The Wrong Bride (14 page)

Men made bastards all the time, she told herself. She wasn't even certain this boy was one, yet . . . it made her nervous on Hugh's behalf, seeing the reaction of his clansmen.

Little Hamish started barking, and she realized it was in her direction. Both Hugh and Brendan turned their heads in an almost identical manner.

Riona gave a little wave. “I didn't want to interrupt. Forgive me.”

“Lady Riona,” Hugh said, a note of curiosity in his voice.

Hamish kept barking furiously at her.

She had to raise her voice. “I was simply learning my way about, seeing what your people do each day.”

Even Hamish seemed suspicious of that, and just kept barking.

“Wheesht,” Brendan commanded, dropping to one knee and putting an arm around the dog's shoulders.

Hamish subsided into low growls.

Hugh was no longer trying to hold back his amusement. “I believe Hamish has decided ye're the lowest member of this pack, and a threat to
him.” He gave Brendan a nod. “See to your duties, lad.” He turned to her. “Lady Riona, please meet me in the great hall in one hour's time.”

He didn't wait for her response, and she studied his retreating back with curiosity. The pleats of his belted plaid swayed with his walk, and she could see his calves move beneath the tight stockings. So perhaps Scottish ladies had a reason to like seeing their men's bare legs.

Riona had never been afraid of dogs in her life, especially not one of this diminutive size, so she walked to Hamish and bent to offer her hand. He gave several sniffs, and then a low growl, but not quite so menacing.

“I'll win you over yet, little Hamish,” Riona said, smiling.

“I've got to work, my lady,” Brendan said, coming to his feet and reaching for his rake.

“Then I'll leave you to it.”

She watched the boy disappear inside the gloomy stables, and so did Hamish, who sank down on his haunches and rested his snout on his paws.

Glancing up, she saw Dermot leave one of the workshops and stride with purpose toward the upper courtyard. She hurried to catch up with him.

H
UGH
resisted the need to turn around and watch Riona. He'd certainly seen more of her last night, and he was trying not to let the memory intrude on
the day's work, but it was difficult. Their argument had been stimulating in more ways than one, and now he could barely remember what they'd been arguing about, since images of her drenched in his bath, her clothing translucent, her nipples hard, would override every other thought in his head—if he allowed it. And he must not. He had to pretend to be a new bridegroom, putting aside the nights with his wife until they'd retired. Every night of their journey to marriage, he learned more about her, grew a little closer, touched a little more. Soon, she wouldn't be able to resist him.

Hugh found Samuel in the armory, inspecting the castle's supply of weapons. An increase in arms was one of the things Hugh had planned when he received the dowry. He'd been waiting to hear from the earl, but nothing had come yet of his first move to negotiate. He was confident that word would come eventually. The earl wouldn't want it known he'd backed out on a signed marriage contract.

Samuel finished talking to the armorer and stepped out into the sun. “Ye needed me, Hugh?”

“Walk with me.” When he was certain no one overheard them, he said coolly, “Why did ye not tell me the lass left the castle yesterday?”

Samuel continued to walk with his hands behind his back, his expression rueful but not terribly concerned. Hugh didn't know whether to be irritated or amused.

“So the lass confessed?” Samuel asked.

“Nay, not at first. But ye put yourself in a bad light, Samuel. Ye've been with me all these years, and people here don't know ye. When ye were seen talking to my lady by the loch, rumors spread and Alasdair heard them.”

“So ye confronted her, did ye?”

“Of course I did. And she admitted the truth readily rather than see ye suffer for her mistakes. I'm not sure how ye've befriended her when ye helped me kidnap her.”

Samuel shrugged. “'Tis easy for her to absolve me—I'm only one of your men, following your orders. And she and I did nothing improper down by the loch. We talked for but a few minutes, then I returned her to the castle. Of course people are talking about her—she's not yet your wife, though it looks like 'tis a trial marriage ye're after, since she's installed in your rooms.”

“Are ye commenting on my private business, Samuel?” Hugh asked, wearing a frown.

“Course not. Ye have my loyalty—ye ken ye always have. But I've been a part of this private business from the moment I drove your coach beneath her balcony and helped ye steal her away. Ye had your reasons, and I'm not arguing with ye. But I sympathize with the lass's fear and frustration, and so I thought 'twas no harm done to keep secret that she'd made a mistake. Now she understands
that she's being watched all the time. She had to test that—wouldn't ye in her place?”

“Whatever I might do matters naught. I need your word ye'll tell me what she's up to from now on. I'm protecting her, too, can ye not see that?”

“Aye,” Samuel said slowly. “I do—now,” he added.

Hugh rolled his eyes. “Ye'll accompany me to the village in an hour's time. See to three horses and provisions for an afternoon ride.”

“Aye, sir,” Samuel said, before walking away.

Damn the man for the smile he barely bothered to hide.

As Hugh entered the upper courtyard, he was surprised to see Riona talking alone with Dermot, but he didn't interrupt them. She was already upset enough with having guards watch over her—she didn't need to think he was following her.

But he was curious. Perhaps she was finally attempting to get to know people, to become a part of life at Larig Castle.

A quarter hour later, when Riona entered the great hall, Hugh called her over to the hearth. “I've sent Mary up to your chambers to find your cloak and sturdier boots.”

“It's not raining,” she said with confusion.

“But it might, and we'll be gone for the day.”

That perked up her interest. “Where are we going?”

“Into the village—if ye can promise to be good.”

“Oh, I can be good. I'd enjoy getting out of here for a day.”

“Without having to sneak off?”

She only lifted her chin rather than respond.

“Sula is the nearest village of the many that are part of Clan McCallum,” he continued.

“Will I get to see more?”

“Someday, perhaps. If ye're good.”

“Do not treat me like a child, McCallum.”

“Do not try to run away from your responsibilities.”

He saw the fierce defensiveness come over her, and then the way she corralled it and remained silent. He knew that was difficult for her—just as he knew she was desperate to escape the castle, even if it had to be with him.

O
n the sloping path to the village for the two-hour journey, Riona rode between Hugh and Samuel, and said little to either of them. She was still annoyed that Samuel made her feel conflicted, both upset he'd been part of her kidnapping and chagrined that he treated her gently. She didn't want to like him, but he seemed a good man, loyal to his chief.

As for Hugh, she was still having difficulty meeting his eyes. It would have been easier if he was his impassive self, but the more intimate time they spent together, the more it showed in his eyes when he looked at her. And she was succumbing to the lure of his desire for her. She was already a fallen woman, having been taken away by a man and having spent weeks in his company, and now nights within his rooms. It didn't matter that she hadn't gone with him willingly. But she had to focus
on remaining true to herself, to make the best of her life. She couldn't marry him and she wouldn't become his mistress. All she had was her promise to herself to leave this place someday. Finding out about the surrounding countryside would help when she finally made her way out of here. Because when Hugh and the clan found out the truth . . .

Not that she knew when that might happen. Her conversation with Dermot had been disappointing, although she wasn't sure what she'd expected. He was a man, the tanist to his chief. She was simply a woman the chief meant to marry. They hadn't spoken long, and Dermot had made it very clear that her attempts to engage him in conversation were keeping him from
real
work. Trying to get to know him had only made her feel like a silly decoration hung about the castle. Women certainly had much to contribute to the running of such an immense and complicated household, but apparently he didn't see it that way. She was offended on behalf of Mrs. Wallace and Cat, the woman who should be mistress at Larig someday.

Not that she was giving up using him to reach Hugh. Dermot had just made it clear it would be harder than she'd thought.

Upon reaching the path that ran along Loch Voil, they turned east and walked their horses along the water. In the glen at the end of the lake, she now could see the small village, with its tiny church
and graveyard with a half wall all around it. Several dozen stone cottages surrounded it, topped by thatched roofs above and surrounded by small gardens and fields of long green stalks of oats beyond. In the center was a triangular village green, where several cows now roamed free.

There were men lounging outside their cottages, sharpening weapons as they talked to each other. Women worked in their gardens or stirred huge boiling cauldrons of laundry over fire pits outside. Children ran and shouted, tossing hoops back and forth.

But everyone stopped what they were doing when they saw Hugh, Samuel, and Riona arrive. Their expressions ranged from wariness to outright skepticism as Hugh approached, but most changed those into impassive or pleasant nods. It had been ten years since Hugh had caused a scandal with Agnes, the girl who was long dead. It didn't seem as if people had forgotten, but then this had been Agnes's village, and Brendan came home here every night.

“There don't seem to be any merchants in a village this size,” Riona said as they reached the green.

“Did ye expect a milliner?” Hugh asked lightly. “Even Edinburgh only has one.”

She inhaled on a faint gasp. “In truth?”

Hugh and Samuel exchanged an amused glance.

“In truth,” Hugh replied. “Tailors and cobblers
wander from village to village for a week here and there until the work is done, and then they move on.”

“But we do manage to have an alehouse for the occasional traveler,” Samuel said with satisfaction.

“Or hardworking clansman,” Hugh said.

He slid from his horse and came to her side. To her surprise, he lifted her knee from the pommel of the sidesaddle, put his hands to her waist, and set her on the ground. She told herself he was putting on a show.

The alehouse had obviously been someone's two-room cottage at one time, but now the front room had a bar, tables with benches, as well as a wooden settle before the fireplace for the occasional private conversations. Behind the bar was another room, probably for storage. Hugh dwarfed the small room. His head almost touched the rafters, and he'd had to duck several hanging cheeses.

A man dressed in shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and breeches emerged from the back room, an apron at his waist. He was thin, not much more than thirty, with a neat beard and mustache. “How can I help ye fine folks?”

And then he stopped, truly seeing Hugh for the first time.

“Hugh McCallum.” The man breathed the name as if in shock. “I'd heard ye were back, of course, but—God, ye look good.”

“Donald Ross,” Hugh said, a rare grin splitting his face.

The two men hugged hard, clapping each other's backs. Riona watched in amazement, for no one had given Hugh this kind of welcome yet. Several men at another table watched the reunion, and she wondered if they would spread word that their chief was not a man to be wary of.

“Sit down, sit down,” Donald said, gesturing to a clean table where a lantern dispelled the gloom. “Let me bring ale for ye strapping men, and for the lady?”

“'Tis my betrothed, Lady Catriona Duff,” Hugh said. “She'll take a goblet of your best wine.”

The pride in his voice was like a knife prick to her heart. He was proud, perhaps of her looks—which wasn't truly her, deep down—but definitely most proud of the money she was supposed to bring to the clan. The money Cat was supposed to bring, she reminded herself. Her own dowry was much smaller and would disappoint many.

The ale keeper lifted her hand with the gesture of a courtier and kissed the back of it. “Lady Catriona, a pleasure to meet ye. I know your betrothed from when we took a degree in master of arts at university together in Edinburgh.”

Riona barely kept her mouth from sagging open. The ale keeper had studied at university—as had Hugh? She should no longer be surprised by any
thing she heard about Hugh's past, but he just kept surprising her. And Donald—for a literate man, he seemed reduced to hard circumstances in this out-of-the-way village.

“We spent several years there after the Rising,” Hugh was saying, grinning at his friend.

“And the times we had,” Donald added, shaking his head. “The women—” He flushed and glanced at her, donning an apologetic expression. “Forgive me, my lady. Those might have been exciting years, but then your betrothed decided he could serve his county better in Parliament. And I went off to improve my fortune, and ended up losing it.”

Hugh's smile faded. “Donald . . .”

“Nay, none of that. I invested unwisely. Your family gave me another chance here, Hugh, and I won't forget it.” He clapped his hands together and looked from Hugh to Riona and Samuel. “My wife has a delicious soup heating in the back. I'll bring ye some.”

He went to refill drinks at another table before going behind the bar. Riona kept staring at Hugh. Donald brought tankards of ale for Hugh and Samuel and set a surprisingly delicate glass goblet before her, brimming with rich red wine. He bowed again to her and disappeared into the back room.

“Ye look surprised, lass,” Hugh said in a low voice, forearms folded on the table. “Ye have questions?”

“So many, but . . . it must be difficult for your
friend to have been so wealthy that he went to university, and now . . .” She looked around at the plain stone walls and thatched roof.

“Here in Scotland, no one thinks less of people in reduced circumstances,” Hugh said matter-of-factly, then added dryly, “Not so in England.”

“You are right about that. So much for Scotland being uncivilized.”

Hugh nudged Samuel. “Did ye hear that? We'll bring her around yet.”

Ignoring their teasing, she sipped the wine. “This is very good.”

He slammed the tin tankard into Samuel's as if in toast to each other. “'Tis glad I am that Donald was able to make a life here. Many young men fell on hard times after the Rising and had to leave, never to return. The American colonies are the recipients of too many of our good young clansmen.” He eyed her with amusement. “I'll be able to help many people with your tocher, lass. Don't be thinking I'll spend it on myself.”

The wine suddenly tasted bitter in her mouth. She couldn't let herself think of how these poor people might be waiting in anticipation for the tocher they'd never get, so she let barbed words distract her. “Your people don't exactly seem to trust you. Will they trust you to spend such a sum wisely?”

“They have nominated me as their chief,” he said, full of confidence, “so that means they trust me.”

“Or they want the money,” she said in an overly sweet voice, “which is tied to
you,
not a random chief.”

Hugh's smile didn't lessen as he let her words bounce right off him. Donald returned then, along with a young woman, carrying bowls of soup and platters of fresh bread. He introduced her as his wife, Rachel, and she shyly retreated to the kitchen without saying a word.

“Are your parents still here in the village?” Hugh asked, when Donald sat down on the bench next to Samuel.

Donald's smile faded. “My da died a few years back, and my mum is in frail health. Consumption.”

Riona looked up in surprise, and felt a surge of sympathy for the family.

“Sorry I am to hear that,” Hugh said.

She hesitated, then found herself saying, “My sister has consumption. I've nursed her for many years.”

“Ye're a Duff, aren't ye?” Donald asked, but with curiosity, not dismissal.

“I am, but I've spent my life in England, much of it in London. My sister saw many physicians there.”

Donald leaned toward her. “Maybe ye would visit my mother? See what ye think?”

“I—I'm not a healer myself,” she demurred, uneasy, though she didn't know why.

“But ye know more about modern treatment than
we do. In Stirling, all they wanted to do was bleed her, and that seemed to make her much worse.”

“Yes, it is the same with my sister,” Riona said. “Of course I will see your mother.”

Hugh had the glint of pride in his eyes again, and she deliberately looked away. She couldn't cure the woman—there was no cure. But some people lived longer than others, and their lives could be extended with knowledgeable care.

She was rather surprised by her own eagerness to be of help. She'd spent much of her youth closeted in a sickroom with only Bronwyn's gratitude, while her parents had acted as if anyone would give up their daily activities to nurse.
They
hadn't, she remembered. And she also remembered Bronwyn's guilt that Riona had been forced to spend so many hours with her. No one was forcing Riona now. She might not be able to help herself escape Hugh's plans, but perhaps she could do something for another woman's suffering rather than dwell on her own plight. It felt good to be able to make her own decision for once, because seldom in her life had she had such a chance.

For the next hour, they ate soup and oat bread, and she listened to stories Donald told about Hugh at university. She placed these stories in a timeline in her mind, occurring after he wanted to marry Agnes. It seemed to have taken Donald a long time to coerce Hugh into doing anything more than
studying, but after a while, they'd enjoyed parties and drinking and probably women, as all young men did.

When Riona had eaten her fill, Rachel took her to the simple cottage just behind the alehouse, where an elderly woman sat within, watching over a little boy and girl rolling a ball to each other. Riona wasn't surprised to see a handkerchief clutched in her hand for the occasional cough, and wondered if there would be blood upon it. The room itself, though clean and with a wooden floor, was closed in, the shutters drawn though it was summer, the heat almost unbearable. The first thing Riona did was throw back the shutters and talk about the healing qualities of fresh air and walking out-of-doors for exercise, along with wholesome food to help strengthen the body. She mentioned an infusion made of chamomile flowers to aid digestion.

The elder Mrs. Ross looked upon Riona as if she were a ministering angel, which made her uncomfortable at first, but she well understood how an illness could make one dependent on the goodwill of another. She stayed for an hour, chatting with the women about news from the south, and life here in the village, and took her leave after promising to return again soon.

For a long moment, she stood outside the cottage, alone but for the distant sound of villagers near a neighboring cottage speaking in Gaelic, and
the lowing of cows on the hillside. The mountains rose up on either side of the glen, bare of trees at the crown, and she could see the glimmer of Loch Voil down the center to the west of them. She didn't think about trying to run—what would be the point?

With a sigh, she returned to the alehouse. She felt warm from Donald's ensuing praise and gratitude, the way Samuel smiled at her—and the pleasure and pride in Hugh's eyes when he looked at her.

That evening in her bedroom, she awaited Hugh's entrance, hoping he was too tired from the long day outdoors to bother her. Of course he was a fine physical specimen, and it was she who was tired, not him. But to her surprise, after he arrived, he sat in front of the fire and pulled her onto his lap. She stiffened warily, but except for absently playing with her fingers within his big, rough hand, he spent an hour telling her more about Donald and his family, and others like him, the people he'd wanted to help as an MP in London. The sound of his voice was soothing, and soon she found herself resting her head on his shoulder. She must have fallen asleep, because she awoke in the middle of the night, alone in her cold bed. She was mostly relieved, but part of her was . . . disappointed.

H
UGH
came up to change after a morning spent on the training yard. He was meeting with his factor
to discuss leases that had just been vacated, a dry topic, but necessary. He had his agricultural books, the ones he'd sent home over the years and no one had studied, at the ready to show his factor—and Dermot. These vacant leases were perfect to begin an experiment in improving the crop yield in their harsh growing climate.