Page 52 of The Wrong Bride
When she saw little Hamish tied up next to the stables, tongue lolling out beneath the flop of hair on top of his head, she felt her heart lighten just abit. He barked when he saw her, but she simply sat down on an overturned pail beside him and gave him a frown.
“You aren’t in charge, little Hamish,” she said sternly. “I won’t let you chase me away.”
The barking stopped, and he tilted his head as if listening.
“Now if we’re going to be friends, you have to learn not to bark when you see me.”
She put out her hand again, and he did the same wary sniffing. When he looked away as if disinterested, she briefly ruffled the fur on his head.
She thought of the little dog’s owner, and how she’d been questioning Mrs. Wallace about him. It was good that Hugh hadn’t overheardthatpart of their conversation. Not that the old woman had been forthcoming. She didn’t have much to say except that Brendan’s grandmother was her particular friend, and that they had a much nicer cottage on a larger piece of land just past the village. This made Riona feel better, that even if Hugh didn’t acknowledge the boy, at least Brendan was being taken care of. But . . . was this how it should be handled, especially when all the residents of the castle watched disapprovingly every meeting between Brendan and Hugh?
Brendan stuck his head out of the wide stable doors, but the tension left his face when he saw her. “Afternoon, my lady.”
She smiled. “Hello, Brendan. I think Hamish is starting to like me.” She attempted to pet the dog again, but he ducked away. Ruefully, she added, “It looks like I have to take things slow.”
Wearing a crooked grin, Brendan wiped his forearm across his sweaty brow.
“Working hard?” she asked.
He nodded and spoke softly. “The marshal took the words of Himself seriously. Never have the stables been so clean.” He looked around as if making sure no one overheard them. “I’m little, but even I knew it was bein’ done wrong, but what could I say?”
“Of course,” she said solemnly, trying not to smile at how seriously he took his work.
“There’s another groom being trained,” Brendan said, his face reddening. “He’s younger than me, so when he didn’t do things the new way, our master got real mad at the thought of Himself seeing it. Well . . . I couldn’t let that happen. So I said it wasmyfault, thinking Himself might go easier on me than someone else.”
Riona’s eyes widened at those words. The boy was young and innocent, but . . . did he suspect the truth? He couldn’t be ignorant of how people looked at Hugh and him.
Brendan slowly grinned. “Seems I was wrong, and got punished just the same. I was fine with that.”
Did being treated like everyone else make him think his suspicions were wrong, and he wasn’t Hugh’s son? As she started to pet Hamish, who seemed to accept reluctantly, she realized that she could no longer live with this feeling of suspicion. She was going to have to discover the truth, and that was a decision that could have unpredictable results.
CHAPTER 14
Riona thought she had a plan for how to handle Hugh that night, but then he was there in her room, large as life, this time wearing only a black and red plaid belted loosely around his waist and nothing else. Plans faded right out of her mind. A new brick of peat had just caught fire, and it seemed to flicker across his damp skin. He’d obviously bathed again—she’d never met a man so focused on cleanliness, she thought, flustered, as she remembered how good he’d smelled when she’d been curled upon his lap. His black hair had been drawn back in a queue then, but now it swung freely to his shoulders, slightly curled with wetness.
What was wrong with her, that it had been so easy to relax into his arms last night, to listen to his voice, to forget that she didn’t belong here, that he’d stolen her away against her will? She was starting to forget her old life of calling upon ladies withCat, spending hours every day with Bronwyn, or being the less appealing cousin during dinners and soirees in the evening. She had not been able to compete with Cat’s dowry. Of course, Cat’s dowry had already been promised to the McCallums the whole time . . . what had the earl been thinking by keeping silent about it?
And then she couldn’t distract herself anymore because Hugh was standing right before her, the rope in his hand. She arched her neck to look up at him. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her with those gray eyes that sometimes showed the anger of winter ice, and other times glittered silver with passion. They were silver now as if metal touched by fire.
She had to distract him, and hopefully herself. It felt like an urgent need, like she was drowning in a rising tide of desire that she was afraid she could no longer resist.
“I—I talked to Brendan today,” she said breathlessly.
He arched one dark brow, and his gaze began a slow path down her body.
“I have questions about him.” She sounded anything but determined.
“Ye’ve told me repeatedly that ye don’t want to be involved in my household, with my people. Until ye change your mind about that, he’s none of your concern.”
His searing gaze lingered at her mouth, her breasts, her thighs, until she felt the heat of a brand on those very places. She was sinking into a smoldering sensation, her body inflamed for his. Gooseflesh rippled across her arms, and her heart was beating erratically. But she couldn’t give up so easily. She shook her head, trying to clear it of languor.
“You—you have so many scars.” She focused on a ragged one along his ribs. “Tell me how they happened.”
He wore a faint smile, just the twist of one corner of his lips—she shouldn’t even be looking there. And then he took her hand and touched her finger to the scar on his side. She was startled at the sensation.
“Sheriffmuir,” he murmured.
He gently traced her finger back and forth along the rough ridges of the scar, and she shivered at the heat of his skin.
