Page 26
The next day…
Ach, nae!
Standing with her back to Raghnall, Bryanna was petting his horse’s mane with one hand while checking the saddle with the other as though she was preparing to ride.
“Ye’re nae going anywhere!” Raghnall barked, marching through the courtyard of Tigh na Abhainn towards her.
She turned her head to him, frowning, her honey-colored hair streaming down her straight back. There it was, the delicate, thin curve of her waist under the old dress that Teasag had found for her. The curve of her hip that he’d ached to touch the whole night. She’d been lying right by his side in the same bed, and he’d been staring at her thin silhouette, illuminated by the moonlight that fell on her from the slit window of their bedchamber…and he’d been burning for her.
Burning and trying to restrain himself from reaching out and stroking that feminine curve with the tip of his finger, hearing her moan or sigh in pleasure, then turning her around on her back so that she faced him, and covering her mouth with his…
He’d barely slept all night, but he’d sworn he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want him to, and he knew she’d come to him herself.
That was, if she didn’t escape before then.
He stopped before her. She met his eyes with the same fierceness he’d seen before. “I’m not trying to escape.” She petted the horse. “Just saying hello to this beautiful animal.”
“As though I’m going to believe ye.”
Her shoulders slumped, just a little. “I don’t know how to ride, anyway.”
He looked her up and down. “Ye dinna ken how to ride? But noble ladies are usually taught…”
He trailed off, remembering the nonsense she’d told him about being from another time. The nonsense he refused to believe.
“Even better, then.” He turned to walk away, but her voice stopped him.
“Can you teach me?”
Normally, he’d say of course nae, he wouldn’t teach her. He wouldn’t give her a means to escape from him and ruin his plans.
But there was something in her voice. A vulnerability…a hope…a trust… An extended hand that he just couldn’t refuse.
And so despite his better judgment, he looked at her and said, “Aye.”
The smile that lit up her face was worth it. It was as though the sun had returned to a dark world, and she was shining with joy from within.
“Really?” She swallowed. “Oh, thank you so much, that really means a lot. I’ve always wanted to, always thought I’d enjoy it, but my parents didn’t allow me…”
He slowly walked to her and took the reins of his horse and led it into the small pasture that was behind the house. “They didna? Why?”
She walked beside the horse. “Being overprotective, I suppose. They always said they were afraid I’d fall and break my neck.”
He chuckled. “Aye, ’tis always a possibility. Are those parents of yers from the future, too?”
Her face cooled. “Look, if you don’t believe me, then let’s just not talk about it. I have nothing more to say to convince you and I don’t want to lie.”
Raghnall nodded. He had secrets of his own he’d rather not talk about. He’d never told anyone that Mòrag’s death was on his hands. That had he not let Daidh the reiver go, Mòrag would still be alive. No one knew but him and Seoc—it was the dark, heavy past that they shared, that united them in a perverse way. What would Bryanna think of him if she found out?
And he, a fool, had pretty much told her with his ballad. That music, the melody, and the words had haunted him for months after the fire. He’d gone to war and fought for the Bruce after it happened. He remembered lying in the grass, covered with his cloak, looking into the endless, starlit sky, surrounded by the warriors just like him, and playing that melody in his head, tears of grief—hot and burning and silent—rolling down his temples. And in the rare moments when he was alone, he’d picked up his small lute, beaten and uneven, and played, humming that melody.
And it made it better.
Drop by drop, it had allowed him to let the poison of heartache pour into the words, into the music…and not to die of guilt.
He’d been thinking of letting a sword pierce him in the next battle, to end his suffering, his undeserving life. Who cared if he lived or died, anyway?
But then he’d thought of Seoc, and of his promise to Mòrag. And he’d kept going.
