orry,” he muttered.

“ ’Tis all right,” she said with a small smile.

“I’ve come for Rionna.” He frowned when he realized she wasn’t present.

Keeley nodded toward the far corner. “She’s there.”

Caelen turned and, to his surprise, saw her propped in a chair against the wall, sound asleep, her mouth open and her head tilted back. Then as he took a closer look around the room, he saw the tankard of ale and the empty goblets.

With a suspicious frown, he peered into the tankard only to find it empty. He glanced back at Keeley, whose eyes looked precariously close to rolling back in her head, and then back to Rionna, who hadn’t stirred a wit. He remembered all the ale she’d consumed at the table below stairs and how little she’d eaten.

“You’re soused!”

“Maybe,” Keeley mumbled. “All right, probably.”

Caelen shook his head. Foolheaded females.

He started toward Rionna when Keeley’s soft entreaty stopped him.

“Be gentle with her, Caelen. She’s afraid.”

He stopped, stared down at the passed out woman in the chair, and then slowly turned to look back at Keeley. “Is that what this is about? She got herself soused because she’s afraid of me?”

Keeley’s brow wrinkled. “Not of you particularly. Well, I suppose that could be part of it. But, Caelen, she’s frightfully … ignorant of …”

She broke off and blushed to the roots of her hair.

“I understand your meaning,” Caelen said gruffly. “No offense, Keeley, but ’tis a matter between me and my wife. I’ll be taking her now. You should be resting, not consuming ridiculous amounts of ale.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re too rigid?” Keeley groused.

Caelen leaned down and slid his arms underneath Rionna’s slight body and lifted her. She weighed next to nothing, and to his surprise, he liked the feel of her in his arms. It was … nice.

He strode toward the door, barked an order to Gannon whom he knew to be standing on the other side, and the door quickly opened. In the hall Caelen met Alaric, who raised his eyebrow inquiringly.

“See to your own wife,” Caelen said rudely. “She’s probably unconscious by now.”

“What?” Alaric demanded.

But Caelen ignored him and continued on to his chamber. He shouldered his way in and then gently laid Rionna down on his bed. With a sigh, he stepped back to stare down at her.

So the little warrior was frightened. And to escape him, she’d drank herself into oblivion. Hardly complimentary to Caelen, but then he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t been … Well, he hadn’t been a lot of things.

With a shake of his head, he began peeling away her clothing until she was down to her underclothes. His hands shook as he smoothed the thin linen garment over her body.

He could see nothing of her breasts. She was a slight woman and she didn’t have much in the way of a bosom. Her body was lean and toned, unlike any other woman he’d ever encountered.

He ached to lift the hem of her underdress and pull it away from her body until she was na**d to his gaze. It was his right. She was his wife.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He could wake her now and assert his husbandly rights, but he had a sudden desire to see her eyes flame with the same want he felt. He wanted to hear her soft cries of pleasure. He didn’t want her to be afraid.

He smiled and shook his head. When she woke in the morning, she’d likely have a raging headache, and she’d wonder what the hell happened the night before.

He might have a conscience about taking what was rightfully his until she was prepared to surrender herself body and soul, but that didn’t mean she had to know it right away.

He slid into bed beside her and pulled the heavy fur over the both of them. The scent of her hair curled through his nose, and the warmth from her body beckoned to him.

With a muttered curse, he turned over until he faced away.

To his utter dismay, she murmured in her sleep and then snuggled up against his back, her warm, lush body molded so tightly to his that he hadn’t a prayer of sleeping this night.

CHAPTER 2

Something or someone was sitting on Rionna’s head. She moaned softly and batted at the offending object only to find herself swatting at air.

She forced her eyelids open and promptly regretted that action. Though it was dark, just the air sliding over her eyeballs made her twitch in agony.

As she lay there she became aware of other peculiarities. Such as the very warm, very hard body next to her, and the fact that she was clad in only her underdress.

Her hand flew to her bosom and she felt the linen binding around her breasts. It was still in place, which meant her husband hadn’t been too invasive, nor did he realize the fullness of her breasts. Not that she cared if he knew. He was her husband after all. He’d know soon enough. It wasn’t as if she could hide them forever.

She searched her memory but couldn’t summon a single image of what had happened the night before. The last thing she remembered was standing in front of Keeley’s window.

Now she was lying in bed next to her … husband.

Did it count as consummation if she couldn’t remember it? Shouldn’t she have shed more clothing than she had? Keeley and Mairin hadn’t gone over specifics such as that. Then she realized that if she had no memory of the event, it couldn’t have been so bad, could it?

Humiliation burned her cheeks and tightened her chest. What on earth was she to say to him? How could she face him? What if she’d acted like a harlot? What if she’d disappointed him, or worse, what if her lack of skill had disgusted him?

Despite the throbbing in her head and the nausea boiling in her stomach, she eased from the bed and shivered as the cold slid over her body. The warrior put off a lot of heat and it had been toasty warm in the bed.

Thank the good lord she couldn’t see him. She’d been close enough to him to know he hadn’t worn a tunic. What if he … What if he were completely na**d?

She was torn between wanting to run from the room with all haste and succumbing to the absurd urge to peek under the covers.

Close on the heels of that dilemma came the realization that this was his chamber, not the one afforded to her as a guest.

She stumbled over her wedding finery that lay on the floor and heat singed her cheeks all over again. Had he undressed her? Had she?

She yanked on the gown and held it up as best she could before cracking the door open to peer into the hall. It was dimly lit by half-burned wall candles and, as best she could tell, empty.

Thank God.

She pushed out of the chamber and fled down the hall to hers. She stripped off the dress and donned what she was more comfortable in. Warm trews, a worn tunic, and leather boots. She needed to clear her head despite its horrendous ache, and the only way she knew to do that was with a good fight.

Caelen awoke to find his bed empty and a cold draft blowing over his privates. He yanked up the furs with a muttered curse and then searched the room for his wife’s whereabouts.

She was nowhere to be found, which irritated him. He was always the first one up and about in the keep. Even Ewan, who rose early and retired late, never managed to rise earlier than Caelen.

It was a time he had grown to crave for its solitude. While the rest of the keep slept, he began the day, sometimes with a swim in the loch and other times honing his fighting skills.

He tossed aside the furs and stood na**d as he stretched and allowed the first brush of cold to blow over his skin, awakening him. His blood surged to life, throwing off the lethargy of sleep.

He poured water from a pitcher into the washbasin and then splashed his face and washed out his mouth. Either his wife was mortified or she was sending a clear message about her feelings on the marriage. Either way, parameters had to be set, and there was no time like the present to let his new bride know the way of things.

After he found her.

After dressing, he slipped into the hall. Normally he’d not worry about being quiet, but the king was in residence and everyone had stayed up late into the night, plus he had no wish for anyone to know his wife had fled his bed.

He scowled as he stopped outside her chamber door. To hell with knocking. He pushed open the door and was greeted by darkness and … cold. No fire was lit.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t lit a fire in his own chamber, a practice he was accustomed to, but Rionna was a slight lass and no doubt she’d woken with chattering teeth.

He wasn’t used to accommodating others. Particularly in his private rooms. But he was married now, and he supposed some concessions would have to be made. He’d show his wife that he could be a reasonable man.

He strode inside but found the bed empty and undisturbed. Slung over a chair was her wedding dress. The one he’d taken off her the night before.

Where had she gotten off to at this hour?

Suspicion nipped at his gut until his belly clenched. Surely the lass wouldn’t be fool enough to sneak to a lover’s bed on her wedding night. What other reason would a woman have for leaving the warmth of her bed in the middle of the night?

If there was a problem, she should have awakened him. He was her husband now, and it was his duty to solve any issues that arose.

The more he pondered, the angrier he got. Old betrayals still soured his belly, despite his best effort to put them behind him.

It was hard not to dwell on all that Elsepeth had done when she’d changed the entire course of the McCabe clan. His current marriage was the result of her betrayal. His attempt to remedy the foolishness of youth and allowing emotion to cloud his judgment.

For years, his clan had struggled to survive its near decimation at the hands of Duncan Cameron. Only in recent months, with Ewan’s marriage to Mairin and the birth of Isabel, were things finally looking up for his kin.

How could he refuse to do the one thing that would solidify a union that would bring about the destruction of a man hated by him and his brothers above all others?

By God, he may have had no choice but to wed Rionna McDonald, but it didn’t mean he was going to be made a cuckold, or that he’d let his wife run wild as her father had done for years.

He was now her laird whether she liked that fact or not, and if she did nothing else, she’d obey him.

The sound of steel striking steel drifted through her window. He frowned and strode over to lift the fur. Her room overlooked the courtyard, but who would be sparring so early. And why?

He leaned out to see torches surrounding a small area in the middle of the courtyard. Two men were sparring furiously. One of the fools was going to get himself killed. As one turned, Caelen caught the flash of golden hair and the decidedly feminine set of the lips pursed in concentration.

Hell.

One of the fools was his wife.

He let the furs fall back to cover the window and he turned to stalk from her chamber. Shaking his head, he descended the stairs only to have Cormac fall in next to him when he strode into the great hall.

“Did you know that Rionna was out sparring?” Caelen bit out.

Cormac’s eyes widened and he looked abashed—and uncertain as to what to say.

“Nay,” he finally muttered. “I only just arose.”

Caelen glanced at him in disgust. “Are you growing soft and lazy on me?”

Cormac grinned, undisturbed by Caelen’s censure. “I find now that I have a soft, warm lass in my bed every night, ’tis hard to find motivation to rise so damn early.”

Caelen grunted.

“The question is, why your lass is out of your bed the morning after she wed with you. One might draw some interesting conclusions.”

Caelen sent him a chilling glare.

Not in the least bit worried over Caelen’s mood, Cormac continued. “Why, the very fact that she has the strength to spar suggests that you did something … well, not right.”

Cormac’s smug teasing made Caelen’s lips turn up into a snarl. “I’d wager that Christina wouldn’t care too much for a toothless husband.”

Cormac held up his hands in surrender, but he wore that stupid grin all the way outside.

Caelen welcomed the brisk chill. It was a reminder to him never to get too comfortable. Never let his guard down. When men became too ensconced in their own comfort, it was inevitably their downfall.

That wouldn’t happen to him. Not if he could help it. Nor would it happen to his clan—both new and old.

“She has skill,” Cormac noted.

Caelen scowled again as they approached the area lit by the torches.

“Rionna!” he barked.

Her head yanked in his direction just as the other man’s sword flew. Directly at her exposed neck.

Caelen thrust his sword forward to deflect the blow, and Rionna’s eyes widened as the tip of her sparring partner’s blade stopped within an inch of her flesh.

With a flick of his wrist, Caelen knocked the sword from her opponent’s hand and sent him a look that had him backing away in a hurry.

If he expected his wife to be frightened, abashed, or grateful that he’d prevented her death, he was wrong.

She was bloody furious.

Her eyes sparking with demonic light in the glow of the torches, she turned on him, reminding him of a spitting kitten. The comparison would probably only make her angrier, but it was an amusing enough thought.

“What did you think you were doing?” she yelled. “You could have gotten me killed! You don’t bellow at someone when they’re sparring!”

His nostrils flared and he advanced on her, furious that she’d address him thusly in front of others.

“Think you that distractions don’t exist on the battlefield, Rionna? Think you that no one will ever shout at you? A warrior is strong, not just physically but in the mind as well. Allowing yourself to become distracted during battle will get you killed.”