The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (18 page)

She nodded and sniffed as she straightened. “I would like to visit. How are the twins?” She laughed at her da’s pained look. “And my wee sister?”

“She grows every day.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “She will be a beauty like ye.”

Gilda’s breath hitched. “I miss ye. Mayhap even the twins. But I love Ryan.” She took note of the men who stood at attention on the walls. “I should go.” She clutched her ma’s letter to her chest. “Tell Ma I love her.”

Da’s eyes clouded, but he nodded his assent. “I will.”

Gilda slipped to the ground, accepting Fia’s lead. She placed a restraining hand on his leg and looked up at him. “I love ye, too, Da.”

* * *

Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he peered across the water. Behind him, horses snorted and pawed the ground. Bits jingled and leather creaked. One of the men coughed.

“Still no sign of them?” Conn asked.

Ryan shook his head. “I dinnae know how they disappear so quickly.” He turned his unwilling gaze to the still-smoking ruins of the tiny sea-village. Faces blackened with soot stared hopelessly at him, their lives in shambles, their numbers decimated.

He gestured toward the destruction. “Where am I to get the men to replace those lost? How will I house them soundly before winter?”

Conn edged his horse closer. “Leave a few of your men here to do the work. Have them build a few large cottages instead of one for each family. The labor will be less, and house them quicker.”

“Aye. And a few fighting men may tip the odds in their favor should the pirates return.” Ryan reined Duer in and faced his soldiers. “We must rebuild. If any of ye are without family and can stay to help, I ask it of ye. We will not let our clan’s people starve this winter.”

To his surprise and pleasure, six men rode forward. With grim expressions boding ill for returning pirates, they headed toward the village with the promise of supplies to come. Ryan motioned for the rest to follow him. Tired though they were, no one complained.

He shifted in the saddle. “My arms are sore from hauling water to put out the fires. My butt is sore from days in the saddle chasing down pirates who refuse to be caught. My lungs are tight from breathing the foul smoke of burning cottages.” He crooked his head to first one side then the other, stretching sore muscles, the bones of his neck shifting with a crack.

Conn sighed. “Thank goodness we are headed home. I am ready for peace.”

* * *

Gilda set the letter gently on the coverlet, her lingering touch not wanting to release the connection, however tenuous, with her ma. Her heart grew heavy and silent tears streamed slowly down her cheeks. How could her ma have known the words to give her the encouragement she needed? Why had she convinced herself she was no longer welcome at Scaurness?

She slid from the bed, feelings of peace nibbling away at the invisible wall she’d set against the rejection she’d feared. Leaning against the narrow window aperture, cool air dried the tears as she lifted her face to the waning sun. She looked to the horizon, willing Ryan to return, wanting to feel his arms around her, to hear his voice whisper all would be well. A week ago she had no words to describe the incredible sensations of giving herself fully to the care of another, releasing herself to the wonder of passion, to the joy of caring for another and of being loved in return.

Wrapping her arms tight around her waist, she closed her eyes and imagined his footstep in the hall, his voice in the bailey as he called for a stable lad.

A shout startled her from her reverie, and she jerked upright, pressing herself against the aperture, seeking the reason for the guard’s alert. Her heart tripped, hammered in her chest. From her narrow vantage point she spied the edge of a cluster of armed men. On the parapet guards faced the land outside the castle walls. Beyond, riders approached, a banner flapping in the wind. The party stretched forty or fifty strong, and she knew it was not Ryan and his patrol.

“Gilda!”

She pushed away from the window. Crossing the room, she opened the door. Lissa’s face, excited but pale, met hers.

“Come, Gilda! We must see to our guests!”

Dread settled cold in her stomach as she forced a smile to her lips. “I was hoping Ryan would make it back before the MacLaureys arrived.”

“I know, but ye must come. As Ryan’s wife, ye are now Lady Macraig.”

Gilda patted her hair, wishing she had time to comb and rebraid the rebellious curls. At least her gown was clean and freshly donned that morning. As though granting a silent wish, Keita appeared in the doorway, an overdress draped across her arms.

“Here, m’lady. Put this on.” She settled the fabric over Gilda’s head and arms, smoothing the gold trimmed, costly velvet over her gown. Sleeves, split from the shoulder, fell with regal splendor past her wrists where they fastened with elaborate gold braid.

“I thank ye, Keita. I feel like Lady Macraig, now.”

Keita narrowed her eyes, her lips pursed as she waved away Gilda’s praise. “Ye willnae face guests in anything less than proper attire.” She cast a critical look over Gilda. “Yer hair could use a comb, but the curls are becoming. Ye may go down.”

Mirth threatened as Gilda considered the maid’s words. She turned conspiratorially to Lissa, leaning close as they headed down the hall. “I believe I have just been given Keita’s approval. Surely I can face anything now!”

Chapter 16

Piercingly dark eyes met Gilda’s questioning gaze. She brushed her skirt with work-roughened hands and wished she’d taken time to brush her hair as she took in Mairead’s appearance. After a long, tiresome journey, the other young woman’s night-dark hair was smoothed in a tight, flawless braid, her cloak fresh and untainted by the dust of travel. Gilda decided to hate her on the spot.

She sighed. Perfection was no reason to dislike anyone, even if this particular annoyingly effortless piece of flawlessness believed herself betrothed to Ryan. She watched as Mairead was handed down from the wagon, her descent stately and unhurried. Gilda quelled the impatient tapping of her foot and stretched her lips into a tight smile.

Laird Macraig strode forward, his head high as he passed her without acknowledgement. Arms spread in welcome, he greeted the burly man standing at Mairead’s side.

“Welcome to Ard Castle. I trust yer journey was pleasant?”

The man gave a curt nod. “Me name is Sim and I have the charge of m’lady, here. The laird bids ye pardon his absence, as there was a matter he had need to settle.” He watched his charge step daintily to the ground and give her skirts a quick shake.

Sim turned to Laird Macraig. “The journey was long enough, though ye could have sent an advance party to warn us of the trouble ye’ve had with pirates. We saw a spiral of dark smoke from the coast and sent a scout to check it. My man reported an entire village all but wiped out.”

Cold tendrils of fear clenched Gilda’s heart. Mairead forgotten, she approached the MacLaurey’s man.

“Please, tell me what ye found.”

“Milady, pirates hit the village early this morning, destroying most of the buildings and killing many of its people. He said Macraig soldiers came, but they were too late to do much beyond try to save as much of the crofts as possible.”

“There was no fight?”

“He said the pirates disappeared when the soldiers approached.”

Just then, Mairead cleared her throat with a small, kitten-like noise.

Sim took a step back and offered a short bow. “M’laird, this is Lady Mairead, daughter of Laird MacLaurey, betrothed to yer son, Ryan.”

Mairead smiled thinly and nodded to the laird. Pausing a moment, she turned her questioning gaze to Gilda. “And, who are ye?”

Gilda met her look evenly. “I am Lady Gilda Macraig. Ryan’s wife.”

* * *

Gilda and Lissa huddled together in their chairs at the middle of the head table, trying hard to pretend nothing was wrong as they stabbed haphazardly at the food on their platters. On the other side of the laird’s chair, Mairead sat arrow-straight as she picked at her own meal with a noticeable lack of appetite. Servants busied themselves around them, but the three places between the women were glaringly empty. Ryan, just in from patrol, his father, and Sim were still closeted in the laird’s chamber.

“Was Ryan really supposed to marry her?” Lissa whispered in Gilda’s ear.

Gilda nodded and tried to swallow the piece of venison she’d been chewing on for the past several minutes.

Lissa pushed a piece of bread around on her platter then leaned around Gilda to peer at Mairead again. “She doesnae look verra friendly, does she?”

Gilda turned her head and looked at the girl three empty chairs away. Her cheeks flamed pink as she dropped her hands to her lap and Gilda felt a surge of pity for her.

She rose, pushing back her chair, and gave Lissa a stern look. “Friendly or not, she is our guest.”

She stepped to Mairead’s chair and laid a hand on the armrest. The young woman’s lips drew back in a pained grimace. Gilda took a deep breath and forced a reasonable tone to her voice. “Would ye rather have a tray brought to yer room? I would imagine ye are tired after yer travels.”

“That would at least get me out of yer sight, aye?”

“Wheesht! Ye shouldnae worry. Ryan told me his father spoke of a betrothal between ye. However, ’twas after he and I wed. I am simply sorry ye made this journey and offer ye a chance to recover without all the prying eyes ye see here.”

Mairead’s lips pulled into a frown. “I would prefer not to be the subject of speculation.”

Gilda laughed. “My lady, ye and I are the most fascinating objects of speculation here whether ye wish it or not. Come. Let us take ye to yer room. The men are likely to be in discussion for a while yet.”

She reined in her irritation as Mairead rose stiffly from her chair, pulling her skirts back as though reluctant to come in contact with her rival. Signaling for a serving girl to bring a tray of food, Gilda motioned toward the stone staircase.

Mairead looked at the ancient stone fortification and squared her shoulders. Head high, she glided across the floor and to the room she’d been assigned earlier.

Gilda and Lissa followed, the serving girl in tow. Mairead entered her room and, without pausing, closed the door behind her. The trio drew up short, trading startled looks. With a shrug, Gilda turned the latch and entered the room.

Mairead glared at them, hands fisted on her hips. “Is there no lock for this door?”

The servant girl deposited the tray on a low table near the window and scurried away. Gilda felt a tug of envy as the girl left, but held her ground. “Ye may throw the bolt if ye wish. But there are only four rooms on this floor and easy enough to keep secure.”

“If those stairs are the only way to get up here, then ye are right.” Mairead’s tone was derisive.

Gilda bristled, raking Mairead’s elaborate clothing with a glare. “Those sturdy stairs were built to withstand a direct attack, and ye best appreciate the fact. After yer fancy men are bloody on the ground, my braw soldiers could hold back a horde bent on taking the castle.”

“Yer soldiers?” Mairead scoffed.

“Aye. Any Macraig soldier is worth at least three MacLaureys.”

“Mayhap our guest would like to eat her dinner before ’tis cold.” Lissa’s voice piped through their hostility.

Gilda settled, guiltily reminded of her resolution to behave as lady of the castle and not the laird’s son’s young, untried bride.

“My apologies, my lady. It has been a long day for everyone and we all need food and rest. Mayhap we could meet again in the morning with clearer heads.”

Mairead sent her an appraising stare. Without another word, Gilda and Lissa left, each seeking her own room and solace.

* * *

Ryan found his wife curled beneath a blanket on their bed some time later. He watched the rise and fall of her breast as she slept. With an impatient tug, he loosened his garments and let them fall to the floor, heedless of the jumble as he sought his young wife’s passionate welcome. Heart-sore after the long hours closeted with his da and Laird MacLaurey’s captain, he was at last able to recognize the untenable position he’d put Mairead in.

Though he would not trade his impetuous marriage with Gilda for anything.

Flaming curls tumbled across the pillow, and with a groan, he reached for her. He wanted absolution in her arms. His weight dipped the mattress and Gilda stirred, rolling sleepily to face him. The edge of the blanket fell from her shoulders and he realized she wore nothing but a thin shift.

Shadows beneath the sheer cloth beckoned him, more alluring than any faerie light and he slid beneath the covers and into her welcoming embrace.

Their loving was hard and fierce, demanding commitment, taking them quickly to the edge of passion. Her arms closed tight around his body as she shuddered beneath him and he rained kisses across her face, tasting salt on her cheeks. His world exploded and he shouted her name, tremors wracking his body.

Spent, he slipped carefully to the side and gathered her in his arms. His breathing slowed, and he touched the pad of his thumb to Gilda’s damp cheek. “What is wrong,
a stor
?”

Wordless, Gilda tightened her grip and buried her face against his shoulder. He stroked his hand over her hair. “I am sorry for what this day has cost ye. I never would bring hurt or shame to you willingly.”

Gilda nodded and sighed. She sat up and pulled the crumpled shift over her head, and Ryan lost his line of thought as she settled her hair about her shoulders with a toss of her head. She slid back beneath the blanket, tucking herself close against him and he swallowed a moan as her soft flesh pressed against his.

“What will happen now?” she asked.

Ryan blinked, shifting his focus to her question. “Mairead and her escort will stay here a few days to rest. Also, the pirates are actively plundering the coastline. Sim will take her home soon, but not until the danger is gone.”

Gilda slid a hand down his chest, and his skin tightened. “Not soon enough,
a stor
,” she whispered. “Not soon enough.”