The Rose Red Bride JK2 by Claire Delacroix

thought their night together to have been so wondrous.
    Perhaps his beloved wife had been more ardent than she.
    Vivienne ate, astonished at how hungry she was and how good the simple fare tasted. When she finished, noting that he ate no more, Vivienne rolled the remainder of the cheese into its piece of cloth. He returned the remnants of their meal to the leather satchel in silence, then spared her a bright glance.
    “We travel at night and only at night. I would suggest you sleep now.” Without waiting for her reply or assent, he pushed to his feet and paced the small area. He glanced to the sky and to the sea, then studied the empty stretch of land between themselves and Kinfairlie.
    Vivienne had no desire to sleep, but she would not accomplish much else while he was so watchful. She retreated to the cool shadows of the tumbling structure and gathered her cloak about herself as she sat against a wall with some discontent.
    A far cry from fated love this had proven to be! She drew up her own hood and narrowed her eyes, hoping she gave the appearance of slumber.
    Indeed, Vivienne intended only to wait until her captor eased his vigil. Then she would steal his horse and flee back to Kinfairlie, and have the truth from Alexander.
     
    * * *
     
    In the end, Vivienne did doze, because her captor showed no signs of taking a repose himself. He paced and he stood, he leaned against the wall and studied her, he surveyed the sea. He moved silently, with the grace of a warrior, but he was restless indeed. Vivienne stifled the urge to tease him, as she would have teased one of her brothers, that he must be tormented with guilt.
    This man might well be. He kept his hood raised and his dark cloak furled around him, as if hiding his marked face from the very birds.
    Exhausted from recent events, Vivienne felt her eyes drift closed as the sun rose high. The sound of the waves lulled her toward slumber, though she was yet half-aware of her surroundings.
    She was startled at the cry of a merry voice close at hand.
    “Hoy, lad, there you are!”
    Vivienne’s eyes flew open and she saw her captor pivot at the shout and draw his blade. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he evidently recognized whoever called him, though he still was wary.
    Vivienne peered around the wall and saw a stocky older man approaching, leading a dappled palfrey. The horse was shorter than those in her family’s stables, and its fur grew long.
    “Well met, lad!” the man shouted, raising his hand in salute. His face was as merry as his voice. “Though you did grant me a merry chase, to be sure.”
    “Ruari Macleod,” the younger man said. He placed the tip of his blade against the ground and braced his hands upon the hilt. “I never thought to lay eyes upon you again.”
    The arrival grinned. “Ah, there is no evading me when I am charged with a mission, lad. My errand was to seek you out, and so, you see, I have done it.” He bowed with a flamboyant air and Vivienne wondered if this portly man would burst his belt buckle at the effort. She was tempted to smile, so charming was his manner, though her captor spoke coldly.
    “How did you find me?”
    Ruari snorted. “You leave a trail fairly blazed by your passage, lad. If you mean to journey unnoted, you will have to do better than you have done when I am on your trail. Did you learn naught from me? All those lessons I granted to you about following some soul through the wilderness might have fallen on deaf ears for all the good they have done you.” Vivienne heard the lilt of the Highlands in his voice, more pronounced than it was in the words of her captor.
    Had he truly pursued the younger man so far?
    Why?
    To her surprise, her captor seemed discomfited by this. “I was cautious,” he insisted.
    “Not cautious enough,” Ruari declared with a shake of his finger. “Men have eyes in their heads and in these days whatsoever they have witnessed can be loosed from their tongues with the