Never Love a Highlander (McCabe Trilogy #3)(40)

She wiped at the dirt on her boots and rubbed a finger over the toe where the leather was so thin that a hole had nearly been worn. She had need of a new pair, but it was a luxury she couldn’t contemplate, not when everyone else in her clan had shoes and boots just as worn, if not worse.

Still, she could dream of how a new pair would feel on her feet. Fur lined. She could practically feel the softness surrounding her toes.

She stood and her hand went automatically to her throat where she tested the soreness. It still hurt to swallow and her voice had a soft rasp that hadn’t yet gone away. She probably looked a fright, but after so many days, she was ready to be out of her chamber.

She took to the stairs, feeling a moment’s panic that she’d left the safety of her chamber. She stopped midway down, black dots swimming in front of her eyes as she panted for breath.

Such weakness infuriated her. She clenched her fist, slammed her eyes shut, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in deep breaths.

For too long she’d hidden in her chamber because the idea of going out terrified her. It was a weakness she’d never admit. The attack and the days following were a humiliation she’d live with for the rest of her life.

“My lady, you shouldn’t be out of your chamber. Do you need my aid returning? Is there something you have need of? I would be happy to fetch it for you.”

She glanced up to see Caelen’s commander standing on the stairwell, blocking her path down. His hand gripped her arm and concern burned bright in his gaze.

She brushed off his hand with a push of her own and nearly took a step back from the warrior before she caught herself. She forced her chin up and then leveled a calm stare at him.

“I am well and nay, I do not require anything. I’m on my way below stairs.”

“Perhaps ’tis best to wait the laird. I’ll summon him and tell him you’d like to leave your chamber.”

She frowned. “Am I a prisoner in my own home? Am I not allowed out of my room without the laird’s permission?”

“You mistake me, my lady. ’Tis my concern for your well-being that drives my statement. I’m sure the laird would want to escort you himself once he’s ascertained whether you’re well enough to be below stairs.”

“I can ascertain for myself that I am well enough to be up and out of my chamber. Kindly remove yourself from my path so that I may continue downward.”

Gannon didn’t look happy with the dictate. He wavered a moment, clearly trying to decide whether he should cleave to his initial idea.

She wouldn’t wait. Knowing he would do nothing to harm her, she pushed at his chest until he relented and stepped aside. He didn’t allow her to pass, though. He cupped her elbow and took her hand in his, tucking it around his arm.

“At least allow me to escort you. I would not want you to fall on the stairs.”

She nearly yanked her hand from his, so great was her frustration. But she was getting what she wanted and she didn’t want to risk him forcing her back to her chamber and summoning Caelen, who’d likely burst a blood vessel over her apparel and the fact that she was out of bed.

When they reached the bottom, she retrieved her hand and hurried away from the warrior. She had no clear direction in mind, only that she wanted to be away from Gannon.

Fresh air was top on her list of priorities, but she couldn’t go into the courtyard. Caelen was there training with the men. She opted to go through the kitchens and out the side where the distance between the keep and the stone skirt was greater and she could see the mountains in the distance.

Ignoring several of the women’s surprised exclamations on her way out, Rionna breathed deep as soon as the crisp air hit her in the face.

It was heavenly. Freeing. Her throat and lungs seemed to open up and loose the horrid constriction she’d lived with for so many days.

She stepped into the snow, enjoying the loud crunch and the coldness seeping around her toes. Finally, she felt alive again. Reinvigorated.

The wind whipped at her hair and sent a shiver down her spine. She’d completely forgotten her cloak, so in a hurry had she been to get out of her chamber.

Clutching her arms around her waist for warmth, she walked along the wall of the keep, leaving small footprints in the fresh powder.

As a child, she had lain in the snow and made shapes with Keeley. They’d pretended to be snow princesses waiting for their prince to rescue them. He wore only the warmest furs and the finest clothing. His steed was unmatched in beauty and speed. He’d ride in, wrap her in his furs, and bear her away to a land where it was always warm and sunny.

Rionna laughed softly. Such imaginations she and Keeley had. Always with their heads in the clouds. The worst day in Rionna’s life had been the day her father had attacked Keeley. And then Rionna’s mother had cried Keeley a whore and banished her from the clan.

Keeley had been her only friend. The only other girl who’d understood Rionna’s odd tendencies. Keeley had encouraged Rionna’s practice with a bow. She’d applauded every time Rionna had struck the center of the target. She’d exclaimed over Rionna’s skill with a knife, swearing that Rionna could hold off an entire army just by wielding a dagger.

Rionna had tried to teach Keeley those skills, warning that lasses needed to know how to protect themselves. But Keeley had laughed and said she was hopeless in such matters and that she would one day have her prince to protect her anyway.