The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (31 page)

The man’s arm sliced through the air at chest height, blocking the other two men’s forward progress. They jolted to a stop, angry words against being held to the middle of the street in the rain. The bulky man’s voice rumbled from deep within his barrel chest.

“Sweet Virgin’s tits! ’Tis the Macraig’s son!”

Chapter 29

Ferlie recoiled from the force of the man’s accusatory tone. He drew back into the shadows but the Scotsman barreled his way forward and grasped him by the shoulders, dragging him once again into the feeble glow. Ferlie shrugged off his grip but did not retreat again.

Eyes squinted to mere slits, the man peered at him intently, his gaze settling on his face. At last he gave a grunt of satisfaction and jerked his head.

“Aye. No doubt about it. Ye are Macraig’s son.” He fisted his hands on his hips, feet spaced beneath him to balance his stout, muscular weight. His chin jutted forward. “Whereaboots have ye been, lad?”

Ferlie’s gaze darted from one man to the other. The middle-aged man’s countenance was calmly interested, but the younger’s scowl deepened and he leaned forward aggressively, his height overshadowing Ferlie by a couple of inches.

Giving the golden boy a quelling look, Ferlie faced the question. “I am recently arrived from France, sir. Might I ask what business it is of yours?”

“Ye stole m’ bride!” The blond youth took a menacing step forward, his fists clenched at his sides, his outburst startling Ferlie. The older man halted him with a slicing movement of his hand.

“She wasnae the lass for ye, Boyd.
Haud yer wheesht
.”

Boyd’s scowl twisted into a jeer and he jerked his head at Ferlie. “Aye. Yer da dinnae think her good enough for ye, neither.” He snorted, scorn evident in the tilt of his head and the way his gaze slid down his crooked nose. “He still doesnae.”

Ferlie drew himself up, tired of not understanding. “Enough! Who are ye?”

The bull-necked man puffed his chest. “Are ye daft, lad? I am Laird Maclellan and this is my son, Boyd. Yon is my brother, Drustan. Gilda’s da, Laird Macrory, and I had all but signed the betrothal documents when she ran off with ye.”

“Aye, and ’tis a good thing they werenae signed. M’da would—”

Ferlie scarcely heard Boyd’s scornful, bragging words.

Gilda.

His knees threatened to buckle and his breath came harsh to his chest. Visions of enticing lips beneath gray eyes framed with red curls flashed before him. In rapid succession memories poured through his head. Bare legs peeking from her tucked-up skirt on the beach, a smoldering kiss in a moonlit garden, naked skin beneath his hands, golden in the firelight. Gilda’s sweet voice.

I willnae marry Boyd.

I want to be yer wife, mo chroi.

Gilda…

Graim thu, Ryan. I love you.

Ryan
.

“Ryan, lad. Ye dinnae look so good. Are ye ailin’?”

Through the roaring in his ears, Ryan heard the concern in Laird Maclellan’s voice and he took a deep breath, pulling himself together.

Boyd spoke first. “I dinnae think he’s daft, Da. He likely stayed away so he dinnae have to put up with the Macrory bastard.”

Anger raged through him, and Ryan whirled on Boyd. “What did ye say?”

“I said ye are likely sorry ye married the Macrory bastard.”

Ryan’s fist flew, catching Boyd off-guard. He staggered back a pace, his hand to his jaw. His eyes flashed and with a roar, he launched himself at Ryan, grappling him about his middle, shoving him backward. Ryan’s breath left him in a whoosh as Boyd’s arms forced air from his lungs. His feet slipped in the mud and they both went down, rolling and struggling to gain footing and the upper hand.

Boyd straddled Ryan’s hips, using his weight to hold him in place. Pinning one of Ryan’s arms in his meaty grip, he loosed a punch at his head. As the blow descended, Ryan bucked his hips upward and shoved his body to the side, throwing Boyd off balance. Ryan snaked an arm upward as they rolled, taking the brunt of the blows from Boyd’s fist against his shoulder, using the force to roll the larger man beneath him.

Someone grabbed him from behind, hauling him off the young Maclellan. He struggled to free himself, but more hands caught at him and pulled him back. Boyd scrabbled backward in the mud and quickly regained his feet. He flexed his arm and darted forward, but his da stepped between them.

“Enough! Ye both disgrace yerselves. Hie back to the inn and clean that muck off ye.”

“He swung first!” Boyd wiped the back of his skinned knuckles across his jaw, his eyes full of resentment.

“Ye dinnae have to call the lass a bastard,” the laird replied with heat. “Insolent wee
scunner
.”

Boyd spat on the ground. “Doesnae matter. He’s welcome to her.” He sneered. “If she doesnae marry the MacLaurey lad first.”

Ryan tore himself away from the restraining hands and pushed his way through the crowd, and made his way to the wharf. Returning to the inn an hour later, he spied Greum and waved to him to follow. Without a word, Ryan led him through a back door and through the narrow streets to the stable.

“Who have ye been fightin’ with, lad?”

Ryan ignored the critical edge to Greum’s voice. “Laird Maclellan’s son needed to be reminded of his manners.”

“What does Laird Maclellan’s son have to do with ye?”

“It seems he believed Laird Macraig’s son took something he considered his.”

Ryan opened the neck of his leine and poured a bucket of cold water over his head, washing away the worst of the mud plastered in his hair. Shrugging out of his filthy leine, he set it aside and used the remainder of the water to finish his ablutions.

Greum’s eyes widened. “Ye are Laird Macraig’s son?”

Turning his shirt wrong side out, he used the cleaner surface to dry himself off. He shrugged in answer to Greum’s question and shoved his arms into a cleaner leine from his bag he’d left earlier in Shona’s stall.

Meager light from a single lantern resting on a wooden shelf in the stable barely pierced the gloom. Lacking a looking glass, he could not tell how he’d fared at Boyd’s hands, but the left side of his face was tender to the touch, and he was certain he sported a scrape and bruise or two. He would arrive home looking much the worse for the wear.

“I have no doubt Boyd Maclellan and his da spoke truth. They recognized me.” He lifted his gaze to Greum’s. “
I
recognize me.”

Clapping his hands with glee, Greum settled back on his stool. “’Twill be fine to see ye welcomed home, lad! I hate to see the storm delay ye, but another couple of days willnae change things.”

“I dinnae plan on waiting.”

“But the storm, lad! There willnae be a ship in yon harbor willing to set sail in this!”

Ryan shoved his meager belongings deep in his cloth bag and yanked the drawstring closed. “I have already spoken to the captain of a
birlinn
headed for Scotland. He is agreeable to leaving within the hour.”

“But, the storm!”

Heaving the strap of his bag over his shoulder, Ryan paused, giving Greum an impatient look. “The crossing will take only a few hours. I have missed much this past year, my friend. I have a lady wife who pines for me. My father and sister also believe me dead. Would ye have me wait longer to tell them I dinnae perish?”

Greum’s jaw clenched. “A shipwreck could still make it true.”

“Aye. But now my memory is returned, I cannae wait to be home. I find I miss my sweet wife.” He could not keep the pleased look from his face and Greum sighed.

“I hope ye willnae take it amiss if I dinnae join ye on this journey?”

Ryan patted the old man’s shoulder, aware of his fear of being shipwrecked. “I am sorry to leave ye at this point, my friend, but I understand. Ye must follow as soon as ye feel able. Ard Castle will always welcome ye.”

With a slow nod, Greum acknowledged Ryan’s words. “I pray ye safe journey. I would like to meet this lass who holds yer heart. She must be devoted to ye and grieving terribly.”

“She is a beautiful young woman. I can only imagine the toll this has taken on her. Her hair glowed as though lit with fiery embers, and her skin smooth as the finest cream.” He winced. “If she has declined, ’twill be my fault. I would spend my life making her happy again.”

Greum leapt to his feet and clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Then, Godspeed, my friend. Yer lady waits for ye.”

* * *

It had taken a hefty bribe and a ship’s captain anxious to set foot on Scotland’s soil and willing to risk the brewing weather, but they made the crossing from Larne just ahead of the next squall. The revelation of who he was spurred Ryan beyond caution, and he had been impatient to set sail. Much too impatient to even spend a moment longer with the angry, arrogant Maclellans, and he’d been glad to escape their ‘talk’ with little more than a few bruises and mucked clothing.

A lull in the storm had been enough to launch the ship, and though the night had been taxing as they rode the rough seas ahead of the next squall, morning dawned bright and clear. Ryan chose to ignore the dark clouds as they threatened to overtake them. He’d spent the hours keeping his own dark questions at bay.

How will I be received? Spending a year living with pirates could make my character suspicious, mayhap an outcast even. Will people trust me? Will they even believe me? Will they accuse me of staying away on purpose?

He took a mental inventory of his appearance. Dirty, ragged, still too thin. Did he even look like the person they remembered? Would they recognize him?

Doubt crept in and he searched for other questions. At least he knew Da and Gilda still lived. Laird Maclellan would have said otherwise. And his wee sister, Lissa.
A smile touched his lips
. She has such a sweet way about her. I wonder if Da has thought to her future yet?
She would make someone a fine wife one day.

Gilda. My wife
. He remembered the passion in her, the exciting, fulfilling nights they’d shared. Too few of them.
Will she still grieve me? Will she still be at Ard Castle, or would she return to Scaurness?
His father wouldn’t have been likely to have offered a reason for her to stay on, wife or not.

Widow
, he corrected himself.

Morning light chased away the darkness and he gave himself over to the scenery before him.

“A bit of a sea
brack
following us, but worth the choppy seas to get us home.” The captain’s voice drifted over his shoulder.

Ryan tore his gaze from the sight of the misted mountains as they slipped down to the blue waters of the firth. “I thank ye. I know the risk to yer ship was great.”

Eyes gleaming with avarice and challenge, the captain grinned a gap-toothed smile. “Och, I had no intention of becoming
shipwrackt
. This ship has proven herself against worse storms than this.” He peered into the distance. “We should put to port soon. Yer da willnae deny us mooring space, will he? I dinnae want to be mistaken for a pirate ship.”

“Nae. I will take my horse and go ashore as soon as we land. The men at the docks will know me.”

The captain gave a grunt of acknowledgement and clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Then I will leave ye to yerself whilst I manage the ship. ’Twas our pleasure to have ye on board.”

Ryan nodded absently as they entered the bend that marked the beginning of Macraig land. The sight was familiar and a lump rose in his throat. A year of no memories, and suddenly he was home!

The realization squeezed his chest.
Gilda. I’ve been gone a year. Has she thought to put aside her mourning?
He remembered Boyd Maclellan’s spiteful words.
And marry Conn?

He scratched his head, unable to make sense of Boyd’s statement. Conn did not like Gilda, and would have had reason to hate her, blame her for the dishonor to his sister, and left to see his sister home.
He would have blamed her for my death.

Boyd cannae be right. There would be no reason for them to marry, no reason for them to have ever seen each other again
. He remembered the night in the cave as they fled Scaurness and said their vows to each other. Gilda was sweet and innocent—and ready to be his wife in every way.

My ‘death’ would have crushed her. My sweet darling. Living with my da for the past year with no one but my wee sister for company. She will be overjoyed to see me.
His blood warmed and his breeches became uncomfortably tight.

Tonight she would be his again.

Chapter 30

Gilda stretched her arms over her head, letting slip a sigh of satisfaction. The days at Ard castle had flown by, made almost pleasurable by Laird Macraig’s conspicuous absence in whatever room she happened to occupy at the time. He had inspected Will the day they’d arrived, his belligerent stare twisting with a grimace as Will opened his amber gaze to his grandfather’s sight. With no more than a grunt of acceptance, Laird Macraig had since left the two of them strictly alone.

Lissa had been a welcome distraction, fussing over Will almost to the point of being a nuisance. But her love for the baby was obvious and Gilda could not bring herself to scold the lass for spoiling the bairn. Today, however, Lissa had snuffled and sneezed her regrets through a partly-opened door, revealing her illness and sadly unable to help with Will or attend the picnic on the beach they had planned.

Gilda sighed.
I suppose I could spend the day packing and leave for Scaurness in the morning.
One day earlier than planned, but with Lissa ill, there was little to keep her here.

Footsteps pounded in the hall and ended at her door. A gentle yet urgent knock sounded. Curious, Gilda opened the portal.

“M’lady, there is a young man here to see ye!” Keita’s normally dour face broke into a smile. Gilda’s eyebrows rose.

“Who is it, Keita?”

“Will’s favorite uncle, of course,” a deep voice sounded as Conn skirted the maid. Gilda flung her arms wide with delight and stepped into his embrace.