The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (16 page)

“Nae. I cannae linger. Da is waiting for me.”

“Ye have a lot to account for.”

“It will work itself out. She is my wife and nothing can change that.”

Conn frowned. “She dinnae look well.”

“She and her da had words, and she is remembering she is his daughter.”

Even with Gilda’s protestation she wanted to be with him, would she change her mind and want to return to her family? Emptiness clenched his gut at the thought. “We will make the marriage binding with witnesses as soon as possible.”

“Ye havenae already seen a priest?”

Ryan glared at his friend. “Nae. The storm caught us and we were forced to shelter in a cave. We pledged to each other then.”

Conn snorted. “I told ye ’twas a bad idea the first time ye went to the cave with her. Now ye are marrit, yer da is angry, as is her da, I have nae doubt. My sister will be unhappy, even if she had no intention of going through with the wedding, and yer wife doesnae appear too pleased with her decision, either.” He rose to his feet and shrugged. “Nae. Ye should have left the Macrory lass alone.”

“Cease yer harping about Gilda. She is my wife and I willnae hear a word against her.”

Conn’s eyes widened in surprise. “I think ye foolish to have married the lass, but I mean no disrespect to her. I knew she would bring trouble from the first time I met her, but I hoped ye would keep things in check. I meant nothing more by it.”

Ryan bit back his retort, aware his warning to Conn was groundless. His friend would be civil to Gilda, perhaps befriend her when he got to know her. “I am sorry. I am overprotective,” he admitted.

Conn nodded. “Accepted. Ye best go placate yer da. I believe I see smoke seeping beneath yon door.”

Ryan glanced at the closed door of the laird’s private chamber. “Aye. It willnae be to his liking, but ’twill be the last time he speaks to me of a betrothal to Mairead.”

* * *

A gentle knock sounded at the door. Gilda crossed the room and cracked open the portal. A sweet face with amber eyes and long black hair stared back at her, and Gilda recognized Ryan’s sister.

Gilda opened the door wider. “Come in.”

Lissa came inside, a young woman in her wake, a stack of clothes in her arms. Lissa perched on the edge of one of the chairs, her head cocked to the side as she studied Gilda.

“This is Keita.” She gestured to her companion. “She will be yer maid.”

Gilda stared at the dour-faced woman. “I have no need for a maid. I can care for myself.”

Keita’s chin lifted. “Ye are Lady Macraig. I will tend yer needs as bid.” She placed her stack of clothing on the bed and rummaged through it before holding up a gray gown, eyeing first Gilda then the gown, as though to determine its suitability.

As Gilda pondered the need for a surly maid, Lissa’s voice piped in. “Ye are the lass from the beach. I knew Ryan liked ye.”

Gilda lifted an eyebrow at the girl’s matter-of-fact statement. “How could ye tell?”

Lissa waved her hand dismissingly. “Och, he has worn a
soor
face the past few days and ’twas easy to tell something was wrong. He lit right up when he saw ye and made Conn take me down the beach with yer little brother. He wanted us out of the way, ye know.”

Keita thrust the gray gown beneath Gilda’s chin, tsked her disapproval and returned to her task. Gilda gave a wan smile and sighed.

Lissa sat back in her chair, an earnest look on her face. “Do ye not like being marrit to my brother?”

Gilda peered at the girl. “Och, I like yer brother verra much, and I like being marrit to him, but I miss my family.”

“Ye did marry quickly,” Lissa agreed solemnly.

“My father is verra angry with me. He wanted me to marry to benefit the clan. But I couldnae marry someone I dinnae love. Not after I met Ryan.”

The girl nodded slowly. “I think ’twould be difficult to love someone and be marrit to somebody else.”

Gilda felt a sharp pain stab her chest and she forced a light laugh. “Och, Lissa! Ye are much too young to be worried about such. I am sure yer da will marry ye to a fine man.”

“Mayhap. A laird’s daughter doesnae often get to plead her case.”

“Ye are verra wise for yer age.”

“Will ye stay here and be my sister?”

Gilda started at the change in subject. “Ye think I will leave?”

“Well, ye seem verra sad. If ye miss yer family enough, would ye go home?”

Gilda bit her lip to forestall the tears. “I dinnae think I can go home, now.”

Chapter 14

Ryan raised his fist to knock on the door to his father’s chamber but hesitated.
This cannae go well.
With a scowl, he rapped his knuckles on the portal, the heavy thud echoing in the hollowness of his gut.

“Enter.”

He released the latch and opened the door. The room was bathed in the light of too many candles, he recognized at once as their cloying scent reached his nostrils. His gaze moved to the single slitted window on the far side of the room and noted the tapestry partly blocking the opening.

“Sit.”

Ruffled by the terse single-word command, Ryan pulled his attention to his father and sat as bid. The scrape of the chair’s legs on the stone floor echoed in the silence. His father’s steely gaze flared across the table. With conscious effort, Ryan held his tongue.

“Ye couldnae keep yer hands off the Macrory’s daughter, could ye?”

Ryan gritted his teeth, hating being on the defensive. “’Twas not like that.”

His father rose to his feet, his hands flat on the table. “How was it, then, lad? D’ye not know ye dinnae have to marry every lass who lifts her skirt for ye?”

Ryan bolted to his feet. “Ye willnae talk about her like that!”

“And what, me lad, do ye think will happen when Laird MacLaurey discovers ye have broken the betrothal with Mairead?”

“I dinnae want a betrothal to the
besom
!”

“I willnae have that pirate’s bastard in my castle!” the laird thundered.

Ryan’s breath expelled in a whoosh of disbelief. “How can ye hold this over her head? None of it was her fault.”

For a lingering moment, Laird Macraig glared at Ryan across the table. His eyes bulged, distorted with his rage.

Ryan feared his da had gone quite mad.

* * *

Gilda rounded the final turn in the stairwell and stopped, her fingers clenched about the rope railing. A shout of laughter and answering response punctuated the murmur of voices in the hall. On the far side of the room, the double doors were open wide, and midday light streamed within.

At her side, Lissa tugged her hand. “Come. Ryan will be waiting for ye.”

“I wish I had not agreed to come down for dinner.”

“Och, ye will be fine. Ye look grand in that gown. Ryan willnae be able to take his eyes from ye.”

Gilda turned her attention to the pert girl at her side. “Ye are entirely too young to be saying such things.”

“Ye must come down or Ryan will come looking for ye.”

“Then, let us go.” She touched a hand lightly to her hair, resigned to the wisps of curls already escaping from the tight braid. She and Lissa entered the hall and conversation ground to a halt as heads turned in their direction. Her gaze went unerringly to Ryan, who leapt to his feet and hurried to her side.

He took her free hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes questioning. “Are ye well?” His voice was pitched low.

Lissa squeezed her other hand before she slipped away to her seat. Gilda scarcely noticed her absence. Ryan’s attentions filled her with warmth and her cheeks heated. “I am always fine when I am with ye.”

Ryan took a step toward the head table, keeping her hand firmly in his. “Come. I will introduce ye.”

Her warmth fled. These were people foreign to her, a clan at odds with her own, and unprepared for the fact their laird’s son had married against his father’s wishes. Gilda’s heart pounded and her bravery slipped a notch. Within moments, she was the center of uncertain attention.

Ryan faced the room. She refrained from leaning into him, certain it would appear she feared their scrutiny. It would not do to be seen a coward. If she truly wanted to be Ryan’s wife, she would take the title as Lady of Ard Castle and all else her new life entailed. She fancied Tavia’s voice in her head. ’
Tis an ill bird that fyles its ain nest
. She lifted her chin and hid the turmoil inside.

No, she would not start her marriage with cowardice in the eyes of her new clan.

* * *

The bedroom was dim, lit only by several candles, their wicks burned low. Gilda gasped and stuck her finger in her mouth. Her eyes watered and she quivered between exhaustion and anger. She hated sewing, hated her needle-pricked finger, hated the uneven stitches even she could tell needed to be pulled out and redone.

Wed less than a day, she felt abandoned by her new husband.

She pulled her finger from her mouth and examined it with a critical eye in the light of the candle on the table at her elbow. A tiny dark spot marked the needle’s entrance, but the injury was, in reality, slight. She set her sewing aside and climbed wearily to her feet. The clanging sounds from the practice field had ceased hours ago as the men hurried inside for their supper. Then, just as quickly, they were gone as news of the pirates interrupted the meal.

The usual nighttime noises drifted from the bailey below, none bringing news of the soldiers’ return, and Gilda did not know if she would see Ryan this night or not. Was he safe? Would he return to her?

The door latch rattled softly and she whirled.

Ryan stood in the doorway, a surprised look on his face. “I expected ye to be asleep.” He tossed his plaide to a chair and opened his arms.

Gilda rushed to him, wrapping her arms about his waist as she buried her face against his chest. His embrace tightened and her fears fled. His kisses rained on the top of her head and she tilted her face to receive them properly. He was as hungry for her as she was for him, and within moments she was naked beneath him, the soft furs on the bed sleek against her back.

She clung to him, demanding he claim her, wanting to know, in the deepest part of her, if his need was as great as hers. His splayed hands warmed her, set fire beneath his touch. His name escaped her throat on a harsh cry and her nails dug into his flesh as passion swept through her.

Ryan shuddered over her, his breath a groan torn from his chest.

His breathing slowed and he lowered his head. Gilda tasted ale on his tongue as it played lazily with hers and she twined her trembling arms about his neck.

He turned his attention to the curve of her ear. “I wish I could have been with ye all evening.” He pushed his hips against hers, sparking another tiny jolt of passion through her. Gilda gasped and wriggled. Ryan chuckled. “But this wasnae a bad welcome, at that.”

She considered a swat to the side of his head for his impertinence, but hesitated, amazed at how boneless she felt. Perhaps he didn’t deserve the swipe after all. She ran her fingers through his hair instead. “Yer hair is damp.”

“Ye would have noticed earlier if ye hadnae been so eager to get me into yer bed.” Ryan’s teasing voice made her smile.

She tugged gently at a dark lock in reprimand. “And ye stopped to eat.”

“Nae. I grabbed a draught on my way through the hall. My only appetite was for ye.” Ryan moved against her and she felt him grow hard again.

His rhythm increased and she gave herself up to the sensations building inside. He took his time, nibbling along her sensitive skin, taking her to the brink of pleasure before changing direction, leaving her clinging to him in breathless anticipation. At last he joined her, pushing her over the edge of passion.

Ryan rolled onto his back and slid an arm beneath her shoulders. “Put yer head on my chest,
a stor
.”

Gilda nestled against him, the thud of his heartbeat loud in her ear. With a sigh of contentment, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep as his fingers moved soothingly up and down her back.

* * *

Gilda’s hand spread across the pillow beside her, startled to find it empty. She sat up, no longer sleepy, and peered about the room. Sunlight spilled pale through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing midair. The peat fire lay banked on the hearth, glowing embers marking where it smoldered. Ryan was long since gone.

She pushed the blankets back and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Bracing against the impact of the cold floor, she darted to the hearth, snatching her shift from the back of a chair to slip it over her head. Shivering, she perched on the warm stones next to the fire, her feet tucked beneath the hem of her shift, and stirred the embers to life. The growing flames warmed her and she basked for a moment as the morning chill became a fleeting memory.

Yesterday seemed very far away. Though Ryan was again gone—she was foolish to think he could spend every waking moment with her—she did not feel the ravages of leaving her family as much this morning, not after the night she’d spent in Ryan’s arms.

She bit the inside of her lip as a wave of longing passed through her. Would her life be like this forever? Nights of passion followed by long hours of waiting for Ryan’s return? She sighed. There had to be something she could do to keep busy. Anything that would take her mind off her husband’s absence even for a little while.

Well, anything except sewing.

The pattern of sunlight shifted to the floor and Gilda surfaced from her reverie. A soft knock sounded on the door and she slipped across the room to answer the gentle summons.

Lissa’s smiling face met hers. “Are ye awake, then?”

A disapproving voice drifted from behind Lissa. “M’lord said ye werenae to be disturbed, but this one said ye might like a bath.”

Gilda looked past Lissa to the frown on Keita’s face. She smiled through her pique at the dour woman. “That would be lovely.”

She opened the door wider to admit Lissa and Keita and two lads laden with pails of steaming water. Behind them, two more lads hefted a small wooden tub.

“Most bathe in a room behind the kitchen…” Censure sounded in Keita’s voice.