The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (4 page)

“I may never move again.” He groaned, covering his belly with one hand as he slumped further into his chair.

“If I even catch a whiff of food cooking on the morrow, I think I will be sick,” Conn muttered from the other chair. “’Twas the best meal I have eaten in days.”

“’Tis the only meal ye have kept down in days,” Ryan retorted.

Conn burped pleasurably. “Aye.”

Ryan’s eyes became hooded, mesmerized by the flickering glow of the smoldering peat. Warm and dry and overfed, still he couldn’t help but worry about the red-haired lass he’d left behind, wet and cold on the beach.

“Do ye suppose she got home all right?”

Conn roused with a grunt. “Who?”

“Gilda, ye
amadan
.”

“I imagine she knows her way home.”

Ryan snorted. Knowing her way home and staying out of trouble along the way were two different things.

Conn shifted in his chair. “Will ye ask yer da?”

“About what?”

“Gilda.”

Ryan shrugged. “There is a feud between our clans. I cannae imagine my questions about a Macrory lass would be well-received.”

Conn sat straight up. “A feud? About what?”

Ryan shrugged again. “I dinnae know, exactly. My da offered for the auld laird’s daughter when I was a wee lad, but was refused. She then married the current laird, and there has been no alliance between us since.”

“Is there war between ye?”

“Nae. But neither clan ’tis likely to help the other.”

“Ye should forget the lass, Ryan.”

Ryan had no answer.

“Will ye let it go?” Conn persisted.

Ryan considered his answer—and lied. “Aye.”

* * *

Gilda peered around the great hall, searching high and low for the twins’ tousled blond heads. ’Twas no surprise she didn’t see them, but she greatly preferred knowing where the imps were to happening upon them unawares.

She slipped up the stairs and quickly changed into dry clothes, briskly toweling her hair before the low embers on the hearth. Running a last critical appraisal over her appearance, she headed down the hall to her mother’s room and rapped softly on the portal. Cracking the door open, she peered inside. Her mother sat in a comfortable chair before a low fire and Gilda grinned as their gazes met.

“Enter.” Riona beckoned with a smile. She wrapped the bairn in her arms in a soft blanket and Gilda took the wee lass with a coo, jostling her gently on her shoulder. Her mother adjusted her gown and rose from the nursing chair.

“God bless ye, wee Sara.” Gilda laughed as the bairn burped contentedly. Her ma grabbed a piece of linen and wiped the milky bubbles from the rosebud lips.

“I will take her now.”

Gilda handed Sara back to her ma with a wistful tilt to her head.

“I dinnae mind holding her.” She plopped down onto the window seat cushion. “She is much sweeter than the twins.”

“She will be fast asleep in a moment.” Her mother swayed rhythmically as she approached the cradle beside the bed, conspicuously empty with the knowledge the laird was not at home.

“When will Da be back?”

Her ma tucked Sara into her cradle and tweaked the curling silver birch bark trim meant to keep evil spirits, faeries and goblins at bay. Finished, she straightened and turned to Gilda. “I dinnae know, lass. He is away for the king, and he couldnae say for how long.”

Gilda tossed her red curls over her shoulder with a sigh of annoyance. “Why must he continually curry favor with King Robert? The Macrorys have always been faithful to the crown.”

“Scaurness is of vital importance to the king, ye know that. And since King Robert bestowed the rank of earl on yer da…”

Gilda’s deep sigh was full of youthful frustration. “I know, I know. Da is known and respected and well-liked.” She listed the well-known litany with a scowl.

Her mother crossed to Gilda’s side and gently swept an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “What troubles ye, lass? Did ye not have a good visit with Auntie Tavia?”

The corner of Gilda’s mouth quirked in an attempt at a smile, but her eyes remained troubled and she knew her ma noticed.

She motioned for Gilda to make room for her on the window seat, and Gilda scooted to one side. Her mother slid an arm about her waist and pulled her close. Gilda tucked her feet beneath her on the cushioned seat and leaned into her ma’s comforting embrace.

“Auntie Tavia is fine, as always.” She sighed.

“Then, what troubles ye?”

“Ma, did Da say anything to ye about a betrothal for me before he left?”

Her mother’s hesitation was short, but Gilda’s heart quickened when her ma did not hasten to reassure her.

“Lass, yer da willnae ask ye to wed without consulting the both of us first. As far as I know, he doesnae have plans for ye yet.”

“But he will expect me to marry for the clan, aye?”

“Gilda, ye are the daughter of his heart, and he couldnae bear to betroth ye simply for the benefit of the clan. But even though he isnae yer father by blood, ye are still known as his daughter, and ye are expected to behave as such.”

“Like ye?”

“Mayhap not like me. There were nae other options for me at the time.”

“But there were other lairds ye could have wed. Why Da?”

“Ye know that story. And yer da and I have made a very good marriage of it. I wouldnae change a thing.”

Gilda sighed. Her mother’s answer only partially reassured her. She couldn’t explain why she felt so restless, and to her surprise, her thoughts drifted back to the young man who’d sheltered and distracted her from the storm. Her face flushed and she squirmed as she remembered his kiss.

“Is there a problem, Gilda?”

Gilda risked a peek at her ma and quickly schooled her expression into innocence.

“Nae. One of the lads has paid me attention overmuch, and it caused me to wonder if Da thought me old enough to wed.” She gave her mother a bright smile. “’Tis nothing.”

Her ma gave her an assessing look, but did not pursue the conversation.

* * *

Ryan swatted at Conn’s feet beneath the coverlet as he passed by the bed.

“Ye are a lazy lout,” he complained, brushing aside the single heavy curtain at the narrow window.

Conn rolled over, groaning in protest. “Leave me be, and get out of my room.” He dragged his pillow over his head. “The sun isnae up yet, either.”

Ryan frowned in disgust at Conn’s mumbled words. “Ye are missing the best part of the day. I am going to explore a bit before breaking my fast. Are ye coming with me or nae?”

“Nae.” Conn grunted and clamped his arms around his pillow, burrowing deeper into the soft mattress.

Ryan spun on his booted heel and clumped noisily to the door, ignoring Conn’s muffled grumble. Slamming the door behind him with a little more force than entirely necessary, Ryan hurried down the hallway. He made his way down the stairs and out into the bailey where he pulled up short. And whistled in surprise at the thick mists blanketing the air.

Taking a step into the gray fog, his surroundings were immediately lost to view, the candlelight from the great hall reduced to nothing more than a pale yellow beacon. Ryan stepped cautiously forward and the dark hulk of the stables loomed ahead.

A single lantern hung on a sturdy post, its light penetrating a scant few inches into the fog wrapped around the stone building. Inside, the heat from the horses’ bodies turned the cold mist into a pleasant steam.

By the time Ryan fed and saddled his horse, the morning sun broke through the misty confines, revealing the new day. He swung aboard Duer’s back and leaned in to pat the gleaming neck.

“Double yer oats, lad, after we have had our outing.” He urged the horse on and Duer tossed his head as he bounded forward.

Ryan let his horse stretch his legs once they cleared the castle gate, giving the sentry a brief nod. He wasn’t willing to submit to the need for guards on his first day home, and knew he would get a lecture if he lingered. He wanted to wander the paths he remembered from his childhood; the freedoms he’d treasured as a lad. There would be time for protocol soon, but now he wanted to wander and remember, and wonder what lay ahead.

He rode to the coast, unconsciously retracing the path he’d taken the day before. As rising sea breezes blew away the mists, he drew Duer to a halt and dismounted. Dropping the reins, he left the horse to graze in the sparse grasses on the semi-barren land near the shore. Ryan climbed the rock that marked the border between Macraig and Macrory land, keeping a watchful eye out for wolves and red-haired lasses.

* * *

Gilda inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the crisp morning air and the scents rising from the waters below. Mists clouded her view, but the lapping sound of the waves meeting the shore was a melody she’d known since infancy, one as familiar as her own heartbeat, and it soothed her.

She turned to the thickets spreading inland, knowing the path she wanted to take. With long experience, she absently twitched her skirts aside to avoid the brambles as she plucked the berries from the bushes and dropped them into her woven basket, humming to herself as she worked at her task, one ear alert to sounds of approach. She was, once again, on Macraig land.

A slight rustle to her right stilled her actions, and a wild, musky odor wafted to her on a slight breeze. She cut her eyes from side to side, searching for the source, but the wind was fickle and died away, taking with it the fleeting scent.

A trill of alarm flashed beneath her skin and Gilda slowly sank to her knees, instinctively making herself as small a target as possible. Was she imagining things? She hadn’t slept well the night before, the episode with Ryan repeating in her mind until she’d fled the confines of her room to escape to the arms of the new day. Did someone watch her, or did her imagination betray her?

Her heart pounded in her ears, masking any sound of movement around her. She took a careful, deep breath, willing her heart to slow. On level now with the deepest shadows of the thicket, she peered into the gloom and met the feral glow of yellow eyes.

Chapter 4

Gilda forgot to breathe. Fright pooled like ice in her stomach as she gaped at the wolf’s face and its unwavering stare. At last, the necessity for breath filled her lungs with a sudden rush of air, bringing her to her senses as the shaggy animal leapt to its feet.

A snarl rippled across the wolf’s features, but he did not run away. Gilda caught sight of its forepaw hovering just above the ground.

“Och, ye are the poor lad I rescued yesterday, aye?” She crooned gently. The wolf tilted its head to one side, his gaze never leaving her.

Gilda carefully lowered herself the rest of the way to the ground, her hands in her lap to avoid startling the large, gangly beast.

“Ye are a young one, aye?” She eyed the lean, disproportionately long legs and body, the wolf not yet grown to its mature form. “And hurt and scared. I know. Ye frightened me, too.”

She kept up the one-sided conversation, her voice a low monotone, steadying her nerves as she watched the young animal. The wolf’s unearthly gaze pinned her, but after a few moments, he dropped to his haunches, touching his injured paw briefly to the ground as he shifted his weight.

“I wish I could help ye. I know the trap hurt ye.” Gilda shrugged, eying the line of raw flesh encircling the animal’s swollen foot. “But ye dinnae trust me enough to put salve on it, do ye?”

The wolf collapsed its body to the ground and began licking his paw, his broad, pink tongue repeatedly stroking the injured flesh.

Gilda sighed. “Ye know ’tis best to keep it clean. Ye would just lick off any salve.”

The wolf, having apparently lost interest in Gilda’s non-threatening form, did not look up. Gilda relaxed, but continued to watch the wolf, fascinated by its actions and lack of concern with her nearness.

“Ye keep massaging it to keep the swelling down, too, aye?” She shifted to a more comfortable position and the yellow eyes snapped to her. Gilda froze and after a moment, the wolf returned to his rhythmic, soothing motions, once again ignoring the human mere feet away.

“I wish I had something to feed ye. Ye look half-starved. A good meal wouldnae go amiss.” She glanced at the berries in her basket and frowned. A thought struck her and she slipped one hand into a pocket, searching for the piece of dried meat she’d wrapped and brought with her for her morning meal.

“This might not be verra filling, as ’tis not verra much, but I was going to eat it if I got hungry later.” Gilda slowly leaned forward, the hardened meat held out for the wolf’s inspection.

The wolf once again ceased his actions and leveled his yellow gaze on her. Gilda swallowed hard, but did not waver. The animal’s nose twitched.

“Aye, there are some spices ye are no’ familiar with. Ye may like them. Go ahead. Try it.”

The wolf refused to come closer. With a gentle flick of her wrist, Gilda tossed the meat to the ground near the wolf’s feet.

“There. Try it if ye like. I need to get my berries and head back.” She drew away slowly, retreating a bit before rising to her feet. The wolf’s gaze followed her movements, but he did not startle. Gilda walked away, her steps measured and sure. She peered over her shoulder for a last peek at the young wolf and her lips curved in a smile as the animal leaned forward and took the strip of dried meat from the grass.

* * *

Ryan gazed across the beach, his back to the heat of the early morning sun. Summer was near its end, and such luxuries as being comfortable and warm were to be enjoyed. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement on the sand. Turning his attention to the person crossing the beach, he watched idly as he identified the form as female, her skirt hiked up, exposing her calves, the fabric pulled between her legs and tucked in at the waist to keep the hem out of the wet sand and tiding waves.

Sunlight glinted off the woman’s red hair, and a jolt of recognition shot through him. Could it be the girl he’d met the day before? His last glimpse of her had been of sleek red hair darkened by the rain and a gown plastered wetly against a slender form. His eyes narrowed as he sought more detail to confirm her identity. The spring to her step marked her as young, and, despite Conn’s earlier warning, Ryan was surprised to discover how much he wanted to meet Gilda again.