The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (34 page)

“Slave—you dinnae tell them who ye were? Were ye afraid they would kill ye?”

“I was often afraid they would kill me. But, no, I dinnae tell them who I was.” He leaned forward and turned his face to Conn, moving his hair behind his left ear. “That verra large scar is what is left of a head wound that caused me to lose my memory. I only learned who I was a day ago.”

Conn slumped back into his chair, his head whirling with disbelief. Ryan’s story was simply incredible and he wasn’t sure whether to heartily welcome him home or give him quiet and space to recover. He stole a glance at his friend, unwilling for Ryan to think he stared. His shoulders were muscled and lean, his skin darkly bronzed. But if he looked closely, white lines of scarring crossed the portion of his back he could see above the edge of the tub, and his shoulder blades were far too prominent. Conn shuddered to imagine the rest of the scar that crossed his head.

Ryan’s next words took him off guard. “Why did ye not marry her?”

He thinks Gilda’s unmarried state is my fault?
He scowled, remembering Ryan’s cold dismissal of her by the dock.

Pulling his anger in check, Conn bit out his words, striving for civility. “I almost did. I asked her twice, if ye want to know.” Shrugging, he added, “I dinnae realize ye were alive at the time.”

“She turned ye down.” Ryan’s voice was almost flat, emotionless, but Conn sensed the thin line of anger riding just below the surface.

“She was still in love with ye! Though I cannae for the life of me see why.”

“Och, aye. I could see how much she once loved me.”

Conn clenched his fists to keep from smashing the sneer from his friend’s face. ’Twas not Gilda’s fault she’d been too stunned to greet him with the joy Ryan had obviously expected. He’d been dead to her for a year, for pity’s sake!

“If ye dinnae want her, just say so. She had only this morning agreed to be my wife. With ye gone over a year, she has every right to do so. Ye were never formally married before a priest, so yer vows willnae hold ye if ye want out.”

“Ye would like that, aye?”

Conn bolted out of his chair and stormed to the edge of the tub, shoving back the desire to haul Ryan out of the water and beat some sense into him.

“I dinnae know what yer problem is. That lass grieved far longer for ye than was good for her. Then young William was born and she grew up a lot, became stronger—a young woman to be proud of. She has fought long and hard to overcome the nightmares of guilt she had of the day ye died—disappeared. Ye can either give her the respect she deserves, or go to hell! And I dinnae care which!”

He stared at Ryan for a long moment, but his friend made no move. Conn threw his hands in the air in disgust. “Och, wallow in yer self-pity for all I care. But ye’d best make yer mind up soon, for I’ll not be put off by yer bull-headedness!” Spinning about with furious energy, he crossed the room in long, angry strides and flung open the door. Muttering dire consequences under his breath, he stormed down the stairs.

* * *

Tavia paused, tasting spoon at her lips, as a pounding at her door sounded. She set the long wooden utensil on the hearth and dusted her hands on her apron as she crossed the tiny room. Worry creased her forehead as she pondered the significance of a visit to her wee house. She’d long since trained a healer for the clan, and other than the laird’s own family, the new healer was usually sufficient.

She yanked the door open and peered into the bright midday sunlight. In the backlighting from the darkened cottage to the brilliant sun reflecting off the water of the firth, her goddaughter looked ghastly.

Tavia hurried to usher her inside. “Wheesht, lass! Ye look as though ye’ve seen a ghost! Sit down. I will take the bairn.”

In short, commanding movements, she whisked a chair out for Gilda to sit, slipped young William from her arms and perched him on her hip. Peering up at the guards at the doorway, she shooed them away.

“Not enough room inside for that many braw men, and thank goodness for that. They only get in the way.” She poured hot water from a steaming kettle over a spoonful of dried herbs. She stirred it slowly then set the mug on the table in front of Gilda. “This will put a wee bit of color in yer cheeks, lass.”

Gilda forced her lips into a tight line of thanks and Tavia could think of no clear reason for it.

“Tell me what has upset ye,
a stor
. Has something happened at Ard Castle?”

Gilda wrapped her hands around the mug. “Aye.”

Mustering patience, Tavia placed Will on a blanket in a large basket near the hearth and returned to the chair next to Gilda. She slid a hand across her shoulders, noting the tension and the way the lass flinched at her touch.

“Has someone hurt ye?”

Gilda shook her head violently. “Not my body. My heart.”

“Conn MacLaurey, the wee
scunner
!” Tavia exploded.

Gilda placed a restraining hand atop Tavia’s. “Nae. ’Tis nothing Conn has done.” She tilted her face and Tavia wilted at the despair written in the tear streaks on her too-pale cheeks.

“Ryan Macraig is home.”

It took a few moments for Gilda’s words to register, and Tavia could tell how hard it was for her to say them. Gilda leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, wrapping them about her waist as though shielding herself.

“Lass, tell me what happened.”

Gilda stared at the mug of brewed herbs before her in silence.

Tavia searched for something to say. “This has come as quite a shock. I know how much in love the two of ye were—”

“He doesnae want Will!” The words burst from Gilda’s mouth even as her hand flew to her lips, a horrified look on her face.

“Och, Gilda, that cannae be true.” But despair slashed every line of Gilda’s body and Tavia folded her into a tight embrace.

Slowly, Gilda began to speak. “Conn arrived at Ard Castle this morning. Lissa and I had planned to take Will out on the beach for a picnic, but she wasnae feeling well, so Conn went with us instead.”

She took a shuddering breath. “As we finished, a
birlinn
docked and I was frightened—remembered the pirate attack a year ago. Conn thought it would be good if I walked to the beach, faced my fears.” She fell silent and Tavia waited for her to regain her composure.

“A man on a beautiful white horse rode up the path. In a few moments he was close enough for me to recognize him.” Her voice dropped to an agitated whisper. “’Twas Ryan.”

“Did he see ye?”

“Aye. He saw me. He stared, no, he sneered at me! His eyes went from me to Will and back, and he sneered at me! As though he couldnae believe I had a bairn!”

Tavia placed a fond kiss on Gilda’s temple and smoothed the fiery curls back from her face. “I imagine he was startled to see ye.”

“He hates me. I saw it on his face. Why does he hate me?”

Tavia shook her head, swallowing against the tears clogging her throat. “I dinnae know,
a stor
. I dinnae know.”

* * *

Ryan stood at his open window, surveying the land from his vantage point. Every dip and rise, every tree and stone were as familiar to him as his life’s own blood. Conn’s words still ran rampant through his mind. He sought peace, a refuge from the terrifying months with the pirates. Gilda had suffered, too, and he tried to wrap his thoughts around why she would turn to Conn at such a time. He had faced death more than once, and watched too many people die to continue to blame her for needing comfort in another man’s arms. She had thought him dead, after all.

He scowled. Conn had not handled the situation well. He knew better than to take advantage of a young girl’s distress. For that, he would consider thrashing him later. But for now, he needed to know if he and Gilda had a chance for a life together.

I could raise the bairn to know his da, to give him security and a good life. I could adopt him as my heir if I had no other. Though I dinnae know if Conn would agree.

He shoved his hand across his forehead in frustration.
She is the love of my heart. I would let her go if she was set against me. But if there is a chance, any at all…

His da and the clan awaited him downstairs. But he would not face them without answers. Keita told him Gilda had not returned to the castle and Conn had ordered her things sent on to Scaurness.

Draping a plaide about his shoulders, Ryan slipped down the stairs unseen and hurried to the stables.

In the act of saddling his own horse, Conn was startled to see Ryan enter the stable. He stepped to the door of the stall as Ryan led his mare down the aisle.

“A nice-looking mare ye have. I dinnae think I have seen one so fine.”

“A Frenchman I met gave her to me. I will tell ye the story sometime.”

Conn leaned his forearms across the top of the half-door. “Where are ye going?”

Ryan finished saddling his horse quickly and swung into the saddle.

“I am going to talk to Gilda.”

“She said she was going to stay with Tavia for a day or so.”

Ryan pulled his mare’s head around and gave Conn a long assessing look. “I thank ye.” Putting his heels to his horse’s sides, he sent her out the door into the evening.

Conn called after him. “Young Will is a good lad. Ye will like him.”

Ryan did not answer.

Chapter 33

Gilda stared groggily at her mug. In the corner of the room Will slept, tucked in his blanket on the cot. Tavia had left them to check on a woman near birthing in the village, and she’d tried to nap as well, but, as tired as she was, both emotionally and physically, sleep would not come. Staring at the thatched ceiling, she’d waited until Will’s eyes closed, then slipped quietly from the narrow bed.

She jumped at the rap on the door frame, nearly knocking over the table in her haste to stop whoever it was from making so much noise and waken her sleeping son. She jerked the door open, rocking back on her heels in disbelief.

Framed in the doorway, his shoulders taking up most of the open space, Ryan stood before her. His build was stronger, yet leaner than before, his hair tied neatly back, but still longer than she remembered. Deeply tanned skin contrasted vividly against his white leine, but his amber eyes glowed fiercely from his familiar face.

In spite of the shuttered look he gave her, her heart lurched longingly.

Dead over a year and he still makes my heart tremble
. The admission brought an irreverent tilt to her lips which she quickly raised a hand to conceal.

Recovering her poise, she recalled his earlier dismissal of her and Will and put her hand to the door, intent on closing it.

He pressed his side of the door with spread fingertips, stopping her. “May I come in?”

His voice rumbled through her, recalling passion, and her heart warred with her head. She peeked past him and was reassured to see the guards only a few feet away. Without enthusiasm, she stepped back, motioning him inside.

“Aye, but please keep yer voice low. I dinnae want ye to wake Will.”

His eyes slid from hers at the mention of the bairn, and Gilda’s efforts at politeness slipped a notch. Her jaw clenched as she offered him a chair.

“Would ye sit?”

Ryan gave her a sharp look, but she maintained her calm as she seated herself across the table from him. He touched the table with a forefinger, drawing an invisible design on its surface. Gilda waited for him to break the silence.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot earlier.”

“Och, well, I was a wee bit surprised to see ye on yer fine horse at the dock.” Gilda could not hold back her sarcasm at Ryan’s poor opening statement, and was satisfied to see him wince.

But his voice remained even. “I am sorry for that. I can only tell you about these past months and hope ye understand.”

Gilda’s eyes widened and her voice dropped to a whisper, her hand at her throat. “I dinnae want to hear!” She cringed at Ryan’s wounded look, and she battled down the fear stirring inside. “Ye dinnae know the nightmares I had after the pirates—”

“I am sorry,
a stor
. I dinnae mean to cause ye more distress. Will ye not hear me?”

Not immune to his endearment, she hesitated, biting back the insistent
No!
roaring through her head. She pleated the fabric of her skirt with trembling fingers then leapt to her feet and added hot water to her mug. The soothing aroma of herbs wafted in the air and she took a small sip of the liquid. Cradling the cup between her hands, she nodded. “Aye.”

“The day the pirates came, I sent Conn to protect ye and the other girls—get ye to the castle and out of harm’s way. We were outnumbered, and I prayed reinforcements from the castle would arrive in time. We just had to hold them off until Conn got ye to safety. Soldiers arrived and we fought the pirates back to the cliffs, but the battle was fierce. I took a blow to the head and that was the last I remembered for a very long time.”

Gilda eyed him, puzzled. “What happened?”

“I fell over the cliff and floated down the coastline. The pirates fled our beach and picked me up as they sailed away sometime later.”

“Why did they not ransom ye? Why did we not hear?”

“My wound was severe, Gilda. There was no one who recognized me. I learned later their leader was dead. When I finally woke, I dinnae remember who I was.”

Gilda rose slowly and paced the small room. He’d been alone and unable to remember his name. Visions of Acair’s death leaped through her memory. The sound of the wolf’s snarls, the pirate’s anguished cry. The sight of the sword Conn slid through his chest.

A nameless emotion seared her insides, leaving her breathless and cold. She startled as a hand clasped her shoulder and she whirled to meet Ryan’s gaze.

“Will ye not sit with me?”

She nodded and followed him back to the table. Catching her chair by its rungs with his foot, he slid it next to his. Gilda sank slowly onto the woven seat and jerked as his thigh brushed hers. Ryan cleared his throat, a surprised look on his face as Gilda edged away.