Page 28 of The Wrong Bride
“Not for Dermot or me. Dermot hadn’t stolen the rifles and was excused. And I was the McCallum’s heir.”
She blinked in confusion. “Then who suffered—your friend Alasdair?”
“He had to take the whipping for all of us,” McCallum said.
Though he kept his voice neutral, as if it was longin the past, she recognized that it must have been terrible to have his foster brother punished in his place.
McCallum shook his head. “Though but thirteen, he was incredibly brave. Any blame he could have attached to me for my father’s cruelty, he put aside.”
“Which meant they continued to court trouble,” Dermot said dryly.
Something passed between them, an escalation of tension, as if both were remembering other deeds from the past.
“More stories you’d like to share?” Riona asked.
“Nay, I think I’ve lowered your opinion of me enough for tonight, Lady Catriona,” McCallum said.
“So ye haven’t told her about Agnes?” Dermot asked silkily.
McCallum’s eyes narrowed, and the gray roiled like storm clouds. “’Tis unworthy of ye, cousin. The poor lass is long dead.”
He took Riona’s arm, his grip harder than he perhaps realized.
“Come, Lady Catriona, allow me to introduce ye to some of the wives of my chieftains.”
Riona couldn’t help glancing at Dermot as they left, but his expression revealed nothing.
CHAPTER 8
Riona was allowed to retreat to her room within the hour, claiming exhaustion. McCallum had shadows of his own beneath his eyes, but she knew he would stay with his clan as long as he felt necessary.
The little maid, Mary, was asleep in a chair by the fire, but she jumped to her feet when Riona entered, as if she thought herself derelict in her duties.
Riona smiled at her. “I did not mean to disturb you. I should have been more careful shutting the door.”
“Nay, my lady, I should never have fallen asleep.”
“Of course you could. It was a long evening. Think nothing of it.”
Color flooded back into her thin face, and although she didn’t smile, the worst of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. “Thank ye, my lady. I’ve put your nightshift near the hearth to warm.Though ’tis summer, this old castle feels like winter year round.”
It was the most she’d yet spoken, and the tips of her ears went pink as if she thought she was babbling. Riona allowed the girl to help her out of her garments, and heaved a weary sigh when the stays were loosened and she could take a deep breath again. Mrs. Wallace had seemed to believe that if the garment was painful, it was doing its job.
The nightshift truly was warm. After Riona had wrapped herself in a dressing gown over it, she sent Mary to find her own bed, so that Riona could wait in peace. She knew that McCallum was coming. He’d put her in his own rooms for a reason, and now that she’d heard of this trial marriage arrangement, she wouldn’t put it past him. Her nerves began a little dance of worry that made her pace.
She tried to think of anything but what might happen tonight. She thought of serious McCallum as a carefree boy who ignored the rules—well, the “rules” part was still true. He’d had no problem kidnapping her and dragging her home. But the conversation between Dermot and him had truly been enlightening. Who could Agnes be, that Dermot would sound almost triumphant bringing her up, and McCallum would look as if it were a sin to mention a woman long dead?
Though Riona regretted using such a memory todrive a wedge between the two men, she’d do what she had to do to escape marriage to a stranger.
But there’d be no escape from McCallum tonight if he chose to confront her. Would she scream until help came? Hardly—what good would that do? She was at his mercy, because they all thought she was his betrothed, and of course, hadn’t she seemed all too willing today?
So . . . would she try to talk McCallum out of seducing her? The way he’d studied her when he’d first seen her in the gown made her wonder if he wouldn’t care about her protests. But she held tight to the memory of his promise not to force her to bed.
She didn’t know what she was going to do if he changed his mind, so she simply paced back and forth for what seemed like hours. He never came. At last, she made herself crawl into the box-bed and pull the curtains tight—as if they were any defense against the chief. She kept her dressing gown over her nightshift, holding it closed at her throat, listening to the wind outside the castle walls. But she heard no footsteps. At last, she sank into a troubled sleep.
WHENa servant brought a breakfast tray at dawn, Hugh thanked him, then took it to Riona’s room, closing the door quietly behind him. He left the tray on a table and approached the box-bed. Thecurtains were drawn, but moved soundlessly when he slid them aside.
Riona, still wearing the dressing gown over her nightshift, lay on her side, her hands tucked beneath her chin. Her lashes feathered across her cheeks, and the golden strands of her braided hair almost glittered as the light from the window touched her.
