Page 71 of The Wrong Bride
His hands dropped to her hips and held her tohim, changing the angle until the pressure against her was so full of sweet pleasure that her head dropped back and her eyes closed. There was only the wool of his plaid that separated them, and suddenly it didn’t seem like much. She saw the concentration on his face, the way he watched her, the way he wanted her. But when he reached for her breasts again, she used the moment to slide right off him where she practically sprawled onto the floor, her limbs momentarily too weak to carry her. Rising, she backed away, even as he came up on one elbow and reached a hand toward her.
“Riona, come back to me.”
“No.” She had to force herself not to laugh at the exaggerated sadness on his face. “Sleep, Hugh.”
With a groan he sank back, and soon enough, his snores filled the room.
That had been close, she thought, hugging herself with relief. Though she was happy with the decision, her body wasn’t, and it hummed with a state of arousal the whole time she was dressing for the day.
She spent several hours with Mrs. Wallace, learning what was involved in this kind of procession through the lands, including the ceremonial men who accompanied the chief. Riona wanted to understand all she could about the ways of Scotland, the country she’d long been denied. To her surprise, Maggie and her mother were both remaining behind, preferring to rest at the castle and await their return.
And then she thought about Brendan—should he be the groom who came along to help tend the horses? He and Hugh would spend more time together. To the marshal of horses, she implied that Hugh preferred having Brendan along, but in the end, by the time Hugh had awakened and come down to begin the journey at midday, the marshal asked his opinion about it anyway. She saw the marshal glance at her from across the courtyard, and then Hugh’s gaze narrowed as he studied her. She sighed. Brendan wouldn’t be coming, and she was going to hear about her decision to interfere. What did Hugh expect if he wouldn’t tell her the truth?
But they never had a private moment alone, what with ceremonial men who accompanied them: his bodyguard, the bard to compose and tell clan history, the piper to accompany him, the spokesman to vocalize Hugh’s messages, the quartermaster to arrange lodgings, the cup bearer who was supposed to taste the passed cup before Hugh, several ghillies to keep Hugh dry crossing a river or keep charge of his horse. Hugh seemed uncomfortable with the display of power, but Samuel explained to Riona that the clan expected their chief to behave like a prince. They journeyed west for several hours that day, to Alasdair’s home, a two-story stone mansion built far more recently than Larig Castle, nearthe far end of Loch Voil, with pasture and farmland spread through the glen, and mountains towering above either side. That evening, they were feasted and entertained, and Riona thought for certain Hugh had forgotten the incident about Brendan that morning, until, during the singing, he pulled her outside into the garden.
They were alone beneath a summer moon, and though she didn’t have a shawl or cloak, it wasn’t terribly cold. With the mansion at her back and the formal gardens around her, she could almost believe she was back in England.
Hugh walked at her side down the winding path, hands joined behind his back, his expression serious.
“This is a beautiful home,” she said to fill the tense silence.
“I don’t wish to discuss the house. I need to make clear why ye cannot behave as ye did this morn, telling the marshal who to include in our company.”
“You wouldn’t care if it hadn’t been Brendan,” she pointed out, coming to a stop and forcing him to face her. Torches lined the gravel path, and she could see his annoyed expression well enough. “Didn’t you just tell me that I had a place in your household as your future wife? I thought that meant I could make such decisions.”
She could see his jaw clench, but he made no answer.
“Hugh, you have to tell me the truth,” she said urgently. “Is he your son by Agnes, the girl you loved?”
“Nay, he’s not,” he finally said between gritted teeth.
She rolled her eyes. “Anyone with eyes can see he’s your son. People have been watching the two of you together.”
“Ye think I’m lying?” he demanded.
“You constantly accusemeof lying. Why should I believe you when I can see with my own eyes—”
“That he’s related to me?” he scoffed. “Of course he is. He’s my half brother, not my son.”
Riona’s mouth briefly sagged open. “What? Your brother?”
“My father raped Agnes.”
The sadness in his voice made Riona shiver at the horror of his words. “Raped?” she whispered, hugging herself.
He nodded solemnly. “My father felt like he was a king of old, that he should have rights to whatever woman he wanted. A clan chief should be a father to his people, not an aggressor. But though he felt entitled, he always chose village girls with no power against him,” he added bitterly. “Agnes wasn’t the first he’d abused, but she became pregnant.”
Everything she’d thought about Hugh when he was nineteen now rearranged itself in her head. “You weren’t in love with her?”
“Nay, but I felt responsible. I was back from Sheriffmuir; I felt like I was a man, and that as my father’s tanist, I should protect the weak. But I didn’t see what was happening, what he was doing to her. She worked in the kitchens, and sometimes I would see her weeding in the gardens. She was kind to me, concerned about my wound. We were friends.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Oh, Hugh . . .”
He shrugged her off. “I found her crying. She didn’t want to tell me what had happened, but I made her. In that moment, she was as frightened of me as of my father, and I hated him for it.”
His words seemed to ring through the air with power.
“I offered to marry her,” Hugh said at last. “I told my father to hell with the contract, that I was going to make this right.”
