Never Love a Highlander (McCabe Trilogy 3)
Her jaw tight, she walked back to her father and stopped a short distance away. “Yes, father?”
“I want to have a word with you. We cannot allow Caelen McCabe to take over the McDonald clan.”
“We have little choice in the matter,” she said carefully. “ ’Tis either ally ourselves with the McCabes or face Duncan Cameron on our own.”
“Nay, ’tis not our only choice.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Think you that you’re a little late to be saying such? You couldn’t have come to me with this solution before I married Caelen McCabe?”
“Silence that mouth of yours before I do,” her father roared. “I am still your laird and, by God, I’ll not tolerate your insolence.”
Rionna stared defiantly at the man she’d lost all respect for over the years. He was a pathetic excuse for a man, even if he was her laird—and her father. She couldn’t help the circumstances of her birth. Would that she could.
“Tell me, father. What is this plan you’ve hatched to save us all from the McCabes and Duncan Cameron?”
He smiled then and Rionna shivered. “If you can’t beat a man, you should consider joining with him. I’ve a mind to strike a bargain with Cameron. He allows me to remain laird of my clan and I’ll aid him in his endeavors.”
Rionna paled, all the blood draining from her face. “You speak of treason!”
“Quiet!” her father hissed. “Lest we be overheard.”
“You’re a fool,” she bit out. “I’m married already. There is naught to be done. Duncan Cameron is a man without honor. You can’t seriously think to ally ourselves with one of his ilk.”
He slapped her across her cheek, shocking her into silence. She stumbled back, her hand cupping her jaw.
Then she regained her footing, her rage so fierce that she feared exploding.
She drew her sword and flew toward him, the tip notched against his neck. His eyes bulged and sweat beaded his forehead as he stared back at her.
“You’ll not ever touch me again,” she ground out. “If you ever raise your hand to me, I’ll carve out your heart and feed it to the buzzards.”
Her father raised his hands slowly, his fingers shaking like leaves in autumn. “Don’t be rash, Rionna. Think what you’re saying.”
“I speak the truth,” she said in a harsh voice she didn’t recognize. “You’ll not lead our clan to dishonor. Nor will you drag me into the mire you’ve created. We’ll not ally ourselves with Cameron. We’ll not betray our bond with the McCabes.”
She took a step back and lowered her sword.
“Get out of my sight. You sicken me.”
Her father’s lip curled into a grimace of distaste. “You were always a sore disappointment, Rionna. You play at being a man and yet you’re neither a man nor a woman.”
“Go to hell,” she whispered.
He turned and stalked away, leaving her standing, shivering in the cold.
Slowly she turned back toward the loch and walked closer to the water’s edge. Today the water was dark and ominous. The wind whipped along the surface, boiling the water into waves that beat at the shoreline.
Her face throbbed. Her father had never struck her. She had always feared him but for another reason entirely. In truth she’d avoided him when at all possible, and until she became a valuable pawn, her father had ignored her as well.
She stared sightlessly over the water, and for the first time since this whole mess began, felt a wave of despair slide over her shoulders, weighing her down.
What did she know about being a wife?
She glanced down at her attire as shame tightened her cheeks and swelled in her chest. Caelen McCabe had managed to do what no other person had ever managed. He’d made her ashamed of who she was, and it infuriated her.
She rubbed her hands together and then tucked them under the hem of her tunic. She hadn’t donned gloves—an oversight. She’d been in too big a hurry to leave the keep and the walls closing in around her.
But even the brisk wind and the biting chill couldn’t drive her back toward the warmth of indoors. Back to her future with a man as cold as the mist blowing off the loch.
“Rionna, you shouldn’t be out in the cold.”
She stiffened but didn’t turn around as her husband’s terse reprimand reached her.
“You’ll take ill.”
He came to stand beside her and stared over the loch in the direction of her gaze.
“Have you come to make your apology?” she asked as she glanced sideways at him.
He jerked in surprise and turned to stare at her, eyebrow raised. “Apologize for what?”
“If you have to ask, ’tis not a sincere apology you’ll issue.”
He snorted. “I’ll not apologize for kissing you.”
She flushed. “It wasn’t the kissing I was referring to, but you had no right to do something so intimate in front of others.”
“You’re my wife. I’ll do as I like,” he said lazily.
“You humiliated me,” she said in a tight voice. “Not once but twice this morn.”
“You humiliated yourself, Rionna. You have no discipline. No restraint.”
She whirled on him, her fist balled. Oh, she’d love to hit him. But she’d only bounce off and probably break her hand in the process.
She opened her mouth to let him have it, when his expression stopped her.
It was positively murderous.
His eyes went flat, and his jaw twitched.
His roar nearly flattened her. “Who struck you?”