The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (2 page)

Reining Duer to a halt, Ryan dismounted, tying his reins to his saddle, leaving the horse to graze. He climbed the rise and dropped to the ground, settling to gaze over the firth. He plucked a stalk of grass and chewed the stem absently, grimacing at the salty taste. Before him, small boats plied the waters, an invisible line drawn between the Macrory and Macraig fishing grounds.

Ryan shook his head, wondering at the cause of the rift between the clans. His father would say naught about it and as a lad he’d learned little from even the most ardent gossip. He knew only his father had offered for Lady Macrory before she wed, and had been rebuffed. He shrugged. It was not uncommon enough to remark on it further. Something else had happened, it was certain, but he was unlikely to ever know the whole truth.

A whistle from the beach below caught his attention and he spotted a pony trotting lazily along the shore. The horse halted beside a girl, her hair blazing red in the afternoon sun as it peeked through gathering clouds. She waved to someone in the shadowed doorway of a ramshackle cottage tucked beneath the overhanging cliff. Springing lightly to the back of her mount, she kicked her pony into a run up the beach.

Ryan admired her skill. He saw neither saddle nor blanket, yet the lass clung to the beast’s back like a burr. They passed before him at speed, hooves kicking up sand. Surprised to see her cross into Macraig territory, he rose to his feet and mounted his own horse to follow.

He caught up with them, and found the pony idly plucking grass near a sprawl of brambled berry bushes, an empty basket nearby on the ground. Curious, Ryan urged Duer cautiously through the underbrush. The clouds and deep afternoon shadows cast confusing patterns among the trees and rocks. He paused, adjusting his eyes to the gloom. Scanning the area, he saw nothing. He grew still. The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

Duer bobbed his head nervously and pawed the ground. Ryan checked the horse, and Duer tossed his head again as he sidled deeper into the bushes, protesting the hand on his reins. Ryan peered into the undergrowth and spotted the girl’s pale gown spilled across the forest floor. With a start, he realized she knelt on the ground, a hand outstretched in a placating manner, her red curls tumbling across her shoulder. Ryan’s gaze darted past her hand and his blood ran cold.

A young wolf lay awkwardly in the brush, apparently unable to rise.

“There’s a good lad,” the girl crooned. “Someone left a trap unattended, didn’t they? Ye need only be still a moment longer and I will have ye cut loose in a trice.”

Ryan stared at her in disbelief. The wolf’s front leg was twisted beneath him, and the girl would have to get next to the animal in order to free it. Was she daft?

Slowly the girl reached a hand inside her bodice and pulled forth a
sgian dubh
, its short blade winking dully in the sun-dappled gloom. Easing forward, she reached toward the wolf. The animal recoiled with a snarl, exposing his trapped leg. With a swift move, the girl cut the slender length of tether, releasing the beast.

The wolf leapt to his feet, and Duer neighed in fright. With a gasp, the girl startled, losing her balance. She rolled backward, her skirts flying, arms windmilling wildly as she tried to catch herself. Duer reared, front legs pawing the air, squealing in terror.

Afraid the horse would strike the girl, Ryan hauled back hard on the reins. Duer, unable to remain so poised, fell backward with a crash.

* * *

Gilda jerked at the unexpected sound of a horse behind her, afraid of a Macraig patrol. Her feet slid beneath her as she tried to rise, and she sprawled hard on her rump before she managed to stop.

She caught a glimpse of the horse as it reared in panic. The poor animal staggered backward and fell, tossing its rider into the underbrush. Gilda rolled to her knees, fingers against her lips, aghast at the sight. Unexpectedly agile, the horse surged to its feet and bolted away. The sound of its escape faded and Gilda stared after it.

A low-pitched moan pulled her attention to the man on the ground. Scurrying to him, she knelt at his side and shook his shoulder, afraid to roll him over after witnessing the force of his fall.

“Are ye injured?” Her voice pitched low and soothing.

The man moaned and rolled to his side. Gilda gasped at the blood smeared across the side of his face. She tightened her grip on his shoulder, willing him to be still. “Dinnae
fash
. Ye took a bad fall.”

He eased onto his back and opened his eyes. Gilda stared into their amber depths, shaken by their unusual, pale color. She shivered.

He frowned. “My horse…” He gave a low grunt of pain.

“Has run off, as has mine, I would imagine.” Gilda grimaced at the thought of the long walk home.

The man sat, a scowl on his face, and turned his piercing stare on her. “My horse nearly trampled ye. Are ye hurt?”

“Of course not. He wouldnae have landed on me.”

The man snorted. “Ye seem to have a lot of faith in animals. That wolf ye set free could have torn ye to pieces.”

“Not trapped as he was. And had yer great horse not made such a
stramash
, the wolf would not have been so frightened.”

Giving her a narrow look, the man gingerly shook his head. “Do ye always make such a fuss over animals?”

“What is wrong with that?”

“’Tis a good thing there havenae been any bears in Scotland for the past three hundred years or so. Ye’d be eaten for sure.” He touched the side of his head. With a scowl, he drew his fingers away and stared at them.

“Ye are lucky I am such a kind-hearted person,” Gilda informed him archly as she searched through the bag at her side. “I have just visited with my auntie and have some wych elm leaves.” She pulled large, green leaves from her bag and set them on a nearby rock, using a smaller stone to gently bruise the leaves. Moisture welled to the surface and she pressed the dark mass carefully against the deep scratches on the man’s face.

He jerked away, a suspicious look narrowing his eyes. “What are ye doing?”

“Be still. They will help heal the wound. It looks as though
ye
are the one who just encountered a bear.” Gilda swept a fall of dark hair from his face and reapplied the salve. Her skin tingled as the dense strands slid through her fingers. Her cheeks heated and she dropped her gaze, puzzled by her reaction to this strange man.

Cautiously, she peeked at him from the corner of her eyes and found his head turned away, looking about the forest. She perused his tanned skin, smooth and warm as she’d already discovered. His dark hair just brushed shoulders that were broad and muscled beneath his leine and plaide. He appeared to be only a few years older than she, and she wondered who he was. A Macraig, surely, for Gilda knew she trespassed on Macraig land. She squirmed, uncomfortable to remember where she was.

“Here, let me have that.” The man turned his attention back to her and took the crushed leaves from her hand. “I thank ye, but ’twill heal fine.”

“At least clean it.” Gilda sat back on her heels in protest as he wiped his fingers on his plaide.

“Are ye a healer?”

“Nae, though my auntie is and I have helped her for many years.”

The man frowned. “’Tis an honorable occupation. Why would ye not apprentice with her?”

“Because I am…” Gilda bit her lip. She’d almost revealed she was the laird’s daughter, though that wasn’t the reason she wasn’t a healer. “I dinnae like to see people in pain. I can heal, I have healed, but I am too soft-hearted to make it my life’s work.”

The man’s lips quirked. “A soft-hearted healer? So ye couldnae lop a man’s leg off if he mangled it?”

Gilda paled and her heart fluttered. “Nae.”

“Then all the more reason to seek ye out should I need a healer’s touch. I dinnae like someone too anxious to remove an offending limb.”

“Have ye had a need for a healer like that?” Her gaze took in the man’s well-made form. She saw no evidence of deformity. Quite the opposite, in fact. Heat flared anew in her cheeks.

“Nae, and I hope it never comes to it. I would rather be dead than only half a man.”

Gilda tilted her head. “Ye dinnae know what ye speak. Life is too precious to dispose of so callously. What is an arm or a leg compared to a life?”

“Compared to a ‘useful’ life, ye mean. I wouldnae be at the mercy of others for my daily living.”

Gilda leaned back on her heels, nonplussed. “How did we get so far? Ye fell from yer horse and I put a salve on yer wound and ye now swear ye’d not want to live if ye lost a leg.” She shook her head. “I think ’tis best we look for our horses.”

A stray breeze filtered through the bracken, lifting the curls tangling against her forehead, and she glanced upward. Dark clouds replaced the summer blue sky. A rumble in the distance caused her to jump, and a flash of lightning heralded an afternoon storm as the day plunged into early darkness. Gilda’s heart missed a beat.

“Oh, no.”

Chapter 2

Ryan touched the side of his face again, glad to discover the blood in the scratches had dried. Cool air rustled through the leaves and he looked at the young girl next to him. Her fair skin blanched white, all color leached from her cheeks as she stared into the distance. A freshening breeze lifted her hair.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

“What is it, lass?”

“A storm.”

“Och, ye willnae melt.” He grinned and rose to his feet, relieved not to be surrounded by wolves. Or Macrorys. He held a hand out, offering to help her stand. To his surprise, she ignored him, still staring at the coming storm. With a start, Ryan realized she wasn’t dismayed at the prospect of a wetting. She was utterly afraid.

“Here, lass.” He pitched his tone low, calming. “Let us find a place to shelter. I am sure ’twill blow itself out soon.”

She turned her gaze to him, her smoke-colored eyes wide. Her breast rose and fell rapidly, confirming her fear. Ryan stepped close and stooped to pull her to her feet. She stood and walked with him without comment, and he could feel tension singing through her as he held her hand.

“I seem to remember these woods are riddled with caves. Mayhap we can find one before the rain starts.”

She nodded and swallowed hard. “There is a shallow one just ahead.”

“How do ye know the land so well?”

“The berries are good and plentiful here along the border between us and the Macraigs.” She regarded him with a worried look. “Ye willnae call me a thief?”

“For picking berries?” He grinned easily. “Nae. But if ye get a stomach ache for eating too many, ye willnae let me know of it.”

The girl offered him a small smile at his jest, but she was still too pale.

Thunder rumbled. A sudden gust of wind bent the trees nearly double. She gasped and stumbled.

“Wheesht, lass. I have ye.” Ryan nudged bracken aside. “And here is our shelter. Wait a moment while I make sure one of yer wolves hasnae chosen it for himself.”

He released her hand and stepped to the entrance of the cave. Branches concealed the opening and he held them aside to admit the rapidly fading light. As she’d said, it was shallow, only six or eight feet deep, and scarcely tall enough for him to stand upright. The underbrush at the mouth of the cave would shelter them from the worst of the storm.

A flash of lightning split the sky, opening the heavy clouds. Rain dumped in a deluge, blinding him as he turned back for the girl. Blinking his eyes, he barely had time to open his arms before she ran straight against his chest. Her red hair clung to her, wet from the downpour. The top of her head fit neatly beneath his chin. He gave himself a shake.

“Come, then.” He gently pried her away and led her into the cool, dry interior of the cave. Within moments, she was shaking.

He gentled his voice. “Still afraid of the storm?”

She shook her head. “Nae. Cold.”

Thunder crashed again and she jumped, betraying her lie. Ryan sat on the dusty floor of the cave and unfastened his plaide at the shoulder. He beckoned to her as he unwrapped the woolen fabric.

“Come sit with me, lass. I will keep ye warm.”

She did not move and he quirked an eyebrow at her hesitation. “I willnae harm ye. But ye dinnae need to stand about dripping wet and cold.” He tried a lopsided grin. “I only bite impertinent lasses.”

She almost smiled, but her lips trembled. “Then, sir, I am forewarned, for I fear I am nearly always impertinent.”

He laughed. “My name is ‘Ryan,’ not ‘sir.’”

The girl bit her lip and did not reply.

He sighed. “Saying it willnae make ye impertinent.”

“Ryan.”

His name rolled sweetly from her lips, sending a frisson through his veins. He blinked. She was too young. A mere lass. Teasing her was only a way to keep her from being afraid. He gave a reassuring nod. “There. That wasnae so hard. Now ye can sit with me and be warm.”

Still hesitant, she lowered herself to the cave’s dust-covered floor. He tucked the end of his plaide around her shoulders and pulled it down her side to hold in the heat. They sat quietly, listening to the wind rage outside. Ryan carefully controlled the unexpected storm quivering through his insides at her nearness.

The girl moved slightly. “My name is Gilda.”

* * *

Gilda waited for Ryan’s reply. It seemed only fair after he told her his name to offer hers in return. Just her name. Nothing more. There was no need for him to know she was the laird’s daughter. She knew full well she could be kidnapped and held for ransom, but Ryan had done nothing to alarm her, nothing to send unspoken warnings through her. Except for sneaking up and startling her as she tried to release the captured wolf, he’d been honorable. Maybe a bit grumpy about her attempt to help with his wound, but what man didn’t make a poor patient?

“‘Gilda’ is a verra pretty name.”

Unexpected heat slid beneath her skin as he said her name, causing her to shiver.

“Still cold, then?”

“Nae.” Gilda shook her head. She was far too heated and sure her cheeks were red, as well. This would not do. Whatever caused her to quiver as her name rolled from his lips in a low rumble, it wasn’t right. In fact, sitting here in a cave with a strange man’s plaide wrapped around her was wrong. Even if it meant facing the storm outside, she must leave.