They halted in the outer courtyard—or bailey. She couldn’t remember for sure what they called it. More clansmen, women, and children poured from every doorway and out from around every corner. Panic mounted, making Rachel’s heart pound.
Caelan dismounted and held up his hands for her.
She ignored him, trying to breathe and on the verge of passing out. They all stared at her as though she were some sort of magickal creature he had captured during his travels.
“I don’t belong here,” she told him while tucking away from his reach. Take me back to the woods. I’ll try to go back when the moon is full.
Caelan stepped closer, love and worry filling his eyes. “Ye ken as well as I that ye canna do that,” he reminded softly. “It’ll not work, my love.” He reached for her again. “Ye belong with me, and I belong here. Give it a chance, dear one. I beg ye.”
She blinked hard and fast, trying to hold back her tears. “They already hate me,” she whispered. “I sense it.”
He took hold of her waist, slid her down into his arms, and gently steadied her to the ground. After a tender kiss to her temple, he whispered back, “They dinna hate ye, lass. Ye are new, and they are simply curious about ye.”
A woman stepped forward, approaching Rachel with what looked to be a genuine smile—at least it sparkled in her eyes. “Welcome, m’lady. We have watched for ye ever since the laird told us he was off to bring ye home.” The kindly matron eased forward, as though she believed Rachel to be a wounded animal. She shot Caelan a stern glare, then turned her smile back on Rachel. “I be Florie. Your maid who will tend to all your needs. Ye need not fear me, m’lady, I swear it.”
Rachel noticed Sam had stopped growling and was actually wagging his tiny tail. She trusted the little dog’s instincts morethan she trusted anything else right now. She offered Florie a smile. “I’m Rachel.”
Florie bumped Caelan out of the way with her broad hip as she wrapped her arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Shall we get ye to your chambers, Lady Rachel? I ken ye must be far gone weary. While ye have yourself a wee nap. I’ll find some proper clothes for ye to make ye more comfortable. Walking for miles while growing with child, ye must be more than a wee bit exhausted.”
As Florie led her away, Rachel glanced back at Caelan.
Caelan nodded his approval, smiling when Sam jumped out of her arms and ran to his side. “Florie will take good care of ye, lass. Rest and I’ll join ye soon.”
CHAPTER 16
“Where is she?” he worried under his breath. From his seat at the head table overlooking the hall, Caelan watched the archway where Rachel should have entered long ago. Familiar faces filled the large gathering room, but his beloved lass had yet to appear and take her place at his side. He missed her as though they’d been separated for an age, aching to have her warm presence beside him to reassure himself she had really joined him, and he’d not just dreamt it. He worried for her, needed to see with his own eyes that she was well, and had not decided to hate him for ripping her away from everything she knew. “Where the devil is she?” he said louder, while scowling at the doorway.
“Still in your rooms, my laird,” a quiet voice behind his chair whispered. “She refuses to come down. Said she canna bear it.”
Caelan shifted and angled an expectant brow at Florie. Her explanation worried him even more. The only comfort he drew from it was that Florie was one of the few castle women whose heart he deemed patient and kind enough to help Rachel become accustomed to her new life. Adapting to Rachel’s time had been quite the chore. He feared his lady love would struggle toembrace his world especially while under the stress of becoming a mother to three bairns.
“And why can she not bear to come down?” he asked quietly to ensure no one overheard. If anyone dared make his Rachel uncomfortable, he’d snap their necks for them. He angled an ear closer to Florie while scowling at anyone foolish enough to meander too close to overhear the private conversation.
Florie scrunched up her face, looking slightly bewildered and perhaps a wee bit embarrassed about failing him. She hid her words behind her hand as she whispered, “She said she refused to meet your people looking like an oversized, purple pen…pen…” Her scowl tightened, and she jerked her head from side to side. “That word she used—I dinna ken it. What in heaven’s name was it?” She tapped her chin and stared at the ceiling as though the answer might be written across the huge dark rafters spanning the width of the hall. “Pen-yadda? Pin-yatti?” She shook her head again. “Something like that, my laird. Lady Rachel appears to be troubled by her appearance even though she is loveliness itself, what with her rounding with your wee bairn.”
Caelan groaned with a heavy sigh. Goddess help him help his lady love. Near as he could tell, Rachel considered herself a large piñata. She had shown him one in a shop window and explained how they were used. Why would she think such a thing? As Florie said, his beloved was beauty itself.
“My laird?” Florie whispered again, still behind his chair.
“Aye?” Caelan scrubbed his weary eyes, trying to come up with a way to make things better.
“What exactly is a pen-yadda?” Loyal, good-hearted, and kind, Florie was also curious to the point of almost being a danger to herself.
“I shall have Lady Rachel explain it to ye sometime,” he told her as he pushed himself up from his chair. “Perhaps I shouldhave been more thoughtful with my lady and escorted her down to the hall. I shall fetch her now, aye?”
“Aye, that will be a fine thing, my laird.” Florie gave him a sympathetic nod that failed to make him feel any better.
Caelan openedthe door to his private chambers and forgot to breathe. There she stood, staring out the window, even more beautiful than when she had teased him in his dreams.
She wore a gown of the richest purple, a deep amethyst, only rivaled by the vibrant violet of her eyes. Its high waist caught up beneath her full breasts by a golden braided rope allowed the supple material to flow gracefully down over her rounded middle, proudly displaying that she carried his precious wee bairns. Her breasts, full and tempting, mounded about the low-cut neckline, making his mouth water as they swelled and shifted with her every breath. The velvet sleeves were closely fitted to her long, slender arms and came to a point atop her hands. A gossamer mantle, shimmering and golden, was attached to her shoulders and flowed in a regal train behind her. Florie had caught up her hair in a mass of gleaming ebony curls and placed a hammered collar of polished gold around her neck.
“Ye are loveliness itself, Rachel. I canna take my eyes from ye,” he said softly as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“I can’t do this, Caelan. Not yet. I’m sorry, but I’m just not ready.” She paced back and forth in front of the window, rubbing the mound of her stomach as though it were a wishing stone.
He crossed the room, took her in his arms, and cradled her close. “The clan has prepared a proper wedding feast, my love. They wish to meet ye and toiled hard to pull such a thingtogether so quickly. Would ye deny them the joy of knowing ye? Of discovering what a wondrous woman the Fates chose for their laird?” He tried to soothe her with a tender kiss on her forehead. “I promise everything will be all right. Just give them the chance to know and love ye.”
Her beguiling, warm vanilla scent stirred him to nuzzle the silky curve of her neck. He cradled her even closer and whispered, “Come to the hall with me. Show them how blessed I am to have ye as my wife. Ye are loveliness itself.”
