Page 56 of Lord of Dunkeathe
“I won’t dishonor myself!”
“We’ll have to be subtle,” Percival mused aloud, ignoring her protest, her struggles, her dismay. “Give him longing looks and maybe find a way to brush against him. Seek out chances to be alone with him for a few stolen kisses.”
“I won’t!”
Percival’s arm snaked around her and he pulled her against his slender body that smelled of wine and stale perfume. There was a hungry gleam in his eyes that she’d never seen before. “Yes, I think it would be best to go slowly at first. A few kisses of those soft lips of yours first, along with some suitable moans and sighs. Then you can claim to be overwhelmed by desire, and he’ll believe it.”
“I’m not going to play the harlot!”
His embrace tightened still more, so that she could scarcely breathe. “Oh yes, you will,” he said, “because I promise you, my sweet cousin, that if I have to send you to that convent, you won’t go there a virgin, whether Sir Nicholas has the pleasure, or I do.”
His mouth crushed hers and his hand grabbed her breast. Shocked, horrified, she shoved him away with every bit of strength she had. “Don’t touch me!”
He merely smiled and delicately wiped his lips with the cuff of his tunic. “Either Sir Nicholas or me, my dear,” he said as he strolled to the door. “The choice is yours.”
AS THEY WEREreturning from the storehouse with a basket of fish for the evening meal, Polly grabbed Riona’s forearm and pointed at the man who had just ridden into the courtyard. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing afeileadhand shirt and boots, and riding a very fine horse. His dark hair hung to his shoulders, with two small braids at the sides.
“That’s him, Adair Mac Taran,” Polly said in an enthusiastic whisper, as if she feared he would hear her even though he was several yards away. “Now, did I lie, my lady? Is he not the handsomest man you’ve ever seen?”
“Yes, he’s very handsome.”
And so he was, in a conventional sort of way. She’d always heard Adair Mac Taran described as a charmer, and she could see that, in the smile he had on his face. Not for him grim inscrutability, that stern determination, that hint of deep loneliness that made a woman want to hold him close and whisper that she would never leave him.
Riona shook her head as if to rid her mind of that ridiculous thought.
Meanwhile, a wagon rumbled into the yard behind Adair Mac Taran. Its bed was covered with a canvas and it was driven by a large, robust, brown-haired Scot likewise clad in afeileadhand with aclaimh mhorslung across his back. Also seated on the wagon was the most beautiful woman Riona had ever seen,cradling a baby wrapped in a light green blanket. The woman’s lovely features would make even Lady Joscelind look plain. She wore a simple, yet well-fitting gown of dark blue wool, with a fine cloak over her and she sat on that wagon seat like a queen upon her throne.
“Who’s the other man?” Riona asked Polly, nodding at the fellow beside Nicholas’s sister.
“That’s their clansman, Roban. Their little boy must be in the back of the wagon. He’s an imp, that one.”
“I’m surprised that Roban’s got hisclaimh mhor.That’s rather a fearsome weapon for a peaceful visit. My uncle left his at home.”
“Sir Nicholas gave him leave,” Polly answered, “since he’s such a good friend to Adair, and stood by him when his brother turned against him.”
Adair Mac Taran swung down from his horse. Like Sir Nicholas, he had an athletic grace, a way of moving that seemed fluid and easy.
“Greetings, brother-in-law!” Adair cried when Nicholas came out of the hall, his jovial, bass voice echoing through the yard.
“Greetings, Adair,” Nicholas replied as he reached them. “One of the grooms will show you where to stable your horse, since the usual stall is already occupied.”
Then he smiled up at his sister. It was a small smile, but it softened the harsh angles of his face in a way that made Rionaremember that night in the garden. “I trust the road wasn’t too rough, Marianne.”
The lady smiled in return. “Your men must have been working very hard indeed, for it’s much improved.”
“The road may be some better,” Roban said as he climbed down from the wagon, “but I wish I’d had my horse beneath me and not this wooden seat.”
“I’m sorry, Roban, but you would insist on driving the cart,” Lady Marianne replied.
“You couldn’t do it with a babe in your arms.”
“Cellach would have been fine in her basket,” Lady Marianne replied, and even though it was genially said, Riona heard a hint of her brother’s stern resolve in her voice.
“What if Cellach got to fussing?” Adair asked as he joined his wife. “Could you see Roban carrying her in his arms on his horse?”
That made the lady laugh. “No, and I’m grateful for your help, Roban. Truly I am.”
Equanimity restored, Roban chortled, his teeth visible through his dark beard.
