The Kindling Heart (10 page)

“We’ll find her,” Domnall repeated, determined.

Ruan drew his lips in a tight line. The man had said nothing else the entire night and day.

“Aye, well, ‘tis no wonder she ran,” Domnall abruptly accused. “Ye don’t cut a welcoming figure with all those black looks ye favor.”

Ruan scowled, temper rising in response. “Oh? And, what cause do ye have, wedding her to a stranger without even telling the poor lass?” He knew Domnall was simply worried and tired. He knew it served no purpose, but it felt good to shout all the same.

“By the Saints, if ye hadn’t frightened her to near death, she wouldn’t have run!” Domnall shouted.

“’Twas her own father that betrayed her, nae me!” Ruan thundered. In his mind, he saw an image of the drunken, small lass standing in front of him, wild-eyed, lips shaking, as a torrent of curses flowed from her mouth. Most in the room hadn’t understood enough English to know what she’d said, but he had. He smiled a little. She was a rare one, standing up to her father and then boldly walking into the wilds of Skye to almost certain death. However, the thought that she’d much rather die than be wed to him was a sobering one.

He furrowed his brows into a scowl.

Domnall was still yelling, “—Yer twisted soul, and as her husband, lad, ye are sworn to protect the lass and ye’ve done pitifully poor so far!”

Ruan’s head snapped back of its own accord. He opened his mouth to retort when Ewan and several others arrived in a thunder of hooves and a spray of mud.

“The hounds have found something,” Ewan cut in, pointing.

At the bottom of the hill, the beasts clustered, pawing a mound huddled amidst the dead heather and brittle stalks of fern.

Without a word, they wheeled their horses as one and charged down the hill.

Ruan reached her first.

She was unresponsive, huddled in a small quivering heap. Her skin was cold to the touch. He propped her against his knee, and her lashes fluttered.

“Does she yet live?” Domnall croaked, his voice fraught with worry. He had remained on his horse, clutching the pommel.

Ewan tossed him a flask of whiskey and Ruan pressed it against her swollen lips.

After a moment, she coughed.

Domnall burst into a loud mixture of blessings and curses, accompanied by sharp reprimands directed towards both Ruan and his wayward daughter.

She groaned.

“Best get her back to Dunvegan, and quickly,” Ewan murmured, concerned.

“Aye,” Ruan agreed, peering down at the puffy nose and cracked lips framed by a white face. He’d been far too drunk the previous night to remember more than a pair of flashing green eyes and brown curls. Now, those eyes remained closed and the curls caked with mud. He felt a wave of guilt. Domnall was right; he’d frightened the poor lass out of her wits. It was no small wonder she’d bolted.

He slipped his arm under her knees, preparing to lift her to his horse. At his touch, Bree’s eyes flew open. With surprising strength, she lashed out and he lost his balance, dropping her with a curse. She managed to run a few steps before sinking to the ground once more.

Domnall’s voice rang, filled with pride, but with an undercurrent of worry. “Aye, she’s a MacBethad, she is, a strong lass. Come! Ewan, leave the man to his wife. I’ve need of a fire and ale… let’s leave the man to his wife.”

Wife
. Ruan cringed. The word was an uncomfortable one, even to think of. To his horror, Ewan mounted his horse.

“Aye,” the blond lad agreed. “And I’ve words that must be said to the hound-master, never have I seen such poorly trained beasts!”

Ruan opened his mouth to protest, but in a creak of leather and jingling bits, Domnall, Ewan and the others moved up the hill, leaving him alone with Bree. He cleared his throat nervously, unexpectedly at a loss for words.

Minutes passed. She remained where she had fallen, with head buried and half-sunken in the mud.

Beginning to wonder if she still lived, he tentatively prodded her shoulder with a finger. With a gasp, she groveled deeper in the mud, throwing her arms to cover the back of her head.

Ruan blinked, recognizing the gesture for what it was. Countless times, he’d seen his mother cower before his father in the same manner. How could the lass even conceive he’d beat a woman, much less one in her precarious condition? Insulted, he barked, “On your feet! I’ve need of a fire and ale myself!”

Belatedly, he regretted the harsh tone and words. He should not have been surprised that she’d promptly burst into tears and shrink back from him even more, but he was.

Overwhelmed, he exploded into a string of curses entirely directed at the disappearing backs of Domnall and his kin. Why had they abandoned him with this terrified female? He’d probably slay her from sheer fright. Scowling, he reached down to lift her up, but she shrieked and tried to crawl away, flopping helplessly like a fish in the throes of death.

Unnerved, Ruan took a step back.

She was on the verge of hysteria. If the truth be told, he was himself. He shouted, several times, calling for Domnall, or anyone else, for that matter. He was either deliberately ignored, or they had moved too far away to hear his pleas.

Biting back another growl, he came to a decision. It was obvious that words were useless at this point. The sun was falling fast. She could just as easily weep in Dunvegan. He didn’t have to stand in the cold, bitter wind when he could be warm and dry.

Yanking her unceremoniously to her feet, he tossed her lightly over his shoulder. Trying his best to ignore the panic-stricken sobs, he strode to his horse. He had to get her back to Dunvegan and out of the wet clothing before she became ill or died from pure fright.

Gritting his teeth, he heaved her into the saddle.

Women!

Time had undoubtedly proven that he’d never understood them, and this one promised to be the worst of the lot. In less than two days, she’d already caused more than her fair share of trouble.

She began to shake, teeth chattering, as he mounted behind her. Valiantly, she resisted his attempts to wrap her in his plaid. Secretly, he admired her strength of will. After a few moments, she fell weakly against his chest, sniveling and shaking like a leaf and allowed him to cover her warmly.

Filled with pity, he kicked his horse forward. Domnall and the others had all but disappeared in the gathering darkness. He glared, wishing they had waited, but Dunvegan was not far. At the top of the next hill, he paused to force more whiskey between her chattering teeth.

She tried to fight him off, and he grinned. Her strength of will was remarkable. Vainly, he sought words of comfort, but unable to think of any, plied more whiskey between her lips instead. She sputtered and pushed it away gasping for breath, whimpering. Belatedly, he realized he’d almost drowned her. He shoved the flask in his belt, frustrated. Why had Domnall abandoned him with his precious daughter and why had Ewan, of all people, left as well? He’d done so much for the lad. It was a poor way to repay him.

The wind tore over the moors, chilling his bones and sending Bree into another bout of uncontrollable shivering. With a muffled exclamation, he kicked the horse into a gallop. Keeping his gaze focused, he concentrated only on reaching Dunvegan while trying his best to ignore the hysteria of the woman now named ‘wife’. To his immense relief, she quickly fell into a whiskey-induced stupor, and he accomplished the remainder of the short journey in silence.

The evening meal was long over, but most were still drinking by the time he strode into Dunvegan’s hall with Bree thrown over his shoulder like a sack of meal.

Slowly, Tormod stood, eyeing the mud-caked form. “If ye don’t beat her for running, I will,” he grated.

Ruan’s upper lip twitched in the prolonged silence that followed. He was exhausted, cold, and unnerved, possessing little tolerance. He hadn’t missed Tormod’s eyes raking Bree the night before, a leering, openly lustful gaze. No one had. Almost snarling, he replied, “No one… no one touches my wife, and ye least of all!”

The vein on Tormod’s temple began to throb.

“Ach, now,” Domnall said, clearing his throat. He rose from the table, adding, “The lass dinna ken she was to be wed. She’ll nae be causing ye trouble. She’ll settle in.”

“Aye,” Cuilen agreed, though his face expressed doubt.

“Best get her to bed, Ruan lad, afore she catches a chill,” Domnall ordered, moving to join him.

“Aye… bed,” a loud whisper sounded from behind.

Ruffled, Ruan swiveled to search for the offender, but met only serious expressions, albeit with twinkling eyes. Swearing even louder, he stalked through the hall roaring for Isobel as he carried Bree. He stormed up the stairs to his newly assigned chamber. Under his vicious kick, the door crashed open, banging loudly against the wall. In several great strides, he closed the distance to the bed and dropped Bree unceremoniously upon it.

She was appallingly white, her nose swollen and purple. She squinted in confusion, at first, but upon recognizing him, burst into a flurry of flailing limbs. He easily captured her wrists, but gently this time, washed with guilt for the way he’d just tossed her on the bed. He’d behaved heartlessly. Sheepishly, he gave her shoulder an awkward pat.

Abject terror crossed her face.

Ruan opened his mouth, intending to assure her he meant no harm when a scuffle from behind made him whirl. Domnall hovered in the doorway. A shadow of a smile played on the old man’s lips as Ewan peered over his shoulder. What they found so amusing Ruan could not imagine. Masking his discomfiture, he growled, “Well? What are ye staring at?”

“No need to bellow like an ox!” A hint of humor tinged Domnall’s voice as he stepped into the chamber.

Further words were left unsaid as Isobel bustled in, wagging her head back and forth. She placed a plump hand on Bree’s forehead, clucking, “There, lass, caused yerself a fair bit of trouble, haven’t ye now? Ye’ll be feverish. ’Tis hardly surprising.”

“She’s a strong one. She’s a MacBethad, and…” Domnall began.

Annoyed at his repetitious rambling, Ruan gave an exasperated snort and fetched his flask of whiskey. When he was ill, it was always of immense help, if not by giving him strength, then by allowing him to pass the time in a pleasant haze until his body recovered. Ignoring Isobel’s protests, he forced more of the liquid down Bree’s throat.

She sputtered and revived enough to reward him with a pair of flashing green eyes. The intensity of here emotions was captivating. Fascinated, he brought the flask to her lips once more, simply to see if she’d do it again. She sent him a look of pure venom and tore the whiskey from his grasp to fling it with all her strength.

He ducked, but not before it grazed his cheek.

Aye, the lass certainly had spirit.

He chuckled.

“Ye’ve met a match, Ruan lad.” Domnall’s voice held a note of laughter.

Ruan stiffened. He was surprised that he’d forgotten their presence. Hastily, he stepped back, adopting a fresh scowl.

Bree struggled to sit, finally settling for propping herself on her elbows. Facing her father, she accused hoarsely, “You swore you would protect me!” her voice was barely audible, but the desperation in it was heartbreaking to hear.

“I have, lass,” Domnall replied calmly and gave her ankle an affectionate squeeze. “I found ye a strong man, one who will defend ye and fill yer belly with food and bairns. A father canna protect a daughter more.”

Bairns. Ruan jerked as if slapped. Wife. Unnerved, he fished for the whiskey in the rushes, managing to rescue the remainder from spilling. He’d planned to ignore Aislin. He wanted nothing to do with a real woman. Aye, and what real woman would want him? He could give her nothing. Aye, not even love. He was too bitter and jaded for that. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he stalked to the door, only to find his path blocked by several young lads bringing in a wooden tub and buckets of hot water.

“I need ye here!” Isobel shoved him back while shooing Ewan out the door. “Make use of yerself, lad, and see to Merry. She’ll want to know Ruan has returned.”

Ruan prepared to tell them that he’d attend to Merry himself, but an angry outburst from the bed caught his attention.

Bree stood on wobbly legs, less than an arm’s length away.

“Father?” she croaked in outraged disgust. “Afraig never knew which man it was!”

She snatched the whiskey from Ruan’s hand and swallowed a large mouthful.

Domnall’s face split into a wide grin and snorted, “Aye, and there’s all the proof I need, lass. With yer eyes, temper and the way ye be downing that whiskey, I could hardly deny ye!”

Bree snorted, in very much the same manner Domnall just had before falling into a fit of coughing. She began to waver unsteadily.

“She’s going to fall,” Domnall noted mildly, making no move to help.

She would have, if Ruan hadn’t caught her. He sent Domnall a pained look. He did not much care for the soft feel of a woman’s body pressed against his. He didn’t need some green-eyed lass, especially Domnall’s daughter, waking feelings better left dormant. He grimaced, annoyed to be reminding himself, yet again, that he was through with women.

All at once, he noticed he was still holding her, apparently at the same moment understanding dawned in her face.