Page 13 of The Beast's Bride
Truth and Deception
RHONA SAT DOWN next to her sister and forced a smile. “Ye look so much better this morning. It’s good to see some color in yer cheeks.”
Caitrin, propped up against a nest of pillows, smiled back. “I do feel better … although I’m so tired.” She glanced down at the babe, swaddled in linen, who slept in her arms. Rhona followed her gaze to the small head covered in soft black hair before clenching her jaw.
Will he grow up to be like his father?
Caitrin looked up, her gaze meeting Rhona’s. Her soft smile faded. “Is something wrong? Ye are flushed.” She glanced toward the closed door. “I heard raised voices earlier … were ye arguing with someone?”
Rhona inhaled deeply. This was her chance. She had only to say a few words, and Caitrin would know about Baltair.
What would have happened if I hadn’t interrupted him?
The man was a foul letch, preying on Adaira just yards from where his wife and child lay. He deserved to be revealed. The whole keep should know what he was—and yet when Caitrin’s soft gaze rested upon her once more, Rhona found the words stuck in her throat.
Caitrin had just endured a difficult birth. Even recovering she appeared frail, exhausted.
The news would destroy her.
Rhona would feel vindicated as she told her sister, spurred on by the memory of Baltair’s sneering face as he challenged her. But her victory would be short-lived. She didn’t want to make Caitrin suffer.
Rhona slowly loosed the breath she’d been holding. “I was just talking to Baltair and Adaira,” she replied, forcing herself not to look away as she spoke. “He wanted ye to come downstairs to the Great Hall for the noon meal, but we both insisted against it. Ye are too weak.”
Caitrin sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “Thank ye, Rhona … men can be insensitive sometimes.”
Rhona bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from replying. Baltair was far worse than that. Although she would spare Caitrin for the moment, she couldn’t keep silent about this.
Someone had to know.
She would tell her father.
Malcolm MacLeod frowned at his daughter, his mouth pursing.
Rhona stood before him, as self-confident and haughty as ever. She’d been subdued for a day or two after he’d told her about the games, yet it seemed she’d rallied—especially in defence of her sister.
“Mind yer tongue, lass,” he grumbled. “It’s not wise to lay such accusations at a chieftain.”
Rhona’s jaw tensed, her grey eyes growing hard. “Just because he leads the MacDonalds of Duntulm, it doesn’t make him beyond reproach. He cornered Adaira, and would have kissed her if I hadn’t interrupted.”
Malcolm huffed out a breath and put the quill he was holding back into the ink-pot. He was trying to write a letter—one that required a lot of concentration—and wasn’t in the mood for this conversation.
“He was probably just being playful … sometimes men do that, lass.”
Rhona’s face went taut, her mouth thinning. “He wasn’t being playful, Da. What if he gets Adaira alone? What if he—”
“Enough,” Malcolm grumbled. For the love of God. What had he ever done to deserve such a difficult daughter? He couldn’t wait till she was wedded—a husband would calm her down. “Ye go too far,” he continued. “Baltair has not committed any crime against yer sister. Perhaps she encouraged him? Adaira can be a flirt.”
“She didn’t welcome his attention,” Rhona growled back. Her cheeks had gone red, and her hands were fisted at her sides.
“Ye don’t know that.”
“I saw her face. She was terrified of him.”
Malcolm let out a gusty sigh and scratched his beard. “I’m sorry, lass, but this tale must remain between us. I can’t risk bad blood with the MacDonalds, not with the Frasers sharpening their swords at our backs.” His mood darkened as he spoke these words. Bile stung the back of his throat as the bannocks he’d eaten earlier repeated on him.
His daughter’s gaze narrowed. “What have they done now?”
MacLeod glowered at her. “Morgan Fraser is fast becoming a thorn in my arse,” he growled. “I’ve just received a letter from him, which I’m trying to respond to.” He gestured to the sheet of parchment before him. “The piece of dung dares challenge me for lands. He’s now claiming that Hamra Rinner Vale belongs to him.”
