The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (3 page)

Later.

Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to wait until the storm passed. Who would miss her?

“Will ye be missed, Gilda?”

She jerked. Had he read her thoughts? The plaide slid from her shoulder and Ryan reached around her and pulled it back into place. She barely controlled the tremor this time at his touch, and gave a slight shake of her head.

“Nae. Ma will suppose I stayed at Auntie Tavia’s, and she knows I left well ahead of the storm.”

“No search party until the storm blows over?”

Gilda hesitated, realizing she’d said far too much. “Mayhap. Ye never know what my ma will do.”

Ryan sighed. “Lass, I am trying to keep yer mind off the storm. I have no wish to do ye harm. Ye are safe here with me.”

“I thank ye. I have been afraid of storms since I was a bairn. The noise frightens me.”

He looked at her askance. “Ye cannae be verra old, now. How many summers have ye?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen? That many? Ye look mayhap twelve.”

“I dinnae look twelve! And I will be seventeen soon.”

Ryan laughed and Gilda basked in the warmth of the sound.

“I only tease ye, Gilda. I am twenty, soon to be twenty-one.”

“Truth? I thought ye not much older than me. I was right.”

“Nae. There is a world of difference between sixteen and twenty.”

“Four years,” Gilda scoffed. “What more is there?”

At his silence, she studied his face, now grown serious.

“There is much ye dinnae know, sweet Gilda. Ye must trust me.”

“Aye, I trust ye. Tell me.”

She saw his frown. Did he think she baited him? She hated it when her brothers taunted her. Lightning ripped the sky and she did not want to leave the shelter. His warmth radiated against her and she shifted, wanting to press closer.

Surely, conversation was better than this uncomfortable silent awareness. She ventured to ask, “Have ye been away for a while?”

“Why would ye say that?”

“Ye said there were caves around, if ye remembered correctly. Why else would ye have to remember if ye hadnae been away?”

Ryan nodded. “Ye are a canny lass. I have been away at the MacLaurey keep for the past ten years.”

“Fostering?”

“Aye.”

“My oldest brother is away as well.”

“Ye have more than one brother?”

“Aye.” Gilda couldn’t keep the exasperation from her voice, and Ryan chuckled. The low, rumbling sound, so like thunder, and yet so much more compelling, warmed her. “I have two younger brothers, twins. I hope they foster soon, too.”

“How old are they?”

“Six.”

Ryan nodded. “A truly terrible age.”

“Truth?”

“Aye. I was a wee
loun
at that age as well.”

“My auntie says all men are the same.”

“Well, mayhap not all the same, but I am sure we share a lot of the same vices.”

Gilda shifted on the rock floor of the cave, enjoying their conversation. “What have ye learned, fostering? My brother is but eleven years and a serious lad. I havenae seen him in over two years and miss him.”

Ryan quirked an eyebrow at her question. “What do ye mean?”

“I mean, what did ye learn? I’ve seen the lads who foster at Scaurness. They learn fighting skills, lettering, drinking and…” Her cheeks heated again, remembering Gordon’s warm, inviting eyes, and she hoped Ryan wouldn’t notice her discomfiture in the semi-darkness. But of course, he did. He nudged her.

“What else do they learn at Scaurness, Gilda?”

Gilda turned her back to him. She’d had this discussion with Tavia earlier, and wasn’t going to voice her opinion in front of a stranger.

A puff of warm air against the side of her neck tingled across her tight-strung nerves, and she jumped. Ryan’s face loomed next to hers, his nose near level with her ear.

“Seems as though ye already know the answer to that question, sir,” she replied tartly. “I told ye men were all alike.”

“Och, Gilda. Dinnae blame us for noticing such a sweet, red-haired lass as yerself.”

Gilda flung the plaide from her shoulder and leapt to her feet, displeasure radiating through her. “I dinnae have to put up with it at home, and I of certain dinnae have to put up with it from the likes of ye!”

Ryan’s laugh and rueful smile did little to mollify her, and she continued to glare at him. He rose to his feet and cupped her chin in his hand.

“Ye are the most fascinating mixture of sweetness and fire.” His eyes roamed over her face, his other hand gently skimming the hair beginning to dry and curl at her temples. “Ye asked what we learned, but I think ye know.”

Gilda’s eyes grew wide as his gaze lingered on her mouth. Her breath hitched and her lips parted, her muscles trembling as though they’d forgotten how to act.

“We also learn this.” Ryan lowered his mouth to hers, touching her softly. Gilda gasped air into lungs suddenly empty of breath, and nearly shattered as the tip of his tongue gently traced the outline of her lips.

His mouth moved against hers and Gilda fisted the front of his shirt in her hands, clinging to him as desperate as though she’d been dropped from the highest cliff above the firth. Her world spun out of control, and a tiny moan escaped her as she rose to meet his kiss.

Ryan released her and caught her hands in his. Gilda took a step back, shocked to find the earth still beneath her feet. They stood silent for a moment, and the slow, lazy sound of dripping water grew loud.

“The storm is past.”

How could he say that? A storm still raged through her and Ryan acted as though he were completely unaffected.

He gave her hands a slight tug. “I think we should go now.”

Gilda slipped her hands from his, trying to hide the turmoil inside. “Aye. Ye are right. I must be home.” She strode to the cave’s entrance and pushed past the rain-drenched bracken.

“I will walk with ye to the beach to be sure ye make it to yer land.”

“I dinnae need yer help.”

“Ye will get my help whether ye need it or not.” A gravelly tone laced Ryan’s voice and Gilda bristled.

“’Tis ye who are trespassing now, sir.” She nodded her head to a large rock a few feet away. “Yon outcropping is the border.”

“My name is Ryan,” he bit out, obviously as edgy as she.

Gilda whirled on him. “Leave me alone,
Ryan
.” She stamped her foot with all the petulance of a child.

“As ye wish.” He gave her a curt bow and turned. Their path a single trek leading to the shore, they hurried down the narrow trail, wet leaves and branches tugging at Gilda’s skirts and hair.

Ryan paused as they broke the forest’s cover. “Here is where we part. If ye hurry, ye can make it to yer auntie’s cottage before ’tis dangerously dark.”

Gilda stared at him.
The only thing dangerously dark is ye
.
And I willnae make the mistake of underestimating ye again
. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

A shout arrested them. “Ryan!”

Lifting a hand to shield the glare of the setting sun, Gilda scanned the beach. A lean man, his blond hair glinting in the last of the sun’s rays, held the reins of two horses. The midnight black stallion tossed his head and neighed. The white-stockinged mare nickered and sidled away.

“Who is that? He has my mare.”

“My friend, Conn, has found our horses. Come. I feared we were in for a long walk.”

The young man quickly caught up to them, and the assessing look he gave Gilda brought a frown to her face.

He glanced from Ryan to Gilda and back. “I thought ye went for a ride to clear yer head. If I had known there were mermaids about, I’d have left the unloading of the ship to the others and come along with ye.”

“Ye were too sick to be in charge of unloading the ship, and this is nae mermaid. This is Gilda, healer and wolf-tamer.”

Gilda shot Ryan a narrow-eyed look of disapproval, then turned a gracious smile on the blond-headed man.

“I am pleased to meet ye. I am neither a healer nor a wolf-tamer. Yer friend is a bit addled. His horse threw him and he has a wee knot on his head, as well as scratches on his face where he thinks he was attacked by a bear.”

The young man gave a bark of laughter. “I have known for some time Ryan is addled, and his social skills still require polish. I will introduce myself. My name is Conn MacLaurey. Ryan and I have been friends for many years.”

“I see ye found my horse. Fia bolted and ran when this big lad tossed his rider.” Gilda sidled carefully to the black stallion and offered her palm for him to sniff. The horse shook his head in a show of prideful annoyance but snuffled her hand when she didn’t draw back.

Gilda laughed. “Such a temper. A wee bit like his rider, would ye say?” She turned to Conn, a conspiratorial smile on her face.

Conn looked at her askance. “Bonnie and canny,” he mused.

Ryan growled. “She is impertinent.”

Gilda tossed an innocent look over her shoulder. “I did warn ye,” she reminded him.

Ryan nodded curtly. “Mount up. Ye need to be home.”

Gilda gave them both a sweet smile. “I thank ye for catching my horse.” She mounted with Conn’s assistance and smoothed her skirts over her knees. With a thump of her heels against the mare’s sides, she rode swiftly away, leaving the two men to stare after her.

Chapter 3

“Are ye daft?”

Ryan broke his gaze from Gilda’s retreating form. “What?”

“The lass. Ye were alone with her. Are ye looking to get
marrit
or start a clan war?”

“What the hell are ye talking about? There was a storm and we sheltered in a cave.”

Conn’s voice turned mocking. “Och, ye sheltered in a cave, did ye? With the laird’s daughter?”

“Nae. She’s the healer’s niece.” Ryan motioned down the beach. “Ye cannae see it now, but she lives in a ramshackle cottage against the cliffs.”

“I tell ye, she’s the laird’s daughter.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Why would ye say that?”

“Her speech, for one thing. The lass doesnae sound like a crofter’s daughter.”

“Mayhap, but that doesnae mean the laird is her father.”

“What about her mare? ’Twas a fine piece of horseflesh and no Highland Pony. Not every lass has such an animal nor the time to learn to ride as she does.”

Ryan waved a hand in the air in dismissal and stomped to his own fine horse. He shoved a booted foot into a stirrup and swung aboard the restless stallion. “Mayhap a long walk will clear yer head. I think the
mal de mer
has addled yer brain.”

“Ye are a wee bastard, Ryan,” Conn shouted after him as he rode away.

“’Tis no’ what my father told me,” Ryan flung over his shoulder.

“Come on, Ryan. Give me a ride back. I caught yer mangy horse. ’Tis the least ye can do.”

Ryan reined Duer in a wide circle and set the stallion to a slow canter back to his friend’s side, clods of damp sand flying from his hooves. In a seamless maneuver born of long practice, Ryan clasped Conn’s forearm and swung him up behind him. Duer gave a short buck of protest at the extra weight, but settled at a command from his rider and headed up the beach.

* * *

Trumpets sounded and bagpipes skirled the return of the laird’s son. Torches blazed on the parapets and in brackets along the walls, making the bailey nearly as bright as day under the evening gloaming. Ryan and Conn rode at the head of the procession of guards and servants, their horses shying briefly at the wild sounds of homecoming. The iron-studded, heavy wooden gates opened wide, the creak of the portcullis chains its own welcome as it rose in the air to permit their passage.

“’Tis a verra nice place ye have, Ryan,” Conn murmured just loud enough to hear. “I hope they held dinner for us. I could eat a horse.”

“Ard Castle bids ye welcome,” Ryan returned. “And I would imagine Da has a banquet well in hand.”

A tall, gray-haired man strode from the great hall, a large group of people at his heels. They met in the bailey where Ryan and Conn drew to a halt. Stable lads rushed to take their horses as they dismounted, and Ryan stared at the man he scarcely remembered as kin.

“Welcome home, son.”

The knot in Ryan’s chest eased and he closed the gap between them in two long strides. They clasped arms in welcome and the unexpected joy of homecoming washed over him. It was a long moment before either of them remembered manners or voice.

Laird Macraig stepped to one side, exposing a young girl who hung back, her eyes wide and assessing. Ryan stared. Her near-black hair and startling, amber eyes marked her as kin. His sister? She looked to be no older than nine or ten. Ryan cast his memory back to the day he’d left Ard Castle, his father’s arm about his leman’s swollen waist.

“Ryan, this is yer sister, Lissa.”

Ryan bowed his head in formal acknowledgement. “M’lady.”

Lissa’s eyes narrowed. “Brother.” She offered him no other title, and the lilt to her voice challenged him to remark the slight. It was obvious she did not relish the return of the laird’s son.

Ryan allowed a small smile. The lass had spunk. Would she also be a pain in his arse? He let silence linger a moment longer in mild rebuke for her childish behavior, catching a satisfying glimpse of the flush of embarrassment that rose beneath her skin, then continued with the introductions.

“Da, this is Laird MacLaurey’s son, Connor. He and I have become great friends over the years.” He turned to Conn. “This is my father, Laird Macraig.”

Ryan’s father inclined his head at Conn’s short bow. “Welcome to Ard Castle. Ye are welcome as long as ye care to stay.”

“I thank ye, m’laird. I appreciate yer hospitality.”

“Speaking of which, I am sure ye lads are famished, and we have a feast prepared for ye.” Laird Macraig turned to a man at his side. “Find places for the guards and servants to shelter and wash, and send them in for their share. Call for more lads to care for the horses.”

He faced the people around him, a broad smile on his face.

“My son is home!”

* * *

Ryan propped his feet on the hearth, leaning his head against the chair’s high back. The sharp scent of burning peat filled the air, and embers lit the room with a golden glow.