The Wrong Bride (16 page)

“I'm glad ye're so concerned about the Duffs,” Samuel said, amusement laced through his voice.

She felt like elbowing him, but restrained herself. She saw Dermot lean over and speak to a man on his other side, and together they both watched Hugh impassively.

“Dermot could make a lot of trouble if he wanted,” Riona murmured.

Samuel gave her another surprised look. She
did
care; she didn't want to, but she couldn't help it. Yet she had to put those feelings aside and remind herself that Dermot's discontent might be her chance to escape. Putting the truth of her kidnapping in the man's hands would certainly change Hugh's command of his clan, but she tried not to think about that. It was beginning to make her feel like a traitor to Hugh—which was ridiculous, because she'd been
kidnapped
!

Samuel explained Hugh's final announcement about organizing a large hunt to benefit the clan. There was much cheering and whisky drinking that lasted through supper and into the night, as musicians entertained the crowd. Hugh persuaded Riona to try a sip of their precious whisky, and all the men roared at the expression on her face as she downed the vile stuff. It did warm the belly, but that was the only good thing she could say.

Riona retired well before the gentlemen in the great hall, and she could hear their drunken singing long into the night. She didn't sleep easily herself, wondering how she'd handle a drunken Hugh wielding a rope, but he never came to her bedroom.

Many of their guests stayed an extra couple nights, distracting Hugh until late each evening. Just when Riona was growing tired of being on her best behavior, sewing with the ladies, feeling excluded by the language, they all went home. She thought she'd have some breathing room but then more visitors were announced.

Hugh's mother and sister were spotted near Loch Voil, and were winding their way up the path to Larig Castle. Riona was with Hugh at dinner when this was announced. They glanced at each other, her full of uncertainty. To her surprise, he didn't quite hide his own wariness. That made her actually look forward to meeting the woman who'd taken him away from his drunken father, yet still inspired such antipathy.

H
ugh stood in the courtyard waiting for his family's arrival, Riona at his side, little bothering to hide her curiosity. He could usually hide his own emotions from everyone, but with Riona, she seemed to see through the mask he'd learned to don long ago. Would she comprehend his wariness? Not about Maggie, of course, but his mother, that was another story . . .

Only a half-dozen riders finally came through the gatehouse, which annoyed him no end. He'd told Maggie over and over again that the several-day journey from Edinburgh could be full of dangerous men who thought nothing of kidnapping wealthy women—

And then he heard the voice in his head:
He
was a kidnapper of women. And money was even involved. But it was his by right, he reminded himself forcefully.

Riona had said nothing to anyone about the way she'd come to Larig Castle, and he wondered if that would change, now that his family was there to help pressure him. Little did Riona know, there was nothing his mother could do to impact him, not ever again. But Maggie . . . he had a soft spot for his younger sister, and been her guardian against the worst of their father's drunken outbursts. While Hugh had spent much of each of the last seven years in London, she'd been the one he'd written to, whom he'd missed the most.

“When did you last see your family?” Riona asked, as the guards dismounted and went to assist the women.

“Earlier this summer after my father died.”

Her expression sobered. “Of course. Forgive me.”

He frowned at her. “You have nothing to ask forgiveness for.”

“But I thought your arrival with me was the first time you'd been here in years.”

“It was. I was not here for the burial but I saw my sister and mother in Edinburgh later.”

Hugh seldom stayed in the same room with his mother for long. At least she had not put on a show of mourning, but had been solemn with respect for Hugh himself, as the heir.

And then he smiled, for Maggie was running toward him. He scooped her up in a hug that made her groan.

“You're crushing my ribs, brother!” she said in Gaelic. When he put her down, she smiled at Riona. “Lady Catriona, how wonderful to meet you at last!”

At Riona's bewildered expression, Maggie repeated it in English, then impulsively hugged her. It was good to see Maggie looking happy. Hugh thought it had been a few years since she'd been the carefree girl he remembered, but then she had had to deal with problems few could imagine.

Maggie had dark, wavy hair like his, and she wore it pulled back to the nape of her neck under a jaunty straw hat tied beneath her chin with ribbons. She wore a plaid shawl to combat the breeze of a Highland summer over a dark green riding habit.

“Lady Catriona, may I present my sister, Maggie McCallum. Maggie, my betrothed.”

“Please call me Riona,” said Riona, smiling politely.

The two young women took each other's hands, and Hugh found himself hoping that at last Riona would find a friend, someone who could help her see that life as the wife of a Highland chief wouldn't be so bad.

But he hoped Riona wouldn't confide quite everything to his sister . . .

And then his mother approached sedately. She wore a frilly cap over her gray hair, and her gown was dull in color, as if still in mourning for the man who'd destroyed their family.

Riona curtsied to her as Hugh made the introductions. “Mother, this is Lady Catriona Duff. Riona, my mother, Lady McCallum.”

“Lady Riona,” his mother said in a formal voice, even though her eyes drank in the sight of Riona as if she were a lifeline back to Hugh.

Nothing could be that for Hugh, not after all the secrets and lies.

“So you met your betrothed at last,” Maggie said, eyeing Riona from head to toe. “He has waited a long time, my lady.”

Riona blushed, then glanced at Hugh with a worry that hopefully only he could see.

“So how did your first meeting go?” Maggie continued. “It must have been tense.”

Hugh was tempted to jump in and answer, used to being in control, but he just gave Riona a smile.

“It was
very
tense,” Riona said at last. “I—I had heard nothing about the marriage contract at all.”

Maggie's smile faded. “Oh, how dreadful that your family didn't prepare ye.” Then she glanced at her brother. “But ye're here with us at Larig Castle, so I'm hoping that means ye see ye've been blessed.”

Riona could feel herself going pale, the blood draining away. Blessed? To feel so conflicted all the time? To not even be able to hate one's captor? And here she had the perfect opportunity to embarrass him before his family, and she couldn't even do it.
What did that say about her deepening feelings for him?

She told herself that it would be unwise to make enemies of them, because of course they would take his side. But she could still use this time to understand Hugh, to figure out the mystery of Brendan and help him if possible. Hugh's family must know the truth.

Hugh gestured her to precede him up the stairs to the entrance of the great hall. He took the arms of his mother and sister and followed behind. Riona glanced over her shoulder, to see him talking to Maggie, while his mother remained silent and pale. This was the woman who'd tried to save him from his father's drunken behavior. Wouldn't that inspire some sort of closeness or at least loyalty? Apparently not, for she'd never seen Hugh behave so coolly to one of his own clan, let alone his mother.

In the great hall, new platters of hot food were being brought out to serve the chief's family. They all sat down on the dais to eat, on display for those gentlemen and servants who watched closely. Maggie was seated to Hugh's left, and Lady McCallum was seated on Riona's right. Hugh spent much of the meal chatting with his sister about friends they both knew in Edinburgh. He spoke in English and kept drawing Riona in, which she appreciated, but then there was his mother, silent and
withdrawn on her right. Riona couldn't ignore the woman.

“Lady McCallum,” Riona said, “I am sorry for your mourning.”

Lady McCallum blinked weary gray eyes, dull and tired next to her son's vivid coloring. “Mourning? My dear, in my opinion, the McCallum did not die soon enough.”

Riona inhaled with surprise, as both Hugh and Maggie stared with almost the same impassive expressions at their mother. Riona noticed Maggie's eyes again, two different colors as Hugh had warned her, one blue, one green. The effect was . . . disconcerting, intriguing.

Then the siblings returned to their conversation.

“Oh,” Riona said uneasily. “Hugh has told me some of his difficulty with his father, and that you took Maggie and him away to protect them. That was very brave of you.”

Lady McCallum's eyes really focused on her then. “Thank ye,” she murmured, then bent her head and took another tiny bite.

She was already thin, and if she didn't start eating more than that . . . And this wasn't mourning? Or was she mourning the loss of something else? Riona wondered, glancing at Hugh with speculation. He met her gaze impassively, giving nothing away.

While their chambers were being prepared after
the departure of so many guests—Riona realized she now occupied the room Lady McCallum had once called her own—Hugh brought his mother and sister to the privacy of the chief's dressing room. He relaxed away from the great hall, and Riona was able to see a playful, even tender side to him that showed how much he loved his sister.

And through it all, their mother sat alone and looked out the window.

Riona didn't want to care, but she'd always been too curious for her own good. She offered Lady McCallum an embroidery frame, but the woman declined.

“The trip simply exhausted me,” she said in a quiet voice. “But thank ye.”

“I'm certain Mrs. Wallace will have your room ready for you to rest as soon as possible,” Riona said.

Riona worked on the simple embroidery for one of Hugh's shirts and thought of her own family. Perhaps they'd come across just as troubled as the McCallums. Like Hugh and Maggie, she felt close to her own sister, but her parents . . . they were another matter.

“How was the journey north, Riona?” Maggie asked.

“Long, although your brother was thoughtful enough to use a coach for most of it.” She deliberately avoided Hugh's gaze.

“But a coach on some of these roads?” Maggie shuddered. “I prefer riding a horse.”

Hugh said, “Ye wouldn't have said the same were ye caught in a few rainstorms.”

“True.” Maggie turned again to Riona. “I do believe you and I must have met as children, because I well remember your brother.”

There was an edge to her voice now, and Riona couldn't help wondering about the McCallums and secrets. Maggie's unusual eyes seemed to be trying to see deep inside her, and it gave her an unsettled feeling.

“I was seldom in Scotland,” Riona said. “Owen, being the heir, was here more often with the earl.” Not her brother, not her father. She was feeling on edge herself, realizing she had her own secrets. She wanted to blurt them out, but caution stopped her. She was the enemy here. When they all found out Hugh had captured the wrong bride . . . “I'm curious how you and Owen knew each other, considering our clans have not always been on the best of terms.”

Maggie and Hugh exchanged an unreadable glance.

“I tried to forge a friendship with the countess,” Lady McCallum said, “for the sake of both our clans. 'Tis the reason your marriage contract even came about.” She shot a concerned glance at Hugh, as if she expected him to retort.

Of course there'd been a time in his life when he'd wanted to choose his own bride regardless of the contract, Riona remembered. Had that been the reason he and his mother didn't get along?

“Whose idea was it to stipulate that the whisky land be shared?” Riona asked.

“There would have been no contract otherwise,” Hugh said coolly. “Your father would not grant ye and your tocher to a McCallum without a great offer in return. Sharing the land for all these years has put a strain our own ability to profit from the whisky. But you Duffs were able to create your own recipe and succeed beyond what ye'd done before.”

“And marriage is all about an exchange of goods, isn't it?” she said, bitterness creeping into her voice.

Maggie and Lady McCallum looked at her far too closely.

“It hasn't been easy for Riona,” Hugh said to his family. “She's a Duff, who was taught to disavow the country of her birth, who doesn't speak our language. Imagine yourselves alone with another clan, knowing no one, never having heard that your family offered ye to settle an old feud. She's been taken away from everything she knew, everything she thought her future would be.”

Riona blinked quickly, feeling the sting of tears she refused to shed. But she couldn't look away from Hugh.

“Well, it seems ye both have forged a beginning,”
Maggie said hesitantly. “Ye're not spitting hatred at each other.”

Riona gave a hesitant smile, then bent her head over her embroidery. No, she didn't hate Hugh, though she once had. She was worried she felt too much for the man in this very impossible situation . . .

“Have ye made plans for a wedding?” Lady McCallum asked.

“Not yet,” Hugh said briskly.

“But Lady Riona is housed in your rooms,” his mother continued, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Is it a trial marriage of sorts?”

“No,” Riona said firmly.

“Oh.” Lady McCallum continued to frown at her son, who ignored her.

A naughty voice inside Riona wondered what they'd say if they knew she and Hugh were bundling . . .

Soon Mrs. Wallace came to escort their guests away, leaving Hugh and Riona alone. She studied his broad back where he stood at the window, hands linked behind as he stared out. She imagined he might not be seeing anything.

“Your kindness to my mother is appreciated, but not truly necessary,” he said brusquely.

She stared at him. “I am not blind. I see that you and your mother have problems, but they aren't
my
problems. I was not raised to be disrespectful
for no reason. Of course, if you
want
to give me a reason . . .”

“So ye're saying ye'll be my bride?” he countered.

And they were back to their stalemate again.

A
FTER
supper that night, the clan bard sang a long song celebrating the McCallum past. Thankfully Hugh's mother had retired, and he was able to sit with his sister and enjoy her eagerness to hear the old song. Occasionally he glanced to where Riona and Dermot sat together. Dermot was obviously translating for her, but that didn't make Hugh feel any better.

Maggie glanced past him at the couple, then back at Hugh. “Are ye troubled about something?”

“Nay, 'tis nothing.”

“Considering Dermot is your longtime companion and now tanist, 'twould seem you would smile rather than frown when ye look at him. Or are ye frowning at Riona?”

“What do you think of her?” he asked, ignoring her question for one of his own.

Maggie cocked her head. “I've only spoken with her as an adult, and I have no memory of her as a child, although I think I should, if what Mother says is true.”

“But she claims she was seldom ever in Scotland.”

“Claims? Ye don't believe her?”

“A poor choice of words on my part. I knew before I went to England to find her that she'd rarely been here. I wanted to know what I was facing with the Earl of Aberfoyle.”

“Seems wise to be prepared,” she mused, though she still studied him closely.

Hugh looked at Riona again, then asked his sister, “Do ye . . .
see
anything about her?”

Maggie's open, amused expression was suddenly shuttered as if a lamp was turned off. “I don't do that anymore, Hugh. I've told ye that.”