Page 67 of The Beast's Bride
He took hold of her hips and moved her against him, watching as she groaned and threw back her head, exposing a creamy length of neck.
Taran MacKinnon smiled. Aye, this was no dream. Rhona was his.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The Beast’s Bride
“DO YE STILL wish to join us in battle?”
The question was unexpected. Rhona had been dozing against Taran’s chest, her body languid in the aftermath of their lovemaking, when he spoke.
Propping herself up on an elbow, Rhona favored him with a level gaze. “Aye … I do.”
A shadow moved in those ice-blue eyes, before he heaved a deep sigh. “My instinct is to keep ye here, safe within the walls of this keep … but if to fight is what ye truly want, I’ll not stop ye.”
Rhona inclined her head. A strange blend of excitement and fear knotted under her ribcage. “Ye were dead against letting me ride with ye—what changed yer mind?”
He huffed a breath. “One of the things I’ve always loved about ye is yer wildness. Few women show an interest in learning how to fight. I’ve trained many men, and yer skills equal theirs. I’ll not keep ye locked away for fear that ye will come to harm.”
Rhona smiled. Reaching up, she caressed his cheek with her fingertips. “Thank ye, Taran. I’ll not take any foolish risks, I promise.”
His mouth thinned. “Ye had better not.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm. “Today won’t be pretty, lass. This confrontation between the MacLeods and the Frasers has been a long time coming. This battle isn’t about land. It’s about wounded pride. Morgan Fraser has wanted his reckoning against yer father for years. He’ll never forgive him for taking Una.”
Rhona nodded. She understood that. Her father had made a fool of his rival, and Morgan Fraser had been nursing his wounded pride for years. “I’ll watch yer back today, my love,” she promised softly.
His mouth quirked. “And I yers.”
“This is madness.” Caitrin put her hands on her hips and raked her gaze over Rhona, taking in the mail shirt, braies, and high leather boots she wore. “I can’t believe Taran is letting ye fight.”
“Well, he is,” Rhona replied. She held out a pair of leather bracers to her sister. “Stop looking so disapproving and fasten these for me. I can’t do it on my own.”
Caitrin pursed her lips and took the bracers. She then cast a look at where Adaira stood behind them, her wriggling puppy in her arms. Their sister wore a composed expression, although her hazel eyes gleamed.
“Don’t tell me ye agree with this?” Caitrin huffed. “Both of ye have lost yer wits.”
“Rhona is as fierce as any man,” Adaira replied.
Caitrin’s jaw firmed. Her left cheek bore a red, swollen welt after the blows her husband had dealt the day before. But Rhona was pleased to see that her sister didn’t look cowed or beaten this morning. Instead, she had a stubborn look in her eyes that Rhona welcomed.
“Ye might be able to wield a sword, but battle is something else entirely,” Caitrin said, her voice tight. “I’ve heard that brave men have been known to lose their wits when the violence and death gets too much.”
Rhona’s belly clenched at these words. “I’ve heard all the tales too,” she replied, holding her sister’s gaze firmly. “I’m not expecting an afternoon stroll.”
She held out her wrist, and Caitrin stepped forward, fastening the bracer. She laced the leather arm guard with deft precision, and Rhona realized that it was likely a task she had done for her husband many times. Once Caitrin had finished lacing the bracers, she stepped back, her gaze shuttered.
“Will ye see Baltair before we leave?” Rhona asked.
Caitrin drew in a deep breath, tension visible in her slender shoulders. After a long moment she shook her head.
“Do ye really hate him?” Adaira asked softly. Dùnglas had stopped squirming in her arms and was now licking her chin. She ignored the pup.
“Aye,” Caitrin murmured. Her gaze glittered as she looked down, staring at the flagstone floor before her. “Every morning I wake and wish I’d never wed him.”
“But Baltair was yer choice,” Adaira reminded her. “Ye looked so happy the day of yer handfasting.”
Caitrin’s gaze snapped up, snaring hers. “Aye, and I’ve rarely smiled since. I made a terrible mistake.” She paused here, a nerve flickering in her cheek. “His younger brother wanted to wed me, but I chose Baltair instead. A shallow, vain girl … I chose the more handsome of the two brothers, the heir to the MacDonald lands.” Caitrin’s voice choked off. “And I have paid the price.”
Rhona stared at Caitrin, shocked by her admission. She remembered the younger of the two MacDonald brothers: Alasdair. Sharp featured and lanky with a shock of raven hair that kept falling over one eye, he’d visited Dunvegan a number of times before Caitrin’s union to Baltair. He’d been like a puppy around her sister, attentive and eager to please. However, Rhona didn’t realize that he’d also been her sister’s suitor.
