Page 29 of The Beast's Bride
Rhona was, unsurprisingly, absent. Confined to the tower room, she would no longer join the rest of the keep for meals here.
Gordon and Taran took their seats at the end of one of the long scrubbed wooden tables. It wasn’t the place Taran would have chosen to sit, especially not in his current mood, for Connel and Dughall sat opposite. He didn’t like the way they both smirked at him.
A servant placed two large pies before Taran and Gordon, while another slammed down frothing tankards of ale. Gordon dug in to his meal, ripping through the buttery pastry shell to the dark meat stew underneath. However, the sight of the food made Taran’s belly clench. He was too wound up to be hungry. Instead, he took a long draft of ale.
Around him men fell upon their pies, the clatter of spoons and the thud of tankards blending with the rumble of their voices. Taran forced himself to start eating, aware that not to do so would raise eyebrows. But each mouthful tasted like ash.
“Why the scowl, Scar-face?” Connel’s voice drew Taran out of his brooding. He glanced up to find the straw-haired youth grinning at him. “I hear ye are a hero. Tracked Lady Rhona down and dragged her home. Well done.”
Taran didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted his tankard to his lips and took a large gulp.
“Aye … although I find it odd he sent ye out on yer own.” Dughall spoke up. The warrior had finished his pie and was watching Taran with a hooded gaze. “How can we be sure the lady’s virtue is intact?”
Connel cast Dughall a wry look. “Fear not … ye can count on The Beast’s honor. He’d cut off his own rod rather than sully a highborn woman with it.”
Taran clenched his jaw. He then helped himself to another tankard of ale from a passing servant. Once again, he remained silent. Connel and Dughall were baiting him. They wanted to anger him.
Next to him, Gordon gave a snort of derision. “At least he’s got a rod,” he said to Connel. “That slug inyerbraies can’t be named such.”
Gordon’s comment caused barks of laughter to erupt around them. But Connel didn’t look amused. He favored Gordon with a sour look and was about to respond when Dughall interrupted him.
“I hope ye are right, Buchanan.” Dughall’s gaze didn’t leave Taran as he spoke, the threatening edge to his voice hard to miss. “When I win her hand at the games, I want my lady wife to be a virgin when I take her.”
Connel snorted. “Ye are competing against me so I wouldn’t be so full of yerself.”
Dughall’s lip curled, and he gave Connel a look that told him exactly what he thought of that assertion. His attention then returned to Taran. “Fifty warriors have pledged to compete at the games,” he said. “Lady Rhona is a prize it seems.”
Taran glared back at him, before he finally answered. “Aye, she is.”
“I can’t believe ye ran away. Ye could have taken me with ye!”
Rhona turned from the window to meet her sister’s angry glare. She’d been waiting for this confrontation, although with less dread than the one with her father.
“It’s just as well that I didn’t,” she replied. Her cut lip stung as she spoke. “Since ye would be in trouble now too.”
Adaira scowled, a rare expression for such a sweet-tempered lass. Her hazel eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I was so worried.” Her voice wobbled slightly. “I thought someone had carried ye off … had done ye harm.”
Rhona stared back at her. She hadn’t thought Adaira would come to that conclusion. Her throat constricted, and she swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave without saying anything, but I had to.”
Adaira scrubbed at the tears that had escaped and were now cascading down her cheeks. “Da is in a terrible rage.”
Rhona suppressed a shudder. “I know.”
Adaira’s gaze dropped to her sister’s swollen lip. “He hit ye?”
Rhona nodded before turning away. She didn’t want to talk about it.
The shutters to the tower room were open, revealing a cool afternoon. The sky was still grey, but the storm had spent itself before moving east. The air that drifted in was fresh and clean.
Rhona took the scene in numbly. None of this seemed real. Two days ago she’d been free, riding with the wind in her face toward a future of her own making. Now she was to be confined to this chamber till the games. She could already feel the walls closing in on her.
The soft pad of slippered feet warned her of Adaira’s approach. A moment later she felt an arm loop around her waist. Adaira hugged her tight, the strength of her embrace warning Rhona of the emotions her sister held on a tight leash.
“The world is so unfair,” her sister whispered. The broken sound of her voice made Rhona’s vision blur. “I can’t stand to see ye unhappy.”
Rhona’s mouth twisted at the irony of it. She could stand anything except seeing either of her sisters hurt. The bond between them had always been strong, enough to weather anything—even this.
“Whatever happens, don’t let them break ye,” Adaira continued, her voice turning vehement. “It’s bad enough that Caitrin is like a ghost these days. I don’t want to lose ye too. If ye had succeeded in running away, we never would have seen each other again. Was freedom worth that much?”
