Medieval Ever After (98 page)

By the time she reached Loch Doon, it had been dark for hours. Luckily, all the extra activity around the village and castle in preparation for her soon-to-be-husband’s arrival meant that it was easy for her to find a boat to transport her back to the island. When she docked, the portcullis still stood open.

Clutching her cloak around her, she hurried under the portcullis and into the courtyard. It struck her that although there was still an air of tense anticipation hanging around the castle, the yard was quiet and empty. She could see that light still shone from several of the tower keep’s windows, though. Perhaps she wasn’t too late. Perhaps Daniel Sinclair hadn’t arrived today.

She eased open the large doors to the great hall. Instead of finding it filled with servants and people sitting down for the evening meal, the hall was nearly empty. Her eyes fell on her father, who stood nearby wringing his hands. But then her attention shifted as a shadowy figure crossed in front of the fire in the huge hearth.

“Rona!” Her father’s voice pierced the eerie quiet, but her attention was held on the stranger in front of the fire, whose head whipped up and toward her.

“Rona, where have you been? How dare you disappear like that, and on such an important day?” Her father rushed toward her, blocking her vision of the stranger. He wrapped his hands around her arms and shook her hard.

“Answer me, girl!” her father shouted, giving her another harsh shake.

“Laird Kennedy.”

The stranger’s voice boomed across the empty hall, and yet he hadn’t shouted. He merely spoke with complete authority.

“I would thank you to take your hands off my bride. Seeing as how I am the keeper of this castle and the lass’s future husband, I’ll handle this.”

Her father reluctantly stepped aside, but suddenly Rona preferred to face her father’s wrath that this stranger’s cool, commanding authority.

As the man approached, she got her first good look at him. He was garbed in a simple linen shirt, and though it was soiled and dirty, it couldn’t obscure his large, muscular frame. Over one broad shoulder was thrown a length of red plaid, which was fastened with a simple pin. The plaid was also wound around his trim hips in a kilt. She had only ever seen kilts on the rough Highlanders who occasionally passed through the village on their way to fight the English.

His lower legs were covered in woolen hose and tall leather boots, which looked just as soiled and worn as his shirt. Though he didn’t wear a great sword on his hip or strapped to his broad back the way the other Highland barbarians she had seen did, he had a long knife secured to his calf, making him look all the more fierce.

But what truly took her breath away was his handsome yet ominously stormy visage. His long, dark brown hair was pulled back loosely from his face. Dark stubble obscured his jawline, but she could see that it was firm and angular beneath his scruff. Frowning lips sat below his straight, strong nose, and his eyes—they looked almost black in the low light of the hall, but as he approached, she realized they were blue-gray like a squally sea.

“Leave us,” the man said flatly to her father, though his eyes never left her. In fact, she suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable under his hard, sharp gaze.

Without a word of protest, her father hurried toward the staircase leading to the chambers above.

Rona forced herself to straighten her spine under the man’s silent stare. She wouldn’t be made to quaver in her boots by some stranger, even if he was to be her husband. Never mind that his gaze made her feel silly and tongue-tied.

“I take it you must be Daniel Sinclair, third son to the Laird of a Highland clan,” she said levelly.

If her father had been there, he would have gone into a fit at her impertinence for drawing attention to the man’s lower rank. But she was no docile, sweet lady; it was best he knew that from the beginning.

She was prepared for his frown to deepen, or even for him to berate her for her insolence. Instead his face remained flat and unreadable.

“And I take it you must be Rona Kennedy, daughter of a disgraced and disloyal Laird.”

She felt her eyes widen and her jaw slacken at the open insult he flung at both her and her father. Well, she had started it. But to openly call her father disloyal? Too late, she realized that her temper had reached the boiling point.

“How dare you come into our home and insult us in this manner! My father did what was necessary to keep Loch Doon in one piece! I’m sure a
Highlander
like you wouldn’t understand the finer points of diplomacy and negotiation required in the Lowlands during this tumultuous time.”

“You call Loch Doon your home, but I’ll remind you that it is Robert the Bruce’s ancestral land, and he built Loch Doon with his own two hands. I am the keeper of the castle now, and I serve the Bruce—not the English who threaten us.”

Daniel watched as a series of emotions flitted across the Kennedy lass’s face. Though he doubted she was aware of it, her thoughts and feelings were written clearly on her comely features.

Actually, she was more than comely. As Daniel had approached when she entered the hall, he took in her bright red hair, which rolled in loose waves down her back. It made her look wild, like some forest fairy. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks had a pink tinge from the cold outside. When he was standing right in front of her, he realized that a smattering of freckles crossed the bridge of her small, pert nose, making her look all the more impertinent. Her eyes blazed bright blue, a cold fire to match her flame-red hair.

Anger, outrage, and stubbornness all warred for dominance on her face. She nearly retorted again, but she forcefully swallowed her words and pressed her lips together.

That gave him another moment to strategize his approach to the lass. First she had evaded him by disappearing for the entire afternoon and evening. That had given him plenty to stew about. Though he and the rest of the castle had taken a quick and joyless evening meal in the great hall, he had been too distracted and annoyed to bathe or get settled in his new chamber. Instead, he had paced the empty hall with Kennedy hovering over him until she suddenly appeared.

Then her first words to him were a direct challenge to his authority and rank. Gilbert Kennedy had at least attempted to suppress his feelings of frustration at being deposed. This lass, on the other hand, went straight on the attack.

So, how was he to treat a hostile bride who was evasive one minute and on the attack the next? Judging by the cracks she was showing in her steel-spined exterior, perhaps his level coldness made her uncomfortable.

After a long silence stretched, he finally spoke, keeping his voice neutral. “Where have you been all evening?”

Damn, the question only seemed to harden her. She crossed her arms over her chest, which caused the thick cloak she wore to fall back over her shoulders. It was the first glimpse he had of her form. She was slender and lithe, though at the moment her posture made her look fierce. Her crossed arms emphasized her breasts, which were high and firm. Though not deep-bosomed, she was endowed with a slim yet womanly figure. He suddenly realized she was tall for a lass. Her head came up to his chin, and he towered over most men.

The silence deepened as she continued to stare back at him, refusing to answer.

“I asked you a question, lass,” he said, no longer trying to hide his irritation.

“And I don’t wish to answer. Will you shake it out of me, as my father would have?” She raised her chin as she spoke, but he didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her bright blue eyes. She was testing him, but because she didn’t know him yet, she wasn’t sure if he was the type of man to use force against a woman.

“I’ll not harm you, lass. But as your future husband and the keeper of this castle, I demand respect for my authority.”

“Isn’t that the difficulty with respect, though? You cannot demand it. It can only be earned,” she retorted.

He felt his teeth clench at her sharp words. “So you refuse to tell me where you have been for the last several hours and why you have arrived looking like a bedraggled servant rather than the daughter of a Laird and the future wife of the keeper of Loch Doon?”

Her head jerked down, seeming to only now realize that her gown was coarse and simple, and that mud spattered her boots and her wool hem. But perhaps he shouldn’t have taken aim at her appearance, for instead of a cold fire in her eyes, she looked up at him with horror and embarrassment.

“I’m sorry my appearance displeases you,
my lord
,” she said, but her sharpness was gone, to be replaced with a brittleness that belied her fragility.

Bloody hell, what a start they were making.

To try to get things on the right track, he made a show of looking down at his own muddied, disheveled clothes.

“Perhaps we could both use a bath and a night of sleep before we discuss this further.”

A look of surprise, swiftly followed by panic, transformed her face. She thought he was proposing they bathe and sleep together.

“Separately, of course,” he said quickly.

His words seemed to both soothe her alarm and cool her temper.

“Very well, my lord,” she said with a conciliatory nod. She turned toward the stairs leading to the chambers above, but before she took a step, he extended his arm to her.

He wasn’t sure why he did it. Partly it seemed like a husbandly thing to do and would help to further smooth things between them. But he also couldn’t deny that he was curious to feel her slim, white hand resting on his.

She hesitated for a moment, looking between his outstretched arm and his face warily. Finally, she slipped her arm through his, placing her fingers on top of his hand lightly. She allowed him to guide her toward the spiraling stairs and begin their ascent.

They arrived at his chamber first, and before he could take her hand in his, she had pulled away.

“Good night, my lord,” she said, averting her eyes. She didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she dashed farther up the stairs toward her own chamber.

Once he had closed the chamber door behind him, he let his mind puzzle out the strange events of the day—and Rona Kennedy, most strange of all.

The maid Agnes had sent a bathing tub and water before the evening meal. The water had long since grown cold, but Daniel disrobed and bathed anyway. He hoped the cold water would help clear his mind, but instead the memory of Rona’s eyes, bright as a cloudless summer day, kept creeping back to him.

At least she was fair of face and form, he thought, but instead of the sour dissatisfaction he tried to muster, his body felt heated at the images of her floating in his mind.

As he dried himself off and stepped toward the large bed, he forced his thoughts from the lass’s looks. Although he was grateful to the Bruce for bestowing upon him the honor of running Loch Doon and for ordering him to wed a woman who stirred his lust, he silently cursed his King for sending him into such a tangled mess.

Laird Kennedy would likely have to be sent away, lest the castle and the village become divided in their loyalties. Speaking of loyalty, he would have to make it clear to both the Scottish residents and the English who so often lurked in the Lowlands that Loch Doon was firmly in the service of the Bruce and the cause for independence.

And something must be done about Rona, though he didn’t know what. He simply couldn’t have his soon-to-be wife disappearing and refusing to explain herself. Normally he wouldn’t have permitted anyone to speak to him so sharply and with such abandon, but Rona’s tongue and wit intrigued him.

Perhaps he had gotten too used to people unquestioningly following his commands. The lass’s spirited retorts reminded him that he had to prove himself to all at Loch Doon. Just because the King had placed him in charge didn’t mean that these people would automatically respect and follow him. And just because Rona would be his wife didn’t mean that she wouldn’t challenge him.

With that thought, Daniel fell into an uneasy sleep.

HIGHLANDER’S RECKONING