Page 73 of Desire's Ransom
Chapter 20
Ryland couldn’t be sure about that.
No one had seen the woman in six years.
She might not have had a bath in all that time. Hell, if shehadbeen kept in a cellar in the dark as some claimed, she could be as gray and pasty as a toadstool. And if the only person she had contact with was her wretched father, she might even be mentally damaged—suffering from anxiety, loneliness, trauma.
He answered honestly. “I hope not.”
Lady Mor had apparently overheard their conversation. “And what if sheisa monstrous she-devil?” she asked with a wicked glint in her eye. “Will ye wed her anyway?”
“Of course.” There was no question. It was his responsibility and obligation. “But…you’ve seen her before, haven’t you? In fact…” He turned to the remaining woodkerns as a whole. “You all knew my bride from before, did you not? What was she like? Do you remember?”
Everyone spoke at once.
“Short,” blurted Domnall. “Fair-haired.”
“Small and dark,” corrected Aife, “just as the chieftain described her.”
“She was always a good lass,” the friar said.
“Ye’d like her,” Ronan said with a wink.
“A bit too tall, if ye ask me,” said Lady Mor.
“Difficult to say,” Cambeal said with smooth nobility, “though a well-loved woman is always beautiful.”
“She doesn’t look like any of us,” young Fergus said, licking his lips. “That’s for certain.”
Wise Sorcha held up her hand to silence them all. “Temair is lovely. I don’t think ye’ll be disappointed.”
Ryland smiled and thanked them for their opinions, though he was thinking it was a good thing his bride had returned to the keep when she had. Considering the wide variations in her description—tall, short, fair-haired, dark-haired—Temair would have been nearly impossible to find.
Once the woodkerns returned to their own conversations, he whispered to Gray, “What doyouthink? Honestly. Do you remember her?” If anyone would tell him the unflattering truth about his bride, it was Gray. She seemed to prefer to speak plainly.
But when he turned to her, she was staring at him with a besotted smile on her face. He couldn’t help but grin back. She’d been staring at him for some time now. Clearly, she’d overindulged this evening.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were half-closed with sleepy languor. Though she sat on an anchored log, she swayed unsteadily.
Even drunk, she looked adorable. Her eyes softly glistened. Her hair shone like black silk in the firelight. Her rosy lips looked vulnerable and inviting.
It was difficult thinking about his prospective bride without instinctively comparing her to the breathtaking beauty beside him.
But at his question, Gray’s expression grew troubled.
“What doIthink?” Emotions battled back and forth on her face until he almost wished he hadn’t asked the question. At last she gave him a careful answer. “I think she’s no better or worse than ye’d expect…considerin’.”
“Considering?”
“Considerin’ her…history.”
That was something Ryland had been wanting to know. “Do you think ’tis possible the chieftain…mistreated Temair?” he asked.
Lady Mor volunteered her opinion, loudly enough for the rest of the camp to hear. “Cormac O’Keeffe mistreats everyone.”
The woodkerns’ silence was damning. Not that he expected anything else. They were understandably wary of speaking ill of Ryland’s future father-in-law. But apparently they weren’t in a rush to defend him either.
“He’s not known for his kindness,” Gray finally admitted.
