Seducing a Scottish Bride (6 page)

“Well?” he boomed, proving it.

“Man or mist, ’tis a wise soul who recognizes the time to depart.” Ronan watched the last finger of mist slip over the window
ledge. “I, too, have news —”

“Naught so joyous as mine.” His grandfather swelled his chest, then turned a bushy-browed look on the large-eyed serving lass
hovering at his elbow. “If Anice will stir herself to pour our wine, we’ll drink to your good fortune.”

Ronan frowned.

The girl stood with her gaze on the windows, her hands shaking so badly, blood-red wine sloshed over the rim of the wine jug,
staining her skirts.

Daughter of one of the cattle herders, she’d swoon of fright if she weren’t soon returned to her parents’ cot-house. It was
a humble dwelling of turf, stones, and thatch on the outermost edges of MacRuari lands and far away enough to be spared the
worst of Castle Dare’s shadows.

Taking the ewer from her, Ronan dismissed her with a nod. The instant she scurried from the room, he poured two measures of
the potent wine and handed a cup to his grandfather. “Joyous will be that slip of a lassie when you tell her we no longer
need her services.” His gaze steady on his grandfather, he took a sip of wine. “Even more joyous will be calling her back
when I return. If everything goes to plan.”

“When you return?” Valdar’s brows flew upward. “My eternal soul, laddie, you canna be leaving. Not with your new bride set
to arrive on the morrow.”

Ronan almost choked on his wine. “My new
what
?”

“Your new bride!” Valdar thundered, narrowing his most piercing stare on Ronan. “The maid you should’ve been wed to all along.
I’ve fetched her for you.”

“Then you shall have to unfetch her.”

“I think not.” Valdar’s stare went stubborn. “You need her.”

Ronan scowled at him. “I needed Matilda. She is the one who should be at my side, still. Cecilia met sorrow and doom as my
second wife. I’ll no’ have another.”

His grandfather snorted. Adjusting his sword’s wide, finely tooled shoulder-belt, he took a deep breath, clearly readying
for a sparring match. “You’d barely grown a beard when you wed Matilda. She was comely, aye. A right fetching lassie. But
she lacked the steel and wit for life at Dare. Your passion for her would’ve dimmed had she lived more than a few days beyond
your wedding.”

A muscle twitched in Ronan’s jaw. “She should have lived and would have, had she not wed me. Cecilia —”

“Cecilia was a frail wee sparrow.” Valdar thrust out his chin, daring him to deny it. “There be some who say she is better
off at peace than suffering the fevers that gripped her each winter.”

Ronan’s scowl deepened. “She died in childbed, no’ of a fever.”

“As do many women in these Highlands every day, God rest their sainted souls.”

“Cecilia was one too many.”

Going to the fire, Ronan tossed two rich black peat bricks onto the flames. Thinking,
speaking
about his two late wives cut off his breath and squeezed his innards as if a giant hand had suddenly reached up from hell
to clamp a great white-hot fist around him.

“Showing me your back won’t change a thing.” His grandfather’s voice rose with all his lung power. “You, Castle Dare, and
all within these walls need you wedded to a suitable bride. Only then will the darkness ebb.”

“Say you?” Ronan turned around, his temples throbbing so fiercely he wondered his head didn’t split in twain. “I say — again
— I’ll no’ take a third wife.” Ignoring Valdar’s spluttering, he crossed the room and threw back the lid to his strongbox.
“I’ve thought of my own way to rid Dare of its maladies.”

“Bah!” Valdar frowned at the travel gear in the opened coffer. “By hieing yourself off on some fool journey?”

“Nae, good sir, you err.” His own scowl equally daunting, Ronan lifted a folded cloak from the coffer and placed it on the
bed. “ ’Tis no fool’s journey, but a purposeful one. Since my father’s passing, Maldred the Dire’s curse has centered on me.
I mean to —”

A sound very like thunder rumbled in Valdar’s chest. “Maldred ne’er cursed Dare. He —”

Ronan snorted. “The man was an archdruid and a sorcerer. His wickedness and dark deeds have marked and overshadowed every
MacRuari since his day. It scarce matters if he spoke the curse or nae, the result is the same.”

“Which is why you must wed a fiery, handsome lass with enough spirit and vigor to banish Maldred’s influence.” His grandfather
snatched the cloak off the bed and tossed it back into the strongbox. “Such a bride will bring light back to Dare, lessening
Maldred’s hold. If you come to love her, the shadows will fade. I am certain of it. Even the blackest powers can be conquered
by love.”

“Spare me such nonsense.” Ronan retrieved his travel cloak and returned it to the bed. “I
have
loved. I loved Matilda passionately, as well you know. And dinna tell me there hasn’t been love at Dare since Maldred’s day.”
He flashed a look at Valdar. “I may be cursed, but I’m no dimwit.”

“To be sure there’s been love.” His grandfather bristled. “I cared deeply for your grandmother, and your father loved your
mother. But not enough to challenge Dare’s darkness. Arranged marriages rarely bring the kind of passion that sets the heather
ablaze.”

“Yet you believe a third such union for me will burn so hotly?” Ronan took an extra sword belt from his strongbox and began
rolling it into a tight coil. “Do you not hear the contradiction in your own words?”

Valdar’s eyes lit with a conspiratorial glint. “My informants claim your new bride’s fire would scorch the sun.”

“I do not have a new bride. Nor will I accept one.” Ronan set a wineskin on the bedcovers, next to his coiled belt. “Further,
rumor has it that where I am going, there are women keen enough to rock the hills should I feel such a need.”

His grandfather considered him. “And where might that be?”

“Santiago de Compostela. Once I’ve knelt at the shrine of Saint James and collected my scallop-shell badge, I am certain Maldred
will plague us no more. Even he would recognize the power of such a token.” The truth of it flashed down Ronan’s spine. “Tangible
proof I made the journey and prayed for our family’s redemption. No shrine badge is holier than Saint James’s scallop. The
dark forces here will recoil —”

“Och, is that so?” Valdar wriggled his eyebrows. “I say you’re blethering nonsense. ’Tis the MacKenzie lass’s fire you need.
Naught else!”

Ronan flipped back his plaid and folded his arms. “Should I wish a desirable woman’s
heat
, the return journey through Spain and France will provide ample opportunity.”

“Begad!” Valdar wagged a finger. “You needn’t travel clear across the world to rid us o’ Maldred. I’m a-telling you, your
new bride shines so bright, her mere presence will send his darkness packing. I know it here.” He paused, pounding a fist
against his heart. “Gelis MacKenzie —”

“
MacKenzie
?” Ronan stared at him, his own heart stopping. “Are you mad? The Black Stag has left us in peace all these years. He’d not
leave one stone or blade of grass unblackened if you even thought to bring a MacKenzie woman to Dare.”

“Not just any MacKenzie woman. Your new bride is the Black Stag’s own daughter.”

Pressing fingers to his temples, Ronan shook his head. “You ken, I’d gladly cross swords with Duncan MacKenzie. Any man. But
the Black Stag can raise an army a hundredfold greater than ours. Inciting his wrath would mean Dare’s end. I’ll not —” he
broke off, only now grasping his grandfather’s words.

Staring at him now, at his self-satisfied grin, he was certain his aching head would explode. “
The Black Stag’s daughter?
”

Valdar nodded. “None other, aye. Lady Gelis is his youngest.”

Ronan felt the walls close in on him, the floor whip and buckle beneath his feet. “You
are
mad. I’ve ne’er heard a more fool scheme. Or a more trouble-fraught one.”

“No trouble at all.” Valdar made a dismissive gesture. “Duncan MacKenzie agreed to the match the very day my courier went
to him.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Ronan spoke the words through tight lips.

“Only because there are things, circumstances, you’re unaware of.” His grandfather lifted a hand, pretending to study his
knuckles. “The Black Stag owes me a long-standing debt. His youngest daughter shall repay it.”

“By marrying me?”

Valdar looked up sharply, his expression triumphant. “So you will have her?”

“I will not.” Ronan folded his arms. The Black Stag’s daughter was the last female he’d even lay a finger on. “Never in a
thousand years.”

The triumph faded from Valdar’s eyes. “You’ll shame our house if you refuse.”

“The shame will be yours, no one else’s.”

“I
am
Dare. As you will be when my chieftainship passes to you.”

Ronan sighed. The thought of his fierce and proud grandsire losing face pricked him more than any of the old man’s blustering
arguments. Crossing to the table, he poured himself more wine, this time tossing down the cup’s contents in one quick swig.

Turning back to his grandfather, he quelled the urge to grab his travel gear and be gone. Duty and his genuine love for Valdar
held him in place.

Not that he intended to wed Duncan MacKenzie’s daughter.

He did, however, wish to decline as tactfully as possible.

Frowning, he reached to set down the wine cup when, for one startling moment, the image of a striking, well-made young woman
flashed across his mind. High-colored, with a wild tumble of curling, red-gold hair spilling around her shoulders and great,
sparkling eyes, she stared right at him from a narrow, shingled strand. Comely despite her disarray, or perhaps even more
so because of it, she stood with one hand pressed to her breast as the tide swirled around her ankles, dampening her skirts
and molding them to her legs.

Shapely legs
, he noted, before his angle of the unexpected image changed and he saw her from a great distance, almost as if he were looking
down on her from the clouds.

Ronan blinked and the startling image was gone.

Shaken, he cleared his throat. “I think you’d best tell me what kind of long-standing debt the Black Stag owes you,” he said,
forcing his attention back to his grandfather before he noticed anything amiss. “Why would Duncan MacKenzie entrust his daughter’s
life to a MacRuari?”

“Because,” Valdar returned, looking triumphant again, “he has me to thank for his own.”

“You?” Ronan’s jaw slipped.

“Aye, that’s the way of it.” Valdar tugged on his beard, his eyes going wistful until he caught himself and brushed a tad
too energetically at his plaid. “You willna ken, but your father and the Black Stag were braw friends as laddies. Back then,
I almost believed in Maldred’s most curious legacy, the immortality said to haunt some members of our clan.” He stopped fussing
at his plaid and looked at Ronan, the over-brightness of his eyes the only sign the story agitated him. “I even thought I
might be such a one. Blessed or cursed, it didn’t matter. I saw myself as invincible.”

“Go on.” Ronan leaned a hip against the table edge, folded his arms.

“Young Duncan was a frequent visitor at Dare. His father was a wise man and felt the lad should know all of Kintail, even
its darkest corners. That the lad bravely set foot in Glen Dare endeared him to us all and your da and the Black Stag were
soon inseparable, almost like brothers.”

Ronan couldn’t believe it. “My father and Duncan MacKenzie?”

His grandfather nodded. “So I said and so it was. At the time, I kept a galley at Eilean Creag. A gift of the MacDonalds,
it was one of the finest galleys in all the Hebrides. So fine, your father and young Duncan pestered me always to take them
a-journeying in it.” He blinked, swiped a hand across his whiskery cheek. “ ’Twas a glorious summer day when we set sail.
All blue skies and strong winds, nary a cloud on the horizon. Until we neared the Isle of Scarba, near Jura —”

“Jura?” Ronan’s brows arched. “You sailed that far south?”

“I told you, the lads wanted to go journeying.” His grandfather looked peeved suddenly, older than his years. “I was taking
them to Doon, to visit the MacLeans.”

“But you never made it, did you?” A strange prickling started at the back of Ronan’s neck, warning him. “Something happened
and you saved the Black Stag’s life.”

His grandfather moved to the windows and stood staring out at the mist and rain, his hands clasped tightly behind him. “A
storm blacker than I’d e’er seen blew in off the sea, turning day to night faster than you can blink. Huge, standing waves
carried us off course, hurtling us way too close to the great Corryvreckan whirlpool.”

He turned then, his eyes haunted. “The galley didna founder, but in the wild tossing, young Duncan was swept over the side.
Close as we were to the Corryvreckan, he would’ve been sucked down into the sea had I not sailed to the edge of the whirlpool
and plucked him from the water.”

Ronan stared at him, finally understanding his grandfather’s hold over Duncan MacKenzie. “Now I see. The Black Stag is indeed
indebted to you. For your bravery and valor when other men might have —”

“That had naught to do with it.” Valdar brushed at his plaid again, looking embarrassed. “I was a young fool, trusting in
the dark luck of Maldred’s legacy and certain no ill would touch me.”

“Yet now, in claiming the debt, you’d risk ill befalling an innocent maiden?” Ronan regretted the words as soon as they left
his tongue. He lifted a hand, took a step forward. “Grandfather, forgive me. I know you mean well —”

“Nae, I know well.” His eyes blazing, Valdar came forward, grasping Ronan’s hands with his own. “I am no longer young and
foolish. I’m well aware of Maldred’s shadows. The dangers. You must believe, I would ne’er have offered for Gelis MacKenzie
did I not believe she’d be safe here.”

Ronan pulled free and began pacing. “I’ll still not have her. ’Tis impossible.”

Valdar hurried after him, grabbing his arm. “You must. She is your salvation. She’s Dare’s salvation, as you are hers.”