Page 9 of The Beast's Bride
“He shouldn’t be away from her … not when his wife is heavy with child,” Rhona pointed out.
She looked away from the midwife, to where Caitrin held the babe in her arms, gazing down at its face with a look of adoration. Caitrin didn’t appear to care that Baltair wasn’t here.
She hadn’t asked after him once during the long labor.
Rhona stepped out into the bailey and stretched her tired back. She really should go to bed, and yet after such a fraught night she found she’d now reached the point where she was over-tired. She was also ravenously hungry and would soon go down to the kitchens and get cook to fix her something. She’d missed supper the night before and breakfast too.
A blustery bright morning greeted her. The air was sultry, although clouds scudded across the pale blue sky and the wind blew dust devils across the courtyard. Rhona yawned and pushed her hair out of her eyes. The sun felt warm on her skin, and she turned her face up to it.
The bailey was a hive of industry this morning. Men were shoeing horses in the far corner, the tang of hot iron filtering across the yard, while others unloaded barrels off a cart that had just trundled into the keep. A servant was bringing up a pail of water from the well near the Sea-gate.
Meanwhile, two warriors sparred with wooden swords to the left of the steps leading into the keep. Rhona found her gaze drawn to them.
It was Taran and his friend Gordon. Stripped to the waist, the two men moved around each other, attacking and parrying. Curious, Rhona’s gaze settled upon Taran’s torso. She’d never seen him shirtless before and was surprised to see that his chest and back weren’t scarred like his face.
In fact, the opposite was true.
Gordon had a lithe, strong body, but Taran’s was broad, sculpted, and quite beautiful. Rhona watched, fascinated. The muscles in his back clenched and flexed as he moved. Although he was a big man, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him either; his bulk was all muscle.
Realizing she was staring, Rhona tore her gaze away. Fatigue had turned her witless this morning.
“Good morning, Lady Rhona,” Taran called out. He’d seen her and stepped back from Gordon. He now regarded her with that calm, direct look she’d come to know well. “How are Lady Caitrin and the bairn faring?”
Rhona favored him with a tired smile. She appreciated him asking after Caitrin. “They’re both well, thank ye … although my sister is drained.”
A frown creased Taran’s brow. He opened his mouth to reply but paused as the thunder of hooves interrupted him. Rhona glanced away to the Sea-gate, where a man upon a lathered horse had just ridden in. She drew in a sharp breath, her gaze narrowing.
Baltair MacDonald had finally arrived.
Drawing the beast up short, he leaped off its back and threw the reins to a lad who’d emerged from the stables.
Without a word of thanks, he then turned on his heel and strode toward the keep.
Nearby, Taran and Gordon didn’t resume their sword practice. Instead, they tracked the newcomer’s progress across the courtyard.
Rhona also watched him approach. Baltair MacDonald was a handsome man, it couldn’t be denied. Tall with long dark hair that flowed over his broad shoulders, he had chiseled features and peat-brown eyes.
Yet the man held an arrogance that grated upon Rhona. He’d always treated her and Adaira as if they were inconsequential. Baltair’s attention alighted briefly upon her now, his expression coldly dismissive when he stopped before her. “What news of my wife?”
Rhona regarded him, unsmiling. “She has given ye a son,” she replied coolly. “The babe was born but a short while ago.”
Something flickered across Baltair MacDonald’s face, although it was difficult to ascertain exactly what. Perhaps she had glimpsed joy in those dark eyes. It was so fleeting she might have mistaken it.
Not bothering to thank Rhona for the news, Baltair mounted the steps, brushing past her. “Where is she?”
“In the tower chamber.”
She glanced over her shoulder, watching his retreating back, and wondered—not for the first time—why her sister had ever wed such a man.
Chapter Five
Interrupted by the Shrew
“HOW IS YER sister this morning?”
Rhona glanced up from where she was spreading butter on a slice of bannock. Her gaze met her father’s. “Much better … she ate a good supper last night, and her color is much improved.”
Malcolm MacLeod nodded, his face relaxing a little, although beside him Una sniffed. “Caitrin is too delicate to bear many children,” she said with an expression that Rhona found patronizing. “She takes after her mother.”
