The Warrior Bride (35 page)

He laughed as he straightened to his full height. “This I tell you, wee one,” he said. “You make it… I will eat it.”

They set to work finally, and although their movements were uncertain at first, they soon caught the spirit of the morning.

As for Rhona, she had never been adverse to filth, so she settled herself on a nearby hillock and scooped up the sod with them. In a matter of minutes they had three pies set atop a rock.

“‘Tis ready,” whispered Edwina and turned her attention to Lachlan. Her dimpled hands dripped with slime.

He eyed their masterpieces with judicious sobriety then, “Nay, they be not yet baked,” he said, but just then the sun, seeming willing to play, skirted a bubbled cloud and shone down hot on the trio of pies.

“Well then,” said Rhona, “they’ll be done soon enough. What shall we do until ‘tis time for Champion to sample the fare?”

Neither spoke, but from beneath her tattered gown, Catherine drew out the dirk she’d rescued the night before. Rhona met her gaze.

“Very well,” she said finally, and thus the lessons began.

Although Edwina soon tired of tossing a sharpened stick into a circle of branches, Catherine practiced until her narrow arm shook and Rhona deemed she had had enough. Retracing their steps toward the house, they came upon the mud pies.

The girls stopped, eyeing the feast in tandem. Neither spoke for a long second, but finally Edwina lifted her gaze to Lachlan. The tiniest hint of a smile curved her soft lips.

“Look,” she murmured. “Dinner is served.”

The days took on a singular cadence, for the marquis was busy nursing his injuries or an ale or both, and Lady Norval did not return, leaving Rhona to care for the girls. As for Lachlan, he rarely left their sides, but stayed close, acting as guard or jester as the moment demanded.

For Rhona this time was a revelation, like moments stolen from her secret dreams, like sunlight on her skin. The days were warm and lovely, the evenings irrevocably sweet, for it seemed almost as if they were a family-as if the girls were her daughters and the looming Highlander, her love.

As Lachlan finished his duties in the stables, Rhona laughed and tucked the girls into Catty’s narrow bed.

“Aye,” she said. “Now that you mention it, lass, Champion does indeed sound like a fine name for a steed.”

“Then why does it belong to a man?” Catherine asked.

“Is it because he came from a place with fine horses?”

“Nay,” said Rhona.

“Is it because you ride him?” asked Edwina, who had mounted his shoulders just that day.

Rhona kept her fingers busy on the blankets and her eyes averted. “Of course not.”

“Then it must be because he is your champion,” said Catherine.

“There you are,” said the marquis, and stepped into the room.

Rhona straightened with a start, then remembered to curtsy. “Aye, my lord, just seeing your daughters abed.”

“Bed,” he said. His words were slightly slurred. Since the night of the warrior’s visit, he seemed inebriated more often than not. “What a fine idea.”

“Aye,” Rhona agreed. “I too am tired.”

“You must have been busy indeed. I’ve barely seen a hint of you these past days. Where have you been hiding?”

“We were not hiding, my lord. ‘Twas a bonny day. We ventured past the gardens to the river.”

“So you are not afraid?”

“Afraid, my lord?”

“Of the bastard who broke into my house some nights hence.”

Hell’s saints, she had not even considered the fact that she should be afraid. “Oh,” she said, and carefully lowered her eyes. “‘Twas a frightful thing. But nay, I do not fear, for I am certain you will protect me.”

“Aye, and so I shall,” he said and straightened slightly.

He had changed since his sister’s exodus, or perhaps it was only her perception that changed.

“I am but sorry your sister felt the need to flee,” she lied.

“She was always the frightened little mouse,” he said. Rhona’s stomach turned at the thought of their twisted lives. Still, there was no proof that he was guilty of aught but deviant sex.

“But what of you, mistress?” he asked and watched her with eyes half mast. “You act the gentle maid, but things are not oft what they seem.”

She swallowed her worry and smiled shyly. “I am but trying to continue your sister’s education. Your eldest is becoming quite proficient at her needlework,”

“My eldest,” he said, then shifted his gaze to the girls and away. ”Ahh yes, my daughter.” He said the word strangely. “And what are you proficient at, bonny Rhona?”

“I fear my needlework needs some improving.”

“Well…” he said, and laughed. “I believe I can tolerate that.” Taking her arm, he steered her round the corner. He limped slightly, but in a moment they had reached her door. It stood ajar. He escorted her inside.

Nerves cramped in Rhona’s stomach. “Excuse me, my lord,” she said and drew her hand carefully from his arm. “But as I have said, I am quite fatigued.”

“Of course you are,” he said, and leaned a shoulder against the wall as he watched her walk away. “For you have the entire responsibility of my progeny since my sister left.”

“They are not a burden, my lord.”

“Still, you should not have to care for them alone. Although I’ve warned Colette not to be too harsh with them in the future, they are not as sweet as they seem at times and will need disciplining. Perhaps I had best call someone in.”

”That won’t be necessary.”

“You prefer to be absolutely responsible for their care?”

“Aye.”

He smiled. The expression was a bit sloppy. “And you would be grateful for that opportunity?”

She fluttered her lashes and tried to remain calm, for although she did not doubt her ability to defend herself, she was concerned about the probability of being sent away if his balls became mysteriously lodged between his noble ears.

“I would indeed be grateful,” she said. “But-”

“Me marquiship.”

They turned in tandem toward the hall. MacGowan stood in the doorway, his gaze on Lord Robert, his expression solemn. “I dunna mean t’ disrupt ye.”

The marquis scowled. ”Then why do you constantly insist on doing so?”

MacGowan bowed again. “Me apologies,” he said, “but there be a wee bit of a problem in the kitchen.”

“Then have Unter see to it.”

Lachlan shuffled his feet. But there was a gleam in his dark eyes, as if his charade was growing thin. “As yer wishin’, sir,” he said, and turned indecisively away. But finally he shifted nervously back around. The marquis had already returned his attention to Rhona. “But ye may be wantin’ to leave the ‘ouse soon.”

“And why the devil would that be?”

“Because ‘tis ‘bout t’ bum down.”

“What?” The marquis drew himself up with a start.

MacGowan drew back a pace as if frightened to utter the next words. “There be a fire, yer goodness.”

”A fire!” rasped Robert, and left the room at a gallop, yelling as he went.

Lachlan watched him go for a moment, then straightened his back. Placing a hand on Rhona’s door latch, he studied her with steady eyes. “Do you bar your door?” he asked, his voice ultimately low and deceptively casual. “Or do I kill him?”

Something tripped in her stomach, but she kept the joy from her face. “I can fight me own battles, Champion.”

“Then you’d bloody well better do so, lass,” he said. “For if I take on the task your slimy marquis will be keeping his head with his pipe tobacco.”

For the next few days, the marquis was less of a worry. He confined himself mostly to his bedchamber, for either the pain in his head or the pain in his leg kept him busy. It was a relief to have him preoccupied, for lately he had had entirely too much time on his hands, and too many hands on her.

With this boon, Rhona found it much easier to poke about the house, but she found nothing. Even so, she had a good deal of time to spend with the lassies. Edwina became less timid, even laughing once, and causing Rhona’s heart to swell in her chest. And Catherine, though still quiet and lean, seemed less tense as she became more proficient with a knife.

And it was all Rhona’s doing. She knew that, felt that.

It was not a reason for any great amount of pride, of course. After all, she was a warrior, trained for battle and not for nurturing young lasses. Yet sometimes, in the evening, when the day stretched out full and lively behind them, and the girls were sleepy and soft-eyed, there was a strange kind of feeling that curled in her stomach. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it was not a comfortable sensation either.

Still, Rhona tucked them in brusquely, knowing it was best to be gone.

“Tell us a tale, Lady Rhona,” said Edwina. But she still did not speak well. Lady was said with a strange w sound and Rhona sounded much more like Ro. Something tripped in Rhona’s heart. She tromped it down.

“I have told you a half dozen tales already today,” she said, and though she meant to be firm, she found she had already settled onto the edge of their straw-filled mattress. “‘Tis time to sleep now.”

“But you tell the best of tales,” said Edwina. Catherine merely looked on. The swelling was lessening in her face, and she could see out of both eyes again, but from her brow to her cheekbone, the skin was brushed with bright hues of magenta and lime. Her hair, red as firelight and fine as gossamer, lay across her brow. Without thinking, Rhona reached out to push it back.

Catherine scrunched away, and Rhona slowed her movements, but when her fingers brushed the girl, she did not refuse the contact.

Rhona’s throat felt tight as she pulled her hand away. “One more tale?” Edwina whispered.

Rhona cleared her throat. “I… cannot think of any just now.”

“Refusin’ to sleep are they?” asked Lachlan, and entered the room with two steaming mugs. He raised them perfunctorily. “Colette said to bring by a bit of tea to ‘ elp the wee lassies sleep.”

Rhona eyed him dubiously. Aye, she knew now that the maid was not to blame for the girls’ troubles, but it did not completely quell her distaste for Colette. The knowledge that she shared Reeves’s bed, however, had gone a goodly way to easing Rhona’s dislike.

Bowing slightly, Lachlan offered a horn mug to each of the girls. They scooted up in bed and took the proffered tea, but after one whiff they made identical faces of disgust and eyed Lachlan askance.

“Go on then,” he said. “‘Tis na so bad as all that. I drank it meself when I was a lad. Me auntie would brew it over the open fire. It makes you sleep like a babe, and the dreams you’ll be ‘avin’…” He shook his head as if remembering. “Never ‘ ave I seen such images. ‘Twere like walkin’ in the wakin’ world, it were. Yet more real like. And the things I would see… Unicorns there were. But not your everyday sort. Nay.” He shook his head. Catherine scowled into her mug, then chanced a sip. ”‘The unicorns of me dreams wore wings of gold, and when I mounted one…” The girls drank in unison. He watched them with an expression of such tenderness that for a moment Rhona failed to breathe.

“What would happen?” Edwina asked, sipping again. Reaching for the coverlet, he pulled it up slightly. His arm brushed Rhona’s and lightning shimmied up her spine. He turned toward her for a moment, his eyes dark.

“Champion,” said Edwina, calling him back to the present. “What would happen when you mounted one?”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “‘E would tek me to a place where there was no sorrows.”

“Heaven?”

He shrugged. “Mayhap ‘twere like heaven, but since I have na seen the Lord’s land, I canna say for certain.”

“Tell us about it,” lisped Edwina.

“‘Tis late,” he said, “and you’ve ‘ad a long day what with all your… needlework practice.” He lifted his gaze to Rhona. She said nothing. Knife play might well prove more worthwhile than embroidery in the long run.

“Please,” said Edwina, but Lachlan shook his head. “What would your dad be a sayin’ if ‘ e saw Lady Roe ‘ad kept you up too late?”

“He won’t know,” said Catherine. “He’ll be drinking with Sir Charles into the wee hours, most like.”

Rhona froze. “What!” How could she have missed the arrival of the marquis’s mercenary knight? This was the entire reason for her coming to Claronfell, but somehow she had become foolishly distracted.

Catherine eyed her solemnly. Already, there was worry on her face, a frown between her brows.

Rhona smoothed her tone. “What say you?” she asked.

“Sir Charles,” Catherine said after a moment’s hesitation. “He arrived this eve.”

“Oh?” She kept her tone carefully steady now, but Catherine’s gaze was still on her, and though she daren’t look at MacGowan, she feared he too was watching her suspiciously. “And why did he come to Claronfell?”

The girl blinked. “I know not. But they soon will be closeted away in the library if they are not already.”

“Well…” Rhona said and stood. She tried to keep her movements casual, but her body felt stiff and her mind was racing. “Good night to you,” she said and, being unable to think of a single other thing to say, hustled from the room.

Once in the corridor, she paused to listen, but the passageway was silent. One glance behind assured her that MacGowan had remained with the girls. She fled on silent feet toward the library and in a moment she realized Catherine had been right. Even now, she could hear the marquis’s questions mixed with the knight’s quieter answers as they came toward her.

She had no time to waste in thought, but stepped rapidly into the library. One glance around told her there was only one place to hide. Near the back of the room a wall jutted out, separating the books from the rest of the chamber. Skimming across the floor, she sprinted behind the wall, breathing hard.

A whisper of sound echoed from the far side almost immediately, and she froze with a hand on her dirk, but in that instant, MacGowan slipped in beside her.