Chapter 2
The morning wascold but clear, the kind of weather that made the mountains to the east of the castle stand out in sharp relief against the cobalt blue sky. It was Meredith’s favorite kind of morning, the kind that carried the promise of frost but also of adventure –– a new start waiting somewhere beyond that far-off horizon.
Neither the morning nor the weather appeared to please the Laird. Indeed, Meredith was starting to wonder if anything ever did. So far he’d simply grunted in response to her cheerful “Good morning!”, and although he’d recovered his manners enough to bid farewell to her family as they assembled at the castle gate to see her on her way, and had even had sensibility enough to avert his eye as she sobbed in her mother’s arms, he had yet to utter another word as they turned their horses north, and started towards Castle Millar.
A man of few words,thought Meredith, enjoying the feeling of the autumn breeze in her hair. Well, no matter; she had words enough for both of them, and she would not allow Ryder’s black mood –– which seemed to be the only mood he had –– to ruin her excitement as she embarked upon this, the longest journey she had ever taken.
“It’s a fine morning for a ride,” she called, raising her voice so he could hear her from his position a few feet in front of her. “Such beautiful weather, daenae ye think?”
Nothing. His back stiffened slightly, telling her that he had, at least, heard her, but there was no response to her question. Determined not to be beaten, she sat a little straighter in her saddle and tried again.
“Daenae ye just love this crisp, clear weather?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly in spite of herself. “It’s me favorite kind! Winter is too cold, and summer brings the midges, of course, but this! This is just perfect, isnae it?”
Still nothing. Meredith clicked her tongue in irritation. Was he really going to refuse to even converse with her all the way to his castle? That would not just be rude; it would be intolerable. This was not, after all, merely a pleasure excursion, after which she would return home to her family. Sighing deeply, she raised her face to the sky, feeling the weak sunlight on her skin and smiling at the sensation, allowing herself to forget, for a moment at least, the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them.
* * *
Ryder spent half of his life on horseback; in fact, it sometimes seemed to him that riding came more naturally to him than walking. Today, though, he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, every nerve in his body reminding him of the woman riding behind him. The woman who seemed sure she would one day be his wife. His jaw clenched in irritation. Ryder had never feared anyone in his life –– with the notable exception of his father, of course. That, however, had been when he was but a lad; as soon as he was old enough, he had put paid to the old man’s abuse, and, since then, he had feared nothing and no one. They, however, had feared him, which made Meredith Quinn all the more of an enigma.
Meredith did not fear him. That much was clear from the easy way in which she chattered on and from the way she looked him in the eye, refusing to drop her gaze, even when he simply deepened his frown in return. He could not understand her. By rights, she should be afraid of him –– perhaps more than anyone, given the power a husband could wield over a wife. Yet, she did not.
He, however, was both surprised and confused to find himself very much afraid of her, not in a physical sense, of course –– there was no woman alive who could beat Ryder Higgins in a battle of strength –– but rather in the effect she had on him. He didn’t like it. Or rather, he did like it –– too much, in fact. Which was why, when the lass had the temerity to draw her horse level with his, turning those damned green eyes, fringed with their jet-black lashes, upon him, Ryder simply stared resolutely ahead, refusing to return her gaze.
“What a long way we seem to have come already,” she said, not appearing to notice his silence.
Ryder grunted in response. He was being childish, he knew, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of drawing a single word out of him.
“Is it far? To Castle Millar, I mean? Oh, I wish ye would tell me something about it! Is it large? Comfortable? Are there mountains, or is it near the sea? I’ve never been to the sea, and I would so like to! Have ye ever been sailing?”
Despite himself, Ryder turned his head to glance in her direction, astonished at this barrage of questions.
“Aye,” he said, at last, choosing to answer the first and the easiest. “It’s a day’s ride at least. Ye’d do well to save some of yer energy for the journey.”
Be silentwas what he meant by that. Stop talking, and let me think about something other than the sound of your voice and the way you look at me when you’re waiting for an answer.
But Meredith, unable to read his mind –– and, he suspected, probably unwilling to comply, even if she could –– continued talking, apparently untroubled by his monosyllabic answers and curt nods of the head. The lady would apparently do exactly as she pleased, it seemed. Ryder was not at all sure quite what to make of that.
As they crunched on through the trees, their horses’ hooves muffled by the deep layer of autumn leaves underfoot, Ryder suddenly became aware of a lull in the one-sided conversation. Meredith’s horse had fallen back in line with his some minutes earlier, and, as he turned in the saddle, curious to know the reason for her sudden silence, he saw that it had stopped altogether –– and not only that, but Meredith appeared to be entirely absent from the saddle.
Cursing softly under his breath, he pulled his own steed to halt, seeing as he did so that she had dismounted and was crouched by the side of the road, deep in conversation with a child so small that Ryder hadn’t even noticed him standing there as he’d ridden by. Ryder glanced warily around, instinctively distrusting the situation.
He had not brought any guards with him on his journey to collect his betrothed, not thinking it necessary –– he knew these lands well enough. And those who inhabited them knew him well enough, if only by reputation, to know to stay well away from him, and cause no trouble, for it would not end well for them.
“How d’ye do, sweetheart?” Meredith was saying, kneeling down in the fallen leaves so she was at eye level with the boy. “What brings ye to be out here on yer own? Is there nobody with ye?”
“Nay, miss.” The child shook his head shyly. Meredith glanced around, looking for some clue where he had come from. “I’m lost.”
“Lost? Well, that willnae do,” she exclaimed, reaching out to take him by the hand. “D’ye know where ye live? Daenae ye worry, we’ll make sure ye get home safely, willnae we, Ryder? Ryder?”
Ignoring Meredith’s words, Ryder gazed into the depths of the forest behind her. He was starting to wonder if his confidence in traveling like this, without guards, had been misplaced. Something was amiss here. He could feel it. And, whatever it was, he needed to get Meredith as far away from it as possible.
“Meredith!” he barked out, his harsh voice causing the birds to fly suddenly from the trees above his head, their flapping wings momentarily the only sound. “Meredith, get back on yer horse; ye cannae be stoppin’ to talk to everyone ye see!”
“Och, it’s just a wee lad,” she replied, turning wide, tear-filled eyes upon him. The child –– presumably lost, although Ryder personally had his doubts about that –– had clearly touched her soft heart with his plight. This was going to be harder to manage than he had thought.
Ryder had just swung one leg over the horse’s head, preparing to dismount, when he saw them. Two men had appeared from the forest behind where Meredith stood, their eyes so intent upon her that they seemed not to have noticed her companion, a mistake they would surely regret, he thought grimly, as he slid silently from the saddle. This was the oldest trick in the book. The bait and switch, whereby a crying child persuaded a kind –– typically female –– passerby to stop and help, only to be set upon by the men, whose swords he could see glinting in the shade of the trees.
Ryder was fast, but the men were faster, and, before he knew quite what had happened, one of them had grabbed Meredith around the waist, one hand holding her hard against his body as his other snaked up beneath her skirt.
"Hush, woman," he growled, as she screamed in fright, her eyes wide with terror. "Ye better shut up, or I'll make ye!”
Meredith fell silent, her breath coming in loud gasps.
“Aye,” the man called to his companion, who was still keeping watch at the edge of the tree line. “She'll make a fine wench, so she will. Nice and plump, just the way we like ‘em!”
They were to be the last words he ever spoke. Barely had they left his mouth than Ryder was upon him, a roar of fury escaping his throat. This was not as he had planned. As soon as he had realized what was happening, the level-headed part of him that usually dominated had formed the intention to creep quietly up behind the pair and kill them before they even knew what had happened. But the anger that tore through him when he saw their eyes upon Meredith was so pure and so strong that it surprised even him. They would not take her from him; he would make sure of that.
The fight that ensued was short but brutal. Ryder spared the miscreants no mercy as he slashed furiously at their bodies, allowing rage to dictate his actions, as he swung the sword again and again. The first man was dead within seconds, his mouth frozen in a round ‘O’ of horror. The second fought on for a few minutes longer, but it was clear that he was more used to taking on unsuspecting women than men such as Ryder Higgins, and, before too many seconds had passed, he too lay amongst the now bloodstained leaves.
The child, however, was still out there. Glancing swiftly around him and catching a glimpse of one pale limb disappearing into the darkness of the forest, Ryder raised his sword to give chase, only to be brought up short by Meredith, her voice shaking as she grabbed him by the sleeve, clinging on his arm.
“Nay, Ryder, please,” she pleaded. “He’s just a bairn. It’s nae his fault. Let me help him, please!”
She made to turn and run after the boy, but Ryder gave a roar of fury and, before she could even try to stop him, had turned and scooped her up, carrying her firmly back to the horses, which had, mercifully, waited obediently where he’d left them. He would let her have her wish regarding the child. He would not harm him. But he’d be damned if he was actually going to allow her to help the wee shite who had almost lured her to her death. If he hadn’t been there...
Not wanting to continue the thought, Ryder threw Meredith back into her saddle, trying his best to ignore the way her soft body felt as he held it against his.
“Ye’ll sit there, and ye’ll do as I say,” he told her. Then, noticing the glint in her eye as she turned around to look in the direction the boy had fled, he turned and strode quickly over to his own horse, returning with a length of rope, which he coiled tightly around her wrists, ignoring her yelp of protest as he got back onto his horse, one end of the rope wrapped firmly around his hand.
“Just to be sure,” he said, urging the horse forward. “If I cannae trust ye nae to leave that saddle, or talk to any strange bairn ye happen upon, then this is the way it’ll have to be.”
He spoke angrily, his heart still hammering wildly from the fury that had filled his body when he’d seen the two men creeping up on her. He had not intended to care about her, but he did not seem to have a choice in the matter, and his scowl deepened as he looked back to see a small smile playing around the corners of her pink lips.
“What are ye laughing at?” he demanded, over his shoulder. He did not particularly want to engage her in conversation, but the woman was infuriating. To have taken such a foolhardy risk was one thing, but to be actually amused by his anger… Ryder had never known anything like it.
“Well?” he said, turning again in the saddle. “I’m waiting?”
“I’m sorry,” Meredith gasped, a small laugh escaping her lips. “I know it’s nae funny. It’s just, ye look so amusing when yer angry, I can’t help myself. Do ye ever laugh at things you’re nae supposed to? Because I do, all the time. In fact…”
She launched into a story about how her brother, Felix, had once fallen from a tree and knocked himself unconscious. Rather than wailing in horror, like her sister Melissa had when they’d finally been ushered in to his chamber to see him, Meredith had found herself unable to stifle her laughter at the sight of his shocked face upon the pillow.
“It’s nae that I didnae care, or thought it was funny,” she finished, thoughtfully. “I was as scared as Melissa was, in truth; I just seem to react to it differently. Do ye ken what I mean?”
Ryder stared resolutely ahead, refusing to answer her. He couldn’t believe the temerity of the lass. She was going to be a handful, to be sure, and it was better that he nipped her behavior in the bud right now before they went even one step further.
“Ye need to be careful,” he said, pulling his horse to a stop and turning to face her. “Yer behavior has consequences. Consequences ye willnae like.”
His single eye glinted dangerously, but she simply smiled back at him, as if challenging him in some way –– to what, he did not know.
“Back there ––” he nodded in the direction they had come. “Ye could’ve been killed. Ye could’ve got us both killed, for that matter.”
Meredith nodded solemnly.
“I know,” she said, her eyes downcast. “And I will nae do it again, I promise.”
Ryder clicked to his horse to walk on, placated. That had been easier than he’d thought.
“I daenae think ye’re quite right about possibly getting us both killed, though,” her voice said from behind him. “Me, maybe. But ye? The great warrior, Ryder Higgins, famed throughout Scotland? Oh nay, I daenae think anyone would dare try to kill ye.”
Her tone was arch. She was toying with him, Ryder realized in astonishment. Making fun of him, even. She had just watched him kill two men, without even pausing for thought, and yet here she was, playfully sparring with him. He frowned, hardly able to believe the sauce of the lass.
“Quiet,” he said curtly, not wanting her to know how discomfited he felt. “Ye need to learn to be quiet.”
But Meredith simply shrugged, her black curls tumbling over her shoulders and lifting slightly in the breeze as she urged her horse level with his once more.
“Is that right?” she asked calmly, looking him in the eye. “Well, I’m sorry to say it, sir, but if ye wanted a quiet bride, ye’ve picked the wrong woman.”
Ryder looked at her incredulously, resisting the sudden impulse to return her smile. He had a feeling she was right –– and that perhaps he did not want a quiet wife after all.