Page 52 of The Beast's Bride
Rhona pursed her lips. “If ye say so.”
Reaching the pebbly edge of Loch Dunvegan, Rhona’s gaze alighted upon the small boat awaiting them. She cast Taran a questioning look. “Is this yer surprise?”
Taran smiled once more, an expression that made Rhona’s breathing hitch. He looked like a different man when his gaze softened with humor and a smile stretched across his face. It made him look younger. “Aye, the first of them.”
Excitement danced in her belly as she gazed at him. Three weeks had passed since their handfasting. But still, Taran hadn’t touched her. He’d not even tried to kiss her.
She ached for him to do both.
Rhona adjusted the woolen shawl around her shoulders. A cool breeze breathed in off the loch. The summer was waning, and today was the feast of Lammas, celebrating the first wheat harvest of the year.
Adaira had gone off to visit the bustling Lammas market taking place in Dunvegan village this morning. Local women would decorate the altar of Dunvegan kirk with sheafs of corn, flowers, and breads made from the first reaping of wheat, barley, oats, and rye. Later on, folk would feast on breads, cakes, and ale in the village market square.
Rhona stepped into the boat and settled herself down, adjusting her skirts around her while Taran pushed the craft out onto the water. Climbing in, he then began to row the boat away from the shore.
Despite the dubious sky, Rhona found herself enjoying the outing. She twisted, her gaze taking in the majesty of Dunvegan Castle behind her. Surrounded by green, its great curtain wall and battlements rose high above the loch.
“I’ve never seen the keep from this angle before,” she murmured. “It’s beautiful.”
“Aye,” Taran replied, a smile in his voice. “I thought ye would like it.”
Rhona turned back to him, and their gazes met. “I do, thank ye.”
Taran looked away first, glancing over his shoulder. He rowed the boat out into the midst of the long loch.
Despite that they’d grown easy in each other’s company of late, there was an odd tension this morning. She sensed that he was nervous, that he wished to impress her.
“This isn’t another attempt to woo me, is it?” she asked finally, favoring him with a gentle smile. The last weeks had been a succession of romantic gestures. Just yesterday he’d brought her a red rose from the gardens. He’d actually blushed when he handed it to her.
Taran’s mouth quirked. “Can’t a man take his lovely wife out for a boat ride on Lammas morn?”
Rhona’s smile widened although she said nothing. She did appreciate the effort he’d made over the past weeks, but it really wasn’t necessary. Heat rose in her cheeks when she thought of what she really wanted: the pair of them naked in bed, leisurely exploring each other’s body.
Swallowing, Rhona shifted her attention from her husband’s broad shoulders to the dark rippling water. Despite that it was late summer, the loch would be breathtakingly cold; it never warmed, not even during the hottest weather.
When they reached the center of the lake, Taran stopped rowing. The boat drifted gently, and Rhona found her gaze drawn back to his.
“I’d like to sing ye a song,” he murmured. “Would ye like that?”
Rhona inclined her head. “Ye can sing, Taran?”
He gave her an embarrassed look. “Well enough.”
“Then I’d love to hear it.”
Taran nodded, his throat bobbing. He glanced away, drew in a slow breath and then began to sing. He had a gentle tenor, a low, lilting voice that made the fine hair on the back of Rhona’s arms prickle.
Breathless, she listened as the words filtered out across the loch.
“Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him
