The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride Read online

  The man sat, a scowl on his face, and turned his piercing stare on her. “My horse nearly trampled ye. Are ye hurt?”

  “Of course not. He wouldnae have landed on me.”

  The man snorted. “Ye seem to have a lot of faith in animals. That wolf ye set free could have torn ye to pieces.”

  “Not trapped as he was. And had yer great horse not made such a stramash, the wolf would not have been so frightened.”

  Giving her a narrow look, the man gingerly shook his head. “Do ye always make such a fuss over animals?”

  “What is wrong with that?”

  “’Tis a good thing there havenae been any bears in Scotland for the past three hundred years or so. Ye’d be eaten for sure.” He touched the side of his head. With a scowl, he drew his fingers away and stared at them.

  “Ye are lucky I am such a kind-hearted person,” Gilda informed him archly as she searched through the bag at her side. “I have just visited with my auntie and have some wych elm leaves.” She pulled large, green leaves from her bag and set them on a nearby rock, using a smaller stone to gently bruise the leaves. Moisture welled to the surface and she pressed the dark mass carefully against the deep scratches on the man’s face.

  He jerked away, a suspicious look narrowing his eyes. “What are ye doing?”

  “Be still. They will help heal the wound. It looks as though ye are the one who just encountered a bear.” Gilda swept a fall of dark hair from his face and reapplied the salve. Her skin tingled as the dense strands slid through her fingers. Her cheeks heated and she dropped her gaze, puzzled by her reaction to this strange man.

  Cautiously, she peeked at him from the corner of her eyes and found his head turned away, looking about the forest. She perused his tanned skin, smooth and warm as she’d already discovered. His dark hair just brushed shoulders that were broad and muscled beneath his leine and plaide. He appeared to be only a few years older than she, and she wondered who he was. A Macraig, surely, for Gilda knew she trespassed on Macraig land. She squirmed, uncomfortable to remember where she was.

  “Here, let me have that.” The man turned his attention back to her and took the crushed leaves from her hand. “I thank ye, but ’twill heal fine.”

  “At least clean it.” Gilda sat back on her heels in protest as he wiped his fingers on his plaide.

  “Are ye a healer?”

  “Nae, though my auntie is and I have helped her for many years.”

  The man frowned. “’Tis an honorable occupation. Why would ye not apprentice with her?”

  “Because I am…” Gilda bit her lip. She’d almost revealed she was the laird’s daughter, though that wasn’t the reason she wasn’t a healer. “I dinnae like to see people in pain. I can heal, I have healed, but I am too soft-hearted to make it my life’s work.”

  The man’s lips quirked. “A soft-hearted healer? So ye couldnae lop a man’s leg off if he mangled it?”

  Gilda paled and her heart fluttered. “Nae.”

  “Then all the more reason to seek ye out should I need a healer’s touch. I dinnae like someone too anxious to remove an offending limb.”

  “Have ye had a need for a healer like that?” Her gaze took in the man’s well-made form. She saw no evidence of deformity. Quite the opposite, in fact. Heat flared anew in her cheeks.

  “Nae, and I hope it never comes to it. I would rather be dead than only half a man.”

  Gilda tilted her head. “Ye dinnae know what ye speak. Life is too precious to dispose of so callously. What is an arm or a leg compared to a life?”

  “Compared to a ‘useful’ life, ye mean. I wouldnae be at the mercy of others for my daily living.”

  Gilda leaned back on her heels, nonplussed. “How did we get so far? Ye fell from yer horse and I put a salve on yer wound and ye now swear ye’d not want to live if ye lost a leg.” She shook her head. “I think ’tis best we look for our horses.”

  A stray breeze filtered through the bracken, lifting the curls tangling against her forehead, and she glanced upward. Dark clouds replaced the summer blue sky. A rumble in the distance caused her to jump, and a flash of lightning heralded an afternoon storm as the day plunged into early darkness. Gilda’s heart missed a beat.

  “Oh, no.”

  Chapter 2

  Ryan touched the side of his face again, glad to discover the blood in the scratches had dried. Cool air rustled through the leaves and he looked at the young girl next to him. Her fair skin blanched white, all color leached from her cheeks as she stared into the distance. A freshening breeze lifted her hair.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “What is it, lass?”

  “A storm.”

  “Och, ye willnae melt.” He grinned and rose to his feet, relieved not to be surrounded by wolves. Or Macrorys. He held a hand out, offering to help her stand. To his surprise, she ignored him, still staring at the coming storm. With a start, Ryan realized she wasn’t dismayed at the prospect of a wetting. She was utterly afraid.

  “Here, lass.” He pitched his tone low, calming. “Let us find a place to shelter. I am sure ’twill blow itself out soon.”

  She turned her gaze to him, her smoke-colored eyes wide. Her breast rose and fell rapidly, confirming her fear. Ryan stepped close and stooped to pull her to her feet. She stood and walked with him without comment, and he could feel tension singing through her as he held her hand.

  “I seem to remember these woods are riddled with caves. Mayhap we can find one before the rain starts.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. “There is a shallow one just ahead.”

  “How do ye know the land so well?”

  “The berries are good and plentiful here along the border between us and the Macraigs.” She regarded him with a worried look. “Ye willnae call me a thief?”

  “For picking berries?” He grinned easily. “Nae. But if ye get a stomach ache for eating too many, ye willnae let me know of it.”

  The girl offered him a small smile at his jest, but she was still too pale.

  Thunder rumbled. A sudden gust of wind bent the trees nearly double. She gasped and stumbled.

  “Wheesht, lass. I have ye.” Ryan nudged bracken aside. “And here is our shelter. Wait a moment while I make sure one of yer wolves hasnae chosen it for himself.”

  He released her hand and stepped to the entrance of the cave. Branches concealed the opening and he held them aside to admit the rapidly fading light. As she’d said, it was shallow, only six or eight feet deep, and scarcely tall enough for him to stand upright. The underbrush at the mouth of the cave would shelter them from the worst of the storm.

  A flash of lightning split the sky, opening the heavy clouds. Rain dumped in a deluge, blinding him as he turned back for the girl. Blinking his eyes, he barely had time to open his arms before she ran straight against his chest. Her red hair clung to her, wet from the downpour. The top of her head fit neatly beneath his chin. He gave himself a shake.

  “Come, then.” He gently pried her away and led her into the cool, dry interior of the cave. Within moments, she was shaking.

  He gentled his voice. “Still afraid of the storm?”

  She shook her head. “Nae. Cold.”

  Thunder crashed again and she jumped, betraying her lie. Ryan sat on the dusty floor of the cave and unfastened his plaide at the shoulder. He beckoned to her as he unwrapped the woolen fabric.

  “Come sit with me, lass. I will keep ye warm.”

  She did not move and he quirked an eyebrow at her hesitation. “I willnae harm ye. But ye dinnae need to stand about dripping wet and cold.” He tried a lopsided grin. “I only bite impertinent lasses.”

  She almost smiled, but her lips trembled. “Then, sir, I am forewarned, for I fear I am nearly always impertinent.”

  He laughed. “My name is ‘Ryan,’ not ‘sir.’”

  The girl bit her lip and did not reply.

  He sighed. “Saying it willnae make ye impertinent.”

  “Ryan.�
�

  His name rolled sweetly from her lips, sending a frisson through his veins. He blinked. She was too young. A mere lass. Teasing her was only a way to keep her from being afraid. He gave a reassuring nod. “There. That wasnae so hard. Now ye can sit with me and be warm.”

  Still hesitant, she lowered herself to the cave’s dust-covered floor. He tucked the end of his plaide around her shoulders and pulled it down her side to hold in the heat. They sat quietly, listening to the wind rage outside. Ryan carefully controlled the unexpected storm quivering through his insides at her nearness.

  The girl moved slightly. “My name is Gilda.”

  * * *

  Gilda waited for Ryan’s reply. It seemed only fair after he told her his name to offer hers in return. Just her name. Nothing more. There was no need for him to know she was the laird’s daughter. She knew full well she could be kidnapped and held for ransom, but Ryan had done nothing to alarm her, nothing to send unspoken warnings through her. Except for sneaking up and startling her as she tried to release the captured wolf, he’d been honorable. Maybe a bit grumpy about her attempt to help with his wound, but what man didn’t make a poor patient?

  “‘Gilda’ is a verra pretty name.”

  Unexpected heat slid beneath her skin as he said her name, causing her to shiver.

  “Still cold, then?”

  “Nae.” Gilda shook her head. She was far too heated and sure her cheeks were red, as well. This would not do. Whatever caused her to quiver as her name rolled from his lips in a low rumble, it wasn’t right. In fact, sitting here in a cave with a strange man’s plaide wrapped around her was wrong. Even if it meant facing the storm outside, she must leave.

  Later.

  Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to wait until the storm passed. Who would miss her?

  “Will ye be missed, Gilda?”

  She jerked. Had he read her thoughts? The plaide slid from her shoulder and Ryan reached around her and pulled it back into place. She barely controlled the tremor this time at his touch, and gave a slight shake of her head.

  “Nae. Ma will suppose I stayed at Auntie Tavia’s, and she knows I left well ahead of the storm.”

  “No search party until the storm blows over?”

  Gilda hesitated, realizing she’d said far too much. “Mayhap. Ye never know what my ma will do.”

  Ryan sighed. “Lass, I am trying to keep yer mind off the storm. I have no wish to do ye harm. Ye are safe here with me.”

  “I thank ye. I have been afraid of storms since I was a bairn. The noise frightens me.”

  He looked at her askance. “Ye cannae be verra old, now. How many summers have ye?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Sixteen? That many? Ye look mayhap twelve.”

  “I dinnae look twelve! And I will be seventeen soon.”

  Ryan laughed and Gilda basked in the warmth of the sound.

  “I only tease ye, Gilda. I am twenty, soon to be twenty-one.”

  “Truth? I thought ye not much older than me. I was right.”

  “Nae. There is a world of difference between sixteen and twenty.”

  “Four years,” Gilda scoffed. “What more is there?”

  At his silence, she studied his face, now grown serious.

  “There is much ye dinnae know, sweet Gilda. Ye must trust me.”

  “Aye, I trust ye. Tell me.”

  She saw his frown. Did he think she baited him? She hated it when her brothers taunted her. Lightning ripped the sky and she did not want to leave the shelter. His warmth radiated against her and she shifted, wanting to press closer.

  Surely, conversation was better than this uncomfortable silent awareness. She ventured to ask, “Have ye been away for a while?”

  “Why would ye say that?”

  “Ye said there were caves around, if ye remembered correctly. Why else would ye have to remember if ye hadnae been away?”

  Ryan nodded. “Ye are a canny lass. I have been away at the MacLaurey keep for the past ten years.”

  “Fostering?”

  “Aye.”

  “My oldest brother is away as well.”

  “Ye have more than one brother?”

  “Aye.” Gilda couldn’t keep the exasperation from her voice, and Ryan chuckled. The low, rumbling sound, so like thunder, and yet so much more compelling, warmed her. “I have two younger brothers, twins. I hope they foster soon, too.”

  “How old are they?”

  “Six.”

  Ryan nodded. “A truly terrible age.”

  “Truth?”

  “Aye. I was a wee loun at that age as well.”

  “My auntie says all men are the same.”

  “Well, mayhap not all the same, but I am sure we share a lot of the same vices.”

  Gilda shifted on the rock floor of the cave, enjoying their conversation. “What have ye learned, fostering? My brother is but eleven years and a serious lad. I havenae seen him in over two years and miss him.”

  Ryan quirked an eyebrow at her question. “What do ye mean?”

  “I mean, what did ye learn? I’ve seen the lads who foster at Scaurness. They learn fighting skills, lettering, drinking and…” Her cheeks heated again, remembering Gordon’s warm, inviting eyes, and she hoped Ryan wouldn’t notice her discomfiture in the semi-darkness. But of course, he did. He nudged her.

  “What else do they learn at Scaurness, Gilda?”

  Gilda turned her back to him. She’d had this discussion with Tavia earlier, and wasn’t going to voice her opinion in front of a stranger.

  A puff of warm air against the side of her neck tingled across her tight-strung nerves, and she jumped. Ryan’s face loomed next to hers, his nose near level with her ear.

  “Seems as though ye already know the answer to that question, sir,” she replied tartly. “I told ye men were all alike.”

  “Och, Gilda. Dinnae blame us for noticing such a sweet, red-haired lass as yerself.”

  Gilda flung the plaide from her shoulder and leapt to her feet, displeasure radiating through her. “I dinnae have to put up with it at home, and I of certain dinnae have to put up with it from the likes of ye!”

  Ryan’s laugh and rueful smile did little to mollify her, and she continued to glare at him. He rose to his feet and cupped her chin in his hand.

  “Ye are the most fascinating mixture of sweetness and fire.” His eyes roamed over her face, his other hand gently skimming the hair beginning to dry and curl at her temples. “Ye asked what we learned, but I think ye know.”

  Gilda’s eyes grew wide as his gaze lingered on her mouth. Her breath hitched and her lips parted, her muscles trembling as though they’d forgotten how to act.

  “We also learn this.” Ryan lowered his mouth to hers, touching her softly. Gilda gasped air into lungs suddenly empty of breath, and nearly shattered as the tip of his tongue gently traced the outline of her lips.

  His mouth moved against hers and Gilda fisted the front of his shirt in her hands, clinging to him as desperate as though she’d been dropped from the highest cliff above the firth. Her world spun out of control, and a tiny moan escaped her as she rose to meet his kiss.

  Ryan released her and caught her hands in his. Gilda took a step back, shocked to find the earth still beneath her feet. They stood silent for a moment, and the slow, lazy sound of dripping water grew loud.

  “The storm is past.”

  How could he say that? A storm still raged through her and Ryan acted as though he were completely unaffected.

  He gave her hands a slight tug. “I think we should go now.”

  Gilda slipped her hands from his, trying to hide the turmoil inside. “Aye. Ye are right. I must be home.” She strode to the cave’s entrance and pushed past the rain-drenched bracken.

  “I will walk with ye to the beach to be sure ye make it to yer land.”

  “I dinnae need yer help.”

  “Ye will get my help whether ye need it or not.” A gravelly tone laced Ryan’s voice and Gilda bri
stled.

  “’Tis ye who are trespassing now, sir.” She nodded her head to a large rock a few feet away. “Yon outcropping is the border.”

  “My name is Ryan,” he bit out, obviously as edgy as she.

  Gilda whirled on him. “Leave me alone, Ryan.” She stamped her foot with all the petulance of a child.

  “As ye wish.” He gave her a curt bow and turned. Their path a single trek leading to the shore, they hurried down the narrow trail, wet leaves and branches tugging at Gilda’s skirts and hair.

  Ryan paused as they broke the forest’s cover. “Here is where we part. If ye hurry, ye can make it to yer auntie’s cottage before ’tis dangerously dark.”

  Gilda stared at him. The only thing dangerously dark is ye. And I willnae make the mistake of underestimating ye again. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

  A shout arrested them. “Ryan!”

  Lifting a hand to shield the glare of the setting sun, Gilda scanned the beach. A lean man, his blond hair glinting in the last of the sun’s rays, held the reins of two horses. The midnight black stallion tossed his head and neighed. The white-stockinged mare nickered and sidled away.

  “Who is that? He has my mare.”

  “My friend, Conn, has found our horses. Come. I feared we were in for a long walk.”

  The young man quickly caught up to them, and the assessing look he gave Gilda brought a frown to her face.

  He glanced from Ryan to Gilda and back. “I thought ye went for a ride to clear yer head. If I had known there were mermaids about, I’d have left the unloading of the ship to the others and come along with ye.”

  “Ye were too sick to be in charge of unloading the ship, and this is nae mermaid. This is Gilda, healer and wolf-tamer.”

  Gilda shot Ryan a narrow-eyed look of disapproval, then turned a gracious smile on the blond-headed man.

  “I am pleased to meet ye. I am neither a healer nor a wolf-tamer. Yer friend is a bit addled. His horse threw him and he has a wee knot on his head, as well as scratches on his face where he thinks he was attacked by a bear.”

  The young man gave a bark of laughter. “I have known for some time Ryan is addled, and his social skills still require polish. I will introduce myself. My name is Conn MacLaurey. Ryan and I have been friends for many years.”