Page 12 of The Beast's Bride
The warrior’s face tensed, and she thought for a moment he would reply. However, silence stretched between them, and he broke her gaze. There wasn’t really anything he could say, she supposed. Taran was her father’s man—and he would never speak against him.
“I’d better go,” she said briskly. “Caitrin will be waiting for me.”
Taran nodded and stepped back to let her pass. “Good day, Lady Rhona.”
Rhona moved past him before stopping. She turned back, her gaze snaring his. “Don’t think this is going to turn me into some feeble, snivelling wench,” she told him firmly. “I still want to continue our training.”
His mouth curved, making his scars alter shape. “Of course, Lady Rhona … when is our next meeting?”
Rhona smiled back. “Tomorrow at dawn.”
Rhona left the stables and stalked back into the keep, taking the stairwell steps two at a time.
She wasn’t sure why, but Taran MacKinnon sometimes made her feel uncomfortable. He was a man who said little, yet she often found herself wondering what he really thought. Over the years he’d become a friend of sorts, and yet she knew little about the man beneath the scars and the chainmail.
Was there more to him than the warrior, the loyal servant?
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. What did she care? He was Taran—a man who lived to serve her family, a man who indulged her whims far too often.
It was a steep climb up to her sister’s lodgings. Caitrin had given birth in the tower chamber—a large room with a view west over the glittering loch—and she would remain there for another day or two. The birth had weakened her, and she had lost a lot of blood.
As she climbed, Rhona heard a babe’s lusty wail. Little Eoghan had a powerful set of lungs.
She had almost reached the landing when she heard voices: a man’s low pitch, followed by a woman’s soft, pleading tone.
“A bonny creature, ye are. Let’s have a look at ye.”
“Please … I need to go.”
“Not just yet. What’s the hurry?”
“My sister is waiting. I can’t—“
“Hush that sweet mouth. I have a better use for it.”
Clenching her jaw, Rhona rushed up the last set of steps and launched herself onto the landing. Her gaze swept right, focusing on where Adaira cowered against the wall. Baltair MacDonald had bailed her up, using his arms to bracket her as he leaned in for a kiss.
“What’s this?” Rhona hissed. She advanced on them, fists clenched at her sides.
Adaira gave a gasp of relief, ducked under Baltair’s arm, and rushed to Rhona. Her face, which had been so alive with joy earlier as she’d held the puppy, now held a traumatised expression. Her eyes glittered with tears.
Baltair straightened up. His look of surprise faded, and he grinned.
“Interrupted by the shrew—how vexing.”
“What were ye doing?” Rhona choked out, so angry she could barely get the words out. “Vile dog … with yer wife and bairn just yards away!”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Adaira and I were having a private conversation. Ye should mind yer manners, lass—and yer own business.”
“Thisismy business. Ye are a guest in this keep. How dare ye corner my sister!”
“Rhona.” Adaira plucked at her sleeve, her voice tight with fear. “Maybe we should—“
“Caitrin will know of this,” Rhona snarled, cutting Adaira off. “As will our father.”
Baltair turned to face her squarely, folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t look remotely cowed by the threat. The opposite in fact. “Go on then,” he challenged, favoring her with a cold smile. “I dare ye.”
Chapter Six
