Page 24 of The Wrong Bride
“I ken there’s a contract, o’ course, but neither of ye knows the other. Perhaps ye’ll handfast—live together—for a year, then make a decision. Make sure ye can have children together. All would understand.”
Riona had to work hard to keep her mouth from sagging open. She could not reveal her feelings to Mrs. Wallace, regardless of how friendly she seemed. No one at Larig Castle would ever be Riona’s true friend.
McCallum had installed her in his rooms, as if she was his wife. Had he planned this handfasting all along? Did he intend to come to her rooms this night to make her his, and the kiss had been a prelude of what was to come?
CHAPTER 7
As he bathed and dressed in his plaid, Hugh knew he was doing the right thing—Riona had to leave her childish ways behind and accept the duties of a woman. She couldn’t change the agreement between their families, just as he hadn’t been able to change things when he was nineteen and desperately wanted a different bride.
He would treat her well and make her see that they could have a good marriage. Love was not something to be expected in an arranged marriage, but they could find respect and understanding with each other.
He would make that happen.
Was kissing her against her will the best way to do that? He didn’t know, but it had tested the limits of his control to be there when she was bathing—again. He should have realized what he’d be walking into as she prepared for the evening meal aftera long journey. But he’d been so focused on anticipating his clan’s questions that he hadn’t thought of anything else. He’d burst in and found her once again naked, wet, and alluring. She’d been full of fire and insult, and he’d admired every bit of it, especially since she was all alone at Larig Castle, with no one she knew to look out for her.
But that kiss . . .
She was obviously an innocent, but she’d caught on quickly. Her lips had been so soft and moist, her taste exotic to him. He’d almost shaken with restraint when he’d desperately wanted to deepen the kiss, to explore her mouth, to discover and inflame her passion.
Maybe he needed to douse himself in the tub again, now that the water had turned cold.
Instead he fastened the brooch that held his plaid over his shoulder and headed toward the dressing room, to escort Riona and face the people he’d barely seen in ten years.
RIONApaced her bedroom, waiting for McCallum. She wasn’t about to come to him—he had to come to her, to bring her to his people. He planned to use her to strengthen his bond with the clan, but she knew that would never happen. Somehow she would make him see that—
A knock rattled the door that led to the dressing room. Part of her wanted to put a pillow overher head and make Hugh go down alone, humiliate him as she’d felt humiliated when Mrs. Wallace had talked about handfasting. But that wouldn’t incline him to eventually see her side of things, so she simply called for him to enter.
He stopped in the doorway and looked at her, as she looked at him. He wore the clan plaid pleated and belted around his waist. A long length of it crossed his chest and was pinned to his coat at the shoulder. He wore tartan stockings to his knees and leather shoes. There were some in England who thought the Highland dress ridiculous, but she was not one of them. His legs were fine and well made, and his pride in wearing his clan colors was evident. Instead of wearing a wig, he’d pulled his dark, unruly hair back in a queue, and she was no longer surprised that he forswore the custom. He was a man who did what he wanted—she of all people knew that.
He studied her, his expression full of pride, contentment—and yes, passion, passion for her. Feeling overwhelming and confused, she had to look away. He’d stolen her life—how dare he act as if it was so easily accepted, as if he felt something more for her when he was just using her.
An insidious voice whispered in her head,But what kind of life did you have?
That wasn’t the point—she wanted to make her own decisions. She’d made no decision for herself,unless it was what book to read to Bronwyn, what song to play for her on the spinet. Her parents had always told her she could be involved in choosing her husband . . . someday. And every year, “someday” had become the next year, and then the year after that. She’d felt that the best years of her life had been spent in a sickroom, where she’d alternated between feeling loving pity for her sister, and sadness and frustration that her own life was just as confined. True, she’d been allowed to accompany Cat to the occasional dinner or musicale, but she’d never been free to enjoy the entire evening, because her parents had insisted Bronwyn needed her help to fall asleep.
But Bronwyn had been well enough to travel to the Continent, and that had given Riona hope that when they returned it would be Riona’s turn for an elaborate Season in London. Her mother had promised it, confiding before she left that it was time for Riona to relax after all her years nursing Bronwyn. Riona had cynically suspected that her mother was growing jealous of the closeness between the sisters, and had deliberately denied Riona the chance to see Europe.
The kind of life her future self would have didn’t matter right now. At some point, McCallum would finally realize and accept that he truly had the wrong bride, and everything he’d planned would be ruined.
“So you wear the plaid,” she said.
He smirked. “Highland women don’t like being denied the sight of their men’s naked legs.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Ye’re a bonny lass, Riona.”
He’d taken to leaving off the honorific of “lady” when they were alone, and the intimacy unnerved her. He would not be “Hugh” to her. That would be playing into his hands.
She didn’t say anything as she set her hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead her into the corridor. He went first down the spiral stairs as if to catch her if she stumbled. He fancied himself a gentleman, did he?
As they descended, the noise from the great hall increased. Friendly discussion and laughter, the sound of pipes warming up, all of which made a cacophony of sound.
“Ye’re trembling,” he said as they reached the arched stone entrance on the first floor.
He covered her hand with his, and instead of soothing her, it made her feel powerless against his strength. She wanted to shake it off, but didn’t. “I’m fine.”
He eyed her narrowly, but nodded. When they stepped into the entrance, in full view of the people, Riona inhaled sharply. There had to be over one hundred people packed into the hall, which was lit by torches along the walls, their light reflecting offthe silver platters displayed on several cupboards. A hush seemed to spread outward from them, and even the piper hit a sour note of surprise.
