It might be best if she did.
Oh goodness. Kissing Duncan seemed the strangest thing to do. He’d taught her how to swim, even crafted her first bow from a long length of yew he’d whittled away at as a lad, then afterward he’d shown her how to shoot an arrow toward a target. Whenever she’d moaned about needing something sweet to eat, he’d been the one to sneak a treat from the kitchens, well him and Fiona both. When learning to ride, Duncan had been the one to spend hour upon hour teaching her how to sit in the saddle, to care for her horse and all other things. His devotion was absolute.
She took one long breath in then slowly let it out. She could do this. She closed her eyes and when she did, a sweet image of Ronan wavered to full brilliance in her mind. Ronan’s pale blond hair brushed his shoulders, his scruffy beard the same pale shade and those bewitching eyes of his heating to such a stunning shade of liquid gold. Ronan had such a heavily muscled body, much like Duncan did, that of a warrior born and bred. Aye, Duncan was Ronan. That she needed to believe, to consider naught else if she wished to get through this kiss.
“Ready, Kyla?”
“Aye.” A soft sweep of his lips over hers, his mouth there one moment then gone the next. She peeked one eye open. “Was that it?”
“For now.” A devilish glint lit his eyes. “That wasnae so bad, was it?”
“’Twas terrible for a first kiss, but glad I am ’tis over.”
“Aye, glad I am too.” He pulled her in for a long hug and she hugged him back, the familiarity of his hold soothing her. “Be good while I’m gone.”
“I’ll try, and travel safely. I shall see you upon your return.”
“That you will, by the week’s end and no more.” He tweaked her nose, jogged down the side stairs toward the lad who held his destrier’s reins in the inner bailey and mounted. With a wave, he rode out under the arch, a half dozen of his armed men falling in behind him. Ardan House, his own stronghold farther along the loch, sat close which meant Duncan was never far away.
She rubbed her chilled arms. Well, ’twas done. Betrothed now, and a traitor too, to her own mate no less. With a long sigh, she opened her skill and reached out along the pathway which would take her to Ronan, although as usual naught but a dark void remained in place where he should have been. Surely he’d survived the whipping inflicted by those awful guards. She certainly wouldn’t consider anything else. He lived, would continue to live, provided he stayed far away from her.
Downstairs, she tramped and across the courtyard toward the front door of the keep.
The hearty chattering of her kin reverberated toward her as she stepped into the great hall where a good hundred warriors remained seated around the trestle tables as they ate their morning meal. Serving lasses weaved around the men with trays of steaming bowls of oats and jugs of warm cider in hand. Overhead, massive wooden-beamed rafters rose to an imposing height with the dawn’s sunshine peppering in through the tall windows and sprinkling golden rays across the wooden floorboards. She walked past the blazing fireplace where two dogs sat guzzling scraps then stepped up onto the dais.
“It appears you’ve been out on the cliffs again. Your gown is damp and your nose all red.” Gordon rose from where he was seated and pulled out a chair for her. Duncan’s captain had spent a great deal of time guarding Ronan in the dungeons, had come to know their prisoner well.
“I wished to see the sun rise and the storm clouds finally scatter.” She sat in the high-backed chair and he tucked it in. “I spoke to Duncan afore he rode out and we, ah—” How did she put this? Best she just speak the words and be done with it. “We’ve agreed to a betrothal.”
“Then you have my most hearty congratulations. Duncan will be good for you, lass.” He returned to his seat, plunked down in his chainmail and black boots. From the platters in the center of the table, he selected some of the choicest cuts of meat and added them to his trencher then offered her the platter holding fresh fish.