Hugh left before dawn for the raid on the Buchanans. He didn’t wake her up, and Riona pretended she was asleep, which proved difficult when he gently touched her head before leaving.
Don’t die, she thought with a prayer, don’t die!
When he’d gone, she questioned herself. She hadn’t been able to convince him that her denial of marriage was more than a foolish girl afraid of being married. So was she just accepting what happened to her, passively waiting until it was too late, until he hated himself—and her—for breaking the contract?
There was no one to help her make Hugh see the truth. Her last hope had been Dermot, but now she didn’t know if she could trust him not to use this new knowledge against Hugh, have him ousted as the chief before he’d been formally inaugurated. Riona didn’t know if she could live with such an outcome.
She bathed and dressed and tried to get through the day. The castle was abnormally quiet, a few servants going about their chores, but everyone seemed to be holding their breaths. It felt . . . oppressive and frightening. Every time she looked in on Lady McCallum, her head was bowed over her rosary beads, and after a while, her fear secreted its way into Riona. To clear her head, Riona took a walk outside, where tasks went on in the courtyard, but without the cheerful conversations or occasional hail across the yard.
She, Maggie, and Lady McCallum were just sitting down to dinner in a mostly deserted great hall when a clansman ran through the open double doors.
“Lady Riona, the watchmen have seen mounted men approaching. Samuel told me to tell ye.”
Riona ran, Maggie behind her, practically stumbling down the outdoor stairs that led to the courtyard. Samuel waited there, arms folded across his chest, his normally cheerful expression replaced by one as immobile as stone.
Riona skidded to a stop next to him, then stared at the open gatehouse. “Do you . . . lower the portcullis, in case it isn’t them?”
“’Tis them,” he said with cool assurance. “I could see our tartan.”
She eyed him, not used to seeing Samuel like this. But he hadn’t been able to watch over Hugh, his position these last ten years. He’d been left to sit with the women, and apparently, he hadn’t appreciated it, though he’d let no clue show in front of Hugh, Riona remembered.
Mounted men suddenly thundered beneath the gatehouse, then into the upper courtyard, their horses tossing their heads with excitement. She caught flashes of grins, heard excited laughter, saw no barebacked horses absent a rider. She tried to calm herself, even as her heart was pounding so hard she felt a little weak.
Samuel stared down at the hand she’d put on his arm without realizing it.
She pulled away. “Forgive me,” she called over the sound of men and horses.
He nodded, but didn’t give her his usual grin, probably because Hugh had seen them. Hugh rode toward them, and Riona couldn’t help her smile of welcome, even as she looked him over for injury, but saw none. His bare knees flashed beneath his plaid as he dismounted. He wore a bright blue coat, and with his black and red plaid, he looked as colorful as a king. But she hung back and let Samuel do the talking.
“It went well?” Samuel asked.
Hugh nodded. “Every cow accounted for and no one injured. The Buchanans fled like cowards before us.”
Relief flooded through Riona, making her knees tremble with weakness. Dermot and Alasdair dismounted behind Hugh, and she felt a little amazed to see the two of them smiling as they talked to each other. Nothing like a little dangerous warfare to make men lose their scowls.
Dermot clapped a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “We will celebrate your bravery tonight and inaugurate ye as chief. The men are already gathering over this victory—’twill be the perfect time.”
Riona and Maggie exchanged wide-eyed glances.
“Your bravery?” Maggie said, her voice raised to be heard.
Alasdair swung an arm around Hugh’s neck. “Did we not mention that your brother here crept into their camp alone and challenged the Buchanan tanist to single combat?”
Riona gave the appropriate womanly gasp, hoping to make Samuel smile, but his forehead only creased more.
“’Twas my place to defend ye,” Samuel said coldly. “If I’d have been there, ye wouldn’t have been so reckless.”
“I would have, old friend.” Hugh put a hand on his shoulder. “It needed to be done to save lives. We crossed swords only a few times before the rest of the Buchanans began to flee, and without support, he soon surrendered.”
“To you?” Riona looked past him. “Did you take him captive?”
“Nay, we let him return in defeat to his people,” Dermot said. “Why waste our grain on him?”
For the first time since she’d known him, Dermot’s expression was relaxed and confident, as if he was finally proud of his clan chief.
Her plan to have him stand at her side died. The truth might turn him against Hugh, just when Hugh had the support of all of his men. At last, she had to accept the realization that Hugh had become more important to her than her need to escape.
“Speaking of victory . . .” Hugh raised his arm along with his voice. “Let us begin the celebration of Clan McCallum!”
Men cheered and began to pour up the stairs to the great hall.
Maggie turned to Riona. “Should ye alert Mrs. Wallace?”
Riona put up both hands. “It’s not my place. You’re the sister of the chief and I have no official position here.”
“Ye’re the betrothed of the chief,” Hugh said, staring at her with narrowed eyes.
Maggie looked between them hesitantly. “I’ll make sure we have the best meal possible. I’m so proud of ye, Hugh!”
Maggie leaned up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, but Riona felt the weight of Hugh’s stare on her. Even Dermot and Alasdair made themselves scarce.
“Ye have no place here?” Hugh asked, his voice menacing by its very softness.
“I only meant that I am not the mistress of the household,” she said.
“But ye will be.”
She didn’t answer. Her behavior in bed had probably confirmed the future in his mind, where, for her, it had made everything worse. “Let’s not discuss this now, Hugh. This is a time to celebrate.” She’d almost ended with “being a McCallum,” but stopped herself. He would have taken that as even more proof that she’d marry him. “I should go to your mother. She was quite in fear for you. I don’t think she ate anything today.”
Hugh frowned, but then turned away when someone called his name. She hastened first toward the kitchen on the ground floor to see if they needed help, but Mrs. Wallace was in her element coordinating the household. Next, Riona visited Hugh’s mother, who stood in her room looking out at the excitement of the courtyard.
“Lady McCallum, as you can see, Hugh’s home unharmed,” Riona said as she went to the window to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the older woman.
Lady McCallum nodded, her eyes moist, but not openly crying. “Thank ye, Riona. Did they take back the cattle?”
Riona explained what had happened, then allowed a moment of silence to pass, before saying, “Surely ye’ll come down tonight and celebrate his inauguration.”
“If I do, I’ll stay out of his sight,” Lady McCallum said.
Though she sounded melodramatic, Riona didn’t get the impression that it was deliberate. “You can’t win back his good graces by avoiding him.”
Lady McCallum’s shoulders dropped with a sigh. “I cannot win them back regardless. He’ll never forgive me.”
“Forgive you for what?” Riona asked gently.
“For doing what I thought best ten years ago.”
“Is this about Agnes?”
Lady McCallum stiffened, but didn’t answer.
Riona knew that discovering the truth wasn’t going to be that easy. “Whatever it was, holding a grudge for ten years is a long time. You can try to work things out.”
“Then ye don’t know my son very well,” she said bitterly.
“No, I don’t. And yet you, and everyone else, think I should marry him.”
“Think?” Lady McCallum turned to meet her eyes at last. “I don’t just think it. ’Tis your duty to marry him, to do as both of your fathers wished. Have ye not seen how lucky a lass ye are?”
“Did you think yourself lucky when you married his father?”
“’Tis not the same at all.”
“No? It feels it to me.” When Lady McCallum looked as if she’d continue defending her son, Riona raised a hand. “I’m not here to argue with you. I just wanted to invite you to celebrate tonight.”
“He doesn’t want me there.” Lady McCallum spoke with sad conviction.
“Maybe not, but no one can change that but you.”
Those eyes, so like Hugh’s, now met hers in fear. “What has he told ye?”
Riona frowned. “About what?”
Lady McCallum’s gaze studied her face so intently that Riona almost felt touched.
“Never mind,” the woman whispered. “I—I need to rest.”
Riona saw herself out, but now she was even more puzzled than before. Whatever had happened between Lady McCallum and her son, it was certainly not a typical argument. Riona was still surprised by her own need to help Hugh come to peace with the past. But it was something she could do, and living among the enemy had taught her to take her small successes where she could.
But the chief’s mother did come down for the ceremony that night, and Riona stood with the family in the crowded great hall. She was surprised and moved by the formal splendor of it, the robing of Hugh all in white, the granting of a white rod of lordship and the ancestral sword of his clan. The clan chaplain, from nearby Sula, gave a blessing. The entire hall processed out onto the torchlit courtyard, where Hugh stood above his people on the stone carved with the McCallum animal, a wolf, while a long oration began of the exploits of their ancestors, and a recitation of their names for generations. Riona was told all of this by Maggie, and even caught a few words here and there herself.
“Ye know, as Hugh’s wife, ye’ll have to learn the list of McCallums,” Maggie told her, smiling.
Riona gave an exaggerated shudder. “In English, I hope.”
But it might be Cat learning about the McCallums, not her. And she looked at Hugh and tried to imagine her cousin standing at his side, but couldn’t.
They all returned to the great hall for a feast that lasted long into the night. Songs were sung in Hugh’s honor, and Riona heard a few words calling him their “secured fortified rock,” their “defensive shield,” their “noble hawk.” No wonder some chiefs considered themselves a god.
But not Hugh. He accepted the honor with utter gravity and solemnity, performing each part of the ritual with focus, standing at attention during all of the oration. Riona couldn’t help being impressed by how seriously he took his part in the clan—but then she already knew what lengths he’d go to to ensure that his people thrived.
But he’d made a terrible error with her, and they would all find out someday soon. She swallowed back the feelings of grief and fear over what might happen. If Cat could be persuaded to continue the betrothal, all might yet be well. Perhaps that’s who Riona should appeal to. Appealing to Aberfoyle himself, who’d deliberately tried to ruin the contract, might be the worst thing she could do.
And then she heard her thoughts, and realized she was thinking about appealing on behalf of the man who’d kidnapped and frightened her. But her feelings, everything, had changed . . .
IT was almost dawn by the time Hugh entered his rooms, swaying and humming to himself. It was done—the clan approved of him and he was their official leader until he died. Dermot had organized everything himself, and it felt good to know that at last he’d won the man’s approval.
But would he earn his betrothed’s approval?
He went through both doors between their rooms and found her asleep, the bed curtains open as if she’d been anticipating his arrival. He laughed a bit in triumph, imagining being with her again. He lit a candle from the embers of the peat fire and brought it to the bed table to look upon her. Resting a hand for balance on the frame of her box-bed, he just stared at her, the way the candlelight seemed to shimmer through the golden strands of her hair. He’d been so proud to have her at his side for the inauguration. She’d listened as intently as if she’d understood every word, although he’d seen his sister translating for her.
Better than Samuel doing it all the time, Hugh told himself. He didn’t want people thinking his bodyguard coveted his betrothed—though he knew Samuel would never betray him. But would Riona use Samuel to get what she wanted?
He frowned down upon her, the sweet pinkness of her cheeks, her softly parted lips, the beauty of her curves, most of which he’d touched, and some of which he anticipated tasting at last. Every time with her was another lesson for them both. When he’d last enjoyed her bed, he’d been stunned at her need to share pleasure with him, grateful she’d wanted to touch him so intimately. Even a normal bride could have fears, but when one has been forcibly kidnapped—Riona could have been in fear of him forever.
Yet . . . when he’d returned from the cattle raid, she’d still said she had no official place in the household. She was the future bride of the chief, who willingly kissed him and pleasured him. Surely he’d won her over; it was time to plan the wedding.
He dropped a kiss on her head—he’d meant to be gentle about it, but almost fell over instead. She gasped and pushed until she realized who leaned over her in the dark.
“’Tis me,” he said. It was strange how numb his lips felt.
“Hugh.” She said his name with relief.
“Who else would come to ye in the rooms of the chief?”
He sat down heavily beside her, and she rolled toward him as the mattress sagged.
Bracing a hand on his thigh, she said, “You sound extremely proud of yourself.”
Was she teasing him or laughing at him? It was hard to tell the difference after all the whisky he’d consumed.
She glanced toward the window, where the sky had begun to lighten to gray. “A full night of celebration, I see.”
He leaned down to nuzzle behind her ear. “We could celebrate more.”
She coughed when he breathed on her.
“But we don’t have the time,” he said, slapping her backside.
She gasped. “Hugh!”
“Up, woman, we need to leave. My chieftains have invited us to travel our lands and be feted. I want ye to see what ye’ll be a part of.”
He saw the sadness that still lingered in her eyes when she thought he didn’t notice. He might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. He cupped her face in both hands. “Riona, Riona,” he murmured, between kisses. He almost asked her to love him as a wife should a husband, but held back the words. He wasn’t that mindless.
“We’re going on a journey together?” she asked with hope in her voice.
“We are.”
“Then we have much to prepare for. I suggest you get some sleep so you’re refreshed.”
“Don’t need sleep.” But her bed was very comfortable, and he lay down beside her.
She frowned. “You need to sleep, but I’m awake now. Why don’t you let me out and—”
He shook his head, grinning.
“Hugh, a journey requires much preparation.”
She started to climb across him, but the moment she put one leg across him, he pulled her down on top of him. Her thighs straddled his hips, and she was right where he wanted her to be.
She rolled her eyes. “Hugh, please, you’ve overindulged.”
He ignored her, arching his hips to press his cock into the warmth between her thighs. He heard her quick intake of breath, saw the way her eyes seemed to lose focus.
“No ropes holding your legs together now,” he murmured.
He let his hands wander up her torso, cupping her breasts, flicking her nipples with his thumbs, and enjoying the way she gave a tremble that he felt deep within. He cupped her face and pulled her low over him, so that she was forced to brace her hands on his shoulders or fall right into his kiss.
“I’ve got nothing on under my plaid,” he said with satisfaction. “And ye’ve got nothing on under that nightshift.” And then he kissed her.