Page 53 of The Beast's Bride
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.”
When Taran’s voice died away, Rhona drew in a soft breath. “That was beautiful … but so sad.”
“Ma taught me it years ago,” Taran replied with a lopsided smile. “It was her favorite song. It wasn’t supposed to depress ye though.”
“It didn’t … do ye know any others?” Truly, she could listen to his voice all day.
He favored her with an apologetic look. “Only drinking songs … none of them fit for a lady’s ears.”
Rhona laughed then, tilting her face up to the sky. The wet splash of raindrops on her cheeks made her gasp. She noted then that the rain clouds she’d spotted earlier were now directly overhead.
She met Taran’s gaze once more and gave him a rueful look. “I told ye.”
The words were barely out when the drizzle increased to a light patter.
“It’s just a summer shower,” Taran replied with a shrug.
As if to prove him wrong, the heavens then opened.
Great icy sheets of water washed over Dunvegan Loch, stippling the surface of the water and completely soaking Taran and Rhona.
Muttering a curse, Rhona crouched under the onslaught. Rain sluiced down her face, blinding her. It soaked her clothing and trickled between her breasts.
She glowered at Taran. He sat, water streaming off him. His short blond hair was plastered to his skull, although his eyes glinted. Unlike Rhona, the squall didn’t seem to bother him.
“A summer shower?” she growled.
“Worry not, lass,” he replied, his mouth curving. “It will pass soon enough.”
Rhona reached down and wrung out her sodden skirts.
Taran had been right, the storm had ended as quickly as it had begun—only, it was so heavy Rhona felt as if she’d been doused by buckets of icy water. Back on shore, she realized she was soaked right through to her léine. She removed her woolen shawl and wrung that out too, amazed by the volume of water it yielded.
“Apologies, Rhona.” Taran stepped up next to her after pulling the boat onto the shore. “That didn’t go as I’d hoped.”
Rhona huffed. “Ye should know ye can’t trust the weather.”
Her gaze left his face then, traveling down his body.
Unlike most days Taran didn’t wear his heavy mail shirt this morning, only a loose léine which was now plastered to his body. Rhona stared at his chest, at where his flat nipples were visible through the thin cloth. Her fingers itched to reach for him.
Catching herself, Rhona jerked her gaze away. She had to stop staring at him like some lusty tavern wench.
“Ye said the boat-ride was the first of yer surprises,” she said, trying to ignore the fact that she suddenly felt breathless. “What’s the next one?”
He stepped forward and reached up, brushing a wet curl of hair off her cheek. “Ye aren’t annoyed with me then?”
The feel of his fingers against Rhona’s skin made hunger curl deep within her. Taran seemed oblivious to the effect even his merest touch had on her.
“Of course not,” she husked. “Ye can’t control the weather.”
He reached for her hand, his fingers entwining through hers. “Come on then, follow me.”
Taran led Rhona to the edge of a copse of trees that looked over the water.
