Authors: Maeve Greyson

My Highland Bride (36 page)

BOOK: My Highland Bride

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Sadness weighed heavy on Ronan’s heart. If he but looked to the north, he would see the cemetery cliff with the white stone cairns of the innocents he’d made the mistake of drawing into his life. Love had not factored into either of the marriages, but Ronan still regretted his part in the shortening of their lives. What an unforgivable waste. If he’d no’ erred and chosen the sweet maids in an attempt to bring a bit of warmth into his world, perhaps they’d still be alive this verra day.

Ronan bowed his head and closed his eyes. Damn his father’s crazed wife and her curse. He agreed with Graham in hoping the woman of darkness who had cursed them now suffered in the worst level of hell.

“Ye nay ended their lives. Surely ye know that.” Graham stretched his long slender neck across the strand of jagged rocks and peered down into the blue-green depths of the rippling loch. “Ye had no way of knowing for sure if the curse would take them. Each of us has our own fate, old friend. Theirs was to leave behind the squalor of the poorest of clans and know a short time of ease before they passed beyond the veil.”

“All the same—” Ronan shuttered his mind against the painful past, locking the memories back into their dark corners. He slid his knife into the sheath strapped to his leg and placed the carved dragon on a stone shelf inset just inside the cave. “—I’ll no’ be returning to MacKenna keep. Clan MacKenna is strong and prosperous. The Lady Mairi Sinclair is no’ in need of saving. She has Mother Sinclair to protect her.”

As he spoke Mairi’s full name, an odd twinge stirred deep in his heart. The more he argued with himself to abandon the idea of seeking out yet another wife, the stronger and more insistent the twinge became. Ronan swallowed hard and thumped his chest. Perhaps he’d eaten a bit too much char as well.

A sly smile curled one corner of Graham’s black leathery mouth as he winked a great golden eye. “Aye. Yer words dinna echo the wants of yer heart. Though ye’ve nay even met the woman, I believe yer soul has already noticed the Lady Mairi a bit more than yer willing to admit.” Graham thumped a curled claw against Ronan’s breastbone. “Yer heart wishes to see the lass and decide for itself.”

Ronan pushed Graham’s claw aside. “And have ye also forgotten that m’last visit to MacKenna keep ended in a duel nearly to the death?” Ronan stomped to the edge of the stone slab jutting out from the face of the cave and lifted his face to the wind. The crisp clean breeze coming across the water stroked his face as though attempting to soothe his mind.

“Aye. I remember.” Graham resettled his folded wings along the ridge of his back and wound his massive girth down the narrow path cut through the sun-bleached fingers of sharp stones lining the hillside. In one smooth motion, he slithered off into the sparkling water without so much as a single splash. The elongated shadow of Graham’s swimming form shimmered black beneath the rippling waves. The surface erupted with a snorted fountain of crystal droplets as Graham’s head broke up through the barrier and his long slender neck rose above the water. “I also remember yer stables are now home to a pair of the biggest damn horses I have e’er seen. I believe they were a gift from Clan MacKenna, were they no’? A gift for handlin’ a verra difficult situation with a great deal of honor and care? I daresay Chieftain MacKenna and his clan would welcome a visit from the recipient of those fine warhorses.”

Graham always had to have the last word.
Máthair
had said he’d been that way as a lad, and Graham hadna lost the trait when cursed. Ronan shrugged his dark plaid over one shoulder and turned to climb the narrow stone steps leading to the top of the cliff. After centuries of friendship with him, Ronan had found the best way to win an argument with the stubborn Graham was to ignore him and walk away.

“So ye will be goin’ then?” Graham rolled like an oversized log to float on his armored back. His silvery belly scales glinted just above the surface of the water. He idly paddled with the webbed toes of one back foot, slowly propelling his body up the loch alongside the stone staircase winding to the top of the cliff.

“Will ye be nettlin’ me until I do?” Ronan bristled against the foolish question. Once Graham got something in his head, he ne’er let it go. Ronan might as well order the lads to start packing provisions for the trip. He verra much doubted the threat of a century of silence would sway Graham this time.

“Aye. I will. Ye already ken the truth of it.” Graham closed his eyes and stretched one wing above the surface of the sunlit water, then turned it to catch the wind. The gray leathery skin billowed full between the inky black ribs that formed the wing’s structure. The makeshift sail bobbed the dragon along atop the waves like a buoy freed from its rigging. “I’m sure ye have the right of it this time. This Mairi Sinclair is the one we both need.”

A chilling howl echoed down the length of the glen, soft at first, then deepening in pitch as the mournful cry rode the wind across the choppier northern waters of the loch. An ancient knowing rippled across Ronan’s flesh as he climbed the remaining steps up the side of the cliff.
Máthair
’s call affirmed Graham’s opinion in a primal language Ronan fully understood. Perhaps ’twas time to try again.

Dare he hope Graham was right?