Page 28 of The Beast's Bride
When she didn’t answer, he reached up, his fingers encircling her wrist. Then he gently pulled her hand from her mouth. “Ye are bleeding.”
“Aye.” The word gusted out of her. The cut to her lip was nothing compared to the rent inside her. “He hates me now, Taran … I saw it in his eyes.”
“No, lass,” Taran replied softly. “Ye are his flesh and blood. When his anger cools, he’ll remember that.”
Rhona shook her head. “No, he won’t. I know that look in his eye. It’s the same one he gets when he speaks of Morgan Fraser. Ye should have let me leave Skye, Taran. Nothing good can come of this now.”
Chapter Thirteen
Locked Away
TARAN SLAMMED HIS fist into the stable wall. Wood splintered, and the horse in the nearby stall snorted. The beast then kicked out with a shod hoof at the partition between them.
Rage pulsed inside Taran as he stood there, ignoring the pain in his clenched knuckles. He’d drawn blood, but he didn’t care. He punched the wall again, his fist breaking through into the layer of mud and straw that formed the exterior wall to the stables.
This was a mess, and it was his doing.
The rage twisted into self-loathing. Rhona was right. He was MacLeod’s dog. He deserved every bit of her derision and more. The despair, the fear, he’d seen in her eyes when he’d entered the solar still haunted him. She’d said nothing on the journey up to the tower room, and she’d turned her back on him when he’d left, locking the heavy door behind him. He’d stayed in the hall beyond though, for a long while after, unable to leave her. Only when he’d caught the sounds of muffled sobs had he turned and fled to the stables, to vent his rage.
“There ye are.” A voice intruded, and Taran turned to find Gordon standing a few feet behind him. His friend’s brow was furrowed.
“What?” he rasped, wishing Gordon would leave. He was in no mood for company right now.
Gordon’s gaze flicked from Taran to the hole in the wall behind him. “So, it’s true then … Lady Rhona ran off?”
“Aye,” Taran growled. “MacLeod bid me to fetch her, and so I did.”
“She’s been punished?”
Taran nodded. “Locked in the tower room until the games.”
Gordon heaved a sigh and moved into the stall where Taran stood. “I feared it would come to this. The lass has always been too wild.”
Taran raked a hand through his hair, his gaze fixing upon the beams above him as he attempted to master his temper. “Aye, yet it seems a harsh price to pay. She begged me to let her go, Gordon … but I didn’t.”
Gordon snorted. “And just as well. MacLeod would flay ye alive.”
At that moment Taran didn’t care. “I’m a coward.”
He lowered his gaze to find Gordon standing before him, frowning. “We both know ye are not. Ye are loyal to the chief.”
“Aye, and I was always proud of it … but not anymore.”
Gordon inclined his head, his expression sharpening. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think ye in love with Lady Rhona.”
The dark look Taran gave him in answer made Gordon draw back. A moment later he laughed. “My mistake.” He reached forward, clasping Taran by the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get a cup of ale and a hot meal in the Great Hall … ye look like ye need both.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Ye will be when ye see what Fiona’s prepared for today’s nooning meal: venison pie.”
Taran couldn’t have cared less, yet Gordon’s earlier comment about him being in love with Rhona had made him wary. The last thing he wanted was folk thinking that. He couldn’t bear their smirks, their whispered comments.
The Beast of Dunvegan is in love.
Gordon wouldn’t mock him, but he was one of the few Taran trusted. He needed to regain control. He needed to put the shield back in place and get a leash on his temper. It wouldn’t serve him now.
Taran followed Gordon out of the stall, massaging his stinging knuckles as he went. Leaving the stables, the two men crossed the rain-lashed yard. Thunder crashed overhead, and dark purple and black clouds loomed. Shaking off the rain from their clothing, the warriors left the storm behind and entered the cavernous space of the Great Hall. Owing to the weather, folk had come early to the nooning meal. The tables were nearly full, and the toothsome aroma of pie filled the air. At the far end, upon the raised dais, MacLeod and his kin had taken their seats at the chieftain’s table.
