Page 87 of Taken By the Ruthless Highlander
Morgana stepped into his line of sight, and the dark hatred in his eyes disappeared instantly.
“What are ye doin’?”
“Distractin’ ye from whatever is goin’ through that head of yers,” she answered in a hushed tone so that not even Cohen could hear her. “I have a feeling that it might ruin my night. And I really hope that willnae happen, because I worked so hard to organize the cèilidh.”
Ryder huffed a breath. Cohen’s smirk reminded him of a child who had just gotten away with breaking the rules. It took every ounce of his self-control not to start a fight right then and there. The last thing he wanted was to ruin Morgana’s special night.
“Have ye seen the seen the pettin’ pen I had set up for the wee ones?” Morgana asked, trying to draw his attention away from Cohen. But the only way Ryder was ever going to forget about that man was if he were sent to the Americas or if he were six feet under. “Ye might like it. I managed to have the cook’s nephew catch the wild bunnies that have been poppin’ up in the garden. What do ye say we have a look see?”
“Aye,” Ryder hissed.
“I’m terribly sorry for all of this, truly. I swear, I dinnae ken what I’m goin’ to do with Orella,” Cohen said to Morgana.
Ryder’s nostrils flared as he fought the urge to punch him for speaking to his wife. The man was leaving, there was no doubt about that. But the question was, when. And to Ryder’s mind, Cohen hadoverstayedhis welcome.
“Ye’re goin’ to take her home and tend to her. Unless ye are a fiend. What husband doesnae tend to his ailin’ wife? Ye care for her and nurse her back to health, and if she doesnae show up tomorrow, I’ll suspect foul play and come for ye,” Ryder warned.
Morgana pressed her hands against his chest, trying to get him to step back from Cohen. “I thought we were goin’ to see the pettin’ pen,” she pressed.
“Aye, I think ye should do as yer wife says,” Cohen drawled.
“Ye have a fine evenin’,” Ryder said through gritted teeth. “See that ye dinnae come back.”
“Ryder,” Morgana hissed.
He didn’t care. What irked him more than anything was how Cohen had weaseled his way into Morgana’s good graces and there wasn’t anything he could say or do to make her think less of the man.
“Dinnae start,” he warned. “Ye asked me nae to ruin yer evening, so I will just go back to the castle.”
“Ye’ll do nay such thing,” Morgana protested, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I think I wanted this night to be somethin’ it never will be. Everyone is in a mood—even the twins.”
“I havenae seen Poppy or Eloise,” Ryder said, craning his neck to scan the crowd.
“That’s nae the point,” Morgana insisted.
“I ken what ye’re tryin’ to say.” Ryder took a step closer and placed a hand on her bare shoulder as if to anchor her to the spot. His thumb instinctively stroked her soft skin. “The party was for ye to relax. Ye’ve been so worked up over everythin’ and yer sister’s disappearance. I just wanted ye to be able to take yer mind off those things for a minute. Tonight was never supposed to be about me.”
Morgana shook her head as she tucked her hair behind her ear. She wiped a stray tear from her eye as Ryder glanced over her head to the stalls lining the path. It was as if she had brought the whole village to the castle.
“The torches burn for ye tonight,” Ryder murmured.
He leaned down and plucked a wildflower from the grass, before tucking it behind her ear. He stared deeply into her eyes. He could see a flicker of desire in them, shifting and sparking.
Just as he leaned in to press his lips to hers, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He pulled back and tilted his head, trying to make out what he was looking at.
The sounds coming from the crowd made him think some farmer’s pig had escaped. And sure enough, the children squealed as the mud-covered pig scrambled to get away from them.
“What in the…? Poppy?” Morgana gasped.
She watched her younger sister hold on to the pig for dear life as the creature squealed and tried to buck her off.
Morgana had never seen anything so funny in her whole life.
“Let go of the pig.”
“Nay. If I hold on, I’ll get a prize,” Poppy yelled as the pig darted around Morgana and Ryder.
“Is the pig greased?” Ryder asked, his heart rate quickening with excitement.
