Highland Moonlight (9 page)

Duncan and David. It had been some time since she had smiled at him or

even looked upon him with anything, but pain or loathing. The words she

had spoken to him in the courtyard repeated themselves over and over

again in his mind, pricking him each time with new pain. There had to be a

way to ease her anger and loathing of him.

Immediately aware of her absence when she slipped away from the

table, he watched her climb the stairs to the gallery above and turn in the

direction of her chamber. Knowing he would be joining her this night as her

husband brought no feelings of the excitement or anticipation to bear. She

would not accept him willingly, and he would not force her.

“I wonder, Brother, how long it will be before she forgives you,” Duncan

said as he took Mary’s place beside him.

“My knees will be calloused from begging pardon most likely.” It took

effort to keep his expression free of the despair plaguing him.

Duncan chuckled in appreciation of his humor. “Do you still believe

she is worth it?”

“Aye.” He forced a smile to his lips. “Any woman who looks upon her

husband as breeding stock has to be admired. You should appreciate that,

Brother.”

Duncan laughed aloud and slapped him on the back. “At least you

have the satisfaction of knowing you have thwarted Collin’s plans, whatever

they might have been.” His tone grew serious. “I wanted to smash his face

in myself, in Mary’s defense, as did every man here.”

“He is gone now.” Alexander shrugged. “He will never mistreat Mary

again. Whatever kind of father I shall be, I know for certes I shall be well

above Collin MacLachlan.”

“Aye.” Duncan nodded his agreement. “Mayhap that will be the way to

prove how good a husband you may be as well.”

Alexander studied his brother thoughtfully. Duncan had considerable

experience with women. He had witnessed, more than once, the easy way

his brother had with them.

“My first duty to my wife will be to warn her about her new brother,

Duncan.”

Duncan chuckled and slapped him on the back again. “I will not add to

your troubles, Alexander. ‘Twould seem you already have your fill.”

****

the trembling afflicting her.

Resting a soothing hand on her shoulder, the gray haired servant set

aside the ribbons she held. “Aye, Lady Mary. I’ll get it now.” The woman

hastened from the chamber.

Gunna ran the brush through Mary’s hair in a soothing rhythm. She

braided the silvery strands at either side of her face then tied them back with

a scrap of ribbon. “You’re a beauty, Lady Mary. Your bairn will be hearty and

handsome, to be sure.”

“‘Tis my hope, Gunna.” Her voice came out breathy and weak and she

cleared her throat. “How long has Alexander been a warrior?” Mayhap if she

knew more about him, she would be able to reason with him later.

“He fought his first battle at ten and five.” The woman’s lined face

settled into a thoughtful frown as she tucked a stray curl back into place. “It

has been that many years since as well. He has fought with the Bruce for

some time.”

Some of the stories she had heard in her uncle’s household came to

mind. Stories of battle and bravery and horrible bloodshed. Such

experiences could not help but affect a man. Mayhap that was what he had

been trying to tell her beside the loch. Mayhap he had never known true

affection because all he had experienced, since a lad, was violence and

aggression. He cared for his brothers without reservation; perhaps it was

only her he could feel nothing for.

“How long have you served the Laird, Gunna?”

“A score of years at least, since I was in my tenth year of marriage.

Mistress Kate wished only women already wed to work about the castle.

What with three sons and all the men about, she thought ‘twas best.”

Mary tucked her hands between her knees in effort to still their

traitorous twitching. “How long has it been since she died?”

“Five years.” The woman moved to the bed, returned with one of the

heavy pelts, and draped it around Mary.

Mary pulled the fur close about her, covering her bare arms and hiding

from view the soft white muslin shift she wore. She started as a knock

sounded at the chamber door.

“‘Tis only Cora with the wine,” Gunna reassured her as she moved to

answer the summons.

Alexander stood outside the portal. In his hands, he bore a tray holding

a bottle and two brass goblets.

Gunna stepped back to allow him entrance into the room, her gaze

turning to Mary. “Will there be anything more you’ll be needing, Lady Mary?”

she asked, after a moments pause.

Mary shook her head, unable to draw enough breath to speak. She

followed the woman’s progress from the room with a sinking feeling of

despair.

Alexander lowered the tray to the table where the washbasin rested.

“Cora said you wished a wee drop of wine. ‘Twas a good time to slip away

from my men before they offered to see me to the chamber door.” He

uncorked the bottle and filled the brass goblets then brought the drink to her

where she sat before the fire.

Unwilling to give up the modesty of the pelt, she tucked it beneath her

arms. She cupped the bowl of the goblet with both hands for fear of spilling

the liquid. He waited until she took a small sip before raising his own to his

lips.

Her eyes sought her husband’s face to find his features caught in

repose. The light of the fire reflected in the tawny tone of his gaze and

played across the strong lean plane of his jaw. His bold features, heavily

masculine, held an intimidating gravity. The scar running from his cheek to

his jaw made the seriousness of his expression appear formidable.

The strength she had admired so much when first they met remained

there, but the light of humor that had tempered it had been lacking all

evening. Though he had shown her consideration a number of times after

the wedding, he had been stoically silent for much of the evening. His mood

made her all the more uncertain of him.

She had never believed herself a coward, but the knowledge that she

might have to surrender her body to him again, brought with it a sick feeling

of dread. It was not the physical act that frightened her, but the way she

might feel after the deed. His gentleness had deceived her. She had

believed he held some affection for her. Knowing he had taken what she

had to offer in a bid to seek revenge against her father, and her clan, had

crushed her pride and shaken her belief in herself. Never again would she

trust so readily. If she could not expect him to show her respect, how could

she share her body with him?

Aware of Alexander’s every move, she watched as he removed the

heavy girdle holding his sword and hung it over the post at the head of the

bed. Returning to her, he reached to take her goblet and set it aside.

Her breath left her completely as he bent to slide an arm beneath her

legs and one behind her, around her waist. He carried her to the bed, and

raising a knee on the well-stuffed mattress, lowered her to its center.

Tears burnt her eyes. “I will not allow you to touch me again,

Alexander. I will fight you.”

His body tensing, he went completely still. She became aware of the

heavy beat of his heart throbbing beneath her cheek as his hand moved

with gentle pressure to cup the back of her head and hold her. “I do not

intend to force you to accept me, Mary.”

After several moments she regained her composure and she pulled

back to look up at him.

“‘Tis a natural thing for a man to want to hold his new wife, lass.” He

settled himself more comfortably beside her. “‘Twas in my thoughts that

mayhap if we hold each other long enough and often enough, the pain will

ease and other things will come more naturally between us.”

Her eyes tracing his features, she wondered if anything could be

natural between them after such a beginning. “You do not mean to-to-”

He shook his head.

Relief unwound like a coiled rope inside her. Her trembling eased a

bit.

He brushed the soft strands of hair back from her face with a touch

carefully gentle, his pale amber eyes intent on her features. “You are my

wife now, Mary. No one will dare speak agin you again. ‘Twas never my

intent to shame you, lass, but to force Collin to abide by the contract.”

It was as close to an apology as she could expect from him. It did little

to ease the injury to her pride or her heart.

Her gaze shifted downward to the swath of wool material hung over

his shoulder. She cautioned herself against the dangers of behaving as a

tenderhearted fool. “‘Tis in the past now and we cannot change it. ‘Tis up to

us to learn to live with it, for the bairn’s sake.”

Silence once again fell between them.

“You speak as though the child will be a boy.”

“I hope ‘tis.”

“I rather fancy a lass with her mother’s hair and eyes.”

She shrugged aside the compliment. “A boy will never be bartered for

what he can bring the clan.” She spoke with soft conviction. “Nor will his

destiny always be controlled by others. I would have that for my child.”

He fell silent for a moment. “Would you wish yourself a lad, Mary?”

Had she been a lad she would never have suffered such indignities.

She would have been looked upon with more value. “‘Twould do no good to

wish for such a thing, but it does no harm to wish better for the bairn.”

He frowned. “And what if the bairn is a lass?”

She would grieve for her. “I will stand betwixt her and harm all I can.”

She turned on her side away from him.

****

she could find no pleasure in being a woman, or a wife? He studied her

bundled form covered from neck to toe by the pelt. He moved closer to slide

an arm around her waist and tuck his legs beneath hers. She stiffened, but

did not pull away.

The clean womanly scent of her brought to mind the intimate

moments they had shared. His arm tightened around her waist. He savored

the feel of her body cradled against his.

He supposed part of his punishment was that he might never know

what it was for her to come to him willingly, as she had done the first time.

Worse still, he had only himself to blame.

He thought of Duncan’s suggestion.

“Might I touch you where the bairn rests, Mary?”

She turned to look at him open suspicion in her gaze. “Why?”

“‘Tis my child too. I will not know what ‘tis for it to grow inside you lest

you allow me to touch you.”

He could see the indecision pulling at her as her gaze shifted away

from him. He wondered if a sense of duty toward him as her husband

played any part in that. “‘Tis a small thing to ask in the place of other

considerations.”

Her movements hesitant, she turned onto her back and opened the

cocoon of fur around her. The soft muslin fabric of her shift clung to the

slender curves of her body. She was reed thin, but for the generous curve of

her breasts and a slight roundness to her lower abdomen. Her body so

lightly clad, was completely vulnerable to his gaze. The budding thrust of her

nipples against the thin fabric drew his attention. The instant rush of blood

to his loins left him hard and aching. He drew a slow steadying breath and

placed his palm against the faint protrusion designating where the bairn

lay. The soft feel of her beneath his touch intensified his desire.

Mary bent her knees, her legs trembling visibly. Alexander raised his

gaze to her face. Her pale blue eyes were anxious and wary, her cheeks

flushed with color. He arranged the pelt over her, a painful sense of loss

twisting inside him. “I would not have you catch a chill.”

He left the bed and turned away to stand at the fireplace. To want her

and to see the look of pain and distrust in her gaze was too much for him.

****

though confusing to her, also brought her relief. Her body’s response to his

touch had surprised her. Her legs felt weak and the tingling heated feeling

his touch had inspired still lingered.

Memories of how his beard felt against the bare skin of her breasts

played through her thoughts. Her nipples tightened in memory of the wet

heat of his mouth. Her heart pounded against her ribs making her breathing

ragged.

How could he still have the power to make her feel such things? Her

emotions and thoughts spiraling in confusion, she turned her back to the

room and burrowed her face into the bed clothes in the hope that, if she

blocked out the sight of him, the memories would cease to torment her.