He drew in a shuddering breath and kissed her forehead. “No, Kenna,” he whispered, then gently set her aside. Damnation, it pained him to refuse her, but he knew deep in his heart she had no wish for it to happen this way. His aching bollocks tightened in disbelief. “Ye swore ye would wait until ye married. I willna be the one to break yer oath to yerself.” He drew back another step. “I still remember the fire in yer eyes when ye swore ye would never let a man touch ye until he proved himself worthy and took ye for his wife. I am not worthy of ye. Yet. But I will be. Soon.”
“Fine.” She jerked away and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. Her jaw tilted to the defiant angle it always took when she didn’t get her way. The heightened color in her cheeks and her infuriated glare added an even clearer nuance to the usual meaning of her declaration offine.
Lore a’mighty, he hated that damn word.And heaven help him, he knew her present stance all too well. The woman was about to explode into something he had already decided was even worse than a raging banshee. When her temper flared it was best to take cover until her rage spent itself.
He lowered his voice to the soothing tone that usually won him an impassioned embrace and at least one—if not a few more—of her sweet, stolen kisses. “I am only doing as ye wish, my love. I willna have ye regret the first time I take ye.”
“Don’t give me that crap.” An irritated growl escaped her as she gathered up her skirts and stomped to the door. “When I told you I wanted to wait until I was married, I didn’t think it was going to take you a freaking eternity to get your act together and set a date.”
Hiking her skirts above her knees, she kicked open the stable door and stormed out. Her enraged warning echoed back into the warm depths of the stable. “And if you keep fiddly-farting around, I just might decide I’m tired of waiting and accept another offer. Virginity is highly overrated!”
He winced at the anger in her voice. May the gods be with him. Being a man of honor had suddenly become a verra large pain in the arse.
CHAPTER16
Kenna stomped up the layered flagstones leading to the front entrance of the keep. The walk along the wide path on the curtain wall had done nothing to improve her mood or cool her temper. Granny had been dead wrong. The low-cut neckline of the new dress hadn’t nudged Colum into talking to Gray and officially setting a date. Kenna blew out a very unladylike snort. The only thing the extra-tight bodice had done was prevent any deep breathing.
The lighter gray of the freshly scrubbed entry stones added to her frustration. Great. Just great. She was in no mood for visitor decorum, stupid clan politics, or any overstuffed chieftains hunting for a two-legged broodmare.
Even the scowling dragons perched on the columns flanking the steps seemed to warn her time was running out. Their weather-bleached faces had been brushed free of any sign of cobwebs or splattered offerings from passing gulls. All had been set in order at MacKenna keep for a proper welcoming of their auspicious visitor.
She flounced through the double oak doors carved with the MacKenna crest. It was a good thing she had decided not to sleep with Colum until after they were married. At the rate he was going, they would have had grandchildren before he ever worked up the gumption to make her his wife.
“Ye must not go in there right now.” The whispered warning came from behind a richly colored tapestry as a slender hand darted out and grabbed hold of Kenna’s wrist. Kenna glanced down. She knew that hand. Coira’s pale skin had so many freckles she looked as though the gods had sprinkled her with cinnamon. Coira yanked her into the hidden alcove and pulled her down onto the pillowed bench beside her.
“What are you doing back here?” Kenna glanced around the hidden alcove. What a neat hiding place.
Coira brought a finger to her lips and shook her head. “Shh. I thought ye might wish to see the visiting chieftain. He is different from the others who have come offering for yer hand.”
Kenna lowered her voice as she tucked the tangled layers of her skirts well inside the darkness of the alcove. “What do you mean different?” She leaned forward, peering through the narrow opening cut through a fold of the tapestry. Coira made it sound as though every landed male in Scotland had plied for an alliance to the MacKenna clan by agreeing to take her off Gray’s hands, when in truth only a few chieftains had learned of her existence and sought to use it to their advantage.
“Watch him, mistress. And listen. Ye will see what I mean.” Coira balanced a long tapered blade between them on the bench and peeped out the slit she had just cut on her side of the tapestry.
“Gray is going to kill you for cutting up his wall hanging.” Kenna stilled the fabric with the flat of her hands as she shifted to get a better view.
“The chieftain will never ken what I have done unless ye choose to tell him. Quiet yerself and watch carefully. They are both verra close.”
Kenna squinted through the slit, then shifted sideways and peeped through the hole again. “I wish we had some fancy video surveillance equipment or something. I can’t see a thing from this little peephole. I miss technology.”
“Patience, mistress.” Coira gently patted Kenna’s hand. “Both the chiefs were headed back to this side of the room barely a moment ago. That is why I urged ye to hurry back here before the men spied ye.”
The rumble of deep voices echoed from the part of the hall just past the archway. Kenna picked out Gray’s familiar deep rolling “r’s,” but frowned when a richer voice with an odd cadence responded. “He sounds . . . different.” She pulled back from the cloth and turned to Coira. “Have you been able to find out anything about him?”
“The MacKenna called him Chieftain Sutherland, but I do believe the gentleman told him to address him as Ronan.” Coira leaned back and scrubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. “Ugh. This piece needs a good beating. ’Tis full of dust.” She wiggled her nose, then hurried to pinch it. Her eyes closed as she jerked with a silent sneeze. “And I believe one of the girls in the kitchen said the man originally comes from Ireland, though he’s never been known to say so himself—at least that’s according to the serving lads. And one of the stable boys tried to befriend Sutherland’s lads whilst they tended their master’s horses. Close-mouthed pair, they were. Spoke verra little. The only thing they happened to mention was something about a land always surrounded in mist and their keep being at the center of it.”
Gray and the chieftain finally moved into the limited range of Kenna’s peephole. She caught her breath as Chieftain Ronan Sutherland stepped into view. The man’s hair was as silver as the shiny new dimes Granny used to parse out for good behavior. But it wasn’t so much the color that took Kenna’s breath. It was the fact that Chieftain Sutherland’s hair was clipped so close to his head it looked like a gleaming skullcap.
“Look how short his hair is.” Kenna blew softly against the rough fabric chafing against her face. Rubbing her itchy nose with the back of her hand, she gently huffed at the tickling strands of knotted threads.
“Aye,” Coira whispered back. “But do ye not think it becomes him?”
And it did. The closely shorn cap of silver perfectly suited the man’s regal stance and the proud set of his broad shoulders.
“He’s dressed nearly all in black. I haven’t seen that since I came back to the thirteenth century—especially not such deep shades woven into a plaid.” Kenna turned and patted the bench. “Where is that knife? I need a bigger peephole.”
Coira stilled her hand. “Nay, mistress. Ye canna cut the wee rug now—the men are far too close. They will surely see it if the tapestry moves.”
Well, damn.Coira was right. Kenna inched to the edge of the bench and peered back through the hole. Even Sutherland’s beltedléinehad been dyed a deep somber black. The rich silky cloth shimmered like the supple coat of a panther as it stretched tight across his wide chest. Chieftain Sutherland must have money. Such cloth was rare and costly in the Highlands. The neck of the garment was loosely tied at the base of the man’s tanned throat. His plaid was woven with muted stripes of varying grays across a field of black. A single shining thread of the purest white was the only bit of light in the field of darkness. He was the same towering six and a half or so feet as Gray and looked him square in the eye. And what was it about Sutherland’s eyes? They looked odd. She couldn’t quite decide on their color.
