Page 29 of The Wrong Bride
He wanted to waken her with a kiss, but knew she might panic and give him a good bite. That would hardly start their day well. Instead, he leaned against the bed frame and remembered how she’d looked last night, her blond hair gleaming against the ruby red of her gown. He’d been proud to display her before the clan, and though she’d understood nothing of the language, she hadn’t worn a bored expression. Bewildered, maybe, and he knew there would be some who’d look down upon her for her ignorance of Gaelic.
And then Dermot had decided to relive the past. Hugh grimaced. It wasn’t as if Riona would never learn of his foolishness, and he certainly could have told her himself during their journey. But keeping a woman imprisoned, then talking idly about childhood memories, had just seemed wrong.
There was more he could tell her, but it could wait. Besides, only Dermot would be fool enough to bring up Agnes to his chief.
So . . . should he awaken Riona? He was debatingthe thought when she stretched like a cat and rolled slowly onto her back, arms above her head, torso arched. He got another brief view of her unbound breasts beneath the garment as the bedclothes slid down, but then she opened her eyes and gasped at the sight of him.
He gestured toward the table. “Good morning. Breakfast is served.”
She caught the counterpane to her chin again, and he found himself repressing a smile at her version of battle armor. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate the humor. So he went and sat down, glad for the hot oatmeal porridge, warm bannocks, boiled eggs, and fried herring after days traveling.
“Will ye join me, lass?” he asked.
She pushed back the bedclothes and slid her dainty feet into mules before approaching almost cautiously to sit down opposite him.
He began to eat hungrily, while she just watched him. Finally, he asked, “What ails ye, Riona?”
“I thought . . . I was worried . . .” She took a deep breath and met his eyes solemnly. “I thought you would come to me last night and demand . . . a handfasting.”
Surprised, he set down his knife. “I promised that I have yet to force myself on an unwilling woman, and I make no exception for my betrothed.”
She let out a long breath and sagged back in the chair.
“I’ll try not to take offense,” he said dryly.
“I care not if you take offense,” she retorted. “I am your prisoner and I never know what you might have planned for me.”
“So ye remember what handfasting is, do ye?”
She said nothing, just picked at the cuff of her dressing gown.
“My people will believe what they want, of course,” he continued.
“Well, I don’t want them believing that!”
He broke off a piece of bannock and put it on her plate. “Eat something. Ye look as blanched as a clean sheep.”
She coated the bread in butter and took a bite, then shuddered at the proffered ale. “I usually have chocolate to drink at breakfast.”
“No chocolate here. But we can find ye some tea. And of course, there’s buttermilk.” He took a deep draught of his and smacked his lips.
They ate in silence for a few minutes until she raised her gaze to study him.
“So whatdoyou have planned for me?” she asked. “What am I supposed to do with myself all day?”
“First, I’ll be having your word that ye won’t try to escape.”
She stiffened. “I cannot give you that. I’m a prisoner!Youwould try to escape being held against your will.”
“I’ve already told ye,” he said with a long-suffering sigh, “that I long ago accepted my duty to my clan. Ye’ll come to accept your duty, too. Until then, if ye cannot promise me to stay put, then ye’re confined to the castle with a bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard?” she repeated blankly.
“I’ll not make it so obvious, for I don’t want to embarrass ye.”
“You mean you don’t want to embarrass yourself by showing the clan that your bride is unwilling.”
“Again, ye forget that everyone kens ye’re a Duff. They might assume ye to be not so willing. Ye’ll have free run of the castle grounds, but beyond that, ye cannot be going. Not without me.”
