Page 33 of The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride (The Highlander’s Bride #3)

Conn stormed the width of the great hall and mounted the stairs three at a time. The staircase curved upward, its thick stone walls encasing him as he followed the treads to the third storey. Lissa’s maid, Keita pulled up short as they met at the head of the stairs. A watery smile lit her face.

“M’lord Ryan is home!”

Conn tamed his grimace to acknowledge the woman’s happiness. “Aye. I saw him on his way from the dock. I would like a moment to speak with him.”

Her face fell. “I dinnae think he wants to speak to anyone just now. He is closeted in his room. He shut his door quite firmly.”

Venting his opinion of Ryan’s reticence in an expletive he managed to keep under his breath, Conn strode to the paneled portal and, not bothering to knock, opened the door. Ryan paused in his ablutions, then, without even a shrug in acknowledgment, returned to his bath.

Conn pivoted angrily and snatched a chair from its position beside the hearth. Dragging it noisily across the wooden floor, he settled it between Ryan and the door and plopped himself down in it to wait. Ryan leaned his head against the wooden rim and closed his eyes.

Battling back his rising impatience as silence ensued, Conn cautiously opened the conversation. “Lissa’s maid seemed glad to see ye.”

Ryan grunted his answer .

“Have ye spoken to yer da yet? I am sure he is thrilled his heir has returned.”

Silence met this observation.

“Where have ye been? I think that is a good place to start.”

“I died and came back to life as a pirate.”

Conn bolted up in his chair. “Ye what?”

“I have lived the last year as a pirate, Conn. What do ye think the clan and my da will make of that?”

“I dinnae think they will blame ye.”

“Blame me?” Ryan gave a harsh laugh. “Mayhap not. But ever forget it? Doubtful.”

Conn digested the news thoughtfully. “Ye were taken prisoner, then? But why did they not ransom ye?”

Ryan’s fingers gripped the edge of the tub and his knuckles whitened. For a moment Conn was sorry he’d asked the question.

“From what I was able to piece together, their leader was killed and they had little banding them together beyond the need to survive. They found me floating in the water a small distance down the coast and pulled me out of the waves as a matter of course. Apparently they needed slave labor to fill in where they had lost men.”

“Slave—you dinnae tell them who ye were? Were ye afraid they would kill ye?”

“I was often afraid they would kill me. But, no, I dinnae tell them who I was.” He leaned forward and turned his face to Conn, moving his hair behind his left ear. “That verra large scar is what is left of a head wound that caused me to lose my memory. I only learned who I was a day ago.”

Conn slumped back into his chair, his head whirling with disbelief. Ryan’s story was simply incredible and he wasn’t sure whether to heartily welcome him home or give him quiet and space to recover. He stole a glance at his friend, unwilling for Ryan to think he stared. His shoulders were muscled and lean, his skin darkly bronzed. But if he looked closely, white lines of scarring crossed the portion of his back he could see above the edge of the tub, and his shoulder blades were far too prominent. Conn shuddered to imagine the rest of the scar that crossed his head.

Ryan’s next words took him off guard. “Why did ye not marry her?”

He thinks Gilda’s unmarried state is my fault? He scowled, remembering Ryan’s cold dismissal of her by the dock.

Pulling his anger in check, Conn bit out his words, striving for civility. “I almost did. I asked her twice, if ye want to know.” Shrugging, he added, “I dinnae realize ye were alive at the time.”

“She turned ye down.” Ryan’s voice was almost flat, emotionless, but Conn sensed the thin line of anger riding just below the surface.

“She was still in love with ye! Though I cannae for the life of me see why.”

“Och, aye. I could see how much she once loved me.”

Conn clenched his fists to keep from smashing the sneer from his friend’s face. ’Twas not Gilda’s fault she’d been too stunned to greet him with the joy Ryan had obviously expected. He’d been dead to her for a year, for pity’s sake!

“If ye dinnae want her, just say so. She had only this morning agreed to be my wife. With ye gone over a year, she has every right to do so. Ye were never formally married before a priest, so yer vows willnae hold ye if ye want out.”

“Ye would like that, aye?”

Conn bolted out of his chair and stormed to the edge of the tub, shoving back the desire to haul Ryan out of the water and beat some sense into him.

“I dinnae know what yer problem is. That lass grieved far longer for ye than was good for her. Then young William was born and she grew up a lot, became stronger—a young woman to be proud of. She has fought long and hard to overcome the nightmares of guilt she had of the day ye died—disappeared. Ye can either give her the respect she deserves, or go to hell! And I dinnae care which!”

He stared at Ryan for a long moment, but his friend made no move. Conn threw his hands in the air in disgust. “Och, wallow in yer self-pity for all I care. But ye’d best make yer mind up soon, for I’ll not be put off by yer bull-headedness!” Spinning about with furious energy, he crossed the room in long, angry strides and flung open the door. Muttering dire consequences under his breath, he stormed down the stairs.

* * *

Tavia paused, tasting spoon at her lips, as a pounding at her door sounded. She set the long wooden utensil on the hearth and dusted her hands on her apron as she crossed the tiny room. Worry creased her forehead as she pondered the significance of a visit to her wee house. She’d long since trained a healer for the clan, and other than the laird’s own family, the new healer was usually sufficient.

She yanked the door open and peered into the bright midday sunlight. In the backlighting from the darkened cottage to the brilliant sun reflecting off the water of the firth, her goddaughter looked ghastly.

Tavia hurried to usher her inside. “Wheesht, lass! Ye look as though ye’ve seen a ghost! Sit down. I will take the bairn.”

In short, commanding movements, she whisked a chair out for Gilda to sit, slipped young William from her arms and perched him on her hip. Peering up at the guards at the doorway, she shooed them away.

“Not enough room inside for that many braw men, and thank goodness for that. They only get in the way.” She poured hot water from a steaming kettle over a spoonful of dried herbs. She stirred it slowly then set the mug on the table in front of Gilda. “This will put a wee bit of color in yer cheeks, lass.”

Gilda forced her lips into a tight line of thanks and Tavia could think of no clear reason for it.

“Tell me what has upset ye, a stor . Has something happened at Ard Castle?”

Gilda wrapped her hands around the mug. “Aye.”

Mustering patience, Tavia placed Will on a blanket in a large basket near the hearth and returned to the chair next to Gilda. She slid a hand across her shoulders, noting the tension and the way the lass flinched at her touch.

“Has someone hurt ye?”

Gilda shook her head violently. “Not my body. My heart.”

“Conn MacLaurey, the wee scunner !” Tavia exploded.

Gilda placed a restraining hand atop Tavia’s. “Nae. ’Tis nothing Conn has done.” She tilted her face and Tavia wilted at the despair written in the tear streaks on her too-pale cheeks.

“Ryan Macraig is home.”

It took a few moments for Gilda’s words to register, and Tavia could tell how hard it was for her to say them. Gilda leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, wrapping them about her waist as though shielding herself.

“Lass, tell me what happened.”

Gilda stared at the mug of brewed herbs before her in silence.

Tavia searched for something to say. “This has come as quite a shock. I know how much in love the two of ye were— ”

“He doesnae want Will!” The words burst from Gilda’s mouth even as her hand flew to her lips, a horrified look on her face.

“Och, Gilda, that cannae be true.” But despair slashed every line of Gilda’s body and Tavia folded her into a tight embrace.

Slowly, Gilda began to speak. “Conn arrived at Ard Castle this morning. Lissa and I had planned to take Will out on the beach for a picnic, but she wasnae feeling well, so Conn went with us instead.”

She took a shuddering breath. “As we finished, a birlinn docked and I was frightened—remembered the pirate attack a year ago. Conn thought it would be good if I walked to the beach, faced my fears.” She fell silent and Tavia waited for her to regain her composure.

“A man on a beautiful white horse rode up the path. In a few moments he was close enough for me to recognize him.” Her voice dropped to an agitated whisper. “’Twas Ryan.”

“Did he see ye?”

“Aye. He saw me. He stared, nae, he sneered at me! His eyes went from me to Will and back, and he sneered at me! As though he couldnae believe I had a bairn!”

Tavia placed a fond kiss on Gilda’s temple and smoothed the fiery curls back from her face. “I imagine he was startled to see ye.”

“He hates me. I saw it on his face. Why does he hate me?”

Tavia shook her head, swallowing against the tears clogging her throat. “I dinnae know, a stor . I dinnae know.”

* * *

Ryan stood at his open window, surveying the land from his vantage point. Every dip and rise, every tree and stone were as familiar to him as his life’s own blood. Conn’s words still ran rampant through his mind. He sought peace, a refuge from the terrifying months with the pirates. Gilda had suffered, too, and he tried to wrap his thoughts around why she would turn to Conn at such a time. He had faced death more than once, and watched too many people die to continue to blame her for needing comfort in another man’s arms. She had thought him dead, after all.

He scowled. Conn had not handled the situation well. He knew better than to take advantage of a young girl’s distress. For that, he would consider thrashing him later. But for now, he needed to know if he and Gilda had a chance for a life together .

I could raise the bairn to know his da, to give him security and a good life. I could adopt him as my heir if I had no other. Though I dinnae know if Conn would agree.

He shoved his hand across his forehead in frustration. She is the love of my heart. I would let her go if she was set against me. But if there is a chance, any at all . . ..

His da and the clan awaited him downstairs. But he would not face them without answers. Keita told him Gilda had not returned to the castle and Conn had ordered her things sent on to Scaurness.

Draping a plaide about his shoulders, Ryan slipped down the stairs unseen and hurried to the stables.

In the act of saddling his own horse, Conn was startled to see Ryan enter the stable. He stepped to the door of the stall as Ryan led his mare down the aisle.

“A nice-looking mare ye have. I dinnae think I have seen one so fine.”

“A Frenchman I met gave her to me. I will tell ye the story sometime.”

Conn leaned his forearms across the top of the half-door. “Where are ye going?”

Ryan finished saddling his horse quickly and swung into the saddle.

“I am going to talk to Gilda.”

“She said she was going to stay with Tavia for a day or so.”

Ryan pulled his mare’s head around and gave Conn a long assessing look. “I thank ye.” Putting his heels to his horse’s sides, he sent her out the door into the evening.

Conn called after him. “Young Will is a good lad. Ye will like him.”

Ryan did not answer.