The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (30 page)

“I realize ye dinnae fit well diving in the thicket. But that also means I am quite safe there. And think of Cook’s pastries at supper tonight!”

“Milady, ye need to stay closer next time.”

The older soldier’s stern words chaffed Gilda’s patience, but at least he mentioned ‘next time.’ She motioned to a large boulder overlooking a narrow ravine. “I am going to rest a bit on yon rock. ’Tis a lovely view and the breeze will cool me.”

Leaving the two men to do as they wished, she flounced up the slope to the outcropping. Seating herself on the rock, she settled her skirts around her, drawing up her legs and leaning her cheek on her knees. She scooped her hair to one side, allowing the breeze to caress the back of her neck.

She sat there quite still for several minutes, watching a hunting hawk hanging high in the clear blue sky. A rabbit hopped hesitantly across an outcropping part way down the ravine, and just a bit further, on a sunny ledge, a young cub gamboled near an older wolf that stared across the narrow rift right at Gilda.

Her skin chilled in sudden apprehension and she turned a bit to view both guards standing nearby, each keeping a watchful eye on the beach and sparse woodland. She slid her gaze back to the wolf, curious to have it observe her so fearlessly.

The wolf lifted its right paw, and recognition dawned. ’
Tis my wolf! And he has a wee cub!
Happiness flooded through Gilda as she watched the cub roll and tumble. The older wolf’s jaws slacked open and his tongue lolled to the side as he panted lightly in the heat.

I agree, lad. ’Tis an unusually
sweltrie
day. Ye have a bonnie cub, and ye seem to be taking good care of him. Teach him to stay clear of traps. I have a bairn of my own and cannae be spending my time taking care of ye.

A smile tilted her lips as she remembered the day she met the wolf—and Ryan.
“I am verra pleased to see ye safe and sound and leading a happy life,” she murmured aloud, as though the beast could hear. “That, my friend, is what I want. A happy life. And I think I know what to do.”

Chapter 28

Gilda fisted her hands on her hips and gave the room a final look. A large, sturdy bag with a rope handle perched atop the bed, crammed full of baby blankets and clothing and other bits and bobs she might need quick access to on their trip to Ard Castle. A small trunk sat on the floor, its space divided between a few of her gowns and other clothing, and the rest of Will’s baby items.

Satisfied, she tipped the chest’s lid closed and pulled the bag off the bed, cinching its neck tight. She slipped the rope over her shoulder and held her arms out to Tavia.

“I can carry Will. Have one of the men carry the chest down.”

“I can do it!” Finn shouted as he grabbed the sturdy handles.

“No! I will!” Jamie cried, pouncing on his twin to knock him aside. He spread his arms wide, trying to grasp both handles, but his span was too short.

Finn shoved him away and squatted close, hugging the trunk to his chest. His reach was no better than Jamie’s, and his face reddened as he tugged ineffectually at the weighty box.

“A pox on the both of ye wee scunners! Grab one handle each and work together, for the love of St. Andrew! And Finley will have yer hides if ye drop it.”

Tavia handed Will into Gilda’s arms. “The two of them are enough to turn a body’s hair an early gray.”

Riona entered the room. “Och, there they are. I thought I heard a
stramash
in here.” She gave the twins a stern look which they ignored as they hoisted the trunk between them. Muscles straining, backs arched against the weight, they held the chest a few inches above the ground.

“We are helping Gilda!” Jamie informed his ma on a pant of exertion. Finn beamed, his face still red.

“Och, dinnae hurt yerselves or the chest. I can have one of the men carry it down,” Riona pointed out.

“We can do it.”

“I dinnae want help.” Finn glared at his brother. “Pick up yer end. ’Tis dragging.”

Jamie squinted at his end of the trunk. “’Tisn’t.”

“’Tis.”

“Lads!” The Macrory captain’s voice cut through the bickering and the twins fell silent. Gilda rolled her eyes as she jostled Will in her arms.

With a warning scowl at the lads, Finley turned his attention to her. “Are ye ready, lass?”

“Aye. I dinnae plan to be gone long.” She glanced at the baby who settled as the twins’ noise subsided. “Will is old enough to travel to Ard, and I dinnae wish to deny the laird a bit of time with his grandson.”

Finley rested a hand on her shoulder. “’Tis generous of ye, lass. I know he isnae an easy man to deal with. Lissa will be glad for yer visit.”

“I am looking forward to seeing her. She is a wee bit short of friends at Ard. And I like her.”

“Ow! Ye smashed me against the door!” A thud echoed as Finn dropped his end of the trunk. Unable to hold the chest without help, Jamie dropped his end as well.

“Look what ye did!”

“Ye crushed my hand!”

“Dinnae!”

Finn shoved his fist beneath his brother’s nose. “See!”

Finley pulled the cloth bag from Gilda’s shoulder and strode to the doorway. Hefting the chest to his shoulder, he thrust the bag into Finn’s startled grip. “Away with ye. Carry yer sister’s bag.”

The boys hurried behind him, the hapless bag thumping across the floor as they dragged it between them.

Gilda turned sympathetic eyes on her ma. “Take care of yerself. They are enough to try the patience of a saint.”

“They will foster soon, and I do believe I shall miss them.”

With a dubious look at her ma, Gilda carried Will from the room.

A small wagon awaited her outside, her mare tethered to the back of it. Six outriders flanked the cart. Finley loaded her chest in the back and took the cloth bag from the twins before they could dash it against the sideboards. Gilda leaned into her ma’s warm hug, then kissed Tavia’s papery cheek, offering hers in return.

“Enjoy yer visit, lass, and dinnae
fash
yerself.” Finley clapped a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Duncan and Archie will stay at Ard with ye. Should ye need anything, let them know.”

Gilda nodded solemnly. “I thank ye. Will and I will be fine. I dinnae plan to stay longer than a sennight.”

Finley took Will from her, rocking him gently in his arms before he handed the baby to Riona. “Get settled in the wagon. I dinnae want ye traveling in the dark.” He handed her into the seat, then returned Will to her grasp. She arranged his blanket about his face as the wagon rolled forward. Waving goodbye, Finn and Jamie bounced off each other as they leapt excitedly in the air.

“Watch out for wolves, Gilda!”

Gilda grinned as she remembered the playful antics of the young cub she’d seen, and the thrill of knowing the wolf she had rescued was doing so well.

“And pirates!”

Her smile vanished. Darkness crowded her vision as though the sun had suddenly plunged behind a cloud, and a chill shivered down her spine. Suddenly the pungent aroma of fresh blood assaulted her, and Acair the pirate’s dead gaze filled her sight. She gasped to recall the horror, as the slick, sucking sound of Conn’s sword as he pulled it from the pirate’s chest shrieked through her ears. The whine of an injured wolf panted in the background, and she recoiled from the cloying scent of heavy underbrush and rich, moist soil.

Gilda clung tightly to Will and he mewled in protest. Her hands trembled and a sour taste rose in her throat, spilling into her mouth. She gulped, trying to drag air into lungs tight with dread.

“M’lady? Are ye sick?”

Duncan’s warm hand settled over hers, and she stared at it, the black hairs, thick and wiry, springing from the tanned skin. With an effort, Gilda dragged her gaze away.

“Nae. I am a wee bit cold, ’tis all.”

She ignored Duncan’s puzzled look and pulled her plaide close about her, shutting her eyes against the memory of the horrific day Ryan, the love of her life and her son’s father, had died.

* * *

Ferlie eyed the ship’s hull in disgust. Beside him, Shona snorted and sidled nervously as the timbers creaked and groaned.

“How long will it take to get that repaired?”

The ship’s mate jerked his gaze from the damaged planks. “Och, ye’d be better off finding another ship to get ye to Ayr. But in this weather, ’tis doubtful any will be setting sail before a couple of days at least.”

Frowning, Ferlie peered at the overcast sky, squinting against the spray kicked up by the rising wind. Shona stomped a forefoot and shied at the hollow sound of the wooden dock. Ferlie tightened his grip on her lead rope and rested a comforting hand on her muzzle. The ship bounced and grated against the pier. Shona laid back her ears and nipped the edge of his palm.

“Witch!” He snatched his hand back, taking a quick inventory of his fingers. “I will see this beast to her quarters and return to talk to the captain. Is there anything ye need from town?”

Shaking his head, the man moved away, directing the offloading of the ship, likely glad to see Ferlie taking care of himself and one less thing to cause him worry.

Shona danced sideways down the length of the dock, ears flattened against the sounds of the ships and crews. Ferlie spoke soothingly to the mare.

“Enough is enough, aye? Only one more leg to our journey and I will give ye free rein to run.”

Greum hurried to catch up, his peculiar rolling gait reminding Ferlie the wizened old man had suffered his share of sailing woes.

“’Tis right glad I’ll be to see Scotland’s shores again,” Greum muttered from deep within the cowls of his cloak. His eyes sparked, reflecting the flickering torchlight along the quay. A gust of wind roared off the sea, pushing him against the mare’s shoulder. He hopped a step away, regaining his balance, and huddled deeper in his plaide. Rain began to spatter the already slippery wooden planks.

Ferlie raised his voice over the noise. “Go to the tavern. I will settle the mare and be inside anon.”

Greum lodged neither argument nor complaint as he headed for shelter and a roaring fire.

A bit of coin Captain Rousseau had gifted him to help along his journey secured Shona a bag of feed and a snug stall away from the worst of the wind. Leaving her munching contentedly on her oats, Ferlie charged across the rain-swept yard, and into the inn.

He closed the door behind him, shutting out most of the sounds of the gale, and hung his cloak on a wooden peg on the wall. The noise from the main room was a cheerful contrast to the weather outside, and the glow of the fire drew him in. A harried serving girl spared him a glance as she moved among the tables full of tattered sailors and weather-worn travelers grounded by the storm. Across the room, he spotted Greum and veered in his direction.

He slid onto the bench next to the older man. “Any chance you were able to find us a place to sleep tonight?”

Greum finished a deep drink of his mug, wiping the back of his hand across frothy lips. “Nae. But we can bide the night by the fire. Too many people already here to get a private room.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But the ale is good and there will be food as fast as wee Mairi can serve it.”

Ferlie peered about the room. Catching wee Mairi’s eye, he held up a coin. She gave a jerk of her head, and moments later placed a trencher of stew and a plate of bread on the table. The warm aroma reminded Ferlie he hadn’t eaten since early morning, and he dug in.

“Here is a bit of ale, me fella.”

A tankard appeared at his elbow and Ferlie met wee Mairi’s gaze. A silent invitation played about her lips and she pressed against him, her breasts nearly spilling from her low-cut bodice. He grinned, but a nagging feeling of doubt slid through him, and he declined her offer. Placing another small coin in her hand, he waved her away.

Greum wiped up the last of broth with a hunk of bread, then pushed back from the table with a rumbling belch. He thumped his chest and slumped against the wall at his back.

“’Twas a right good meal for all it was shared with this
manky
group.”

Ferlie followed his gaze as it wandered about the rough men at the tables, their damp clothing giving off various, rather offensive aromas in the warm, crowded room. For the first time, he was aware of his own rather pungent odor; a combination of hard work, the stables, and infrequent rinses with sea water.

“I dinnae suppose one overworked serving lass can provide a couple of travelers with a bath?”

Greum picked a partially masticated particle from between two of his teeth with the edge of a fingernail. “Nae. There isnae an unused space to put a tub, even if I were of a mind to shuck my breeks amid this rabble.”

After weeks at sea, the warm, crowded room began to seem oppressive. Ferlie pushed his trencher to the center of the table amid the rest of the clutter. “I think I will step to the doorway for a bit of fresh air.”

“Mind ye, dinnae be long. I cannae hold ye a sleeping spot once this lot decides to turn in.”

Ferlie acknowledged the warning with a shrug as he rose to his feet. Weaving carefully amid the packed tables, he arrived in the front hall without incident. He opened the door with care, pleased to note a lull in the storm. No moon or stars shone through the heavy clouds, and it was certain they would endure another drenching rain soon, but for the moment, the stiff wind was cool on his face and the overhanging roof above the door kept the steady, light drizzle at bay.

He stepped to the edge of a pool of light cast through the tavern’s window and breathed deeply, shedding the stifling heat of too many bodies packed too close together.

To his left, the stables were a dark stain against the darker night. Across the mud-churned street, torchlight blinked blearily beneath a dripping eave. The door beside the torch opened and three men exited into the street, pulling their plaides tight across their shoulders as they prepared to cross to the tavern. The men were of differing ages, older to younger, their multi-colored cloaks marking them as Scotsmen.

The younger man was bare-headed, his bright golden hair glinting in the flickering light. He was tall and lanky, and primarily notable for the petulant scowl on his face. The elder of the three was a bull of a man, thick-necked and powerful. His balding pate glistened with moisture, and his fierce eyes stared at Ferlie from beneath bushy eyebrows that shot upward in a surprised motion.