The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (5 page)

She passed scattered boulders on the beach, one hand outstretched to lightly touch each one, a basket swinging from her other hand. Ryan smiled to himself. It had to be Gilda—once again filching berries from Macraig land. Mayhap he should warn her of the folly of trespassing. His smile widened, creasing the scabbed scratches on his cheek, and he remembered her touch. Mayhap his wounds needed tending? He frowned. He wasn’t sure he agreed with Conn that Gilda was Laird Macrory’s daughter, but any Macrory lass was off limits to him. Whether she was a healer or not.

Realizing he had half-risen from his seat, he settled back on his haunches, cursing the attraction he felt for the lass. It would be best to remember who he was and let his interest in the lass go. Nothing could come from renewing their acquaintance from yesterday. He snorted. A daft lass scairt of storms nearly got herself eaten by a wolf, and he was moved to shelter her until the skies cleared.

And then he’d kissed her.

“Damn!” The curse whistled past clenched teeth. This time he rose to his feet, his gaze focused on a dark, four-legged form slipping from shadow to shadow. What was a wolf doing on the beach? And why was it following Gilda?

* * *

Gilda hummed to herself as she wandered across the rock-strewn sand. She needed to retrieve Fia from her tether near Tavia’s house, but was aware the young wolf followed her. Though she did not fear the animal, leading it to her horse or, worse, Tavia’s young goat, was not a good idea.

She tossed a look over her shoulder and smiled. The beast still trailed her. Perhaps he was curious about the human who had saved him.

A different awareness prickled across the back of her shoulders. Gilda’s smile vanished. Was something or someone else watching her?

Without slowing her pace, she turned her head to gaze across the low rise to her left. Familiar views of rocks and twisted vegetation did not ease her feeling of disquiet. Trying to appear nonchalant, Gilda stopped next to a large boulder. She leaned her shoulders against the stone, clasping her basket before her as she let her gaze drift idly from tree to tuft.

A shadow moved, unfolding to reveal a man’s form. The sun shone behind him, and Gilda raised a hand to her brow to counter the effects of the bright light.

Gilda gasped and her heart beat quickened. The man’s broad shoulders were outlined in gold by the sun’s rays, and his hair glinted dark as night. She didn’t have to see the color of his amber eyes to know who watched her. Her memory was completely clear. It was
him
.

She gave herself a mental shake.
It doesnae matter how he looks. He is a Macraig, and he is spying on me.

Ryan leapt easily from his rock to the wiry grass and headed toward her. She smoothed a hand down her skirts, feeling the hem tied around the belt at her waist. She tugged at the fabric, anxious to release it to cover her legs before he reached her, but she only succeeded in tugging the knot tighter.

With a sharp intake of breath betraying her frustration, Gilda grabbed the knot with both hands, letting go of the basket of berries in her haste. She dropped to her knees to retrieve the basket and her gaze followed the clumsy roll of the woven reeds right to Ryan’s booted feet.

* * *

Ryan stooped to capture the errant basket before it could empty all the berries onto the sand and rocks. His hand shot out to seize the twisted handle, but Gilda’s grab was faster, and his fingers encircled her slender wrist instead.

Gilda snatched her hand away with a startled cry, releasing the basket. Berries bounced across the ground, their dew-moist skins instantly littered with bits of sand and debris. Ryan saw the flash of annoyance on Gilda’s face, and raised his eyebrows at the word that passed her lips in a hissed whisper.

“Are ye hurt?” He squatted next to her and put his hands to the task of retrieving the fruit.

“Must ye always sneak up on me?” Gilda groused as she dusted the worst of the sand from a handful of berries.

“I dinnae sneak. Ye saw me on the rock.”

“After ye stood, aye. Before then I had a terrible feeling I was being watched.”

Ryan dumped the last of the berries into the basket and rose to his feet, wiping his hands on his plaide. To his amusement, Gilda remained seated, her bare legs tucked beneath her.

“Ye were. By a wolf.”

Gilda lifted one shoulder. “Och, the wolf doesnae mean any harm. I had given him a scrap of meat, and mayhap he wanted more.”

“Fresher meat, likely,” Ryan snapped, eying the all-too-trusting young woman at his feet. “Ye shouldnae try to make the beast a pet. He would rather eat ye than sniff yer hand.”

Gilda glared at him, but did not answer and Ryan felt his annoyance fade.

“Come, then. I will walk ye to yer horse.”

“I told ye yesterday, I dinnae need yer help.”

A dull ache threatened behind Ryan’s eyes. “Then what do ye need?”

“I need ye to turn yer back.” Frustration colored her voice.

Ryan remembered the enticing view her hiked-up skirt had given him and he tilted his head to one side in an attempt to recreate the image. Gilda snatched her skirt close. ’Twas all too clear she knew what he was up to.

“Ye are a rogue, Ryan Macraig!”

Ryan grinned. “Och, aye. ’Tis a well-known fact. I could help ye if ye like.”

“Hie yerself away, and dinnae look back!”

His look became one of innocence. “Yer horse is nearby? I wouldnae forgive myself for leaving ye to walk the long way back to Macrory land.”

“I am already on Macrory land, and my horse is tethered just beyond the bend. Not ’tis any of yer business.”

“Then I shall leave ye to make yer way home.” With a deep bow, Ryan pivoted on his heel, his plaide swinging about him. He took a few steps then turned back to Gilda who had risen to her feet, intent on correcting her attire.

“Are ye sure…” A quick stride took him back to her side.

Gilda jerked the knot at her waist and the skirt fell free, but not before Ryan got a glimpse of slender ankles. She settled an arch look on him and it was all he could do to keep from laughing at the regal air she portrayed.

“I am fine. I am also certain I will not meet ye here again?” Though couched as a question, her tone indicated she’d rather see anyone other than him the next time she ventured out to pick berries.

Ryan shrugged. “I think the berries are about finished for the year. Mayhap the Macraig cook will send a lad out to pick the rest. We like sweet jams and pastries at Ard Castle, too, ye know.”

“Goodness knows the men at Ard Castle need sweetening,” Gilda shot back, her cheeks pinking as she clearly regretted her quick retort.

“A kiss from a pretty lass would help sweeten this Macraig’s disposition.” Ryan marveled at the swirling colors changing Gilda’s eyes from silver to stormy gray.

Though a well-trained young warrior, Ryan was not quick enough to dodge the palm of Gilda’s hand as it made stinging contact with his cheek. He rubbed his jaw ruefully. He should have remembered though the lass had fascinating gray eyes, she also possessed fiery red hair and a temper to match.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but Gilda had already spun, her back ramrod straight as she marched away, the handle of her basket gripped tight in one hand. The other hand clenched and opened, possibly to relieve the answering sting he felt on his cheek, perhaps echoing a desire to encircle his neck.

Ryan grinned. He would have regretted the apology, anyway.

* * *

Gilda stumbled as she swept down the beach, her attention clearly not on the treacherous footing. She righted herself with a jerk and plunged ahead, laying one more grievance at the unfortunate man’s doorstep. Never in her life had she been so rattled as to falter on the land that was as familiar to her as the floor of her own bedroom.

Where is the wolf when I need him?
Gilda shook her head.
I would be glad to see him devour that man. Slowly, painfully, one annoying piece at a time.

By St. Andrew’s teeth, her hand still stung. In truth, she hadn’t expected to hit him. She’d expected him to be fast enough to dodge her. But she’d always been quick, and living with the twins had sharpened her wits and self-preservation skills.

With a soothing caress for the mare, who shook her head suspiciously at her owner’s temper, Gilda swung herself onto Fia’s back and urged her up the trail to the village. She scanned the crowd of people milling around the market, catching sight of a petite young woman scarcely older than herself.

“Anice!”

The girl turned at the sound of her name, her round cheeks blooming red with pleasure as a broad smile creased her face.

“Gilda!” she squealed, hurrying through the crowd. Gilda slid to the ground, Fia’s reins in one hand, and hugged her best friend close. She stepped back, a teasing look in her eyes as she surveyed the young woman.

“’Twould seem marriage agrees with ye.”

Anice laughed and twirled about, careful not to spill the items in her market basket.

“I can truthfully say it does,” Anice admitted. “Colin is about his work. Can ye come with me to the cottage for a bit? I haven’t seen ye in weeks.”

Gilda shrugged. “Aye. I can come for a bit.” She grinned. “But I willnae linger. Yer husband will no doubt want ye to himself when he gets home.”

The girls walked the short distance to the tiny cottage at the edge of the village. Used to the soaring ceilings and open spaces of Scaurness Castle, Gilda was taken aback by the close confines of her friend’s new home. But the smell of fresh-baked bread lingered in the warmth of the two-room cottage, and it was neat and clean, obviously well-loved.

Anice set her basket on the table. Gilda added her own beside it.

“Here are some berries I picked this morning. I am sorry they are a wee bit sandy, but I dropped the basket on the beach. I will rinse them for ye and ye can make Colin a pastry for his supper.”

“Oh, Gilda! How wonderful! He will love it.”

Gilda sat in a chair and watched her friend bustle about, setting mugs out for them to drink from. Anice poured water and they sipped for a moment in silence.

“How are ye?”

“How have ye been?”

They spoke in unison and laughed. Gilda shook her head. “Ye first. Tell me about yer new life.”

Anice blushed. “He is wonderful to me, Gilda. We wake up smiling and go to bed well-pleased.”

“I can see ye are happy. Is the housekeeping and shopping and cooking not such a burden, then?”

“I know ye are used to castle life, Gilda.” Anice motioned around her little cottage, a satisfied smile on her lips. “But everything I do is with love. He would deny this, but when I am overwhelmed, he steps in and helps a bit.” Anice’s eyes danced. “And as tiny as this cottage is, we bump into each other a lot when we are both moving about. ’Tis worth it, though.”

Gilda’s eyes widened. “Truth? Do ye not get frustrated, getting in each other’s way?”

“Nae. He is verra accommodating. Sometimes we forget the chores completely.”

Gilda’s cheeks heated. Anice laughed and patted Gilda’s hand. “I think I have shocked ye, Gilda. I know I am but a year older than ye and marrit, too. Surely some lad at Scaurness has turned yer head.”

“Nae. I cannae give my heart so freely.”

“Do ye not wish for even a stolen kiss or a smile from a lad ye feel attracted to?” Anice asked curiously. “Ye dinnae have to marry every lad who smiles at ye.”

Gilda sighed. “There is no lad at Scaurness who has caught my eye. I’ve known them all their lives and they are all scoundrels, gossiping amongst themselves about the lasses they’ve kissed.”

A kiss from a pretty lass… Ye are a rogue, Ryan Macraig…

The words floated back to her and she slid her gaze away.

“There is someone, aye?”

Gilda frowned at Anice’s too-accurate perception. “’Tis no one. A chance encounter on the beach. ’Tis why I dropped the berries.” Gilda rose to her feet and snatched the basket. She poured water into a small bowl and rinsed the berries, setting them on a nearby cloth to dry.

Anice rose and gently placed a hand on Gilda’s shoulder. “I know it cannae be easy being the laird’s daughter. I dinnae think yer da would wed ye to a man ye couldnae respect. Talk to him when he comes home. But in the meantime, have a little fun. At least learn to talk to a lad without wondering if ye can best him in archery.”

Gilda relaxed at her friend’s teasing words. “Aye. Mayhap my husband would prefer I have other talents as well.”

“Och, Gilda, ye can do anything ye set yer mind to. Ye are a verra caring person. ’Tis what draws people to ye.”

“And I can sew a fairly straight seam, plan a menu—though I shouldnae be trusted to cook water. However, I can provide the proper soothing tea if anyone is brave enough to eat food I have prepared.”

The girls dissolved in a fit of giggles, remembering Gilda’s almost legendary cooking disasters.

“Oh, Anice, ’tis so good to talk with ye again. Ye must come visit me.”

“Aye. I have missed ye, too. Mayhap we could find time to spend together again soon.”

Gilda gave Anice a hug. “I must be going. Colin will be home soon, I am sure, and I have chores as well.”

“Remember what I said. Talk to yer da. Ye never know what he might say.”

Gilda left Anice’s little cottage, her attention caught by the air of excitement among the people, spotting their gestures and stares up the sloping hill. Something was happening at the castle. Urging Fia to a fast walk, she guided her around the people thronging the street. The stone towers came into sight, and Gilda saw the banners being hoisted to the top of the main tower. Elation filled her.

Da was home!

Chapter 5

Hastily stabling Fia, Gilda ran excitedly across the bailey. Not even the twins’ chatter deterred her as she raced into the great hall. A brief pause was all it took to recognize the tall, dark-haired man amid a group of clansmen.

“Da!”

Ranald, Earl of Scaurness, turned at the sound of her voice. Gilda’s heart tripped at the angry look on his face.