Page 47 of The Beast's Bride
Adaira didn’t see her sister approach. Instead, she swiped at a fly that dove at her face, before muttering a curse as she caught her thumb on a rose thorn.
“I hope I didn’t teach ye that word,” Rhona teased. “Una would faint to hear it.”
Adaira swiveled round, a smile stretching across her face. “I was wondering when ye would surface.”
Rhona gave a soft laugh. “Too much wine, I’m afraid.”
She saw concern shadow her sister’s eyes and held up a placating hand. “Worry not, I am well. The marriage is consummated. Da has no cause to flog us.”
Her sister’s shoulders relaxed at this news. “I’ve been so worried.”
Rhona smiled. She appreciated her sister’s concern; it felt as if she was the only one in the keep who actually cared about her welfare. “Continue with yer collecting,” she said, stepping close and peering into Adaira’s basket. “We can talk while ye work.”
“I was going to make rosewater,” Adaira said, moving along the avenue of roses. “Would ye like some?”
“Aye, ye know I love the scent of roses.”
Adaira stopped and carefully snipped off three pink roses from a bush. She then cast Rhona a veiled look. “So … what was it like?”
“What?” Rhona replied, pretending she didn’t know what Adaira was asking. She knew only too well, for she herself had been filled with curiosity after Caitrin had wed.
“The bedding,” Adaira said, a groove forming between her eyebrows. “Is it as awful as Caitrin said?”
Rhona paused, wondering how best to answer her sister. Her experience last night had been a revelation. “I thought it would be an ordeal,” she admitted quietly. “I was terrified.”
Adaira’s blue eyes grew wide, and she straightened up, her slender body growing tense. “So, Caitrin was right?”
Rhona shook her head. “She would have spoken the truth about her own experience … but mine was different.” She broke off here, suddenly embarrassed. “Taran wasn’t what I expected.”
She didn’t think her sister’s hazel eyes could get any bigger, but they did then. “Did yeenjoyit?”
Rhona cleared her throat before managing a nod.
Adaira’s cheeks flushed. “So … are ye in love with him?”
“What?” Rhona gave a laugh. Adaira could be such a goose. Her head was full of silly ideas. “How could I be?”
Her sister looked crestfallen. “I just thought … after last night …”
“Just one night? Love takes time.”
Adaira nodded. She then moved on to the next rose bush and started snipping. “It’s all backward, isn’t it?” she said after a pause. “Ye are supposed to fall in lovebeforeye wed.”
“Aye,” Rhona agreed. “But there are many unions where there is never any love. I’m grateful Taran won the games and not Dughall MacLean.”
Adaira shuddered. “That man makes my skin crawl … although not as much as Baltair MacDonald does.”
Rhona frowned. “Has he been bothering ye again?”
“Not since ye interrupted us,” Adaira replied. “I think ye offended his pride. He makes a point of looking through me these days … and I’m grateful for it.”
“And I’m relieved … I wish our sister wasn’t wed to the brute.”
Adaira glanced up, her gaze shadowed. “She’s so unhappy, Rhona. I don’t want to wish anyone dead, but I sometimes find myself hoping he chokes on a fishbone. That way Caitrin could come back and live with us.”
Rhona sighed. She too had fantasized about Baltair MacDonald meeting his end, although her imaginings had been a lot bloodier than her gentle sister’s. “Maybe he will,” she replied, before favoring Adaira with a wicked smile. “Or someone will poison his wine.”
Gordon was shoeing a horse when Taran found him.
