Amanda Scott (30 page)

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he said.

“I don’t want a new one.” She looked straight into his eyes, her hands gently holding his, her gaze steady and direct.

He sighed. “Turn around then.”

She obeyed, and his fingers worked swiftly.

“I warrant this is not the first time you have played lady’s maid, sir.”

“This is no time for impertinence, lass. You tread on thin ice as it is.”

But she knew he was no longer angry with her. He was very likely still angry with Fergus Love, but not with her. Something had stirred his passion, and she did not mind that at all.

His hands were firm on her body, firm with the gown’s fastenings, and firm when he pushed it from her shoulders to fall with silken whisper to the floor. Her underskirt followed, and she stood in her shift, his hands still firm on her shoulders.

“I’m thinking that I’ll require maiding myself,” he said, his deep, almost growling voice sending waves of heat into her cheeks and throughout her body.

“I’ll do my best,” she said. “But I warrant I am not as familiar with the ways of gentlemen’s clothing as you are with the ways of ladies’.”

“If you can prate only insolence, lass, don’t speak at all. Just tend to your duties and obey your lord.”

She smiled, wondering how it was that a woman could enjoy being commanded in such a way.

“Do I amuse you?”

“Aye, sir, a little,” she said, looking up and smiling more broadly.

“Impertinent lass. You deserve whatever punishment I devise for you.”

“Do I?”

“Aye, come here and kiss me, and see that you do it thoroughly.”

“I do not know why I should. I doubt that the rules of annulment allow a man to command a wife that he intends to set aside.”

She could hardly believe the words had passed her lips, but they had and hung now in the air between them.

He frowned. “Did I not make myself clear earlier?” he asked. “Unless you wish it, madam, I no longer mean to seek an annulment, and certainly not to marry your sister. Do you not think we can make a success of this marriage of ours?”

“Aye, if you wish it, sir.” Her pulse had quickened, but instinctively she contained her reaction, saying as calmly as she could, “Until God or the Kirk wills it otherwise, I’ve sworn to act as your wife in every way.”

“Good lass,” he said, taking her in his arms again. “Now, I suggest that you begin with the ties of my doublet. Since you are so ignorant in the ways of masculine clothing, I will instruct you at every step.”

“Aye, sir, but I would beg a boon of you first.”

“You would dare to set conditions? Have you forgotten that this is by way of being punishment for a forward wife?”

Ignoring that question in the belief that it was but more of his teasing, she said seriously, “I do not think you understood me earlier with regard to Mariota, sir. If you truly mean to honor our marriage, I beg that you will not tell her so. Let her see for herself and grow accustomed to it slowly.”

“Sakes, lass, I do not know why you fret about Mariota. She draws so much attention from the lads here that I warrant she’ll not give me a second thought. Don’t bother your head about her. Instead, you may unlace my shirt.”

With a sigh, certain that he did not understand at all, she turned her attention to his shirt, finding it harder to deal with the laces when he chose that moment to whisk her shift over her head and begin teasing her breasts. Moments later, he scooped her up in his arms and strode with her to the bed.

Laying her gently upon it, he pulled off the rest of his clothes in a trice and got under the covers beside her, slipping an arm beneath her and drawing her close. Then, raising himself on one elbow, he claimed her lips again in a long, thorough kiss as his hands roamed freely over her body, stirring heated responses wherever they touched her until she writhed beneath him, moaning her desire for him. When he possessed her, he did so swiftly, bringing her to a peak but then pounding to his own release, leaving her hungry for more.

“Sorry, lass,” he murmured sleepily as he snuggled her close. “I guess I missed you more than I knew.”

Within moments, he was asleep, but Cristina lay for an hour, wondering why she felt as if he had abandoned her again. It was not as if she had expected more, because her experience was so limited that she did not know what to expect. But he seemed sated. Indeed, he had groaned at the end and collapsed atop her as if he had fallen unconscious. Yet she felt as if she had only begun a climb toward nearly unbearable passion. Nothing in her experience matched what he seemed to feel, yet the promise had been there, promise that she would have liked him to fulfill.

In time she forced her thoughts to Mariota. Could Hector be right? Could the attention her self-centered sister was receiving from every suitable young man attending his grace’s court satisfy her? Cristina’s experience told her that no amount of attention from lads who wanted Mariota would satisfy her. If she had decided that she wanted Hector, she would not rest until she had him. But if he did not want her, if he had indeed decided to be content with the wife he had and that the Holy Kirk had ordained, what then? The possibilities did not bear thinking of, and inevitably exhaustion crept in, sending Cristina at last into restless slumber.

She awoke to find herself alone in her husband’s bed. Not a sight or sound in the bedchamber suggested that he had slept there, leading her to believe that his man had crept about, first dressing him, then tidying the room without disturbing her. Very considerate, to be sure, but she would have been happier had Hector wakened her with a kiss and bade her good morrow.

Thus it was with jaundiced eye that she regarded the new day, which matched her mood, since it had dawned with scudding clouds and towering, distant thunderheads. As the morning progressed, the sky grew grayer and dipped lower, creating a look of hard, wet rain in the clearness of the foothills.

Nor did anything else about the morning improve Cristina’s mood. No sooner did she walk into the hall to break her fast than Mariota greeted her with the cheerful news that Fergus Love had been looking for her.

“You have made a conquest, my dear,” she said. “He waxed on and on about how beautiful you are until I vow I was bored with his chatter.”

“Usually, when anyone compliments another woman in your hearing, you tell us how stupid he is,” Cristina said.

“Well, if you are going to be rude about it, I shan’t say any more,” Mariota said, visibly annoyed.

Instead of coaxing her into a sunnier mood, Cristina said, “I do not care a whit about Fergus Love. I thought his behavior last evening was rude and foolish. To be kissing a woman he does not know in full view of her husband does not suggest that he uses his head for anything more useful than wearing his hat.”

“Men are always foolish when they fall in love,” Mariota said, taking no notice of Cristina’s displeasure. “You would know that if you’d had as many suitors as I have. And you need suitors, Cristina, for you’ll soon be without a husband.”

“I know you have heard that Hector means to apply for an annulment,” Cristina said, goaded into discussing the very topic she had warned Hector to be wary of. “But truly, my dear, that does not mean he will get one, or even that he may not change his mind about applying.”

“Oh, I know about all that,” Mariota said with a smirk. “Mairi explained the whole thing to me, and Father did, too, but I know what I know even so.”

“But surely you understand that if he cannot get it, our marriage will stand.”

“’Tis you who does not understand,” Mariota said. “Just because his father and his stupid brother told him that he must not have your marriage annulled, you think he will heed them, but he will not. He loves me, as he has from the start.”

A knot formed in Cristina’s stomach as the meaning of Mariota’s words struck her. If Hector had made his decision because his brother and father had commanded him, that decision meant none of what she had thought. She excused herself as deftly as she could from Mariota, intending to return to her bedchamber, but she did not get far before Isobel waylaid her, demanding to know how she was to entertain herself in a huge castle that apparently had no children her own age.

“Father says I am to stay away from the great hall, the cliffs, and the Sound, and to amuse myself without getting into trouble. I should like to know how I am to do that when I do not even have a pony to ride or anyone to walk with me.”

“There must be children somewhere,” Cristina said. “I’ll ask Mairi.”

“Well, what shall I do until then?”

“Where is Aunt Euphemia?”

Isobel grimaced. “Truly, Cristina, you cannot expect me to hang on her sleeve all day. She does not like it, and nor do I.”

“There you are, Isobel. I have been searching everywhere for you,” Lady Euphemia said, bustling up to them. “Really, Cristina, I wish you would speak to this naughty child. I do not know where she is from one moment to the next.”

Cristina looked sternly at Isobel. “What have you to say to that?”

Indignantly, Isobel said, “I did tell you, Aunt Euphemia. I asked you to suggest something I might do, and you said it was up to me, that I should exert my imagination to devise some way of entertaining myself, and so I did. Only there isn’t anything, and so I was asking Cristina.”

“Well, you cannot just disappear like that,” Lady Euphemia said. “It is too much to expect me to guess what you are doing and where you are from one minute to the next. Tell her, Cristina. I do not know why you brought her in the first place. This is no place for a gently nurtured child. You should have left her at Lochbuie.”

Struggling to control her temper, knowing it would do no good to speak sharply to either one, Cristina said, “Isobel knows that she is at Ardtornish, Aunt Euphemia, and I doubt she will misbehave whilst she is a guest of the Lord of the Isles. Nor do I think you need bother your head about where she is every moment.”

Turning to the visibly gratified child, she said crisply, “I shall try to find out what other children do to amuse themselves here, Isobel. His grace has numerous grandchildren, after all, so I’ll ask Mairi at the first opportunity. For now though, I suggest that you apologize to Aunt Euphemia for worrying her and attend for an hour or so to the needlework pillow cover you wanted to finish before Easter.”

Isobel made a face expressing her opinion of the needlework, but Cristina was unsympathetic. “You asked me,” she said. “Now, go and do it.”

“Very well, but I don’t have to like it,” Isobel said. Then, turning to Lady Euphemia, she said, “I’m truly sorry, Aunt. I did think I was doing as you asked.”

“Then we’ll say no more about it,” Lady Euphemia said. “Go along now. I want to speak privately to Cristina.”

With a sigh, Cristina waited, wondering what else her ladyship had to say.

“Mariota told me about that impudent young man last evening, Cristina. I’m surprised at you. Why, your father would be . . . well, I don’t know what he would be, but not happy, my dearest, not happy at all. You should keep young men like that one at a distance now that you are married. Mariota told me that Hector was angry, as well he should be. I know that she thinks you should be encouraging other young men, because she believes that he means to cast you off and to marry her, but I cannot think he would be so foolish. Such a wise young man, and sensible withal, but you mustn’t encourage other men, dearling. Men never like that at all.”

Wanting to scream, but forcing calm out of pure habit, Cristina said, “I did not encourage him, Aunt Euphemia. I do not know why everyone believes that.”

“It is the way people are,” Lady Euphemia said. “If a man approaches a woman, people assume that she encouraged him, that he would not approach if she did not seem willing to meet him halfway.”

“Well, I didn’t. But Hector believed that for a short time, certainly.”

“He believed what he wanted to believe. All men do that.”

“But he cannot want to believe that I would . . . would . . .”

“Make him a cuckold,” Lady Euphemia suggested blandly when Cristina could not put the thought into words. “Of course he can believe it. I have heard that he was quite a rogue with the ladies before his marriage. I don’t say that I heard of him cuckolding anyone, but still, there you are. The things men . . . people . . . dislike in others are usually the traits they dislike most in themselves, you know. Which is not to say that Hector encourages other women, merely that he knows that the flesh is weak, and that therefore the possibility for mischief always exists.”

Cristina sighed. “I suppose that’s it exactly, and yet I tend to react to things he does and says much more than to things anyone else does or says. There is no accounting for it. I cannot control my emotions anymore, Aunt. I have always been able to do that, you know, to stay calm whilst everyone around me was flying into a temper or flinging insults about, even when Father was at his worst.”

“Oh, aye, you were a marvel, my dear, always resolving everyone else’s troubles and arguments. But things are different now.”

“But what’s the matter with me?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t listen.”

“But something’s happened. I can feel it, and it’s as if I don’t know myself anymore. It’s terrible.”

“Nay, not terrible. You love him, that’s all.”

Cristina stared at her, wondering how a spinster like Lady Euphemia could be so certain of such a thing. “I own, Aunt, I have wondered if I do,” she admitted, “but I have heard others talk of love, and nothing they have said sounds like what’s happening to me. Nevertheless, I think that may be exactly what it is.”

“Happens all the time,” Lady Euphemia said. “Difference is, most women it happens to aren’t married to the man in question. But do not encourage other men, my love, and beware, too, of Mariota. She insists that he means to get an annulment, but your father assures me that that is not the case.”

“Mariota will accustom herself to that in time if we can be patient and let her enjoy her own view of things until it changes,” Cristina said. “It does no good to tell her things she does not want to hear, but her interest will eventually shift to someone else and she will come to understand that Hector will never marry her. As long as no one succeeds in making her face that fact before she is ready, all will be well.”