Page 20 of The Beast's Bride
How would her sister fare without her? Would she be angry, feel abandoned?
“Adaira,” she said quietly. “Ye must be wary of men … please promise me ye will.”
Adaira’s smile slipped. “Stop fussing … not all men are like Baltair MacDonald.”
“Some are worse.”
“Stop it, Rhona. Ye are just trying to scare me. None of the warriors in the keep would dare behave in such a way.”
Rhona inhaled deeply. Sometimes, her sister’s innocence truly worried her. “Many of them watch ye,” she replied. “I’ve seen them in the Great Hall. They know it’ll be yer turn to wed soon. Men like Dughall MacLean will approach ye.”
Adaira shuddered. “I don’t like him.”
Relief flowed through Rhona. Finally, some sense. “Aye, and ye are right not to.
Adaira's brow furrowed. “Why? What has he done?”
Rhona met her eye. “A couple of weeks ago he was taking a walk with me in the garden and proposed. When I rejected him, he grew angry and grabbed hold of me.”
Adaira gasped.
“Taran stepped in,” Rhona continued. “If he hadn’t things might have gotten … difficult.”
Adaira’s expression softened in relief, before her eyes then clouded. “I just want to wed for love,” she said quietly. “Why is Da so keen to sell us off like fattened sows?”
“An unwed daughter is a burden,” Rhona replied, bitterness lacing her voice. “We are useful only in marriage, for we can unite families or gain land for our clan.”
Adaira pondered this a moment, before she answered. “Caitrin is unhappy,” she said softly.
“Aye.” Rhona turned her gaze to the road ahead so Adaira wouldn’t see her own despair. “And if we’re not careful, we’ll suffer the same fate.”
Silence fell between them then, the mood turning somber.
Rhona’s vision misted. This was potentially the last time she’d ever see her sister. She didn’t want Adaira’s memory of her to be tainted with sadness. Grief sat like a heavy stone in her belly as the full realization of the situation sank in. Unless Adaira one day visited her upon the mainland, they’d be estranged forever.
Rhona swallowed.Stop it, she chastised herself.Don’t think on it … if ye do, ye won’t go.
A short while later the sisters rode into Dunvegan village. A sprawl of low-slung stone houses with thatched roofs, the village spread out along the loch side. Softly curved hills stretched south of the village, while Loch Dunvegan stretched north. The prevailing winds on this side of the isle meant that there was little in the way of trees and shrubbery here. Rhona would have little cover as she rode south. She was grateful Lasair was full of energy this morning—she’d need it.
The Stag’s Head Inn lay at the heart of the village, with a view out across the loch. Behind it stretched a wide space where the merchants and traders had set up their stalls. Excited voices reached the sisters as they drew up in front of the inn. A large crowd filled the market square. The sight pleased Rhona; it would make slipping away all the easier.
They stabled their horses at the inn. After a morning exploring the market, the plan was that they would enjoy a meal at The Stag’s Head before riding home. A meal at the inn was a ritual that Caitrin had once shared with them. The Stag’s Head was famed for its mutton stew and oat dumplings.
However, Rhona would not be dining at the inn today.
She followed Adaira as she virtually skipped her way out of the stables and into the market. Her sister squealed in delight as the scent of rose and lavender wafted over them. “The soap man is here!”
Despite her tension and distracted thoughts, Rhona found herself smiling. Usually, they made do with coarse blocks of lye at home. Yet occasionally a soap merchant crossed from the mainland, bearing heavenly scented, colored blocks, as well as perfumed oils and lotions.
Adaira was now heading straight for him.
Rhona followed her to the stall, where Adaira set about sniffing each tablet of soap she picked up. In the end, they were too tempting.
“Good morning Lady Adaira … Lady Rhona.” The soap merchant beamed at them. All the vendors here knew MacLeod’s daughters on sight; it was impossible for them to be anonymous in this crowd. The clan-chief’s daughters were well loved in the village. Folk didn’t hide their delight to see them.
“Good morn, Artair,” Adaira greeted the man with a bright smile. “Where are yer wife and daughter today?”
“Visiting my wife’s sister,” he replied, his broad face flushing with pleasure. “She’s having her third bairn.”
