Page 41 of The Beast's Bride
“Do ye have any siblings?” she finally asked, her voice subdued.
He shook his head. “I had a younger sister … but she died when she was three. Da’s madness grew worse from that date.”
Despite the warm evening, a shiver went through Rhona. She looked away from him, her gaze focusing on the darkness beyond the room.
He was right, this situation was a mess—and yet it wasn’t just of his making, but hers too. She’d been too proud, too arrogant. She’d virtually goaded her father into hosting these games.
“Do ye remember the warrior from Atholl who visited us last winter?” she finally asked.
“Aye,” he replied quietly. “The chieftain’s son.”
Rhona stared out into the night. “He was handsome and kind … and I was rude to him.”
Taran huffed out a breath. “I remember that.”
Rhona tensed. “I humiliated him in front of the Great Hall, spurned him when he asked me to dance.” She broke off here, wincing at the memory. “He left before dawn the following morning … Da didn’t speak to me for days afterward.”
Taran didn’t reply.
Rhona heaved in a deep breath and turned from the window. “Why would ye wish to wed such a shrew?”
He held her gaze, the moment drawing out between them. When he finally answered, his voice held a rasp. “Do ye really have no idea?”
Rhona shook her head in answer. She remembered what Adaira had said to her during the games then, and her body went cold.
Taran pushed himself off the mantelpiece and moved toward her. Rhona stared at him, frozen in place.
“I never wanted to feel this way,” he continued. “But from the first time ye spoke to me—just after yer sixteenth winter—looked me in the eye, and asked me to teach ye how to wield a sword, I was lost.”
Rhona clasped her fingers together, squeezing hard. “I had no idea…”
He came to a halt, around three feet from where she sat. His mouth twisted. “I’m good at hiding how I feel … it’s how I’ve survived.” He raked a hand through his hair, a gesture she’d never seen him do before. “I never intended to tell ye. Loving ye from afar was safe, easy. I’d resigned myself to the fact ye would wed someone else.”
Loving ye from afar. The words made Rhona’s breathing still.
“What changed?” She folded her arms across her chest, a protective gesture that created a barrier between them. “Ye didn’t have to enter the games.”
“Madness of a kind seized me,” he admitted with a bitter smile. “I couldn’t bear the thought of the likes of Dughall having ye. I told myself that if ye wedded me, ye would be protected at least. I might be foul to look upon, but I’d never raise a hand to ye. I’d never treat ye ill.”
Rhona’s chest squeezed hard. “Ye aren’tfoulto look upon.”
His face twisted. “There’s a good reason why folk call me ‘The Beast of Dunvegan’.”
“And they shouldn’t.” The words tumbled out of her. “It’s not true.”
“The fact remains, I’m no woman’s choice of husband.”
Rhona didn’t deny it; she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. She’d never been the type to flatter or soften things. Even so, for the first time, she felt the loneliness and pain of this man’s life. Scarred, shunned, isolated—no wonder he so loyally served her father. He had nothing else.
She glanced away, blinking rapidly. Tears threatened once more, and yet they weren’t for her own predicament this time. The wine was turning her weepy.
“I lied before,” she said softly. “I don’t hate ye … I just feel trapped. Da has just managed to achieve what he’s always wanted—to lock me away.”
A hush settled over the chamber, and they both let it draw out. Rhona was aware of Taran’s nearness, his gaze upon her. Yet neither of them felt the need to speak for the moment. After the conversation that had just passed between them, Rhona was reeling. She wondered if he felt the same.
“So, what are we going to do about tonight?” she asked finally, addressing the problem that loomed over them like a great shadow.
“Yer father wasn’t lying earlier,” he replied. “He’s angry with us both. Ye for defying him … me for daring to compete for ye. He’d happily wield the switch himself.”
