Page 21 of The Wrong Bride
“I don’t remember Scotland at all,” Riona confessed. “My parents took me away when I was but a child.”
“And educated in the ways of England, I can tell by yer accent.” Mrs. Wallace sniffed disapprovingly, though her smile returned. “But that isn’t yer fault, my lady. Ye’re back now, and ye’ll come to realize ye’re simply one of us.”
“I—I’m not one of you,” she whispered.
But before she could say more, someone knocked on the door and a line of servants entered with buckets of steaming water. Mrs. Wallace wanted to stay and help her bathe, but it had been so long since Riona was alone, she excused the housekeeper, who seemed to understand.
In the blessed silence, Riona heaved a sigh and went to the window. Below her, she could see the crowded courtyard, but beyond the curtain wall, Loch Voil glimmered with hushed beauty, serene, peaceful. There might have been a time that she would have enjoyed such a view, but now? She was a prisoner, and the lovely scenery might as well be a landscape painting, for all she’d be able to enjoy it. If she wasn’t locked inside her bedroom, she might as well be. She could go nowhere without assistance of some kind, and she had no one to rely on. Chief McCallum was the rule of law in these hills, the sheriff, the judge. To speak against him was to risk . . . everything.
But Mrs. Wallace had been so kind that Riona had almost made the mistake of talking to her about what McCallum had done—and would that have been the wisest thing? Mrs. Wallace had obviously been here since at least McCallum’s youth. She, and everyone else, would bewiththe McCallum andagainsta Duff. Goodness, the woman mostlikelywasa McCallum from somewhere in her parentage.
Riona was an outsider, practically a Sassenach, according to McCallum. She would have to be smart and bide her time. Dermot McCallum—he didn’t seem all that happy to see his cousin. Perhapshisdisapproval would help convince McCallum that he was in the wrong. She would have to find out more about Dermot, see if he was the sort of man who could objectively listen to her story and confront McCallum at her side.
Feeling more at peace with a plan, however tenuous, Riona began to unlace the bodice of her gown, pull out the stomacher that covered her chemise, and let the gown sag off her shoulders and onto the floor. It was so travel-stained that she didn’t want it to contaminate the upholstered chairs or the bedding. The petticoats came next and at last the chemise. She sank into the tub with a groan of delight. No one was going to use the water after her; no one was there to hurry her along, stare at her, or make her feel all flustered and overly warm.
She washed slowly and leisurely, eyes half closed, letting the steam as much as the soap cleanse her skin.
“I had no idea I’d be a lucky man again.”
She let out a gasp and dropped the cloth; thesplash caught her in the face and she sputtered. McCallum stood leaning in the doorway, his narrowed eyes full of satisfaction.
“You—you—this is my bedroom! If Mrs. Wallace finds you here—”
“And what will my housekeeper do if she finds me in my own suite of rooms?”
And what could Riona do about that except feel furious, exasperated, and helpless.
He strolled forward and she sank lower, knowing that there was little to hide her from him. Once again, she pulled her knees to her chest. He stood for a long moment and looked down at her. She knew he could do whatever he wanted to her, and no one would stop him. But he turned away and went to sit in a chair near the fire, where he could no longer see her body.
To her horror, she felt a tiny stirring of disappointment, and couldn’t understand herself. To cover her confusion, she insisted, “I should have my own room, separate from you.”
“And why is that? We’ve been bound together since your birth. We’ll be married soon. In Scotland, all we need to do is profess it before witnesses and the deed is done.”
“I am not professing anything, and it is not a marriage if not done by my own free will.”
But he only continued to look at her with easy satisfaction. “Ye’ll get cold if ye don’t finish yourbath,” he said in a low voice. “These old walls hide the fact that ’tis summer.”
“Then I suggest you leave.” She sounded like a prim maidenly aunt.
He crossed one ankle over the other knee, obviously prepared to wait her out. But . . . he’d never tried to force her into anything intimate, had let her flee when he had her alone in bed. And though his word was law here, he seemed to be a man who believed in honor, in his own code, if not one she’d agree with. She was to be his wife, and he expected her to freely say her vows, and seemed patient enough to make it happen.
So . . . if he wanted to play these games with her, to tease and make her uncomfortable, she could do the same. He deserved to feel frustrated, because she certainly did. Knowing he was far enough away not to see beneath the water, she dipped her head back to soak her hair, then reached for the soap and began to lather it in.
And he watched her, his eyes going impassive rather than satisfied. She was glad to be able to affect him, even if only to make him shield his thoughts. She felt another surge of satisfaction when he glanced away.
“I’m here,” he said, “because I want to know why ye didn’t tell the entire clan that I forced ye to come here.”
She worked her hands through her soapy hairslowly, as if giving his question great thought. She surreptitiously watched him from beneath her eyelashes, not knowing what she was looking for, but he didn’t seem to be having trouble with her brazen display of . . . cleanliness.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” she finally said. “I know no one here—who would want to believe me or help me? And yet . . . I feel that you aren’t all that comfortable here either, though it’s your home. So if you want me not to name you a kidnapper, I’d like to know more about your youthful indiscretions before your mother took you away. I’d like to know how things got so bad with your father that you left, and how you ended up in London—I heard your men mention it.”
“Ye’re very curious for a woman alone in a precarious situation.”
“Believe me, I know precarious—I felt it for nearly a fortnight, have I not? You frightened me and overwhelmed me and dragged me across the country and into the middle of a feud that has nothing to do with me. But I also have some power here now, and I want answers.”
“A woman who professes herself willing to be my wife deserves those answers.”
“Why would a womaneveragree to be your wife without those answers in the first place?”
