The Wrong Bride Read Free Page B

father.
    â€œNow fetch the food I left inside the coach,” he said. “Unless ye mean to starve.”
    Her green eyes narrowed mutinously, and he almost hoped she’d defy him, so their sparring could continue. Then she lifted her chin and turned to climb inside the coach.
    Hugh met Samuel’s gaze and found himself nodding with satisfaction. Samuel’s smile was tinged with worry, and he shook his head. Hugh thought his bodyguard’s concerns unfounded. They’d come to York and done what they’d had to. But he could admit to himself that he, too, had been worried about the kind of wife he’d be saddled with. True, she might still be a shrew, but he hoped he could settle her eventually.
    She appeared in the doorway of the coach, the cloth sack in one hand. He reached to assist her down, but she thrust the sack into his hands and descended on her own.
    Not meeting his eyes, she said stiffly, “I need a moment of privacy.”
    He crossed his arms over his chest and spoke firmly. “If ye try to run, I will be forced to bring ye to ground. There’s no one here who can help ye.”
    â€œI’m not blind. But the countryside will not always be so desolate.”
    â€œYe’ve not been to the Highlands lately, have ye?”
    â€œWe’re not there yet,” she returned heatedly. “I assume you’re both gentlemen. Please remain here while I’m behind the coach.”
    â€œMy patience is not endless. If ye don’t reappear in a suitable time—”
    Exasperated, she said, “Then I will call out and tell you my plans moment by moment. Does that suit you?”
    She didn’t wait for an answer, just huffed, walked around the large wheels of the coach, and disappeared behind.
    W HEN she’d finished, Riona lingered for just a moment by the half wall of rock that seemed piled almost haphazardly, yet was overgrown with moss and weeds as if it had weathered centuries. She gazed with despair across the pastoral scene andprayed there would be a shepherd she could wave to for help.
    But what would a poor shepherd do against two large Highlanders, one of whom called himself chief of the McCallums? How could she bring innocent lives into her dilemma, perhaps getting them killed? She didn’t even know if he’d told her the truth. Except . . . she recognized the clan name he’d used, enemies of the Duffs, her father’s clan. They shared a contentious border. But that didn’t mean this man was telling the truth. He could have kidnapped her for her dowry, as if the Dark Ages were still upon them. He might be lying about everything, and she’d end up in a hovel doing his bidding.
    She might end up that way even if he were the chief, she thought with a shudder. She’d heard stories of the wretched Highlands from her father, who’d fled to England in his youth. How often he’d said he was lucky to be the son of an earl, with the ability and opportunity to escape his native country. He’d never understood the clansmen who’d worshipped his father, and now his brother, as if they were gods. Highlanders were a savage lot, according to him, and he’d told her stories of senseless raids back and forth on rival clan’s cattle, of feuds so bloody that entire clans were demolished.
    She’d never felt so helpless. She’d thought she’d had little control in her life up until now, told toremain closeted with her sister most of the time, left behind when the rest of her family had gone to the Continent. But now, she couldn’t even have a moment of privacy without her captor’s permission.
    She hugged herself and rubbed her arms, though the sun was warm in the vale. It wouldn’t stay warm for long. In the Highlands it was rainy and cold more often than not. Bleak and forbidding, that’s what her father had called it. Full of savages who had to plow through rock to survive. She took a deep