Page 61 of The Beast's Bride
Taran gave the lad a long, hard look before turning to the armory. There, he pulled a sword off the wall. It was a heavy weapon that had to be wielded with both hands, two inches broad with a double edge and a long, deadly blade. Taran’s own sword was of the same make. Only, he was double the weight and strength of Iain MacLeod.
Taran handed the blade to the clan-chief’s son, hilt first. The lad took it without a word of thanks. “Is it sharp?”
“Aye.”
“Good … ye will hear from me if it isn’t.”
Iain turned on his heel, intending to stride out of the armory, and ran into Gordon, who’d just entered the building. The lad bounced off the warrior’s broad chest before snarling at him. “Watch where ye are going.”
Gordon dipped his head and stepped aside. “Apologies, lad. I’ll watch my step in future.”
Throwing Gordon a black look, Iain stalked off, clutching the Claidheamh-mor in both hands.
“Jumped up pup,” Gordon murmured watching him go. “I can’t believe MacLeod’s letting him fight.”
Taran shrugged. “He thinks it’s time the lad was blooded.”
Gordon snorted. “God help us all then.” He glanced over at Taran, his brow furrowing. “I hear Lady Rhona wants to join us tomorrow?”
“Aye,” Taran growled, picking up the sword he was half-way through sharpening. “She’s vexed with me for stopping her.”
Gordon huffed a laugh. “I’ve seen her fight … she’s good.”
Taran cast his friend a hard look. “The answer’s still ‘no’.”
“More mutton, Rhona?” Taran held out a platter to his wife. Despite that he was hungry enough today to finish the lot, he’d left the last slice of meat for her.
Rhona’s storm-grey gaze met his. “No, thank ye,” she replied softly. “Ye have it.”
Taran forced back a frown. Rhona hadn’t been herself over the last few days. At first he’d thought it was the shock of seeing Connel Buchanan gored by that boar, and then he’d put it down to anger at not being allowed to fight alongside him.
Yet it wasn’t anger he saw in her eyes now, but something softer. She looked … sad.
Taran stiffened, lowering the platter before him. What reason did she have to be unhappy? A chill feathered down his spine. Was she regretting their union?
Taran took a bite of mutton. Moments earlier he’d been enjoying the rich flavor of the meat, yet now it tasted like ash. In the weeks since their handfasting, he’d done everything to make her happy, to make her warm to him as a man.
And now that he saw melancholy in his wife’s eyes, something deep within his chest twisted.
She wed the ugliest man upon this Isle, a cruel voice whispered in his head.Why wouldn’t she be regretting it?
“I hear Rhona wants to join us tomorrow.” Baltair MacDonald’s voice intruded. Taran glanced up from his meal to see the clan-chief favoring him with an oily smile. “Why don’t ye let her fight with us?” Beside Baltair, Caitrin stiffened. She cast her husband a warning look, but he ignored her. “Rumor has it that ye trained her in secret for years,” Baltair continued, his smile widening. “Or maybe that was merely a ruse … perhaps it wasn’t a Claidheamh-mor ye were teaching her to wield.”
This comment made Aonghus Budge choke on his mutton. Spluttering, the chief reached for a cup of mead. His pale blue eyes shone with amusement. However, at the head of the table, Malcolm MacLeod didn’t look entertained.
“MacDonald,” he growled a low warning.
Undaunted, Baltair shrugged, his attention still fixed upon Taran. “Maybe she can’t fight at all.”
Taran heard Rhona’s sharp intake of breath next to him, felt the tension rippling from her. He knew that Baltair resented Rhona. She’d told him about the incident with Adaira. Taran wagered that ever since, Baltair had been waiting for his revenge. He was trying to goad her into saying something that would humiliate her.
Taran wasn’t going to let that happen. “My wife wields a sword as well as ye, Baltair,” he replied. “I’m just doing what a husband does … protecting her.”
The MacDonald chieftain’s mouth twisted. It wasn’t the answer he’d expected or wanted. Taran held his gaze in an open challenge. Baltair would insult Rhona again at his peril.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Only a Coward
