Page 40 of The Wrong Bride
It wasn’t as if a chief normally trained the men, but he’d yet to name a war chief and wasn’t sure if he should until after the ceremony. He was frankly surprised the clan had elected him their chief at all, considering his childhood rebellion and the scandal of Agnes. But his work on behalf of Scotland in Parliament seemed to weigh in his favor, as well as being the direct descendant over many generations. And then there was Riona’s dowry . . .
He spotted Brendan McCallum eating at the rear of the hall with several other boys. Hugh had questioned his factor about the boy after seeing him at the stables and wondering why he wasn’t at home helping his grandmother. The factor was as clueless as Hugh was. They had a good house in the village, which Hugh had seen to, and money enough for a comfortable life.
Yet Brendan was at Larig Castle, working in the stables, and it didn’t make sense. Hugh would have to talk to the boy’s grandmother.
The terrier had been the perfect excuse to talk to Brendan, and it had been as easy a conversation as possible between a chief and a nervous groom. If Brendan had thought it strange that Hugh gave him charge of the dog, he didn’t show it. All it had takenwas Hugh expressing concern that such a little dog would be dominated by the rest of the pack, and Brendan had responded.
And it had given him a chance to look the boy over, and be glad of what he’d seen. But sad memories were hard to escape . . .
LOOKINGout her casement windows, Riona could just see Loch Voil glimmering in the setting sun. It was a beautiful sight after a day of rainy mist, but she still felt melancholy. She’d just come up from supper in the great hall, determined to be alone as little as possible with Hugh, but of course she’d felt him watching her all during the meal. As if he’d understood why she was seeking out the company of his gentlemen, he’d merely given a small smile and waved for the harpist to play for her.
But as one by one everyone had retired for the night, she’d had no choice but to do the same. Hugh had followed close behind her, but it had been almost an hour, and he hadn’t emerged from his room for a second night of bundling.
Then without knocking, he strode into her chamber, his hair wet from a bath, wearing just a shirt and breeches again.
As if she’d been given a signal, Mrs. Wallace knocked and entered from the corridor. She smiled at Riona. “Well, I hope ye two had a good long conversation last night.”
“We did, Mrs. Wallace,” Hugh said, all innocence.
The housekeeper looked at Riona, who could only nod.
Hugh rubbed his hands together. “Shall the bundling commence? Where is the rope?”
She was tempted to say she’d lost it, but knew he’d just find more. She went to the chest. “I hid it from the maid so that gossip would not result.”
“Clever.”
He waited by her box-bed as she brought him the rope, feeling like she was playing a part for Mrs. Wallace. His eyes gleamed with candlelight mirrored in their depths. He took the rope in his big hands, and to her surprise, she shivered, and not with fear. The thought of being at his mercy would once have terrified her, but now she recognized that being bound meant none of it was her fault, that she could accept what happened—accept and secretly enjoy it.
She looked away, mortified, then closed her eyes when he lightly ran the rope along her cheek.
She jerked her head back and shot a glance toward Mrs. Wallace, who pointedly fiddled with the keys hung at her waist.
“Sit down,” he said in a low voice.
Riona did so, keeping her gaze averted when he knelt at her feet. There was something far too meaningful about looking into his eyes. She sawpassion and desire, and it appealed mightily to her to be wanted by someone—by him.
“I’ve never tied a woman up before,” he said for her ears alone. “It seems to be rather . . . stimulating.”
She wished she could kick him, but the rope was already wound about her ankles. She settled for an aggravated sigh that made him chuckle. When he was finished, she used her hands to slide backward into bed before he could touch her.
“Good night, Laird McCallum, Lady Riona,” Mrs. Wallace called as she closed the door behind her.
Riona rolled her eyes at the warm humor lacing the woman’s words. She stared at the ceiling of the box-bed while he blew out the candles and joined her. She lay there stiffly, determined not to play along with this farce, to discourage conversation. But the silence lengthened and filled with undercurrents of awareness and tension. His big body sagged the mattress, subtly encouraging her to move closer, and she had to fight to stay on her own side. He gave off heat, too, and within the cold stone walls of the castle, it was alluring. And he smelled of soap. At last, she had to distract him—or to be honest, distract herself.
“When will you officially be declared the chief?” she asked, risking a glance at him.
When he folded his arms behind his head and stared up as she had, she breathed a little sigh of relief.
“At a ceremony in a week or two. ’Tis a foregone conclusion, unless ye wonder if ye’re to marry a different chief. After all, your dowry is a powerful incentive, and the clan wants it for their own.”
She grimaced, knowing the clan was not going to get Cat’s dowry any time soon. “No, I wasn’t thinking that. I was just thinking about the duties of a chief, and since my uncle did not live in Scotland, he did not train the Duff clansmen as you do.”
“Usually we rely on the war chief for that, but as ye probably realize, I need them all to become familiar with me again.”
“But ye have no war chief?”
“I’ll name one. Probably Alasdair.”
