Page 57 of The Beast's Bride
Rhona met his gaze. “But ye are not reckless, are ye Taran MacKinnon … quite the opposite I’d say.”
He huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Ye are a brave man … but a thinking one.” She frowned then as the memory of how Connel had baited that boar needled her. “Ye would never treat an animal that way either.”
His mouth thinned. “Had he lived, I’d have broken his nose for that.”
Rhona loosed a sigh. She pulled back the covers and slid into bed. Tiredness pulled down at her, and she sank willingly into the softness. She was aware of the heat of Taran’s body just a couple of feet from hers. After what they’d both witnessed, she longed to reach for him, yet she suddenly felt shy.
She wasn’t sure of him anymore. Here she was, right next to him, but he merely watched her with that intense look that made her breathing quicken, her pulse race. He could pull her into his arms, could kiss her—yet he did nothing. Did he prefer this arrangement—sleeping in the same bed but never touching?
Perhaps he did.
A long moment passed, and then Taran reached out a hand, stroking her gently on the cheek. “Goodnight, m'eudail,” he murmured.My darling.
“Goodnight,” Rhona whispered back, aching for his hand to linger.
However, he withdrew it and rolled away from her, leaving Rhona with nothing but a view of his broad back.
Chapter Twenty-five
Prove My Worth
“I TAKE THE Vale of Hamra Rinner as my own. From this day forth the land belongs to clan Fraser. Any MacLeod who sets foot upon it will be trespassing. His life will be forfeit.”
Malcolm MacLeod slammed his fist down on the table. The noise echoed through the Great Hall. “Thieving, bloody bastards.” His bellow shook the rafters. “I’ll slay them all … every last stinking Fraser!”
Taran, who’d been spreading honey onto a wedge of bannock, froze. It was just after dawn, and he and Rhona had risen early to join the chief and his wife as they broke their fast. A week had passed since that fateful boar hunt. Aonghus Budge was visiting Dunvegan yet again, and MacLeod had planned to take him hawking this morning. Taran would ride out with them.
“My love.” Una put down a cup of milk she’d been sipping, her gaze widening. “Calm yerself.”
“Villain!” Malcolm ignored his wife and heaved his bulk up from the table, scattering bannocks as he did so. In his right hand he gripped a sheet of parchment. “Morgan Fraser has gone too far!”
At the sound of her former husband’s name, the chieftain’s wife paled. Watching her, Taran wondered if she’d ever loved the Fraser chieftain. She’d needed little persuasion to run off with Malcolm MacLeod. The union mustn’t have been a happy one.
“How dare Fraser take the Vale of Hamra Rinner as his own.”
Aonghus Budge swallowed a mouthful of food, his watery blue eyes hardening. “Aye, those are yer lands, MacLeod.”
“We’ve hunted stags in that valley for generations,” Malcolm snarled. “I’ll not have a Fraser tell me we can’t.”
A rumble of outrage followed this announcement, rippling over the Great Hall like thunder. Taran glanced over at Rhona to find her staring at her father, brow furrowed.
“Ye can’t let him get away with it, Da.” Iain MacLeod spoke up. The lad’s sharp-featured face was taut, his grey eyes flinty.
“I don’t intend to, laddie,” Malcolm MacLeod growled back. He drew himself up to his full height. Even corpulent and red-faced, he was still a formidable man to look upon. “Finally, the MacLeods and Frasers will meet in battle. We shall stain that valley crimson with Fraser blood.” His gaze swept to Iain. “Ride to Duntulm,” he barked. “Tell Baltair MacDonald to ride to us with as many warriors as he can spare.”
Aonghus Budge rose quickly to his feet, hands clenched by his sides. “The Budges of Islay are with ye too, Malcolm.”
MacLeod nodded to his friend. “Thank ye, Aonghus,” he rasped. His hand crushed the parchment. “I’ll answer Fraser now. We shall meet those dogs in battle at noon, two days from now.”
Next to Taran, Rhona leaned forward. “Da … I will join ye. I can fight.”
“No.” The word was out of Taran’s mouth before he could stop it.
The table went still. Rhona inclined her head toward him, her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“If my daughter wants to fight, she can,” MacLeod replied, favoring Taran with a sneer. “Ye went behind my back to teach her how to wield a sword after all.”
