Page 19 of The Beast's Bride
Braving his ice-blue stare, she raised her chin. At times like these she forgot that Taran MacKinnon had defied her father in order to train her. ‘MacLeod’s Hound’ indeed. The suspicion in his gaze made her already fast pulse accelerate. “I visited the library too,” she informed him, “… not that I need to explain myself to ye.”
She was being rude, yet she couldn’t let him question her further. She had to get away from Taran, before he noted how she clutched the hem of her sleeve in her palm. He would know then that she’d stolen something.
Without another word, she brushed past him and hurried, stiff-backed, up the stairs. Taran let her go, although she felt the weight of his gaze between her shoulder-blades until she disappeared from sight.
Chapter Nine
A Visit to Market
RHONA SWUNG UP onto the saddle and readied herself to move out.
Adjusting her skirts, she glanced down at the outfit she’d chosen for today. Preparing for departure had been tricky. It was difficult to bring anything extra with her without raising suspicion. She’d dressed carefully in a brown kirtle that was hard-wearing and good for travel. Underneath her skirts, she wore woolen leggings, essential for the long ride ahead—otherwise the saddle would chafe her.
Nervousness thrummed through Rhona this morning. She’d hardly been able to sleep over the previous two nights as she planned her escape meticulously, going over each stage of it again and again.
Dunvegan’s monthly market couldn’t have come at a better time.
Rhona hadn’t wanted to involve Adaira in her escape, but in the end, she realized her sister would provide the perfect cover for her. If she rode out on a hunt, her father’s men would have to accompany her. It would make it much harder to slip away. Adaira, who would suspect nothing until it was too late, would be easier to fool.
Her sister had needed little convincing to attend the market. Usually, she went on her own as Rhona preferred not to spend her pennies on frivolities. But today, she was delighted to have a companion.
Adaira led her pony, a shaggy bay gelding named Bramble, out of the stables, before she glanced at Rhona. “Why are ye bringing a cloak for?” she asked, her attention shifting to the mantle that was bundled up behind the saddle. “It’s a warm morning.”
“Ye never know what the weather has in store on this isle,” Rhona quipped with a smile. “It may get cold later.”
Adaira shrugged. “It’s not like ye to care about such things.” Her sister then turned back to her pony, tightening its girth.
Rhona let out a slow breath, glad her sister had let the matter drop. She’d hidden the carefully wrapped parcel of food inside the cloak. It was the only way she could carry her supplies without raising suspicion. Like Adaira, she carried a leather satchel across her front. But unlike her sister’s satchel, which would be empty save the last of her pennies, Rhona’s contained her purse of pennies, her slingshot, and the maps she’d taken from her father’s solar.
Finally, Adaira mounted her pony, and they were off. In contrast to Adaira’s stocky mount, Rhona rode a fiery chestnut mare,Lasair. The horse’s name meant ‘Flame’, in honor of her mistress’s temperament. The stable master had questioned Rhona’s choice when she’d picked the mare out three years earlier, but Lasair had proved to be her equal when it came to independence and spirit.
She hadn’t taken Lasair out for a few days, and the mare was full of unspent energy this morning, jogging her way out of the Sea-gate and down the winding causeway. Rhona felt the solid weight of the curtain wall rising above her as Lasair pranced and snorted, yet she didn’t look back. This was supposed to be an ordinary morning’s outing, and she had to behave normally.
Even so, it was hard to contain her excitement and nervousness.
A warm wind gusted in from the south and wispy clouds scattered across a hard blue sky. Adaira was right; it was a lovely morning—too warm for a cloak. It was high summer now, and the slow journey toward the harvest had begun.
The village of Dunvegan sat a short ride from the castle, on the southern edge of the loch, and every month it held a merchant’s market. Traders from all corners of the isle converged there just before each full moon, bringing cloth, jewelry, ornaments, pottery, and toiletries to sell.
The road to Dunvegan village was narrow and rutted, hugging the edge of the glittering lock. Sun-browned hills rose either side, bare of vegetation save for the flush of green around the castle. Brambles grew at the road’s edge, where berries had just started to form. The warm air was heavy with the brine scent of the loch and the aroma of heather. Rhona breathed the familiar smells in deeply and attempted to settle the fluttering moths in her belly. She was so nervous now that she could feel the steady tattoo of her heart against her breast bone. Her palms, which gripped the reins, were slippery with sweat.
The waiting was torture. She’d be relieved when she was finally on her way—galloping south to freedom.
“I’m glad the sun’s out,” Adaira sighed. “Last month it rained so heavily they all had to pack up early.”
Rhona glanced sideways at her sister. Adaira’s long brown hair was loose this morning, and it blew around her face. She wore a wide, excited smile, her hazel eyes scanning the road ahead.
Rhona’s chest constricted. How she would miss her sister’s smile.
Bramble plodded faithfully. The pony was the quietest of Malcolm MacLeod's stable. Their father had gifted him to Adaira on her thirteenth birthday, and she’d fallen in love with him on sight. Adaira was a keen rider and took Bramble out most days. She often grew restless in winter when bad weather prevented their rides.
Rhona’s mare tossed her head, impatient for a run. She then gave a playful buck.
“Lasair’s full of herself today,” Adaira commented. “Did they give her oats for supper last night?”
“She’s just telling me off for not taking her out more often,” Rhona replied, urging the mare forward. The truth was that Lasair sensed her rider was on edge this morning. She knew Rhona wanted to flee.
Adaira grinned at that, and the pressure in Rhona’s chest increased.
