The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride Read Online Free Page B

seamless maneuver born of long practice, Ryan clasped Conn’s forearm and swung him up behind him. Duer gave a short buck of protest at the extra weight, but settled at a command from his rider and headed up the beach.
    * * *
    Trumpets sounded and bagpipes skirled the return of the laird’s son. Torches blazed on the parapets and in brackets along the walls, making the bailey nearly as bright as day under the evening gloaming. Ryan and Conn rode at the head of the procession of guards and servants, their horses shying briefly at the wild sounds of homecoming. The iron-studded, heavy wooden gates opened wide, the creak of the portcullis chains its own welcome as it rose in the air to permit their passage.
    “’Tis a verra nice place ye have, Ryan,” Conn murmured just loud enough to hear. “I hope they held dinner for us. I could eat a horse.”
    “Ard Castle bids ye welcome,” Ryan returned. “And I would imagine Da has a banquet well in hand.”
    A tall, gray-haired man strode from the great hall, a large group of people at his heels. They met in the bailey where Ryan and Conn drew to a halt. Stable lads rushed to take their horses as they dismounted, and Ryan stared at the man he scarcely remembered as kin.
    “Welcome home, son.”
    The knot in Ryan’s chest eased and he closed the gap between them in two long strides. They clasped arms in welcome and the unexpected joy of homecoming washed over him. It was a long moment before either of them remembered manners or voice.
    Laird Macraig stepped to one side, exposing a young girl who hung back, her eyes wide and assessing. Ryan stared. Her near-black hair and startling, amber eyes marked her as kin. His sister? She looked to be no older than nine or ten. Ryan cast his memory back to the day he’d left Ard Castle, his father’s arm about his leman’s swollen waist.
    “Ryan, this is yer sister, Lissa.”
    Ryan bowed his head in formal acknowledgement. “M’lady.”
    Lissa’s eyes narrowed. “Brother.” She offered him no other title, and the lilt to her voice challenged him to remark the slight. It was obvious she did not relish the return of the laird’s son.
    Ryan allowed a small smile. The lass had spunk. Would she also be a pain in his arse? He let silence linger a moment longer in mild rebuke for her childish behavior, catching a satisfying glimpse of the flush of embarrassment that rose beneath her skin, then continued with the introductions.
    “Da, this is Laird MacLaurey’s son, Connor. He and I have become great friends over the years.” He turned to Conn. “This is my father, Laird Macraig.”
    Ryan’s father inclined his head at Conn’s short bow. “Welcome to Ard Castle. Ye are welcome as long as ye care to stay.”
    “I thank ye, m’laird. I appreciate yer hospitality.”
    “Speaking of which, I am sure ye lads are famished, and we have a feast prepared for ye.” Laird Macraig turned to a man at his side. “Find places for the guards and servants to shelter and wash, and send them in for their share. Call for more lads to care for the horses.”
    He faced the people around him, a broad smile on his face.
    “My son is home!”
    * * *
    Ryan propped his feet on the hearth, leaning his head against the chair’s high back. The sharp scent of burning peat filled the air, and embers lit the room with a golden glow.
    “I may never move again.” He groaned, covering his belly with one hand as he slumped further into his chair.
    “If I even catch a whiff of food cooking on the morrow, I think I will be sick,” Conn muttered from the other chair. “’Twas the best meal I have eaten in days.”
    “’Tis the only meal ye have kept down in days,” Ryan retorted.
    Conn burped pleasurably. “Aye.”
    Ryan’s eyes became hooded, mesmerized by the flickering glow of the smoldering peat. Warm and dry and overfed, still he couldn’t help but worry about the red-haired lass he’d left behind, wet and cold on the beach.
    “Do ye suppose