Page 15 of The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride (The Highlander’s Bride #3)

Ryan raised his fist to knock on the door to his father’s chamber but hesitated. This cannae go well. With a scowl, he rapped his knuckles on the portal, the heavy thud echoing in the hollowness of his gut.

“Enter.”

He released the latch and opened the door. The room was bathed in the light of too many candles, he recognized at once as their cloying scent reached his nostrils. His gaze moved to the single slitted window on the far side of the room and noted the tapestry partly blocking the opening.

“Sit.”

Ruffled by the terse single-word command, Ryan pulled his attention to his father and sat as bid. The scrape of the chair’s legs on the stone floor echoed in the silence. His father’s steely gaze flared across the table. With conscious effort, Ryan held his tongue.

“Ye couldnae keep yer hands off the Macrory’s daughter, could ye?”

Ryan gritted his teeth, hating being on the defensive. “’Twas not like that.”

His father rose to his feet, his hands flat on the table. “How was it, then, lad? D’ye not know ye dinnae have to marry every lass who lifts her skirt for ye?”

Ryan bolted to his feet. “Ye willnae talk about her like that!”

“And what, me lad, do ye think will happen when Laird MacLaurey discovers ye have broken the betrothal with Mairead? ”

“I dinnae want a betrothal to the besom !”

“I willnae have that pirate’s bastard in my castle!” the laird thundered.

Ryan’s breath expelled in a whoosh of disbelief. “How can ye hold this over her head? None of it was her fault.”

For a lingering moment, Laird Macraig glared at Ryan across the table. His eyes bulged, distorted with his rage.

Ryan feared his da had gone quite mad.

* * *

Gilda rounded the final turn in the stairwell and stopped, her fingers clenched about the rope railing. A shout of laughter and answering response punctuated the murmur of voices in the hall. On the far side of the room, the double doors were open wide, and midday light streamed within.

At her side, Lissa tugged her hand. “Come. Ryan will be waiting for ye.”

“I wish I had not agreed to come down for dinner.”

“Och, ye will be fine. Ye look grand in that gown. Ryan willnae be able to take his eyes from ye.”

Gilda turned her attention to the pert girl at her side. “Ye are entirely too young to be saying such things.”

“Ye must come down or Ryan will come looking for ye.”

“Then, let us go.” She touched a hand lightly to her hair, resigned to the wisps of curls already escaping from the tight braid. She and Lissa entered the hall and conversation ground to a halt as heads turned in their direction. Her gaze went unerringly to Ryan, who leapt to his feet and hurried to her side.

He took her free hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes questioning. “Are ye well?” His voice was pitched low.

Lissa squeezed her other hand before she slipped away to her seat. Gilda scarcely noticed her absence. Ryan’s attentions filled her with warmth and her cheeks heated. “I am always fine when I am with ye.”

Ryan took a step toward the head table, keeping her hand firmly in his. “Come. I will introduce ye.”

Her warmth fled. These were people foreign to her, a clan at odds with her own, and unprepared for the fact their laird’s son had married against his father’s wishes. Gilda’s heart pounded and her bravery slipped a notch. Within moments, she was the center of uncertain attention.

Ryan faced the room. She refrained from leaning into him, certain it would appear she feared their scrutiny. It would not do to be seen a coward. If she truly wanted to be Ryan’s wife, she would take the title as Lady of Ard Castle and all else her new life entailed. She fancied Tavia’s voice in her head. ‘Tis an ill bird that fyles its ain nest . She lifted her chin and hid the turmoil inside.

No, she would not start her marriage with cowardice in the eyes of her new clan.

* * *

The bedroom was dim, lit only by several candles, their wicks burned low. Gilda gasped and stuck her finger in her mouth. Her eyes watered and she quivered between exhaustion and anger. She hated sewing, hated her needle-pricked finger, hated the uneven stitches even she could tell needed to be pulled out and redone.

Wed less than a day, she felt abandoned by her new husband.

She pulled her finger from her mouth and examined it with a critical eye in the light of the candle on the table at her elbow. A tiny dark spot marked the needle’s entrance, but the injury was, in reality, slight. She set her sewing aside and climbed wearily to her feet. The clanging sounds from the practice field had ceased hours ago as the men hurried inside for their supper. Then, just as quickly, they were gone as news of the pirates interrupted the meal.

The usual nighttime noises drifted from the bailey below, none bringing news of the soldiers’ return, and Gilda did not know if she would see Ryan this night or not. Was he safe? Would he return to her?

The door latch rattled softly and she whirled.

Ryan stood in the doorway, a surprised look on his face. “I expected ye to be asleep.” He tossed his plaide to a chair and opened his arms.

Gilda rushed to him, wrapping her arms about his waist as she buried her face against his chest. His embrace tightened and her fears fled. His kisses rained on the top of her head and she tilted her face to receive them properly. He was as hungry for her as she was for him, and within moments she was naked beneath him, the soft furs on the bed sleek against her back .

She clung to him, demanding he claim her, wanting to know, in the deepest part of her, that his need was as great as hers. His splayed hands warmed her, set fire beneath his touch. His name escaped her throat on a harsh cry and her nails dug into his flesh as passion swept through her.

Ryan shuddered over her, his breath a groan torn from his chest.

His breathing slowed and he lowered his head. Gilda tasted ale on his tongue as it played lazily with hers and she twined her trembling arms about his neck.

He turned his attention to the curve of her ear. “I wish I could have been with ye all evening.” He pushed his hips against hers, sparking another tiny jolt of passion through her. Gilda gasped and wriggled. Ryan chuckled. “But this wasnae a bad welcome, at that.”

She considered a swat to the side of his head for his impertinence, but hesitated, amazed at how boneless she felt. Perhaps he didn’t deserve the swipe after all. She ran her fingers through his hair instead. “Yer hair is damp.”

“Ye would have noticed earlier if ye hadnae been so eager to get me into yer bed.” Ryan’s teasing voice made her smile.

She tugged gently at a dark lock in reprimand. “And ye stopped to eat.”

“Nae. I grabbed a draught on my way through the hall. My only appetite was for ye.” Ryan moved against her and she felt him grow hard again.

His rhythm increased and she gave herself up to the sensations building inside. He took his time, nibbling along her sensitive skin, taking her to the brink of pleasure before changing direction, leaving her clinging to him in breathless anticipation. At last he joined her, pushing her over the edge of passion.

Ryan rolled onto his back and slid an arm beneath her shoulders. “Put yer head on my chest, a stor .”

Gilda nestled against him, the thud of his heartbeat loud in her ear. With a sigh of contentment, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep as his fingers moved soothingly up and down her back.

* * *

Gilda’s hand spread across the pillow beside her, startled to find it empty. She sat up, no longer sleepy, and peered about the room. Sunlight spilled pale through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing midair. The peat fire lay banked on the hearth, glowing embers marking where it smoldered. Ryan was long since gone.

She pushed the blankets back and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Bracing against the impact of the cold floor, she darted to the hearth, snatching her shift from the back of a chair to slip it over her head. Shivering, she perched on the warm stones next to the fire, her feet tucked beneath the hem of her shift, and stirred the embers to life. The growing flames warmed her and she basked for a moment as the morning chill became a fleeting memory.

Yesterday seemed very far away. Though Ryan was again gone—she was foolish to think he could spend every waking moment with her—she did not feel the ravages of leaving her family as much this morning, not after the night she’d spent in Ryan’s arms.

She bit the inside of her lip as a wave of longing passed through her. Would her life be like this forever? Nights of passion followed by long hours of waiting for Ryan’s return? She sighed. There had to be something she could do to keep busy. Anything that would take her mind off her husband’s absence even for a little while.

Well, anything except sewing.

The pattern of sunlight shifted to the floor and Gilda surfaced from her reverie. A soft knock sounded on the door and she slipped across the room to answer the gentle summons.

Lissa’s smiling face met hers. “Are ye awake, then?”

A disapproving voice drifted from behind Lissa. “M’lord said ye werenae to be disturbed, but this one said ye might like a bath.”

Gilda looked past Lissa to the frown on Keita’s face. She smiled through her pique at the dour woman. “That would be lovely.”

She opened the door wider to admit Lissa and Keita and two lads laden with pails of steaming water. Behind them, two more lads hefted a small wooden tub.

“Most bathe in a room behind the kitchen . . ..” Censure sounded in Keita’s voice.

“‘Tis no problem for ye to bathe in private, Gilda.” Lissa’s firm voice cut through Keita’s sullen announcement.

Gilda shook her head. “I can bathe same as the others.”

“I am sure ’tis only right ye bathe in privacy.” Keita sniffed. She turned and planted her hands on her hips as the lads upended the buckets, splashing water on the floor. “Ye wee louns ! Dinnae make such a mess. Practice is what ye are needing. Go fetch another round of hot water.”

Gilda stared at Keita. The woman might not like her, but she was certainly used to her orders being followed. Could she change her hostility into, if not friendship, at least a truce?

“I thank ye for a chance to bathe this morning. I am afraid I slept later than I am accustomed to. ’Twas a busy day for me yesterday.” Gilda saw the other woman’s lips twitch.

Could Keita be tempted to smile? Perhaps it was too much to expect so soon.

The lads returned in haste with their buckets of hot water. Keita watched critically as they emptied them into the tub. With a curt nod she dismissed them and latched the door. “Into the tub with ye, m’lady. We havenae got all day.”

Gilda slipped out of her shift and slid into the water. She closed her eyes as the heat ebbed through to her bones.

Lissa handed her a square of fabric. “Here is a cloth and some soap I brought with me. Ryan bathes either downstairs or at the barracks.”

Gilda mused over that bit of information. She wiggled her toes, dismayed to realize the tub was too small to consider adding Ryan. Heat licked her ears and cheeks. Perhaps that line of thought should be aside for a bit—especially with Ryan’s little sister near.

Instead she queried, “What are the men about this morning, Lissa?”

The girl perched herself on the edge of a chair by the hearth. “Ryan is out on a patrol. The pirates were pushed back to the water yesterday, and havenae been seen since. Da insisted they double all patrols on the beach.”

Gilda nodded. “A wise move. My da . . .” She stopped a wave of longing sweeping unexpectedly through her, firmly tamping it down. “My da will likely be doing the same.”

She quickly finished her bath, though she would have enjoyed a quiet soak. It was clear she had let enough of the day pass her by.

Toweling dry, she slipped into her shift and a gown Keita held out for her. “Thank you for helping me with clothing, Keita.”

“We will visit the storerooms today and pick out some fabric. Would you like that?”

Lissa’s eager look warmed Gilda’s heart and she smiled. “Of course! ”

As Keita and Lissa gathered the linens, the door opened and Ryan strode in, his smile turning to a look of surprise as he took in the activity in his room.

“‘Tis good to see ye so well cared for, a stor .” He dropped a kiss on Gilda’s cheek as he tossed his cloak to the chest at the foot of the bed.

“They have been verra kind.” Her smile of thanks faded to concern as she turned to her husband. “Have ye seen any more of the pirates?”

“Come downstairs and sit at the table with me and I will tell you what I know. I am starved and the tables were being set as I came up.”

Gilda’s heart tripped with anticipation. She knew she would just die if they were confined to the castle again. The sea called to her and her lungs ached for the clear air above the firth.

She grasped Ryan’s hand, fairly skipping down the stairs.