and welcoming. Riona took heart and her nervousness bled away, leaving her lightheaded with happiness.

  Ahead, Gilda skipped toward Agnes, standing at the end of the aisle, and leaned against her, her eyes fixed ahead. Sparing a smile of reassurance for her daughter, Riona continued on Eaden’s arm.

  They halted before the priest. “Who brings this woman to be wed to this man?” he asked.

  “She comes with me, Laird Scott, Earl of Craigievar, emissary for King Robert the Second of Scotland, and with the blessings of her family and the king. If she is willing, I am willing.”

  At a nod from the priest, Riona stepped forward, and Eaden placed her hand in Ranald’s. She glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes, her heart racing wildly.

  “Lady Caitriona, do ye come here of yer own free will and accord, without let or hindrance, free of all moral and legal encumbrance, to enter into this contract?”

  Riona inhaled a deep breath. “Aye.”

  The priest’s voice droned on, and she and Ranald murmured the correct responses, pledging their troth.

  “Laird Scott, will ye have Gilda as yer daughter, to act as father and counsel, granting her all the attendant rights, privileges and responsibilities?”

  Riona’s gaze flew to Ranald. This was not part of any wedding ceremony she’d ever attended. What was Ranald promising?

  He squeezed her hand reassuringly and motioned for Gilda to approach. Placing his palm on her shining head, he turned to Riona, his gaze compelling her to listen to his words.

  “Aye. I will offer all this in love and custom, giving her place in law alongside such other children as may arise from this union.”

  Riona barely heard the challenge from the priest for any to speak who had just cause to oppose the marriage. Nor could she stop the tears spilling down her cheeks as she strove to breathe past the lump in her throat. Before their wedding guests and God, Ranald had pledged to give her daughter all the benefits of his own children, and to love and provide for her always.

  Ranald leaned close, brushing the back of a hand over her damp cheek. “Dearling, will ye say yer vows?”

  Abruptly Riona realized the priest was staring expectantly at her and she gathered her scattered thoughts. She handed her bouquet of heather to Gilda and faced Ranald, taking both of his hands in hers.

  “Ye are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.” She lifted her gaze and found dark blue eyes burning into hers. “I give ye my body, that we two might be one. I give ye my spirit, ‘til our life shall be done.”

  Ranald knew he had surprised Riona. By taking Gilda as his daughter, he pledged to his new wife the lass would never want for a home or honor. He meant also to prove they both would never lack for love. The trusting, earnest look in her eyes as she gave him her vows humbled him, and he answered her with a promise of his own.

  “I pledge my love to ye, and everything I possess. I promise ye the first bite of my meat and the first sip from my cup. I pledge yer name will always be the name I cry aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honor ye above all others. The love we forge will be never-ending and we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage. This is my wedding vow to ye.”

  The priest nodded and continued the ceremony as Ranald faced Riona, Gilda tucked between them. The lass rested against her mother’s gown, swinging her basket from one hand, back and forth, watching as petals drifted to the floor.

  “Ye may kiss yer bride.”

  “‘Tis the best part,” he replied softly, drawing an answering smile from her that lit her eyes. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. Riona leaned into his kiss, and his heart skipped to know she willingly sought him before the enormous crowd around them.

  A subtle cough from the priest ended their pledge, and they parted, only to turn, cheek-to-cheek, to face the cheers of their guests.

  Ranald straightened, pulling Riona against his side, a hand on Gilda’s shoulder. “‘Tis my privilege and honor to introduce ye to my wife and daughter. Together we invite ye to have a drink,” Ranald stared pointedly at a guest near the forefront of the crowd who already held a chalice in his hand, “as the tables are set for the banquet.”

  Another cheer went up and people surged forward, congratulating them with hugs or kisses for Riona and a clout to the shoulder for Ranald.

  The banquet was quickly readied and everyone found a seat. At Ranald’s left Eaden stood, raising his goblet in a bid for silence. Gradually the jovial noise subsided.

  “I would be the first to make a toast. My brother has always been a lucky man, but he has outdone himself this time.”

  He faced Ranald and Riona. “A thousand welcomes to ye with yer marriage. May ye be healthy all yer days. May ye be blessed with long life and peace, and may ye grow old with goodness and with riches.”

  “Slainte!” The cheer rose from every throat as Ranald lifted Riona’s hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers.

  The long hours of the banquet, as it slid from dinner to supper, were over, though people continually revisited the food platters and the wine skins as they moved about the room in jovial spirits. Riona’s skin pricked as she realized eyes were on her every move. She glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder and noticed how the stares of several people darted away.

  “They’re waiting for us to show signs of leaving, Ree,” Ranald told her.

  “They wouldn’t . . .” she asked worriedly.

  “Ye think no’?” He grinned. “They’re no’ drunk enough to leave us alone yet.”

  “Bring out more wine,” Riona retorted.

  Ranald laughed. “I willnae let them follow us, dearling.”

  She flicked a look about the room, seeing heads turned in their direction. “How will ye do that?”

  His grin widened. “Ye’ll have to trust me.”

  Tavia walked over, Gilda limp against her shoulder.

  “Is the lass asleep?”

  Gilda raised her head and softly whimpered. Riona started to reach for her, but Ranald put up a hand.

  “Let Tavia put the lass to bed. She’s had enough excitement and needs her sleep.” He nodded to the seer woman. “We will leave her in yer care.”

  Though her heart rent to see the dismay on Gilda’s face, Riona didn’t protest. Her life was no longer her own, and the next few days would be hard on both of them as they adjusted to her new role.

  Instead, she kissed Gilda’s cheek, smoothing her hair with a hand, lingering on the fiery curls. “Stay with Auntie Tavia, mo chroi. I will see ye soon.”

  Ranald met Finlay’s gaze. With a jerk of his head, he sent the man to the old woman’s side. “Take the lass upstairs for Tavia. She’s a wee armful for ye, but a mite burdensome for her.”

  Finlay held his hands out and Gilda slid bonelessly into his arms. It had been a long day, and the child was too tired to do more than sniffle as she ducked her head against his shoulder.

  “We’ll take care of the lass, milady. Have nae worry about that,” Finlay promised.

  Riona nodded as Finlay carried Gilda up the stairs, her unbound curtain of red-gold curls bouncing across his broad shoulder, one small hand trailing down his side. As they rounded the first curve, Riona turned to Ranald and found Eaden standing next to him, the two in earnest conversation.

  Ranald drew away and sent her a reassuring smile. “Make yer way to the kitchen. For anyone who asks, ye are tally
ing food and wine for our guests. Speak to any who stop ye. Then slip out into the garden. I will be waiting.”

  Her heart raced and her stomach clenched, for she knew he meant for them to be alone as man and wife. She’d told herself she was ready, but she was suddenly uncertain, afraid she’d be unable to go to their bed unhindered by the past.

  “Riona?”

  She quickly damped her fears and formed a bright smile. Rising to her toes, she placed a kiss on his cheek. “Aye.”

  Despite an attempt to quiet her inner turmoil, she heard her own breathlessness and eased away, but Ranald’s hand reached out and gently brought her close. He placed a proper kiss on her lips, holding her against him a long moment before he released her with a grin of promise on his face.

  Around them cheers rose, and Riona realized he meant for it to appear as though he would await her return. Cheeks flaming with heat, she strolled toward the kitchen, casting a shy glance over her shoulder at her new husband as she crossed the room.

  The glow of cooking fires and torches spilled into the garden as Riona opened the door. She slipped quickly through the portal, shutting it behind her before notice could be made. Bracing her hands against the door, she stared into the gloaming darkness, letting her eyes adjust from the crackling brightness of the scullery.

  A movement to her right caught her attention as Ranald emerged from the late evening shadows. He motioned for her to follow, and she picked up her skirts and hurried after him. Near the gate to the bailey, he whirled and grabbed her hands, dragging her into the shadow of a nearby tree. Startled, Riona reared back, but he only kissed her forehead as he leaned against the tree trunk, pulling her between his legs.

  “Are ye ready to leave?”

  “Leave?” Surely she had heard him incorrectly.