Devil of the Highlands (12 page)

"Weep?" he asked, zeroing on the word with a frown. "When did you weep?"

"While you slept," Evelinde snapped, feeling embarrassment color her cheeks as she admitted it. She wasn't the only one embarrassed. His men and Mac were all exchanging panicked glances and looking terribly uncomfortable, though Mildrede was looking upset on her behalf rather than embarrassed. Evelinde wasn't surprised when the woman moved to stand behind her in her usual show of support.

"Hmm," Mac muttered suddenly. "Well, guess we should start unloading this wagon." Grabbing Mildrede by the arm, he dragged her to the wagon. Evelinde heard Mildrede hiss at him to let her alone, but he muttered back that she was best not to get between Evelinde and Cullen, then shoved a cushion at her and grabbed a chair himself before directing her toward the stairs. The rest of the men were snatching up items left and right and hurrying after the pair, fleeing the field of battle, Evelinde realized.

"Well, there was no need for crying," Cullen said with a scowl, as the last of the group disappeared into the keep. "If ye had just trusted me to tend to matters as it is my place to do, ye'd have realized I'd see to yer wellbeing. And," he added with a frown, "ye've no lost all ties to yer family. I am yer family now."

"Family? You?" she asked with amazement. "Nay, my lord. You are a complete stranger to me. And why should I trust a stranger to do what is best for me when my own stepmother—who was not a stranger—would not?"

"I am no a stranger," Cullen said impatiently. "I'm yer husband."

"You may be my husband, my lord, but a couple of head flops in front of a priest does not change the fact that you are a stranger," Evelinde said grimly, then pointed out, "I know nothing about you. While I have told you everything I can think of about myself, you have shared nothing in return. I know Scatchy better than I know you, and all I know about him is that he likes pasties. I have no idea what you like or dislike, except perhaps that you do not like me."

Cullen stilled in surprise, then looked irritated. "What the devil would make ye think I doona like you?"

"Oh, I do not know," she snapped, as a now-empty-handed Mac started back out of the keep followed by the other men. "Perhaps because you have not touched me or more than grunted at me since consummating our marriage."

The men on the stairs stopped abruptly and turned to head back into the keep without Cullen ever seeing them, Evelinde noted, as her husband's mouth opened and closed twice without issuing a word.

Finally, he glared and snapped, "I was being considerate."

"Considerate?" she asked with disbelief.

"Aye. I didna wish to pain yer bruises. I thought to let them heal more ere bothering you again."

Evelinde was too upset at this point to appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gesture. If it was true, she thought furiously and bit out, "Well, it would have been nice if you had said as much to me, my lord, rather than leave me thinking I was so poor at the duty you wished not to have to attend it again."

Cullen's eyes widened in shock, then he grabbed her by the arm and turned to drag her into the keep.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked with irritation, trying to jerk her arm free as he dragged her across the great hall toward the stairs.

"To show ye I like ye," he snarled.

Evelinde immediately dug in her heels, bringing them to a halt by the trestle tables.

"Have you not listened to a word I have said?" she asked incredulously. "I do not wish to be
shown
, I want to be told, my lord."

Cullen turned back to face her as the men, who had apparently settled themselves at the table to avoid being unwilling witnesses to the fight while it was outside, quickly scrambled to escape the great hall, rushing back out the doors they'd just come in.

"Wife," he said, his expression exasperated. "Ye never judge a man by his words, but by his actions. A man,
and a woman
,"—he added firmly—"can lie to ye with their lips, but their actions will tell the truth."

"That may be true of most people, husband. But I am not most people, I am your wife, and I need both the actions
and
the words," she said firmly.

Cullen stared at her as if she were some exotic creature he'd never seen before, then threw up his hands with exasperation and marched past her and out of the keep.

Evelinde stared at the closed door for several minutes, her mind in an uproar. She wasn't sorry she'd said what she had. For heaven's sake, she hadn't even known Biddy was his aunt until the woman had told her so herself!

Still, she wasn't sure she'd accomplished much either. What Cullen said was partly true. Were she to judge him by his actions, her husband was proving to be a considerate, caring man. He had done everything she would have wished him to do and without her ever having had the opportunity to ask him to do it… Everything except ease her mind by telling her what he was doing.

Evelinde supposed that was better than a man who made proclamations of caring, or promised her the world but did not trouble himself to do anything. And it was certainly better than a husband who drank too much and beat her. Releasing a little sigh, she rubbed her forehead where an ache was beginning to grow and acknowledged that things could indeed be worse. She did much prefer a quiet but thoughtful husband to a lying, abusive husband.

Perhaps she would just have to learn to deal with Cullen's telling her nothing, Evelinde thought on a sigh.

At least she had Mac and Mildrede again, she reminded herself, as the door opened, and Mac, the man who had listened to her woes and worries since she was old enough to sit a saddle, entered with a small chest in hand. He was followed by the other men, each of them carrying an item from the wagon.

Mac paused beside her, waited for the others to pass by and start up the stairs, then said, "Lady's been stuck walking behind the wagon for four days and may like a ride. She's no had a proper ride since ye left."

"Lady is here, too?" Evelinde asked, cheering.

"Aye. She was taken to the stables."

Evelinde immediately started past him, pausing to glance back when he spoke her name softly.

"Doona be too hard on the man, lass. Talking is harder for men than 'tis for women."

Evelinde frowned at his words, and pointed out, "You talk to me all the time."

"Aye." He smiled faintly. "But I'm an old man. I've learned the value of talking. Cullen's younger, though, and proud." He shrugged and shook his head. "Empty vessels make the most sound, lass, and he's no empty."

"No, he is not," she agreed quietly.

Apparently satisfied that he'd done what he could, Mac turned away with his burden. "Go on and see yer Lady. She's been pining for ye."

Smiling faintly, Evelinde turned and continued out of the keep. Her smile widened at the prospect of seeing her mare as she crossed the bailey.

She was barely halfway to the stables when she saw Cullen come charging out of the building on his mount.

He immediately headed out of the bailey, urging his mount to a run as soon as he'd passed under the gate.

Evelinde wondered briefly where he was going but then pushed the worry away and hurried on to the stables.

If Lady did not seem tired, she would take her for a ride. Just a short one since she didn't know the area, but even a short, fast ride would help soothe her.

"My men saw ye from the wall about half an hour ago. So, I saddled up to meet ye," Tralin greeted as he reigned in before Cullen's mount on the edge of the woods surrounding the hill Comyn castle sat on.

Cullen grunted. He would have done the same the other day had Tralin and his parents not already nearly been to the castle by the time his man had alerted him that a party approached. Cullen suspected the men on the wall had been too distracted watching him trying to break the new horse to notice the approaching riders. Or perhaps they'd been watching his wife trying to get herself killed charging across Angus's paddock, he thought with an irritation that soon faded as he recalled she'd been rushing across the paddock because she'd feared he'd done himself an injury tumbling from the horse.

His wife was like to drive him crazy at this rate, Cullen decided with exasperation. One minute he was scared witless, the next furious at her for risking herself so, and the next he was touched that she'd feared for his well-being. Truly, marriage was turning out to be like a ride on a boat in rough weather; up and then down and then up and then down again. Someone should have warned him that marriage could make a man seasick.

"So? To what do I owe this your presence? Or need I ask?"

Cullen's eyes narrowed. "What do ye mean by that?"

Tralin shrugged, then arched his eyebrows. "Do I dare ask how married life is treating ye?"

"Nosy beggar," Cullen muttered.

Tralin burst out laughing at the insult, and asked, "Trouble in paradise?"

When Cullen merely sighed unhappily, he reached out to slap him on the back encouragingly and turned his mount back toward Comyn castle. "Come, friend, I suspect ye could use an ale, and I would enjoy one, too."

Cullen hesitated. He shouldn't really be there. It was nearly an hour's ride to Comyn and would be the same back, and he had much to do, but he'd needed to ride off his frustration and confusion and had somehow ended here. Now that he was at Comyn, he might as well have a drink before he returned Cullen reasoned and urged his mount forward with a nod.

"So," Tralin said, once they were settled at the trestle table in the Comyn great hall. "How is the fair Evelinde?"

Cullen smiled reluctantly and admitted, "She is fair."

"Aye," Tralin agreed, watching his face with interest. "Even in the overlarge gown and with her hair looking as if she'd come straight from her bed, she was fair, but she was fairer still when she came down after changing and fixing her hair."

Cullen nodded, a smile curving his lips as he thought what Tralin said was true, but his wife looked most beautiful when she was naked, her bright blue eyes darkening with the passion he stirred in her.

"She seemed to have a personality to match," Tralin added, when Cullen remained silent. "So I can only assume whatever trouble it is has brought ye here is yer fault."

The image of his naked wife shattering, Cullen straightened abruptly and turned an offended gaze his way.

"What?"

"Well…" Tralin shrugged. "I doona see her being stubborn and proud. You, on the other, hand are both."

Cullen grimaced at the truth of those words and sighed. "I didna plan to come here, but now that I am…" He shrugged, and said, "You are better with women than I. At least they seem to like to talk to ye."

"That's because I actually talk back," Tralin said dryly, then asked, "What happened?"

"I found out she's been crying herself to sleep," Cullen admitted unhappily.

Tralin's eyebrows rose. "Why?"

"She did not realize I had brought her clothes," he admitted. "The woman seemed to think I brought her to Donnachaidh with naught but the gown on her back."

Tralin shrugged. "How could she know otherwise? Did ye tell her ye had?"

"Nay, but she should ha'e kenned that I'd no bring her here without her belongings."

"How could she know that?" he asked with amusement. "She doesna ken ye, Cullen. And ye must admit, you are no the most forthcoming of men."

Cullen frowned at the very suggestion that he might carry some of the blame for her thinking so poorly of him but knew it was true. The man was only echoing her complaint.

"Have the two of ye talked at all since the marriage?"

"She talks," Cullen admitted with a smile tugging at his lips as he thought of the way Evelinde had chattered away to him the last several days. She'd told him tales of her youth, her adventures, her friendship with Mac and affection for Mildrede, as well as revealed the clever ways she'd managed to avoid her stepmother as often as possible.

"
She
talks, huh?" Tralin said, watching his smile. "And what do you do?"

"I listen," Cullen answered, and he did. He'd found himself enthralled, listening to her voice. Evelinde was a fair storyteller, and he'd been able to picture much of what she'd said in his head as she spoke.

"Hmm." Tralin sipped at his ale, and asked, "Do ye like her so far?"

Cullen considered the question and nodded slowly. "Aye. She's clever and sweet and… wishes herself back at d'Aumesbery with that perfectly hateful stepmother of hers rather than at Donnachaidh with me," he ended with disgust.

Tralin choked on the ale he'd been in the process of swallowing, and Cullen thumped him a couple of times on the back, understanding the reaction. That admission had horrified him, too. It was hard to accept that she was so unhappy with him that she would rather be back there being insulted and abused by Edda.

"Why?" Tralin got out finally. "From what you said the other day, the woman treated her horribly."

Cullen nodded glumly. He'd told Tralin and his parents about the stepmother while Evelinde was upstairs changing the day they'd visited. He'd described Edda's behavior toward her stepdaughter with a few succinct words that had made it clear she had been badly treated by the woman.