by Cathy MacRae
Ranald rubbed his forehead. “Ye are right. I will send him and another back to Scaurness to be sure they are warned.” He cut his gaze to Riona again. “And to appease my wife.”
Eaden arched a brow but said nothing. Ranald turned in his saddle and addressed the men. “I need two men to ride to Scaurness and warn Finlay a red-sailed birlinn has been sighted too far from MacEwen territory.”
Two Macrory soldiers urged their horses forward. “We’ll go, laird.”
Ranald pinned each one with a hard stare. “Ye know how important this is?”
“Aye.”
With a nod, he released them from the retinue and watched as they galloped away. Turning to Riona, he judged her reaction. “Every precaution has been taken, Ree. Yon birlinn was not a MacEwen ship.”
She nodded, color returning to her cheeks. “Aye. And Finlay and Hamish are in charge, are they no’?” She lifted her chin, a determined smile on her face.
“I wouldnae leave her if I thought there was danger, Ree.”
Riona’s smile faded. “There’s always trouble at Scaurness,” she murmured, too softly. But Ranald heard.
The tiny village of Grainaig lay on the southern shoreline of the Firth of Clyde. Fishing boats plied the waters, and larger birlinns hired out as ferries to cross the water. The local chieftain offered them the comfort of his modest home for the night.
Eaden peered around the cottage. “As tempting as yer offer is, I will stay the night with my men.” He gestured to Ranald and Riona. “These two may wish a bed such as ye might have.”
Riona felt the heat in her cheeks, knowing it wouldn’t be long before she found herself in Ranald’s arms.
The chieftain beamed at her and Ranald. “Och. There’s a fine bed beneath the rafters, all nice and warm from the chimney near.” He gave Riona a broad wink. “Though I’m thinking ye willnae need a peat fire to stay warm this night.”
Eaden ducked his head, hiding what Riona thought looked suspiciously like a grin before he moved away. He strode through the door, stifling a cough. Riona swung to Ranald.
He winked at her before he addressed the chief. “We will take ye up on yer offer. My wife isnae looking forward to sleeping on the ground.”
“Ye poor lass.” The chieftain’s wife bustled to Riona’s side. “Ye must be cold and tired. Pay nae attention to the men. They are nae judge of what is proper for a young lass like yerself.”
With a helpless shrug, Riona followed in the woman’s wake. She was grateful for the quick wash, starved for a hot meal, and her head completely awhirl at the woman’s quick, disjointed speech.
“Aye, ye’ll have a quick meal in ye, then a good rest. Wheesht, Una, dinnae burn the bread! Mind ye bring up the best wine for our guests. Grab that jug there, dearling, that’s right.” She caught Riona’s attention. “Come along and let’s get ye seated at the table. I’ll no’ have ye fallin’ down, dead on yer feet.”
By the time the simple but hearty dinner was over, Riona was exhausted. Stifling her third yawn, she kicked Ranald beneath the table.
Thankfully, he caught her hint and spoke up. “‘Tis time we turned in. My brother would like an early start tomorrow.”
“Ye think to make Glasgow?”
“Angus!” his wife admonished, rising to her feet. “The laird and his poor lady need their rest. Ye’ve held them here long enough.”
Riona climbed the narrow stairs to the upper storey where a tiny room nestled beneath the eaves. She opened the door, the lamp she carried with her casting a weak light along the scarred wood floor. With a faint cry, she spied the narrow bed and the sight gave her a jolt of energy. She crossed the floor with quick steps and set the lamp on the low table by the window. Fumbling with the laces of her dress, she tugged at the cords.
“Here, Ree. Let me do that,” Ranald murmured close to her ear.
Too tired to be startled at the sudden, close sound of his voice, she swayed gently as Ranald untied her laces.
“Ye are very tired,” he said, an apologetic note to his voice. “I dinnae mean for the trip to be a burden.”
Riona splayed her hands against his chest, a slight smile on her lips beneath heavy-lidded eyes. “I havenae slept much these past few nights.”
Ranald folded her into his arms with a soft chuckle. “Then sleep, love, and we’ll no scandalize our good hosts this night.”
Though exhausted, Riona nevertheless felt herself falling into the sensual trap he wove around her. She hung heavily in his arms, transferring what strength she had left to him. Ranald kissed her cheek, and she felt him stir against her. He sucked in his breath and, taking her upper arms in his hands, set her a pace from him.
Gently stripping her gown away, he laid it across the single wooden chair, leaving her in her thin shift. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, settling her beneath the woolen blanket.
“There’s scarcely enough room in here for both of us, Ree. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Riona scooted as close to the edge as possible. “Nae. There’s enough room. Just don’t toss and turn.”
“Once my eyes are closed, I’ll no’ move again.”
“Hurry to bed and close yer eyes,” she teased. “Ye need yer rest.”
Ranald grinned as he slid into bed behind her. He shifted once and then again.
She hissed in admonishment. “Ranald. Be still. I thought ye said ye’d no move again once ye closed yer eyes.”
He pulled her against him. Her eyes flew open wide to feel his hard heat against her buttocks.
“There is the problem, my love. I cannae close my eyes.”
In the wee morning hours, Ranald peeled the blanket back from Riona’s nose, smiling as she ducked her head in protest. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
The urge to join her beneath the covers was strong. He ruffled the top of her head, drawing a groan from her as she slipped a hand free of the blanket to swat at him. “I’ve let ye sleep as long as I can.”
“Ye’ve let me sleep verra little,” Riona groused, her voice thick and low. Rolling to her back, she stretched her arms high above her head, her eyes tightly closed. Unable to resist, Ranald tugged the blanket further, baring her to her waist. With a gasp, Riona sat up, grabbing at the covers as he twitched them out of her reach.
“Ranald . . .”
Covering her mouth with his, he stole the protest from her. He leaned over her, one hand straying across her shoulder to cup a breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb before dipping lower. Slipping a finger through the curl of hair between her thighs, he probed gently, feeling her moist and hot against his palm. She moaned as he swept his finger back and forth, stroking her to a fevered pitch. She stiffened suddenly, her muscles clenched him and he pushed gently against her with the heel of his hand. She cried out, the sound muffled between them.
Slowly her breathing returned to normal, and he released her to slide limp upon the bed. She cracked her eyelids open, a languid expression on her face. “I think I’ll need a bit more time to get dressed.”
Ranald laughed softly, thrilled to have pleasured her, grateful to know she enjoyed his caress.
“I can stall them, but I doubt for long.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “We’ll make up for it tonight.”
Riona sighed. “I doubt it.”
The Macrory soldier patted his lathered horse’s neck. “Nae need to worry, laird,” he assured Ranald. “All was fine when I left. We rode hard back to Scaurness, delivered the message to Finlay and Hamish, then I swapped horses and headed back out.” He took a deep breath, looking every bit as tired as his horse. “There were nae problems at the castle or in the village. And we could find nae MacEwen birlinns along the coast.”
Ranald nodded, pleased. “Well done. I appreciate knowing ye arrived at S
caurness with nae problem.” He waved a hand in the general direction of Grainaig. “Ride back to the town and rest there. Lady Caitriona and I will spend another night along the trail with my brother, and come back for ye here.”
“Aye.” Gratitude for the respite colored his voice. He reined his tired horse down the path and was quickly lost from view.
He turned to Riona. “There is nae need to travel much further, Ree. We’ll see Eaden to the end of today and turn back tomorrow. We’ll be back at Scaurness before ye know it.”
Muffled sounds woke Gilda and she sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes. Though it was still dark, she could make out the shapes of the furniture in the room, outlined in silvered moonlight. She missed her ma, the smell of her, her warm, comforting presence beside her. She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember when she would be back.
The sounds from below rose in pitch, angry, shouting, frightening. A shriek rent the air and Gilda scooted back until she was against the wall. Her heart raced and there was a bad taste in her mouth.
“Ma?”
Her voice was tiny, scarcely a noise at all, and Gilda swallowed against the lump in her throat. How was she to summon help if she couldn’t yell louder than that? She was supposed to be brave. Her ma had called her a brave lass many times. Like when she’d skinned her knee and not cried even though she’d wanted to.
She sucked in a lungful of air then let it out in a silent whoosh.
What if I cry out and Ma doesnae come? What if someone else does?
Gilda waited, hoping the noises would go away. But new sounds mingled with the angry voices, clanking sounds of metal and sharp cries of pain. With a sudden moan of fear, she scrambled from the bed, her bare feet soundless as she crossed to the door. Her hands fisted at her sides as she wrestled with the decision before her.
A sudden shout startled her and she jerked, grabbing for the latch. Pulling against it with all her trembling strength, she opened the door.
Chapter 23
The Greenock road churned with mud, the horses’ hooves making sucking sounds as they lifted them from the mire. Riona stared at the scene around her. Men’s faces lifted to the early sun as the horses trudged along the trail, ducking their heads as they struggled with their footing.
They’d said goodbye to Eaden earlier as they broke camp, and the parting had been bittersweet for Riona. Renewing their acquaintance had been a boon, but remembering the way he’d teased her anxiety away the morning of the wedding as he offered to escort her before the priest brought a tear to her eye.
“What has ye so solemn this morning?” A half-smile lit Ranald’s face as he raised a brow in query.
“Och, ‘tis nothing really,” she shrugged. “I enjoyed Eaden’s company and it sounds as though he has a lovely wife. I’d like to meet her one day.”
“Aye. She’s a sonsie lass, our Mary. Eaden’s a lucky man.” Ranald reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “And so am I.”
Riona smiled, feeling the warmth of his words and touch all the way to her toes. She gave a quick look around to be sure she was not overheard. “I dinnae mind the rain with ye holding me.”
“I dinnae feel the cold, neither. I had other things on my mind.”
Riona felt wickedness rise in her. “But the ‘warmth’ shrank a wee bit when the tent slipped its moorings.”
Ranald threw his head back and laughed. “Aye. The bite of cold rain on my bare arse sidetracked me for a moment. I admit I’d given it nae thought beyond the sound of it on the fabric. That rain fell like an icy finger between my buttocks.”
“Wheesht, Ranald! They’ll hear ye.”
“Aye. And think less of me unless ye admit we rallied well together after.”
“I’m sorry I brought the subject up.” She rolled her eyes, though with no real heat to her words.
“I’m no’ sorry.”
Riona gazed at him quizzically. “Why?”
“Because it means ye can laugh about something ye used to fear. And it warms my heart to hear the sound.”
Heat coiled deep inside, and Riona marveled at the sensation. She met Ranald’s gentle, knowing grin and eased forward to meet his kiss.
The soldiers rode past them as Hearn and Riona’s gelding slowed to a stop. A pair of Scott guards kept a discreet distance, their watchful eyes trained on the land around them, not on their laird and lady who, for a moment, forgot anyone else existed in the world.
Gilda crept to the landing, peeking through the railing at the chaotic sight below. Terrible sounds crashed around her, louder now without the closed door to protect her. She had seen men practicing with their swords and shields in the field outside the castle before, but she’d never seen them do this inside the great hall. And there were so many of them.
A man leapt to the dais where the laird’s family sat for meals, his dark hair streaming around him, his sword black and gold in the torch light. He faced her and she melted from the snarling grimace on his face. But not before she recognized the captain of the Macrory soldiers.
Manus.
In the shadows she crouched, unsure and scared to approach him. Then a loud crash startled her, and Gilda crawled to the railing again. Men sprawled at the foot of the stairs, and Manus pointed with his sword. “Find the brat! Bring Gilda to me!”
Folding herself into the smallest shape possible, Gilda pressed against the broad wooden column at the top of the stairs. The corner between it and the railing had proven an excellent hiding place when playing hide-and-seek with the other children, and, terror choking her, she automatically slipped into the dark space. Making no sound, she watched men rush past, their dripping swords creating dark patterns on the floor.
Doors crashed open and closed, women screamed. Their muffled babble was high-pitched, frightened, and Gilda backed deeper into her hiding place.
“Where is the child?”
The roaring, angry voice was answered by sobs. The noise cut off abruptly with a clatter of sound Gilda did not understand. Had someone dropped some dishes?
Wails erupted, quickly silenced. Gilda hugged her knees against her chest and waited, clenching her teeth to still her trembling.
Ranald let the horse’s hoof drop to the ground. He hefted the small rock in his hand, feeling the sharp edge that had wedged beneath the metal shoe. Straightening, he patted the gelding’s shoulder.
“Such a tiny thing to cause such a big problem.” He turned to Riona. “Ye can ride with me, but we will have to take it slow. His hoof is bruised and he will be sore for a day or so.”
Riona nodded, stroking the horse’s forehead. “Poor thing. At least he’ll start to feel better now.”
“Archie, lead milady’s horse. Mind his limping, now. I dinnae want him worse when we get home. We’ll cut across the land, get away from this cursed road. The mud will lame all our horses if we’re no’ careful.”
Lifting Riona within reach of Hearn’s stirrup, Ranald supported her with a palm to her rear as she scrambled to swing a leg across the warhorse’s broad back. She settled carefully, both hands gripping the cantle for balance.
Ranald mounted in front of her, looking over his shoulder. “Are ye all right?”
Riona transferred her grip to either side of Ranald’s quilted coat, feeling much more secure with her arms about him. “Aye.”
“Mind where ye put yer hands or we’ll be even later getting to Scaurness,” he teased gently.
Riona jerked her hands away, her cheeks flaming as she realized they’d rested nearly in his lap. The sound of his chuckle drifted to her ears as he urged Hearn forward.
A soft sound jolted Gilda awake. Her body hurt from staying tucked behind the column at the head of the stairs. It also reminded her why she was there, and sharp fear sliced through her again. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
She wanted to brush them away, but she didn’t dare move.
“Gilda.”
It was Brian’s voice, and Gilda sucked on her lip to keep from replying. She’d seen Manus in a rage, heard him send men after her, listened as the women in the rooms near hers screamed and sobbed, unable to tell the men where she was. She’d heard the denial in their voices, the pleading, the keening in the silence. Why should she trust Brian?
A whisper of shod feet on the wooden floor drew her attention to the opening of her hiding place. A pair of brown eyes, nearly black in the low light, appeared at her level. A gentle smile touched Brian’s lips as he held up a finger, warning her to silence. Grateful the decision was taken from her, Gilda nodded.
Brian slipped next to her in the small space, folding his long legs out of sight. “I knew ye’d be up here still,” he whispered. “The MacEwen has taken the castle and wants ye for a hostage. Do ye understand?”
Gilda shook her head, her eyes stretched wide in fear.
“We need to hide ye until the laird returns. Will ye come with me?”
Gilda started to shake her head again, but slowly nodded, feeling braver now to have someone help her.
“Where is Auntie Tavia?” Her voice was a tense, whispered squeak.
Brian patted her shoulder awkwardly. “She’s been hurt and cannae talk right now. She’d want ye to hide from the MacEwen, too. Ye need to be brave, Gilda. Can ye do that?”
Of course she was brave. Her ma said she was. Gilda placed her hand in Brian’s and together they slipped into the upper hall.
“We should reach the crossing soon and Scaurness late tonight if we dinnae stop again.”
Riona squeezed Ranald’s hand as they walked side-by-side, Hearn trailing behind them. “I wasnae a good traveler at first, though I believe I’m getting used to it. I don’t mind another night as long as it doesnae rain again.”