The Highlander's Reluctant Bride

by Cathy MacRae

  “Aye. I’ve a surprise for ye.”

  Curiosity snaked through her. “What surprise?”

  “I dinnae want ye fashin’ about the people around ye or Gilda down the hall, so I had a cottage prepared for us for a brace of days.” He leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. “I want ye to myself. I want ye to think only of us. We have responsibilities here, aye, but we need time for us, alone.”

  Disjointed thoughts filled Riona’s head. Alone? A cottage? Just her and Ranald? What about Gilda?

  Her lips parted. “I . . .”

  “I want to hold ye and kiss ye and not worry about the affairs of Scaurness. I want to touch ye until ye beg me to love ye like I long to.”

  At his words, Riona marveled at the sudden heat coursing through her, though he scarcely held her.

  I’m sorry, dearling. Ye were about to say something?” Ranald brushed back a lock of hair that curled across her cheek.

  Her cheeks flamed, but she resolved to speak her mind. “I was going to say I was cold.”

  Ranald bent to her attentively. “And?”

  “Now, I am no’ cold at all.”

  “Will ye come with me?”

  Riona relaxed against his body and kissed the underside of his jaw, feeling the brush of his beard beneath her lips. “Aye.”

  Chapter 20

  Ranald drew her to him for a thorough kiss. If any doubts lingered in Riona’s mind of how much he wanted her, the hunger of his mouth and hands quickly dispelled them. His heat burned through her satin gown and silk shift as though she wore nothing at all. There was no question he was anxious to be her husband in full, and though the hardness against her belly still peppered her with tiny pricks of fear, the certainty of his gentleness overcame her brief reluctance.

  His hands tangled through her hair, and she moaned against his mouth. His arms tightened for a moment before he pulled away.

  “We’d best leave before we’re discovered.” His voice was hoarse and low, a rasp against her tightly strung nerves. Heat coiled in her and she nodded. Ranald grasped her hand and led her to the bailey gate. They stepped through, closing it behind them. Beyond, two horses stood, saddled and waiting.

  Riona eyed Ranald uncertainly. “Where are ye taking me?” she asked with a laugh that to her sounded brittle.

  “Nae so far. But we will get there safer and faster if we ride.”

  “I cannae ride in this.” She indicated her wedding gown with a sweep of a hand.

  Ranald raked her with a critical eye. “Nae. The fabric is too delicate. D’ye have a chemise underneath?”

  “Ye want me to ride in my shift?”

  “Ye can have my cloak to cover ye, but aye.”

  She sputtered, “D’ye have any idea of the scandal when my wedding dress is found draped across yon bench?”

  From the amused look on Ranald’s face, she concluded he wasn’t particularly concerned. For a moment she floundered, undecided.

  Ranald sighed, “Ye cannae return to yer room for another gown without someone seeing ye, and we’re moments away from being missed. This will only work if we are quick.”

  “All right. But . . .” She caught herself about to tell him to turn his back, and stopped just in time. He now had the right to look all he wished. He quirked an eyebrow, a grin breaking across his lips as though he read her mind.

  With a heartfelt sigh, she spun, presenting her back to him. Lifting her hair out of the way, she peered over her shoulder at him. “Then ye’ll have to unlace me.”

  Ranald closed the distance between them and his breath tickled her ear. “My distinct pleasure.”

  His fingers made quick work of loosening the laces on her dress. Riona carefully stripped the gown away, using Ranald’s proffered arm for support as she stepped from the billowed folds of fabric at her feet. The evening breeze, cold without the sun to warm it, cut through her silken shift like frosty knives, turning her pendant to ice against her skin, and she shivered.

  “Here.” Ranald swept his cloak about her shoulders. Clutching it about her, she absorbed the lingering warmth from his body and watched as he collected her gown and laid it across a low tree limb.

  “‘Twill at least give them something to think about before they continue looking for us,” he commented.

  Suddenly it was funny, exciting, and daring. Riona giggled and grabbed her horse’s reins. With fingers laced together beneath her slippered foot, Ranald boosted her into the saddle. As they guided the horses to the postern gate, Riona noticed riders moving out of the shadows to follow them.

  “Who—”

  “Dinnae fash. Ye dinnae think we’d slip off into the night by ourselves, did ye? They will guard the cottage.” His gaze met hers. “Discreetly.”

  Though it made sense, some of the air of adventure drained away. Riona focused her attention on the trail as the horses picked their way down the slope to the beach.

  She glanced back at the receding village. “What cottage are we going to?”

  “Tavia’s.”

  “But . . .”

  “She’s given us her blessing and will keep Gilda at the castle. She, Finlay and my brother have sworn to protect the lass, so we needn’t worry about her.”

  Riona was silent. It wasn’t as though no one knew she and Ranald were now married and only a short time away from being truly alone for the first time as husband and wife. It simply bothered her to know so many people actively plotted the night ahead. Though perhaps it was good they had thought to plan, or who knew what pranks would have arisen this night?

  The horses’ hooves made slight, rumbling sounds on the rocky shoreline. Riona spied slender bands of light around the edges of the shuttered windows. At least they wouldn’t be going into a dark, cold cottage. She sighed. Tavia’s dwelling wasn’t the neatest she’d ever seen, with herbs and spices scattered about, giving the single room a wonderful aroma. But the crockery and such used to compound her medicines, though clean, were rarely put away, and Bridie, the goat, was a presence and odor all unto herself. What was Ranald thinking?

  They reined the horses to a halt and Ranald tied them next to the cottage in a grove of trees. He helped Riona dismount, placing a hand on the small of her back.

  “Yer bower awaits ye, my love.” Something in the tone of his voice snagged her attention, and she tilted her head quizzically. What had he done?

  Now anxious to see inside, Riona lifted the hem of her shift above the ground and strode down the path to the cottage, her borrowed cloak billowing wide. She opened the door, but Ranald put his arm before her, stopping her from entering.

  She peered inside the room, taken aback at the changes wrought in the old seer’s home. Lit candles lined the mantle above the hearth, and more clustered around the room, bathing the air with their soft light. Fragrant flowers filled two huge crockery bowls, but the rest of the surfaces of the tables and workspace were clear and shiny with a recent scrubbing. A velvet coverlet graced the large bed in one corner of the room, and she didn’t need Ranald to point out it didn’t belong to the seer. Bridie was gone, her pen cleaned and refilled with fresh hay.

  “I dinnae know Tavia liked ye so,” she teased.

  Palming her shoulders, Ranald turned her to face him. “She doesnae like me overmuch, but she loves ye with all her heart.”

  Riona flung her arms about his neck and he crushed her to him. A pulse leapt in his throat, and her heart beat an answering rhythm.

  Ranald bent to scoop her up. “Duck yer head, love. I couldnae get her to raise the lintel.”

  Riona giggled and pressed against him as he strode over the threshold with her in his arms. She stared at the bed, fully expecting him to dump her into the middle of it, but he lowered her feet slowly to the floor, letting her body traverse the length of his before
he released her. Reaching behind him, he closed and latched the door.

  He looked around, nodding his head appreciatively. “Verra nice.” His gaze came back to rest warmly on Riona. His eyes narrowed and a slow smile crossed his face. “Verra nice, indeed.”

  Another frisson of apprehension slid through her, and she strove to hide the sudden tremble of her lips. Ranald bent and gently cupped her face in his hands, bringing her mouth to his, covering her lips with warmth and intimacy as his tongue traced her curves. Familiarity with his hungry kisses flooded her and she relaxed against his chest with a sigh.

  Ranald inhaled a breath of relief. The scent of heather and lavender teased his senses, and the supple warmth of Riona in his arms sent a surge of passion through him. He’d been afraid her bravado wouldn’t last the trip away from the safety of their guests and into the intimacy of the borrowed cottage. He didn’t know how the night would end, but whatever else, she’d not regret her vows.

  He untied the laces at the neck of the cloak she wore and let it fall to the floor. The banked fire chased away the late summer’s evening chill and his own internal temperature rose as he surveyed his new wife.

  The silken shift Riona wore barely concealed the shape of her body beneath it. Ranald stepped back to kick off his boots and saw the dark lines of her curves silhouetted by the glowing fire on the hearth behind her. His passion kicked up a notch, and he had to tear his gaze away.

  He knelt before her and slid her slippers from her feet. “Ye must tell me if ye want me to slow down, Ree,” he whispered as he stood and gathered her close. “I want ye to come to me full willing.”

  “Aye.” Her voice, a whisper he barely heard, nonetheless sounded determined, and he kissed the top of her head.

  Every move he made was measured against the value of her response. A touch of his hand to her shoulder brought a sigh as she moved closer. His fingers against the fullness of her breast tendered a faint gasp, but no retreat. He’d sworn to never bring it up to her again, but his blood boiled to think of the MacEwen’s brutal hands on her soft flesh.

  “Are ye warm?” he rasped.

  Riona nodded and he brushed his thumbs across her shoulders. “Ye’ll remove the shift, then, aye?”

  Riona frowned, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

  He chuckled. “‘Tis all right for ye to be naked around me, now, Ree. Here, I’ll start.”

  “Nae.” She thrust out a hand and Ranald halted, his trews halfway to his ankles.

  Riona smiled, then laughed at the look on his face. “Nae. I was remembering the gift Eaden gave me this morning.”

  “Eaden gave ye a gift?” Ranald felt dread overtake him.

  “He said ‘twas from his wife.” Riona glanced shyly at him. “She said ‘twould make me feel like a bride tonight.”

  Ranald’s breath left him in a whoosh, pooling heat between his legs the likes of which he’d never known before. “Then, ‘tis a good thing the lasses sent a bag of yer clothing here earlier today. Do ye want to see if it’s there?”

  Please let her say aye.

  She chewed her lip and looked everywhere except at him. At last, she brought her gaze back to his. “Aye.”

  With a crooked grin to hide his relief, Ranald stepped out of his trews, his leine hanging to his knees, and turned to the corner of the room where their belongings were stacked. He picked up the larger bag and showed it to her. She nodded her head, accepting it was hers, and held out her hand.

  He slowly teased the bag’s drawstring open, his grin widening as she arched a brow at him. He peered inside, making a face of exaggerated surprise as he did.

  “Ranald. Give me the bag.” She fussed at him, her voice breaking on a laugh.

  “Could it be this?” He pulled forth a silk-wrapped package.

  “Ranald!” she protested. He gave her the gift and she untied the ribbon binding the silk around the package. Rosy spots of heat appeared on each of her cheeks and he silently reminded himself to send Mary her thanks.

  He chuckled. “Let me turn around so it’ll be a surprise, aye?”

  Riona clutched the package to her chest and nodded. With a last look at his wife, he pivoted on his heel and prepared to wait.

  After a few moments of enduring the rustling sounds behind him, he heard her voice. “Ye can look.”

  He suited his action to her request, and sucked in a startled breath.

  His much-loved good sister was trying to kill him.

  The fit of the nearly-sheer gown couldn’t have been better had Riona sewn it herself. Wide bands of delicate lace alternated diagonally across the bodice with the pale pink fabric, nipping in her waist and making his hands itch to touch her. The neckline rode dangerously low, framing the pendant resting above the deep valley of her breasts. The rest of the gown flowed down her body and pooled on the floor, perhaps too long, but otherwise perfect.

  “Beautiful,” he breathed.

  “I dinnae know how she knew.” Her voice trailed off as she spread the diaphanous fabric wide.

  “I’ll take ye to meet her some day,” he told her, impatient to inspect the gown for himself. And get rid of it just as quickly. He opened his arms and Riona walked to him.

  His hands stroked the sensual textures of cobweb-fine lace, fragile linen, and Riona. With a moan, he trailed kisses down the side of her face, pulling her tight against him. Her heart raced beneath his touch, and he heard her swift intake of breath, but she remained relaxed in his arms.

  “Dearling, as much as I like Mary’s gift, I think I’d like ye better out of it.”

  Riona’s eyes glowed as she untied the ribbon at the low neckline. Ranald raised her necklace over her head, untangling it from her hair, and laid it on a nearby table. With an effort to keep from startling her, he slowly brushed the edges of the gown over her shoulders.

  The slender, silver line of a scar glowed on her skin and he traced its length, roughly as long as his finger. “What is this, Ree?”

  “Ye dinnae remember?”

  Ranald shook his head. He was too focused on the here and now, the urge to take Riona in his arms as his wife. Memory was hazy at best.

  “I was spying on ye and Eaden and Kinnon on the beach.”

  “I found ye, and wasnae pleased,” he replied, recalling the day he’d had enough of the eleven-year-old tagalong.

  “Ye shouted at me and I shouted back. Ye pushed me and stormed off. I lost my footing and fell over the edge of the cliff and knocked myself out. When I came to, I was covered in blood.” She fingered the long-healed gash. “It hurt dreadfully when Tavia cleaned me up and stitched it closed, and I resolved to hate ye. Ye and Eaden left the next day, and I doubt ye knew what happened, or even missed me.”

  “I’m sorry, Ree. I dinnae know.” He lowered his head and kissed the silvered skin. Riona sighed as he slid his lips over the puckered ridge and to the incredibly soft skin of her breasts. With an impatient stroke of his hands, he sent her gown floating to the floor.

  His breath caught at the sight before him and Riona jerked, startled. He soothed, “Nae, love, dinnae pull away. Ye are perfect and I am humbled. I know I said I wouldnae mention it again, but . . . how could he have harmed ye?” His voice broke, somewhere between anger and despair, and he struggled to hold himself steady.

  Riona threw herself into his arms, her reply caught on a sob. Ranald rained kisses over her, murmuring endearments as his hands explored her silken curves. He expected her to pull back, but she moved only enough to tug his leine up around his waist, shoving her hands beneath the fabric, over his stomach and across his chest. Her sudden passion ignited his, and he grabbed his shirt, ripping it over his head.

  Small mewling sounds escaped her and, in some distant part of his brain, he tried to slow down. But Riona clung to him, kissing him with unex
pected fervor, and he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Sweeping aside the velvet coverlet, he followed her down onto fresh, white sheets, matching her hunger with his own.

  Lying on his side next to her, he slid a hand along her body, over her hip, to the soft mound between her legs. Riona gasped once and pushed against him. His fingers encountered warm moisture, proof of her response, and he resolved to let her set the pace.

  Riona mimicked his movements, trailing her fingers over his side and across his flank. He sucked in his breath as they encountered and then encircled his cock. Her kisses eased off as her attention wandered and Ranald held himself still, letting her satisfy her curiosity.

  But his control slipped and he groaned, “I cannae wait, Ree.” He nuzzled her neck, dampening the scar along her collarbone with his tongue. She moved beneath him, allowing him to settle between her thighs. He probed her warmth, slipping a hand between them to reassure himself she was ready. Her flesh was swollen and slick and he gently stroked the nub pushing against his finger. Riona cried out and trembled against him.

  Dropping his head to her breast, he took a nipple in his mouth. Her breath quickened and she arched her back as he slid a fraction inside her. Heat surrounded him, shot through him, started fires where he didn’t know they could exist.

  He eased back then buried himself to the hilt as Riona opened for him. As she moaned and shifted, he eagerly taught her to move with him in sweet response that took them both to a place neither had ever been before.

  Chapter 21

  Ranald opened his eyes to dim morning light. The bed was empty beside him, and he scanned the room for Riona. Beside the hearth, stirring a metal pot, stood his bride, a plaide about her shoulders to ward off the seaside chill permeating the room. Pale pink fabric peeked from beneath the hem of woolen shawl, and Ranald smiled, knowing she wore Mary’s special gift.