When Hugh came to her room that night, Riona told herself she would be ready. She had a half-dozen questions to ask—even though she knew coming up with them was partly a distraction just for herself. She’d spent the evening in the great hall watching Hugh with his sister, and had been far too fascinated. She’d never seen him so talkative and cheerful and expressive. Before tonight, he’d seemed a man very restrained in his emotions from long practice. And that might still be true, but beneath, he was a man who’d once known how to laugh, who’d been an excellent brother, who knew how to treat his mother with some respect, even though something had clearly happened to alter things between them.
Thinking about this helped her forget the last time he tied her up, but nothing could distract her for long. Her body craved that experience again; she’d lain awake each night when the gentlemen had monopolized Hugh and regretted that he would not be coming to her. She was wanton, she was wicked, she was losing the battle with her conscience. This would only bring her misery—she could never be Hugh’s bride.
But when he arrived, all those thoughts fled, and the hot yearning seemed to pool in the depths of her belly and make her tremble. He stared at her like he was starving and she was his only food. As if in a dream, he came across the room toward her, pulling off his shirt and dropping it. The expanse of his chest made her breath catch. He’d replaced the plaid he’d worn earlier with breeches, so he’d taken some care against the risks. She had to do the same.
“So—I like your sister,” she said brightly, breathlessly.
He came to a stop a foot away from the bed, and his focused stare faded. “What?”
He sounded as dazed as she felt, which she tried to take strength from. She had to keep control, because he was under no such constraint. He wanted her to lose herself in him, to deny him the need for the ropes, to make her his wife even with a trial marriage.
“You and Maggie seem like you’ve always been close,” she continued.
“Aye. Ye have a sister; ye understand. I’d do anything for her.”
“Did you help each other avoid your father when he was drunk?”
He frowned, and the dazed look began to fade, only to be replaced by consternation. “Of course. ’Twas my duty to protect her. Father didn’t try to beat her, but . . .”
“You worried he might, since he beat you.”
Hugh didn’t answer.
“She was only your duty?”
His dark brows came together swiftly. “Of course not. I love her.”
“Then you know how important love is, how difficult it must be when people don’t have that within a marriage.”
Rolling his eyes, he ran a hand through his long hair. “Riona, we haven’t had enough time together to know—”
“And we cannot, Hugh. I cannot marry you, and I won’t be your mistress, and that’s the only way this”—she gestured between the two of them—“is heading.”
He just stared at her, his expression blank, as if he was going to keep concealing anything he wanted from her.
“Your sister’s eyes are fascinating. Do superstitious people stare at her?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it and turned away from her, slamming the door behind him.
Riona slumped back on the bed and covered her face with both hands. Disappointment surged through her, and she almost—almost—went to him. But if she did that, her resistance would be over. He could get her with child, and when proof of the truth came out, she’d be as alone as Agnes had been.
There’d be no husband for her, no children. This solitary grief for the life she could never have was for the best. So why did tears continue to stream down her face?
HUGH departed with the men at midmorning on the promised hunt, though it was obvious he regretted leaving his sister just after she’d arrived. Riona stood beside Maggie and watched the mounted group ride slowly across the courtyard. Dermot and Samuel remained behind with some of the older men—none of whom were happy about it. But Alasdair was going with Hugh, and Riona hoped they could return to the friendship they’d once had.
Hugh saluted Riona and Maggie, but he didn’t smile. He gave Riona a piercing look that warned her not to attempt to escape. She only lifted her chin and gave him a cool look back.
Riona found herself quite monopolized the rest of the day by Hugh’s sister, who seemed delighted that her brother would be marrying at last. There wasn’t a moment for Riona to corner Dermot and try again to win his regard, partly because she was worried how it would look to Maggie. Riona knew she shouldn’t care, that the truth coming out was more important, that Maggie was going to be hurt regardless, but . . . she felt like a coward.
Lady McCallum spent the whole day in her room, and at breakfast the next morning, Riona questioned Maggie about it.
“Is your mother resting after the journey?” Riona asked.
“I believe so,” Maggie said. “But she’s not the most social of women anymore. She’s behaving as subdued as if in mourning, though she lived apart from my father for many years before his death.”
“Perhaps there are better memories she is mourning?”
“If so, I never heard them. He had control of himself when we were very young, although my earliest memories are still of him drinking heartily at every meal, becoming more and more vocal because of it. But in battle people feared him. In some ways Hugh resembles him, with his height and strength.”
“Sometimes I think Hugh drinks a bit too much, like his father,” Riona said hesitantly, then added, “But I’ve never seen him out of control, and he doesn’t yell.”
Maggie’s lips parted as if Riona had given her the greatest shock. “I cannot believe that Hugh gets drunk often. Everyone here drinks the whisky.”
“That’s true. I don’t mean to impugn his character.” She felt a little sick inside, knowing her worry was making Hugh look bad in his sister’s eyes.
Maggie nodded, through her frown still lingered. “I ken these last ten years have been difficult for Hugh, forced to be away from the clan by attending university, and then being an MP. Did the clan . . . accept him upon his return?”
“Yes, of course, but there was—is—a wariness. I imagine he needs to prove himself and this hunt will probably help. He trains with the men on the training yard, which certainly shows his skill, but it’s not the same as what you do in the spur of the moment.”
“True. He never stopped training. His skill with the sword was legendary in London.”
“He does not speak much of his time there, and says Scottish MPs were not treated well.”
Maggie nodded. “’Twas a scandal that the British government—of which Scotland is supposed to be an equal part—would allow some of its politicians to be degraded by others. But Hugh did his duty and bided his time until our father’s death. Now ’tis his time, his turn to prove himself. With you at his side, I don’t see how he can go wrong,” she added, smiling.
Riona’s own smile was tight, and she broke apart a loaf of bread in her hands. When they all found out that Hugh had left behind the correct bride, that he’d jeopardized the contract, the dowry—but especially the land—she didn’t know what would happen.
But she had something to accomplish before this revelation, a decision she’d made that could have consequences for everyone involved. She wasn’t backing down.
“Do you think your mother would like to walk outside with us?” Riona asked. “It might do her good to have fresh air. And there’s a bit of sun between the clouds.”
“A wonderful idea. I’ll ask her.”
Riona half expected Lady McCallum to decline, but within a half hour, she came downstairs with Maggie, her lace cap as wilted as her spirits.
Riona kept their pace through the courtyard slow, and she encouraged Lady McCallum with questions about how things had been done in the past. An occasional servant greeted them, with good cheer for Maggie, and with more reserve for the chief’s widow. Riona kept them moving steadily, through the archway that led to the lower courtyard. There were a few gentlemen left in residence, and none on the training yard, but she could see watchmen on the battlements and grooms moving about within the stables. Most of the horses would be gone, and she’d heard Hugh give explicit instructions for a thorough cleaning.
There was Hamish the terrier, tied up outside, and Riona took a deep breath in relief and expectation.
Maggie practically squealed and dropped to her knees. “How adorable ye are, wee little doggie.”
“His name’s Hamish, and he’s not always friendly—”
But Hamish put his little paws on Maggie’s thighs and would have licked her face if he could have reached.
“I guess I’m the only one he doesn’t like,” Riona said dryly.
Hamish glanced at her but refrained from growling.
“Why is the creature tied?” Lady McCallum asked, her voice already filled with fatigue though the day had barely begun. “I see other dogs running loose.”
“Only the elderly, who couldn’t go on the hunt,” Maggie said.
“Hugh has given him to one of the grooms to care for,” Riona explained. “The boy’s name is—”
But she got no farther, for Brendan came out of the shadow of the stables and eyed them all with interest. His thin body, bony with the promise of future strength, already looked as if his shirtsleeves were too short.
“Afternoon, Lady Riona,” he said warily.
Lady McCallum gasped, and her pale face drained of any remaining color. Riona tensed in case she had to support her during a swoon. But except for laying a hand on her daughter’s arm, she seemed to right herself.
“Good day, Brendan,” Riona said pleasantly. “This is the chief’s mother, Lady McCallum, and his sister, Mistress Maggie.”
Brendan seemed to stiffen, but he eyed the two women boldly.
“You are Brendan McCallum, grandson of Claire?” Lady McCallum asked, her voice slow and measured.
Brendan nodded, even as Hamish jumped and put his front paws on Brendan’s leg. “Aye, my lady. Ye know my granny?”
“I do,” Lady McCallum answered, “or I used to, before ye were born.”
Riona studied Lady McCallum—was she this boy’s granny, too?
Maggie regarded Brendan with bright-eyed interest. “Are ye not young to be working at the castle, Brendan?”
The boy shrugged and scratched the floppy fur on Hamish’s head. “I like it. Granny doesn’t need me so much anymore. She’s hired a cotter to help with the grain and our cows.”
Who was paying for that? Riona wondered. But she thought she knew, and it made her feel a little better.
“How nice that ye bring your dog,” Maggie added.
“Himself gave it to me.” And now Brendan seemed to be watching them.
Lady McCallum frowned, and Maggie glanced at her uncertainly.
Riona thought that their behavior was the best proof of Brendan’s paternity that she’d seen so far. Brendan excused himself to go back to work, and Lady McCallum turned and headed for the upper courtyard alone. Riona and Maggie followed behind.
Riona took a deep breath. “Were you here during Hugh’s recovery after the battle at Sheriffmuir?”
Maggie’s smile faded. “I was. ’Twas a terrible time in Scotland. Defeat is a bitter thing, and many of the redcoats were cruel in their victory.” She glanced hastily at Riona. “Forgive me. Ye have English relatives, I ken—”
“But I’m not a redcoat,” Riona said wryly.
“Are people here treating ye differently because of your English relations?”
“I’ve heard the word Sassenach a time or two, but not out of cruelty. Being . . . with Hugh makes people respectful, of course. They’re respectful to both of us, since he is the new chief, but I think trust is harder to earn.”
Maggie nodded.
And I can’t trust you, Riona thought. “Hugh has implied to me that his time here during his recovery was when the final break with his father happened. Would you tell me about it?”
“He has not?” Maggie asked, a frown growing.
“He’s told me there was someone he wished to marry, but couldn’t because of the contract. I also know there was a woman named Agnes who died. Were they the same person?”
After a long moment, Maggie spoke apologetically. “I think ye should talk to Hugh about this.”
Riona sighed. “Of course. Forgive my curiosity.”
“I understand. Ye’re about to marry a man ye didn’t know a few weeks ago. But . . . ’tis Hugh’s story to tell.”
Maggie glanced over her shoulder back the way they’d come, and Riona wondered if she was looking for Brendan. Riona silently berated herself—she should have waited to initiate this discussion. Maggie didn’t know her at all. Or maybe she didn’t want to show her brother in such a poor light.
As Lady McCallum ascended the stairs to the entrance to the great hall, Maggie caught Riona’s arm. “Wait a moment, could ye? Let’s go sit in the kitchen garden and talk.”
Riona tried not to get her hopes up—Maggie had already ended the discussion about Hugh’s past. But once they were seated side by side on a little bench overlooking the greenery of carrots and turnips, she watched Hugh’s sister expectantly.
“I know this is a strange request,” Maggie began slowly, “but how is Owen?”
She didn’t use his honorary title as the heir, Viscount Duncraggan, which implied a familiarity that surprised Riona. Maggie thought Owen was Riona’s brother, of course, rather than her cousin, but still . . . “He is well, last I knew, cutting a dashing figure in London while still attending his favorite science lectures.”
Maggie nodded, but didn’t smile. “That makes sense,” she murmured.
“You know him? I did not think our families had intermingled much once the contract was agreed upon.”
Maggie gave her a piercing stare, and Riona wondered if she’d made a mistake.
“Well, there’s a little history to that,” Maggie explained. “When Hugh discovered at thirteen that his future was decided, he . . . had trouble with it.”
“I know. He told me about his reckless behavior, and the incident with the redcoats.”
Maggie’s tense shoulders relaxed. “Oh, good. Our mother was desperate to help him, and she decided to renew contact with Lady Aberfoyle, the better for our families to know each other. Though your mother never returned from England, as ye know, Owen and your father occasionally did. We had several dinners together. Very uneventful.”
Uneventful? Riona thought, her curiosity aroused. If it was so uneventful, she wondered why Maggie would be asking about Owen after all these years.
Maggie cleared her throat. “I just . . . wondered how he was doing. So he’s not married?”
The latter was said with such false brightness that Riona had to withhold a smile. “No, he’s still unspoken for.”
Maggie nodded and rose suddenly. “I hope he finds happiness soon.”
“Are you still unspoken for? Hugh hasn’t mentioned a betrothal for you.”
“I am yet quite the independent young lady of Edinburgh,” Maggie said with determination. “I possess a tocher and another small inheritance from my mother. I have time to decide my future.”
“I’m glad.”
But as they headed into the castle, Riona continued to wonder if there was more to the story about Maggie and Owen. Apparently the Duffs and the McCallums were connected in more ways than one . . .
“Let me teach ye Gaelic,” Maggie suddenly said.
Startled, Riona eyed her.
“I saw how difficult it was for ye last night,” Maggie continued. “Ye have Hugh or Samuel to translate, of course, but wouldn’t ye like to be able to understand some of it on your own?”
“I would,” Riona said slowly, her certainty growing. “It is a kind offer I gladly accept.”
Maggie clapped her hands together. “Good. I know not how long we’ll be here, but I’ll help as much as I can.” She twined her arm through Riona’s. “This will be fun. I’ve always wanted a sister!”
Riona’s “fun” drained away with those words.
THAT afternoon, a tailor arrived from Stirling to make Riona several gowns. All of it had been arranged for by Hugh, and both Lady McCallum and Maggie loved reminding Riona of his thoughtfulness. And it was thoughtful, she knew. Over the next two days, Riona posed for fittings and learned Gaelic words for basic items around the household. Maggie discovered Riona could play the spinet, begged her to play for Lady McCallum, only to make the older woman cry. Maggie privately confessed that her mother’s melancholy was growing worse with every year, but her mother wouldn’t speak of the reason for it. Riona privately thought it was something more than her estrangement with Hugh—although maybe it was related.
On the third day since Hugh’s departure, Riona decided to ride to the village with Maggie and Samuel and call upon the Rosses. Samuel had acquiesced easily, and Maggie was excited to meet up with all the villagers she hadn’t seen in a while.
As they rode past the alehouse, Riona was happy to see the elder Mrs. Ross sitting outside, watching her grandchildren play. She smiled upon seeing Riona and rose to her feet unassisted.
“Lady Riona,” the old woman cried, waving. “Look at me, outside with the wee bairns.”
Riona and Maggie dismounted and came to sit with her, while Samuel disappeared into the alehouse on the pretext of looking for Donald.
Before long, Maggie was telling Mrs. Ross about the musical gifts Riona had honed entertaining her sister, and a blushing Riona was asked to sing for the children. Three songs later, a little crowd of women and children and the elderly, those who hadn’t gone on the hunt, had formed around her, seated on rocks and tufts of grass. Mrs. Ross was beaming as if she’d taught Riona herself.
It felt . . . strange and rather wonderful to have so many fresh, upturned faces look upon her with happiness. The usual wary suspicion of her as a Duff or a Sassenach seemed gone, even if only for a little while. Or perhaps they were coming to accept her as their chief’s future wife. But that was a stab of pain she put aside. This life was not hers but Cat’s, and though that seemed more and more bittersweet, Riona had never been one to live in a fantasy. But she tried to enjoy the moment, and take comfort in being admired for a skill she’d worked hard to perfect.
And then there was a shout from the hillside above the village, and a young man came stumbling over the crest, falling to his knees and lurching back to his feet. He shouted something in Gaelic, and the crowd surged apart as if lightning had struck directly in the center.
Though Riona knew only a few words of Gaelic now, Maggie had taught her these: cattle thieves. Maggie translated the gasping boy’s account of six men stealing away dozens of cattle. Then she and Maggie practically flew to their horses, where Samuel met them.
“Do you know where Hugh and the gentlemen are?” Riona demanded.
“Aye, they send missives every day, along with all the carcasses of the beasts they’ve killed.”
“Then take word to him about the raid. He’ll need to know.”
Solemn, Samuel nodded, mounted his horse, and headed uphill, away from the village, away from the castle.
Riona watched him go, then accompanied Maggie back to Larig to await Hugh.